Lightning Amongst the Stars

by The Eternal Ursine

Flung into 1977, in a world where the lines between friend & foe blur, Harry must navigate a perilous path using the knowledge of the past & his future to alter the course of history. But can he save the woman he loves from the darkness that threatens to consume her? Can Harry prevent the rise of a Dark Lord he never beat, even if it means sacrificing everything he ever held dear?

5. Chasing the Rabbit

Lightning Amongst the Stars

Chapter Five - Chasing the Rabbit

Tom Riddle sat alone in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Silvery moonlight streamed through the windows, casting shadows that seemed to creep across the walls like silent spectres, and the subdued glow of the desk lamp provided little warmth from the object of his deep contemplation. Seated at the grand desk, Riddle stared intently at what lay before him - a simple, black, leather-bound diary.

His first Horcrux.

The Diary was open in front of him, its pages fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze from the half-open window. It was both a marvel and a monster - a repository of a part of his soul, crafted during a time of ambition and greed, a testament to his callousness and a shackle to his past. He closed it, his fingers tracing the embossed letters on the cover, brushing lightly over the golden letters spelling his name. He had been so young and ignorant, so consumed by ambition, that he had failed to see the true cost of his actions through the haze of want. The burden of its creation and his past transgressions pressed upon him, weighing heavily on his conscience.

Beside the Diary, a heavy, ancient tome lay open. The book was opened to a chapter thick with the study of Horcruxes and their creation and potential undoing, concepts wrapped in terrifying rituals and profound warnings. The pages brimmed with long-forgotten knowledge, but each syllable spiked that deep-seated fear within Riddle, the same fear that had driven him to split his soul in the first place. The possibility of undoing what had been done - to effectively heal his torn soul - was a notion that enthralled and terrified him. The words spoke of repair and healing, steeped in risks and monumental prices. Thoughts on Death and dying, his oldest and deepest fears and the merciless forces he had sought to outwit through the most twisted means possible, twined through him like dark veins. Riddle picked the Diary up and placed it in an ornate chest, closing the lid and sealing it with a spell.

He turned back to the tome. As Riddle's fingers traced the age-worn pages, memories ebbed within him - particularly memories of a conversation with his old mentor, Albus Dumbledore. Drifting through his mind were the words of warning and wisdom spoken by his old mentor who believed, perhaps alone of all people, that Riddle had the capacity for redemption. But his old fears had sunk their claws in deep, long before Dumbledore had been able to steer him from that dreaded path. Those very same fears had birthed his Horcrux.

He turned a page, and the memory surfaced unbidden - a younger Dumbledore, decades back, facing him whilst Riddle sat on the other side of the same desk.

"You're treading a dangerous path, Tom," Dumbledore said, his voice calm as always and somehow sorrowful. "I've seen many a man lose himself to lesser things for power."

Riddle laughed, cold and hollow. "Power is only dangerous to those too weak to wield it, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore leaned forward, his twinkling blue eyes intense behind the golden half-moon rims of his glasses - keen as a hawk, missing nothing. "True strength, Tom, lies in our ability to acknowledge and overcome our fears, not in succumbing to them."

Their conversations had danced around these themes multiple times - power, fear, mortality. Each time, Dumbledore's words struck a different chord within him. Standing in his former teacher's role, Riddle's perspective had shifted and the protégé now understood the master. Dumbledore, with his unwavering belief in the inherent goodness of every soul, had expressed a glimmer of hope for Riddle's redemption. "I believe that you still possess the capacity for remorse, Tom," Dumbledore had said. "I believe that you can choose a different path."

Doubt gnawed at him. Could he truly face the consequences of his actions? Could he endure the pain of confronting the fragment of his fractured soul?

The sudden knock at the door cut sharply through his reflections. "Enter," Riddle called out, his voice calm but authoritative, masking the whirlpool of his thoughts. He swept the book into an open drawer and closed it. The door opened and Professor Bodie stepped into the glow of the office. Riddle had always thought he was a man with a face that had seen too much war, his broad shoulders set as if they carried the weight of the heavens; tonight was no different.

"William," Riddle acknowledged, gesturing to the seat opposite him. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Bodie took a seat across from Riddle. "Oh, nothing in particular. Just wanted to see if there was any chance for a catch up between two old friends."

Bodie smiled, and Riddle could not help but join him. He stood and strode over to the drinks cabinet. He gestured to it and Bodie nodded. Riddle poured a healthy measure of scotch into both tumblers, before passing the other man one.

Bodie took a sip, before settling back into the chair with his eyes closed. "Oh, that's the good stuff."

"Here I thought Firewhiskey was undisputedly better?" Riddle asked as he sat behind his desk.

Bodie nodded. "It still is. However, I'll give it to the Muggles - they know how to make a bloody fine drink."

Riddle sipped his drink and smiled. "Be that as it may, I won't believe for a second that you came to discuss the virtues of Muggles. Small talk and idle conversation were pastimes you never cared to indulge in, William. I cannot help but feel that you have another motive for seeking me out tonight."

Bodie's eyes glittered with amusement. "You're as sharp as ever. Subterfuge was always more your game anyway."

Bodie raised the glass towards Riddle, before knocking back the rest of the drink. He leaned forward, setting the tumbler down on Riddle's desk with a thunk. "A couple of things actually," he clarified. "Firstly, about our young Mr. Sayre."

Riddle's eyebrows rose slightly. "Harry? What about him?"

"I saw him the other night," Bodie explained. "Out by the Forbidden Forest. It was quite late and he was alone. But he seemed agitated. Perturbed. Almost like he was expecting something. I could have sworn I heard him talking to someone too, but there was no-one else there."

Riddle frowned. "That's concerning. Did you speak with him?"

"Yes," Bodie agreed, his brow furrowed as he recalled the encounter. "I didn't want to spook him, so I kept the conversation light. He appears to be a well-mannered young man, albeit a bit shy and reserved. But for someone who went to Durmstrang, as you said, he's remarkably deficient in their history." He paused, his gaze hardening. "He claimed to not be aware that Grindelwald studied there! Can you imagine? A Durmstrang student who doesn't know about Grindelwald?"

Bodie leaned forward. "He's definitely hiding something, Tom, I'm sure of it. There's something about that boy, something I can't quite put my finger on. He's not what he seems."

Riddle set his own glass down with a soft clink, the amber liquid within swirling gently. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, his expression unreadable.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Riddle said finally. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

Bodie nodded. "Just be careful, Tom," he warned, his voice gruff with concern. "There's something about that boy, something that just doesn't add up. Don't let your guard down."

"I haven't made it this far by being complacent, William."

Bodie recognised the cue to move on. He gestured towards his empty glass. Riddle nodded. An idle flick brought the scotch back over and the glass was refilled. Bodie grunted appreciatively as he took another sip.

"The second is a point far more concerning to everyone: Grindelwald. I can feel the same storm brewing, Tom. Another war is on the horizon, one I fear we are ill-prepared for."

He paused, his gaze drifting towards the window, where the moon cast an eerie glow upon the Forbidden Forest. "Grindelwald," he said again, the name hanging heavy in the air. "His old ideas are spreading again. That rhetoric of wizarding supremacy, of a world ruled by those with magical power. It's gaining traction and someone is out there, retracing history and igniting those buried feelings."

Riddle's expression darkened, the lines around his eyes deepening. He sighed. "I heard rumours from old friends on the continent about the old movement. I had hoped they were wrong, if I'm perfectly honest, that they had misjudged the situation there, despite fearing as much," he admitted. "You have heard of the recent attacks on the Muggles in France and Germany? It's too similar of the early days of his rise to power for my liking."

Bodie leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Riddle's. "I know we hold different opinions on what happened, but do you really think he didn't survive? I always believed he had myself, given the calibre of wizard he is."

"It's hard to say, but it's an explanation which admittedly would make sense," Riddle replied. "Grindelwald is a hard man to emulate. If it is him, he's lucky to have escaped after that duel. Whatever Albus did forced him to hide, where he's apparently been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike."

A tense silence settled over the room, broken only by the crackling fire in the hearth. Bodie's jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the arms of his chair. "We have to take a more proactive approach this time. Better to seek him out and end this before it escalates further. Cut off the head of the snake, so to speak."

Riddle shook his head. "My commitment is to Hogwarts," he said firmly. "Albus believed in the power of education, in nurturing the next generation of witches and wizards. That is where my focus must lie."

"But-"

"My concern is for the continued welfare and education of the students, William. This school is not just a fortress of knowledge, but a sanctuary. It was Albus' belief that we are to teach, to nurture, not wage war. I intend to leave whatever is going on in Europe - Grindelwald included, if it is him - directly with those whose job it is to deal with things like this."

Bodie scoffed. "To the Ministry, I assume you mean? They're a bunch of bumbling bureaucrats, more concerned with their own agendas and preserving their hides than with protecting our world. Not to mention the German Ministry is about as useful as a free house elf."

Riddle's expression darkened. "Crudities aside," he said heavily, "I can only emphasise my duty lies here, at Hogwarts. I cannot abandon my students, especially not if a threat like Grindelwald is looming on the horizon, threatening us all."

Bodie stared at Riddle, his gaze intent. "Oh, Tom, when will you wake up? There is no if. It is him. And if he comes back here, to finish the job he started all those decades ago, what are you going to do? Sit back and busy yourself with teaching and nurturing? What about the wider wizarding world, Tom? Don't you feel a responsibility to protect them too?"

Riddle's jaw tightened. "Of course I do," he said. "But I am not the man to lead them. I never was."

Silence settled between them once again as both men drank and stared into the fire. It was Bodie who broke it.

"I've seen firsthand what Grindelwald is capable of. I attended one of his rallies many years ago," he confessed, his eyes darkening. "He's charismatic - convincing even. It's easy to see why so many are drawn to him. He paints a compelling picture. A world where magic reigns supreme, where wizardkind are rightfully in control. Magic is might. His words can be seductive, even to those who should know better."

"And were you swayed, Bodie?" Riddle asked sharply, his eyes snapping to the other man.

Bodie was quiet for a moment, before he finished the drink with a large swallow. He smacked his teeth before he shook his head. "I fought against Grindelwald before," he said quietly. "I lost friends - good people - in that war. I would never join him. But, I can see why people would. The world is changing, Tom. Muggles are growing more powerful, more aware of our existence. There's uncertainty, just like last time. Grindelwald exploited that to his advantage."

Indeed, the times were changing, and Riddle felt that acutely. The office air felt heavier as he considered Bodie's words. "Yes, we are on the cusp of great changes," Riddle murmured, his thoughts drifting to recent events.

Bodie stood, brushing his front down as he did. He inclined his head toward Riddle as he set the tumbler down on the desk again. "It's getting late. I'll be going now. Thanks for the drink and for the conversation. If for nothing else, then for peace of mind that I'm not going mad."

Bodie exited, leaving Riddle alone with his thoughts again. The walls seemed a little closer, the fire a little dimmer, and Riddle couldn't shake the melancholy that seemed to have enveloped him. The world had just about recovered from Grindelwald. And whilst Riddle had long ago acknowledged that Grindelwald somehow survived his duel with Albus, it was not something he advertised. Years of moving in secrecy and trying to protect his students from the knowledge that one of the greatest horrors of this century was back had left him guarded; why incite panic if there was no need for it? But even he couldn't ignore the signs - Riddle knew that. Only the man himself could be doing the things Grindelwald had done, and that worried Riddle.

He thought back to his reasoning he gave Bodie. Albus would have eventually faced Grindelwald, like he had previously. And deep down, with his mentor gone, Riddle knew he also would have no choice when the time came. The arrival of Harry Potter, now Sayre, made this all the more complicated - could he help them defeat Grindelwald? He had already beaten an abhorrent version of Riddle himself - it was likely he was able to help them deal with Grindelwald, alongside Riddle and others.

But I am not yet ready to face Grindelwald yet, if at all, Riddle thought to himself. Not while the Diary still exists.

Riddle reached into the drawer and opened the tattered book taunting him with becoming whole again. Dumbledore's wise face seemed to hover at the edge of his vision, the memory of another conversation echoing in the recesses of his mind:

"The hardest choices allow us to grow, Tom. Do not fear grappling with the shadows, even if they are of your own making."

Tonight, he would make no grand decisions, but the haunting melody of a possible redemption - or destruction - played quietly in the background, a tune only he could hear.

---

The beginning of September came quickly for Harry, and he soon found himself on the Hogwarts Express as it chugged along the countryside, its clackety-clack a soothing and familiar soundtrack to the beginning of another school year. Harry walked the train, hoping to find an empty carriage. He held a copy of the day's Daily Prophet in his hands as he weaved past a group of witches giggling about something or other.

Groups of young wizards and witches huddled together in their carriages as Harry walked on by, their animated conversations and boisterous laughter filling the air. He caught snippets of gossip, debates about the latest Quidditch transfers, and whispers about new classes and teachers. It was a familiar scene, one he had witnessed countless times before, yet it now felt distant.

A sudden emptiness within him caused his heart to lurch at the thought of those left in his time. Here he was, playing school and dress-up, when they might be all dead. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, shifting balance with the gentle lull of the train. Guilt rose and he felt his throat closing up.

The war had taken so much from him – friends, family, a sense of normalcy. Memories of taking the Hogwarts Express with Ron and Hermione played out in his mind. He imagined them now, crammed into a compartment, Ron probably stuffing his face with sweets from Honeydukes, Hermione already engrossed in a thick textbook, their laughter echoing through the carriage. But the loss that cut deepest was that of Padma. Tears welled up in his eyes, the blurry edge of his last sight of her flickering in his memory.

"I miss you, Padma," Harry whispered, thick with emotion. He gritted his teeth against the raging tide of anguish that rose inside him. "I miss you so much."

The sudden silence at the giggling girls' absence amplified his grief, the rhythmic lub-lub of the train and the whistling wind a mournful symphony. He longed to see Padma again, to hold her in his arms, to hear her voice. The same creeping feeling from Diagon Alley built up in his chest, and Harry took deep breaths to keep it at bay. He couldn't have another break down. Not here and now. He had to stay put together, just long enough for him to find a way back to his time. And for that, he needed help. He needed Riddle.

It was a wicked twist of fate that required Harry to need his old nemesis, but it was a need nonetheless. This Riddle did not seem to have fallen down the dark path Voldemort had walked, his hands not yet red and dripping with the blood of stolen lives of countless innocents slain under his genocidal campaign. Harry did not trust this version of Riddle any further than he could throw him, but he acknowledged all the same he needed the help and expertise the Headmaster could offer.

Riddle had been as good as his word, pulling strings and manipulating events with an efficiency that both impressed and unsettled Harry. It was a strange sensation, pretending to be someone else, with a fabricated past. But Riddle had managed to put Harry and his manufactured life on paper. OWLs, an Apparation licence, records of schooling from tutors; they had all been documented, logged and filed. He was officially Harry Sayre, a transfer student with exemplary grades and a clean record. Harry marvelled that Riddle had somehow convinced the Ministry that Harry was a real person, with a history, family, and a life that had never existed.

Riddle had also thought it best that Harry join the train to Hogwarts, rather than remain there waiting for the rest of the students to arrive, to make friends and foster bonds, if nothing else. Whilst Harry appreciated Riddle's care - a sentence he never would have thought would cross his mind in any time - it did nothing to alleviate the nerves he felt at having no-one he knew with him.

A loud bark of laughter broke him from his thoughts. Wiping his eyes, Harry found himself drawn, as if by an unseen force, towards the raucous laughter echoing from a carriage. He approached and looked through the window, seeing a group of Slytherins. At the centre of the boisterous group sat a figure he didn't recognise – a lanky boy with a shock of unruly blond hair and a grin that seemed to split his face. He listened as the boy held court, weaving a tale about a particularly explosive Potions mishap. His friends seemed captivated, their laughter erupting in delighted bursts that pierced the din of the train. Drawn in by the laughter, Harry found himself edging closer and knocked on the glass. All eyes turned to him as conversation ceased.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked. Multiple pairs of eyes flickered between his face and the Slytherin emblem on his robes. Harry felt the subtle relaxation of the occupants after his intrusion, the fear of being attacked being swiftly replaced by curiosity and wariness.

The boy, startled at first, looked up with an unexpected warmth in his blue eyes, but Harry didn't miss how he seemed wary. "Always room for one more when there's a good story brewing," the boy proclaimed, gesturing expansively around the carriage. "Vince Pinner, by the way. Resident potion disaster survivor and teller of mostly true tales."

He extended a hand, and Harry took it, introducing himself with the alias Riddle had bestowed upon him since his arrival in this parallel world. "Harry Sayre," he replied, noting the strength in Vince's grip.

Vince's friends greeted him with varying degrees of warmth. Harry inclined his head in acknowledgement. He recognised their names too – Avery, Nott, Rosier. He tried to keep his face neutral in the presence of those who had become Death Eaters and their sympathisers in his future. Looking at the teenagers before him, Harry found a disconnect in trying to reconcile the monsters they had become with how they were now.

"So, Harry," Vince continued, his focus back on Harry, "what brings a newcomer to our humble gathering? I don't recall ever seeing you in Slytherin and the Sorting hasn't happened yet - forgive me, but how did you come to be here?"

Harry stiffened slightly. "A family tragedy brought me here during the summer. Professor Riddle was kind enough to spare me being Sorted with the first-years, and helped me adjust since my arrival."

Vince nodded, though there were evidently more questions brimming in his mind. The others appeared the same.

"Well," the one Harry had identified as Avery said, "congratulations for being Sorted into the best house. And you're lucky you managed to find us and not the Gryffindors. I'm getting sick of seeing Potter and Black."

"Thanks. A lack of room on the train helped," Harry admitted, trying to keep the joy of hearing about his father and godfather from showing. "That and the story about the warring cauldrons really did it for me."

His comment sparked a wave of chuckles around the table. The blonde witch snorted. She had introduced herself as Linda Rosier. "That's nothing for a story. Listen about last year's Cornish Pixies set free thanks to Lenny here…" she gestured at the one Harry had identified as Nott, who flushed a deep shade of pink. "That was a week to remember."

"So - your name is Sayre?" Avery chimed in, his eyes narrowed in assessment. He preened, running a hand through his already perfectly-styled hair, a gesture Harry recognised as a subconscious display of dominance. "Pure-blood?"

"Half-blood," Harry said coolly, eyes locking onto Avery's as he tilted his chin, daring Avery to challenge him. Avery's lip curled in derision as he stared back.

"And what school did you grace with your presence before Hogwarts?" Linda queried.

"Er - Durmstrang, of late. Before then, my parents taught me mainly and learnt bits here and there," Harry said. "Resourcefulness saw me through."

"Resourcefulness, you say?" the Nott boy - Lenny - chuckled. "Well, well. You'll fit right in with Slytherin then, Sayre."

Harry nodded, acknowledging the compliment with a slight inclination of his head.

"And where are your parents now?" Linda asked. "Still in Europe?"

The air in the room seemed to still as Harry's expression hardened. "No. They're dead," he said flatly. "Murdered. By a dark wizard."

A wave of shock rippled through the group. The casual cruelty that often permeated Slytherin conversations evaporated, replaced by a stunned silence. Even Avery, who had moments before seemed ready for a confrontation, looked momentarily stunned. Silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. The Slytherins exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond to Harry's stark revelation. Death, especially at the hands of a dark wizard, was a reality they were all too familiar with, yet it was rarely spoken of so bluntly.

Finally, Linda cleared her throat. "I'm sorry for your loss, Sayre," she said, her tone sincere. A few murmurs of agreement echoed around the carriage, the Slytherins offering their condolences, albeit with a touch of awkwardness.

"Thank you," said Harry quietly.

It was Avery that broke the silence. "So, Pinner, what's the story with you and Warrender? I saw you two having a cosy chat earlier."

Vince flushed. "It was nothing," he mumbled. "Just catching up."

"Catching up?" Avery teased. "Or trying to rekindle the old flame? Good luck after what you-"

"Leave him alone, Avery," Lenny interjected, his voice sharp. "It's none of your business."

Avery's eyes flashed with annoyance. "I was just making conversation, Nott," he retorted. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, the Slytherins sharing stories of their summer adventures and their expectations for the upcoming year. Harry listened attentively.

"Tell me, Sayre," Linda piped up as she shifted to look at him, leaning forward with a strange look in her eye, "what's the dating scene like at Durmstrang? What are the boys like? And are the girls better than us?"

Harry chuckled. "I couldn't say, I wasn't there long," he replied. "But I don't think they're anything like those at Hogwarts."

"Oh, I don't know about that," countered Vince. "We've got some pretty formidable witches in Slytherin. Take Black, for instance."

"Yeah, but it'd be worth it. I wouldn't mind getting to know Black a little better," said Lenny with a wink.

"Don't even think about it, Len," Linda glared daggers at him and Vince. "My dear cousin's bad news. She'll chew you up and spit you out before you can say 'Hippogriff'. Besides, I've heard rumours that Lestrange is after her - do you really want to tangle with the likes of that?"

Lenny recoiled, his cheeks flushing again. "I - er-" he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

Harry was dumbfounded. "Wait, she's your cousin?"

Linda raised an eyebrow. "Yes - her mother, Druella, is my first cousin once removed, so dear Bellatrix Black is my second cousin. What of it?"

Harry realised that he was close to revealing knowing things he shouldn't. He kicked himself mentally, before answering: "Nothing; I just wondered why you seem to dislike her so much."

Linda snorted. "She's arrogant, manipulative, and thinks she's better than everyone else just because she's a Black," she sneered, her tone dripping with disdain. "She's also obsessed with being the best, even if it means resorting to dirty tactics."

Harry exchanged a glance with Vince, who merely shrugged, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"Sounds like someone's a bit jealous of being worse at duelling," Avery jibed, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs from Linda. "Ouch! Oh c'mon, Black's not that bad!"

"I'm not jealous," Linda snapped. "I just don't trust her. She's got something about her that makes my skin crawl."

Harry couldn't help but agree. "I don't know this Bellatrix, but maybe she's just misunderstood," he said, playing dumb.

Linda scoffed. "Some people are just born evil, Sayre," she stated. "And Black is one of them. Most of their family is if you want my honest opinion. Morgana be praised she didn't learn under Durmstrang's curriculum."

Avery snorted. "Just because she knows more of the Dark Arts than you, Rosier, doesn't make her evil. Look at Sayre - is he a budding dark lord because he went to a school that teaches the Dark Arts? Don't be such a child. There's enough grief from the Gryffindors without you causing dissent in-house, especially in front of the new boy."

Harry startled at being called a dark lord and bristled at being called the new boy as Linda's eyes flashed, her sharp chin tilting upwards in defiance. "I'm not a child, Avery, and I know what I see. There's something off about Black. The way she looks at people, the way she talks - it's like she enjoys inflicting pain!"

"Oh, come off it," said Avery, rolling his eyes. "She's just ambitious, like the rest of us. She wants to be the best, and she's not afraid to use whatever means necessary to get there. Even if it means trampling over you to do so."

"Exactly," Lenny chimed in bitterly. "She's ruthless, and she doesn't care who she hurts in the process. Whatever happened to that house loyalty you keep harping on about?"

Harry remained silent, observing the exchange with unease. Vince seemed to be on the same page, sensing the tension in the compartment. Harry watched as Vince tried to lighten the mood. "Come on, guys," he said, his voice cheerful. "Let's not get all worked up about Black. We've got more important things to worry about, like Lenny likely letting loose a herd of Graphorns on school grounds!"

But his attempt at levity fell flat. The night had taken a dark turn, and the shadow of Bellatrix Black loomed large over their compartment. The conversation died, with Linda and Lenny retreating to their books and Avery making an excuse to leave.

Harry played Exploding Snap with Vince until a prefect came along to tell them that Hogwarts wasn't far off. When it was finally time to leave the train, the boisterous students spilling out into the cool night air, Vince clapped him on the shoulder. "Good to have met you, Sayre," he said warmly. "Come on, if you're quick enough we can share a carriage."

Harry smiled, a bittersweet pang twisting in his chest. "I'll take you up on that," he replied, his voice quiet in the stillness of the emptying street.

They stepped onto the platform, the imposing silhouette of Hogwarts castle looming before them, its windows glowing like a thousand welcoming beacons. Harry took a deep breath, before following them onto the carriage.

---

The Great Hall buzzed with electric anticipation as students settled into their seats for the evening feast. The air was thick with the mouth-watering aroma of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and sweet glazed vegetables. Chatter filled the cavernous space, echoing off the enchanted ceiling that mirrored the twilight sky outside.

The doors to the Hall opened with a loud creak, before Professor McGonagall strode in with a group of first years. Harry saw the looks on their faces, some nervous, some apprehensive, some excited. He smiled as remembered his first time walking down that same path, the wonder and amazement at seeing Hogwarts in all its glory for the first time.

McGonagall stopped at the end of the tables, just before the steps up to the head table. She stood next to a plain wooden stool, on top of which sat the Sorting Hat. The noise of talking students died down and when the room was completely silent, the brim of the Hat split open, and from it a song burst:

The story of Hogwarts began long ago

When four famous friends decided,

To teach their fellow wizards and witches,

Each with qualities that they prided.

To assist with this, they needed help

And thus I was woven and thread.

To Sort the new mages by their virtues

The Founders breathed life into my head.

Faithfully completing this annual quartering

For many centuries on here I remain,

Faced with another set of students waiting

To be Sorted upon leaving the train.

So take a seat and place me on your head,

Let me look deep inside your mind,

For I am the Sorting Hat, old and wise,

And I'll tell you what House you are aligned.

Will you go to the Lion's lair

Where Gryffindor chose those bold of heart?

Famed for courage and bravery,

Their daring nerve set them apart.

Or will you be suited to wise Ravenclaw,

Priding knowledge alone above all?

The constant pursuit of wisdom

Being a Ravenclaw's one true call.

Or maybe it's off to cunning Slytherin,

Where they revere blood most pure.

Home to those who show the tenacity,

And resourcefulness to endure.

And for those who have strong spirit,

Who are kind and work hard enough,

Showing fairness, loyalty and toil,

You'll belong to good Hufflepuff.

For countless students over the years

This has been the same unchanging story,

All Four Houses in good spirit competing

For the most points and yearly glory.

But I now sit here and wonder

If this annual division of you is right,

For there is a darkness that is coming,

That is encroaching as sure as night.

So for this year I'll change my tune,

And overstep by giving some advice.

I want you to listen to me carefully,

For I will not be saying this twice.

What is coming cannot be stopped,

The time ahead will be fraught and long.

But together you can face it if you can,

Be brave, kind, wise and strong.

So please heed my humble warning,

And remain united firmly from within.

Now I must complete my yearly task,

The Sorting will now begin.

There was a moment of silence before the hall was taken over by a thunderous applause. Harry was among them, clapping for the Hat and its song, but there was something niggling his brain. The Hat had mentioned a warning of darkness coming and all but pleaded for unity. Some of the students had picked up on, if the concerned faces and hurried whispers were any indication. Harry stole a glance at Riddle and saw a troubled frown marring the handsome face.

Slowly, the applause died down. Professor McGonagall, her expression stern yet encouraging, stepped forward, a long scroll of parchment clutched in her hand. She removed the Hat from the stool. "When I call your name," she announced, her voice clear and authoritative, "you will come forth, I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses."

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Andrews, Sarah!"

A small girl walked up and sat timidly on the stall. The Hat barely touched her head before it yelled:

"RAVENCLAW!"

A sea of cheers went up from the table next to Slytherins, a blue and bronze crest shaping itself on Sarah Andrews' robes as she ran towards her housemates.

"Byron, George!" McGonagall called out.

"SLYTHERIN!"

More first years were called and Sorted, until eventually McGonagall called out the last, who was Sorted to Gryffindor. She took the Hat and stool away, and took her seat at the table with the other professors.

The Hall silenced as Riddle rose from his seat at the Head Table. A hush fell over the room, hundreds of eyes drawn to him.

"Students," Riddle began in a smooth baritone that effortlessly carried through the hall. "Welcome back to Hogwarts for another year. Before we commence our feast, I have a few announcements to make."

"As some of you may have already noticed," Riddle continued, "we have a new addition to our seventh years. Mr. Harry Sayre, a transfer student from the esteemed Durmstrang Institute, has joined us this year."

All eyes swivelled towards Harry, who sat ramrod straight, his expression a carefully cultivated mask of composure. He felt the weight of hundreds of curious gazes upon him, a mix of bewilderment, suspicion, and in the case of some Slytherins, a flicker of predatory interest.

"Mr. Sayre comes to us with a wealth of knowledge and experience," Riddle's lips curved into a smile, "having excelled in his studies at Durmstrang."

A murmur of intrigue swept through the hall. Durmstrang was renowned for its rigorous curriculum and emphasis on duelling and the Dark Arts. The prospect of a transfer student from such an institution, one who had apparently impressed even the formidable Headmaster, piqued the curiosity of even the most disinterested there.

"While Durmstrang undoubtedly offers a unique educational experience," Riddle continued, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, "Mr. Sayre has shown a desire to broaden his horizons and immerse himself in everything that Hogwarts has to offer."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the four house tables. "Mr. Sayre has been Sorted into Slytherin House. I trust that you will all welcome him with the respect and camaraderie that defines our school."

A smattering of applause erupted from the Slytherin table. Some students, particularly those in the upper years, eyed Harry with thinly veiled disdain, their prejudice against outsiders evident.

"Now, onto other matters," Riddle's tone shifted slightly, becoming more authoritative. "Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended. The full list comprises some two hundred and twenty-three items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it. I would like to remind all students that the Forbidden Forest remains strictly off-limits. The creatures that dwell within its depths are not to be trifled with." His eyes flickered towards the Gryffindor table, where a few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"Additionally," Riddle continued, "I must reiterate the importance of adhering to the curfew. Any student found wandering the castle after hours will face severe consequences. The safety and well-being of our students is paramount, and we will not tolerate any behaviour that jeopardises it. Prefects, Head Boy and Girl; I expect your full cooperation in enforcing these rules."

His gaze swept across the hall once more, settling on each student in turn. "Finally, I urge you all to embrace the spirit of learning and discovery that Hogwarts embodies. Challenge yourselves. Push your boundaries. Strive for excellence in all your endeavours. But remember," Riddle's voice resonated through the hall, each word measured and deliberate, "kindness and compassion are just as important as reward and achievement. The Hat sang true. Let us foster an environment of respect and support, where every student feels valued and supported to reach their full potential."

With a final nod, Riddle concluded his address. "Now, let the feast begin!"

A wave of relieved chatter washed over the hall as the students turned their attention to the sumptuous spread before them. Harry, however, remained lost in thought. Riddle's words had struck a chord within him, reminding him of the values that Dumbledore had preached at the same lectern. He glanced over at the Head Table, where Riddle sat conversing with Professor Bodie.

"So, how did you find it?" a voice beside him asked.

Harry turned towards the voice, only to find Vince digging into a plate piled high with roast chicken and Yorkshire puddings. Linda and Lenny were also tucking into the spread before them.

"Well, it wasn't like anything I expected," said Harry, reaching for some chicken and gravy.

"The Hat's usually a little barmy with its lyrics, but this was something different. I don't know about you, but it seemed rather agitated for a bit of old fabric," said Linda. "Does Durmstrang have houses?"

"Er - no," said Harry, drawing on memories of his fourth year during the Triwizard tournament, as he spooned some potatoes onto his plate.

"Shame - that doesn't seem to be very fun. I wonder how they compete with each other then?"

"By not getting hexed by the teachers for messing up," Harry deadpanned.

Vince's eyes went wide. "You're joking," he said around a mouthful of food.

"Well - yes - but they weren't above humiliating you."

"Seems a bit much, if I'm honest," mused Vince, swallowing before spearing a sausage with his fork. "Mind you, Riddle was a bit funny with his speech this year. All that emphasis about the Forbidden Forest and curfew... strange, if you ask me."

Lenny frowned at Vince. "He's usually a stickler for rules."

Harry shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I guess he's just trying to keep us safe," he said.

Vince pulled a face, his attention returning to his plate. "I suppose," he conceded. "But it's definitely different. We'll see how it goes, eh?"

Harry watched as Vince went back to his food with gusto. He shook his head and turned to his potatoes, cutting away and intermittently joining in on small talk around him. Swallowing his mouthful, Harry reached for a cup of pumpkin juice and took a sip. As he did, he scanned his surroundings and saw a pair of eyes looking back at him.

Cold dread coiled in his stomach.

Bellatrix Black.

He snapped his eyes away. Harry took another sip and after a few moments, surreptitiously chanced another glance at her. He breathed a sigh of relief. She had focused on other Slytherins around her. Harry knew he shouldn't look, shouldn't acknowledge her, but he couldn't help it. His eyes were drawn to her like a moth to a flame, even as his mind screamed at him to look away. She was beautiful, in a sharp, predatory way. Long, dark hair fell over her shoulders and her eyes flashed with an intensity that hinted at something dangerous lurking beneath.

This is Bellatrix, he reminded himself, the woman who tortured Neville, who murdered Sirius... The thought of his godfather's lifeless body falling through the veil sent a fresh wave of grief and anger crashing over him. He clenched his fists beneath the table, his nails digging tiny crescents into his palms.

He had to remain composed. He couldn't let his emotions get the better of him. Not here, not now. He was in the past, a time when Bellatrix was still a student, still uncorrupted by the darkness that would eventually consume her. He had to remember that. But it was hard. Every time she laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that grated on his nerves, he had to fight the urge to lash out. Every time her eyes met his, the burning hatred that boiled within him threatened to spill over.

"Something wrong, Sayre?" a Slytherin boy a couple of seats opposite and away from him sneered, following his gaze. "Got your eye on Black, have you?"

Harry tore his eyes away from Bellatrix, forcing a casual shrug. "Just admiring the view," he replied, his voice carefully neutral.

"Don't get any ideas," the boy warned, his tone oddly possessive. "Black's got a reputation."

Harry merely nodded. The boy was right. Bellatrix was dangerous, even in her youth. He turned to the boy again.

"And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?" he asked coolly.

The boy turned to him and bared his teeth in a rough smile. "Rabastan Lestrange. Bellatrix is betrothed to my brother, Sayre, so you'd do well to stay the fuck away from her."

The hostility in Lestrange's voice caused Harry to raise an eyebrow and for a moment he considered fingering his wand in case the other boy attacked. But Lestrange turned away from him and started to speak with his neighbour, paying no attention to Harry for the rest of the meal.

The rest of dinner passed with no issues. Once it was over and Harry went to leave with the nearby students, a plump, jovial figure approached him, his walrus moustache twitching with amusement. Professor Horace Slughorn, the portly Head of Slytherin House, was beaming at him with a welcoming smile. "Ah, there you are, my boy," Slughorn said. "Welcome to Slytherin. Do come to my office, won't you? We have much to discuss."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He rose to his feet, a sense of trepidation creeping into his gut. Slughorn, he knew, was a collector of promising young talents. Harry's sudden appearance at Hogwarts, coupled with Riddle's glowing introduction, had undoubtedly piqued his interest. He nodded and followed Slughorn through the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts, past the flickering torches casting long shadows that danced on the ancient stone walls. They finally arrived at Slughorn's office.

The room was a testament to Slughorn's love of luxury and his fondness for collecting trinkets and trophies. The walls were adorned with portraits of smiling faces, presumably former students who had basked in the professor's favour. A collection of gleaming crystal decanters lined a sideboard, their contents hinting at rare and expensive liquors.

Slughorn gestured towards an armchair, his smile widening. "Please, take a seat, Mr. Sayre. Make yourself comfortable."

Harry sat and sank into the plush cushions of the chair.

"Now then, Mr. Sayre - Harry," Slughorn began, settling into his own chair behind the desk. "I must confess, your arrival at Hogwarts has caused quite a stir. A transfer student from Durmstrang, no less! And in seventh year, too. Most unusual, wouldn't you say?"

Harry nodded. "Indeed, Professor. Circumstances beyond my control necessitated the transfer."

Slughorn's eyes twinkled with curiosity and sympathy. "A family tragedy, I understand from the Headmaster. A most unfortunate event. But I'm sure you'll find Hogwarts to be a welcoming environment. And I must say, you made quite an impression on the Headmaster. He speaks very highly of your abilities. Your exam results speak for you - Outstandings and Exceeds Expectations across the board."

Harry felt a flash of warmth creep up his neck. "Thank you, Professor," he mumbled, his gaze dropping to the intricate pattern of the rug beneath his feet.

Slughorn leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. "Now, Harry. I'm a firm believer in fostering talent, in nurturing potential. And I sense great potential in you, my boy."

Harry inclined his head, acknowledging the compliment with a polite smile. He knew that Slughorn was trying to gauge his worth, to determine whether he was a valuable asset to be collected.

"I intend to do my best," he said.

Slughorn beamed. "Excellent, excellent. I have no doubt you will, Harry. Ambition is a fine quality. And Slytherin House is the perfect place to nurture it. You'll find yourself surrounded by like-minded individuals, driven and resourceful, all striving for greatness. Slytherin House has a long and illustrious history of producing exceptional witches and wizards. Leaders, innovators, trailblazers. I have no doubt that you will join their ranks."

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the countless photographs and framed letters that adorned his walls.

"They all had that spark, Harry," Slughorn concluded, his gaze returning to Harry, his eyes twinkling with expectation. "That drive to succeed, to make their mark on the world. And I sense in you that very same spark that reminds me of some of my most accomplished alumni."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure how to respond. He wasn't particularly ambitious, not in the traditional Slytherin sense. He had never craved power or sought glory. His battles, his sacrifices, had always been driven by a sense of duty, a need to protect those he loved and fight for what was right.

"Our great Headmaster, Professor Riddle, was once a Slytherin. Ho! - yes, he was," Slughorn exclaimed when Harry looked at him. "He was a brilliant student, top of his class in every subject. The epitome of Slytherin: clever, resourceful, destined for greatness. And look at him now," he added, with a flourish towards a framed letter bearing the Ministry of Magic seal, "Headmaster of Hogwarts, a veritable star in the wizarding world."

"It is very impressive," Harry replied.

Slughorn beamed. "He is, Harry, he is. And you, my boy, have the potential to be just as impressive, just as influential." He leaned closer, his eyes twinkling. "Slytherin House is a breeding ground for greatness, Harry. We nurture tenacity, we reward cunning, we forge leaders. And I believe that you have the potential to become one of our finest."

"I appreciate your confidence in me, Professor," Harry replied, his voice carefully neutral.

Slughorn beamed, clearly pleased with Harry's response. "Of course, my boy, of course. And I trust you'll make the most of the opportunities that we have to offer. We have a strong network, you see, a tradition of supporting our own. The connections you make here could prove invaluable in your future endeavours and career."

He paused, his eyes twinkling with a something Harry couldn't identify. "I've already taken the liberty of adding your name to the guest list for my next Slug Club gathering - a small group I set up for promising students," he confided and elaborated at Harry's raised eyebrow. "You'll have a chance to meet some of our most promising students, to forge connections that could shape your future."

Harry nodded. He knew of the Slug Club, Slughorn's exclusive society for students he deemed to have exceptional potential. It was a breeding ground for connections and influence, a stepping stone to fame and prestige.

"I look forward to it," Harry said.

Slughorn beamed, his ample belly shaking with delight. "Excellent, my boy! Excellent! I have no doubt you'll do great things at Hogwarts. And remember," he added, "my door is always open. If you ever need anything, any guidance, any opportunities, don't hesitate to come to me."

Harry nodded. "I'll consider it, sir."

"Bravo! Well then, Harry," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts. I expect great things from you."

"Thank you, Professor," he replied politely. "I appreciate your time."

Slughorn waved a dismissive hand. "Think nothing of it, my boy. Now, off you go. I'm sure your fellow Slytherins are eager to get to know you better."

Harry nodded, escaping the cloying atmosphere of Slughorn's office with a sense of relief. As he made his way back to the Slytherin common room, the sound of raised voices jolted him from his thoughts. He ducked into a darkened alcove, he saw the reason for the disturbance, his attention riveted on the scene unfolding before him. Bellatrix Black and Rabastan Lestrange were locked in a heated argument, their faces inches apart, their voices cutting through the silence of the corridor.

Bellatrix's face was contorted in a mask of fury, her dark eyes blazing with an intensity that made Harry's breath catch in his throat. She stood nose-to-nose with Rabastan, whose own expression was a blend of frustration and barely restrained anger; his jaw was clenched and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. He leaned closer to her, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Bella, you know my family expects certain things from me, and by extension, you. You have to consider the future, the legacy you and Rodolphus will-"

"My family's position is already strong!" Bellatrix spat back, her lips pulled back in a sneer. "We're Blacks! I certainly do not need your imbecile brother to secure my place in the world!"

Rabastan's eyes flashed with anger, his voice rising. "Careful, Bella. That sounds awfully close to dissension," he snapped. "Besides, you shouldn't be naive. Something's coming, something big. You want to be on the right side, with the right people..."

Harry strained to hear the rest of Rabastan's words as his voice dropped to a low murmur, lost in the depths of the alcove. Whatever he said, it clearly did not impress Bellatrix.

"What?" she hurled the word like a curse, her voice filled with a venomous disdain. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Harry watched the exchange with fascination. What did Lestrange mean by something big?

"You're being selfish," Rabastan accused, his voice hardening. "You're throwing away everything our families could have together. This is bigger than your feelings."

Rabastan said something else before jabbing his finger towards Bellatrix and walking stood stock still for a moment, then yelled: "Real mature, Lestrange. That was really befitting of a prominent pure-blood family I'm meant to marry into!"

The echo of Rabastan's retreating footsteps faded, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Harry watched as Bellatrix remained frozen in place, her chest heaving. He couldn't stay hidden here forever and steeled himself. His soft cough broke the stillness, and Bellatrix's head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise, then narrowing with suspicion. From the shadows of the alcove, Harry emerged.

"Sayre. Were you listening?" Bellatrix demanded, sharp and accusatory. The vulnerability she had briefly displayed vanished, replaced by the familiar cold arrogance.

Harry raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I wasn't eavesdropping," he assured her, his voice carefully neutral.

Bellatrix studied him for a moment, her gaze piercing and unyielding. "I'm going to warn you just this once, as you're new. I don't know what was tolerated at Durmstrang, but it's not wise to pry into other people's business, Sayre," she warned. "Especially not mine."

She turned on her heel and strode away, her every movement radiating an air of haughty indifference. Harry waited until she had left before he let out a lungful of air. He needed to get away from her, to clear his head. He couldn't afford to lose control. Not when so much was at stake.

He found a quiet corner of the castle, leaning against a cold stone wall as he tried to steady his breathing. He closed his eyes. I'll make things right, he vowed silently. I won't let her hurt anyone else.

With renewed determination, he straightened his shoulders and turned back towards the common room. He had a task to complete. And he wouldn't let Bellatrix Black stand in his way.

---

The echoing clang of breakfast dishes and the boisterous chatter of Hogwarts students filled the Great Hall as Harry, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired, shuffled towards the Slytherin table. His encounter with Bellatrix the day before had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he couldn't shake the feeling of her dark eyes boring into him.

The hall buzzed with the energy of a new school year, the banners of the houses fluttering proudly above the long wooden tables. As Harry approached, he spotted Vince and Linda waving him over with wide grins. A funny feeling, almost like relief, washed over Harry as he settled into the seat opposite them.

"Morning, Sayre," Vince greeted cheerfully. "Sleep well?"

"Not really," Harry admitted, rubbing his tired eyes. "I had some proper weird dreams."

"You do look terrible," said Linda as her eyes raked him over, her chin propped up by her hand.

"Er - thanks?"

"Don't mind Linda," Lenny said as he arrived, sliding into the seat next to Harry. "She gets up extra early to tart herself up."

"Oh, shut up you - not all of us want to look like we've been frolicking with dirty Muggles!" laughed Linda.

Harry froze at the casual racism from Linda. He felt a flush creep up his neck, unsure how to respond.

Vince rolled his eyes. "Ignore her, Lenny mate. She's just trying to wind you up. Besides," he lowered his voice, "you wouldn't believe the lengths she goes to to get her hair that straight."

Linda snorted, tossing her sleek, blonde hair over her shoulder. "Some of us have standards, Vince. Unlike certain people who look like they've just stumbled out of a troll's cave."

"Try sleeping more and getting rid of those handbags under your eyes."

"Hey! I'll have you know I get plenty of beauty sleep!

Harry, still feeling uneasy about Linda's earlier comment, forced a small smile. "I'm sure I'll sleep better as time goes on."

"Ah - the first-night jitters," said Vince with a knowing chuckle. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. So, what do you think of Hogwarts so far? Bit different from Durmstrang, eh?"

Harry nodded, reaching for a cup of coffee. "Definitely different. The castle's amazing, though. And the food's not bad either. What time did you get up?"

"Early," said Vince brightly. "I do so hate to let the day waste away. Plus breakfast is always good."

"Swot," Lenny muttered. Linda chuckled as Vince playfully threw a bread roll at Lenny.

Harry took a sip as he looked around the Slytherin table. He felt like an imposter, a fraud, a wolf in sheep's clothing. He was surrounded by pure-blood elitists, some future Death Eaters, the very people he had spent his life fighting against. And yet, here he was, pretending to be one of them, a Slytherin. Vince didn't appear to be too bad, but he kept company with the likes of Linda and Lenny, whose surnames were synonymous with Death Eaters twenty years on.

"That's the stuff," Harry muttered as he put down the cup and reached for a buttered crumpet.

"I'm glad, because you'll need the energy," said Vince as he filled his plate with a mountain of sausages and eggs. "Big day ahead. Got Charms first, then Potions, both with 'Puffs. You all good?"

Harry grimaced. "Not particularly. Had rather an interesting encounter last night."

Vince leaned in, his face evidently curious. "Oh?" he questioned, eager for gossip. "Do tell. Was it Filch? A ghost?"

Harry grimaced. "Nothing quite so exciting, I'm afraid. Just a bit of a disagreement with a Slytherin."

"Who?" Vince pressed, his eyes widening. "Don't tell me you've already managed to make an enemy here."

Harry hesitated, glancing around the table. He wasn't sure it was a good idea if he mentioned Bellatrix, especially given the tension he had witnessed between her and Rabastan the day before.

Harry shrugged, taking another sip of coffee to buy himself some time. "It's nothing serious," he mumbled, though he couldn't help but remember the intensity in Bellatrix's eyes.

"Oh, come on, Sayre," said Linda, leaning forward. "Spill the beans. Was it Lestrange? Or maybe that arrogant prat, Avery?"

"A Veela?" Lenny piped up.

"Oh, don't be so disgusting," said Linda, her face twisted in her distaste. "Honestly, some people have no sense of decorum. Besides, idiot, who do you know in Slytherin who is a Veela?"

Harry hid a smile. He had to admit, he was enjoying the camaraderie and the playful banter that flowed easily between his dorm-mates. Before anyone could answer, however, a hostile voice cut through the air.

"Sayre!"

Harry turned to see Rabastan approaching him with a posse, Avery among them. He took a bite from the crumpet. Linda and Lenny tensed up as Vince ate another forkful of eggs.

"Heard you had a run-in with Black last night," said Rabastan, his words dripping with malice. "What'd she want with you?"

Harry met Rabastan's gaze with a cool indifference. "It was a private conversation," he replied smoothly, swallowing his mouthful. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Lestrange."

A few of those around them gave titters at Harry's dismissal of the boy. Lenny was unsuccessfully hiding a smirk. Rabastan bristled. "Don't get cocky, new blood," he warned, stepping closer. "Messing with Black means trouble. Trouble from her and I."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm not afraid of Bellatrix Black," he said steadily, raising his coffee to his mouth. "And I'm certainly not afraid of you."

Harry took a long drink as a hush fell over the surrounding students, their attention drawn to the confrontation. Linda had her hands under the table, Harry guessing that she was holding her wand. Rabastan's friends exchanged nervous glances, sensing the danger in the air.

"You're playing a dangerous game," Rabastan growled, his fists clenching at his sides. "Slytherin isn't like the other houses. We don't tolerate arrogance here."

"And I'm not arrogant," countered Harry calmly. "I'm merely confident in my abilities. Something you seem to lack, Lestrange."

Vince snorted. Rabastan shot a look towards him, his face reddened with rage, his veins pulsing in his neck. He took a step forward, his frame casting a shadow over Harry.

"You'll regret those words, Sayre," he hissed. "You'll learn your place soon enough."

Harry didn't flinch. "I'm not worried," he repeated slowly, amused as he spoke to Lestrange like he was an idiot, gesturing at Lestrange with his half-eaten crumpet. "I've faced far worse than you."

And there it was - beneath the bluster and bravado, Rabastan hesitated, his anger momentarily stalled by a flicker of uncertainty. Harry saw it, their peers saw it and Rabastan knew he was now in a position where he could follow through or back down from the confrontation. But he couldn't back down now, not in front of his friends, not in front of the entire Slytherin house.

"We'll see about that," Rabastan muttered, low and menacing. He stalked away, his friends trailing behind him like obedient hounds. Harry watched them go, his smirk widening. Lenny whistled lowly whilst Linda heaved a sigh of relief. She muttered something to Vince as Harry watched the retreating gang. Apparently, Rabastan wasn't willing to tangle with him. He knew that he had made an enemy today, but he also knew that he had earned the respect of some of his fellow Slytherins because of this. He shoved the rest of the crumpet into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, before reaching for his coffee.

A flash of red hair caught his eye across the hall and Harry choked on his crumpet, coughing violently. Lenny clapped him on the back and Harry nodded his thanks as he scanned the Gryffindor table. And then he saw her.

His mother.

Young, vibrant, alive, Lily Evans sat at the Gryffindor table, her emerald eyes sparkling with laughter as she chatted animatedly with Mary McDonald. Harry's breath hitched in his throat, a wave of emotion washing over him so intense it nearly knocked him off his feet. Lily flicked strands of red hair from her face as it creased up in laughter, those green eyes so like Harry's own.

The sight of his mother stirred a deep longing within him, a yearning for the family he had lost, the life he had been denied. He wanted to rush over to her, to wrap her in a hug, to tell her how much he loved her, to warn her of the darkness that lay ahead. But he couldn't. He was a stranger to her, a ghost from a future she couldn't possibly comprehend.

He watched her, memorising every detail of her face, the curve of her smile, the mischievous glint in her eyes when she teased her friends. He wanted to capture this moment, a precious memory of the mother who had loved him, saved him, whom he had never known.

A tear threatened to escape his eyes, and he quickly wiped them, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He raised the cup of coffee to his lips.

"They're scared," said Vince.

Harry startled and looked at him. "Pardon?"

"Lestrange and his ilk - they're scared of you," Vince repeated as he downed his tea. Harry saw Linda nodding in agreement. Vince lifted his wrist, looking at his watch. "You came from Durmstrang - not many are going to fancy their chances against you knowing that. That answers our question on who you tangled with. Come on, we're going to miss Charms if you don't get a move on."

Harry scrambled to finish his coffee and nodded. He slung his bag over his shoulder and followed the others through the throng of nervous first years off to their first class, making his way towards Flitwick's classroom.

Climbing the stairs, they reached it and filed inside. The classroom, adorned with floating candles, was filled with excited chatter from their classmates. The Slytherins and Hufflepuffs sat with their own, and with a jolt, Harry realised Bellatrix and Avery were among the Slytherins gathered already. They took their seats, as the classroom hummed with anticipation. Harry noticed that Vince suddenly seemed nervous. He looked around and could not see why. His focus was drawn towards a dark tangle of hair a few desks down in front of him, and he had to suppress throwing a sneer at the back of Bellatrix's head. He pushed it to the back of his mind when Professor Flitwick, perched atop his stack of books, walked in and beamed at his seventh-year students. Harry saw he didn't look much different from his own time, and his chest ached at seeing another familiar face. "Welcome back class! I trust you all had a good summer break?"

A chorus of 'yes' rang out and Flitwick beamed again.

"Excellent! Today, we delve into one of the most advanced and powerful charms known to wizardkind: the Patronus Charm," Flitwick announced, his voice squeaking with excitement. "A corporeal Patronus is not merely a defensive spell; it is a testament to the strength of your spirit and one of few spells which can protect you from some rather nasty Dark creatures."

Lenny turned to Vince, who was next to Harry. "Wicked!"

"Mr. Nott, please refrain from interrupting. Now, does anyone know what those creatures might be?" Flitwick asked. A few hands went up, including Harry's own.

"Yes, Mr. Sayre?"

"Dementors, sir. The charm acts as a shield against them."

"Excellent, take five points for Slytherin. You are indeed correct and this is the most common use of the Patronus Charm. Does anyone know another?" said Flitwick, his eyes surveying the class.

A few more hands dropped, but two remained. Harry saw they were both Ravenclaws and was unsurprised. As he turned to focus back to Flitwick, he saw Avery glaring at him, before whispering something to another Slytherin - Mulciber - next to him.

"Yes, McDermott?"

"A lethifold, sir. The Patronus Charm can work against them too."

"Well done! Take five points for Hufflepuff," beamed Flitwick. "Now, this charm is advanced magic. I would expect very few of you to be able to complete it successfully, for a full Patronus Charm is not just a shield, but a guardian which generally takes the shape of the animal. You may suspect the animal, but you will never truly know what form your Patronus will take until you succeed in conjuring it.

Patronuses come in two forms: incorporeal and corporeal. An incorporeal Patronus appears as a formless mist, while a corporeal Patronus takes the distinct shape of an animal the caster has a strong affinity for. While easier to cast, the incorporeal Patronus is less powerful than the corporeal one, which requires greater skill to produce."

The class hung on to Flitwick's every word. As Harry looked around, he saw that even Bellatrix appeared to be enraptured, her focus fully on the professor. He saw that Vince was focused on a brunette Hufflepuff girl, who was studiously making notes as Flitwick spoke.

"Those of you who read Charms of Defence and Deterrence as part of your Defence Against the Dark Arts assignments from Professor Bodie last year will be aware of the finer points of being successful with this extraordinary magic. Remember," Flitwick continued, "the key to a successful Patronus is a happy memory, one that fills you with pure joy. Focus on that memory, let it flood you, and then utter the incantation: Expecto Patronum!"

As Flitwick demonstrated the spell, a silver hummingbird fluttered from his wand. The students watched in awe as Flitwick effortlessly controlled the fluttering bird. He then called upon several students to attempt the charm themselves, with varying degrees of success. Some produced wispy, amorphous shapes, while most came up with nothing.

Finally, Flitwick turned to Harry. "Mr. Sayre," he chirped, "would you care to give it a try?"

Harry hesitated. He nodded and gripped his wand tightly, a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. He had cast the Patronus Charm countless times in his own time; there was nothing different now. Flitwick, sensing his apprehension, offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Mr. Sayre. Just focus on a happy memory, and let the magic flow through you."

Harry closed his eyes, searching for a memory that would ignite the charm. His mind flitted through images of his friends, his family. None of them seemed to spark the necessary warmth within him.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the serene waters of the lake. Harry and Padma sat side-by-side on a moss-covered rock, their fingers intertwined. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the giant willow tree they were under, its branches swaying in a silent dance.

"It's beautiful here," Padma whispered, her voice soft.

Harry squeezed her hand. "It is," he agreed, gaze fixed on her radiant face. "But not as beautiful as you."

Padma blushed, a shy smile gracing her lips. "You're always so cheesy," she teased, but her eyes sparkled with affection.

Harry leaned closer, his breath brushing against her cheek. "Only for you," he whispered, his voice husky.

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the delicate curve of her jawline. He leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a tender kiss. Padma responded eagerly, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him closer. The world around them faded away, leaving only the warmth of their embrace and the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore.

As they broke apart, breathless and smiling, Harry rested his forehead against hers. "I love you, Padma," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

"I love you too, Harry," Padma replied, her eyes shining with happiness.

A warmth spread through him, a bittersweet ache that was both joyful and painful. He focused on the memory, letting it fill him.

"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, his voice ringing with emotion.

A blinding silver light erupted from his wand, taking shape in the air before him. A magnificent stag, its antlers gleaming silver, materialised in the space before him and galloped through the classroom. The students gasped, their eyes wide with astonishment. Harry stared at the stag, his heart swelling with a mix of joy and sorrow. The stag bounded through the room, before pausing in front of Harry. Then, with a final graceful bow, it vanished into shimmering motes of silver light. He looked up to see Professor Flitwick staring at him, his expression a mixture of surprise and awe.

"Remarkable, Mr. Sayre," Flitwick said. "A corporeal Patronus at your age and such a beautiful form. Take twenty-five points for Slytherin."

Harry nodded; the bell chimed, signalling the end of class. The students gathered their belongings and filed out of the classroom heading towards their next classes and free periods. As Harry left the classroom, Vince, Linda and Lenny fell into step beside him.

"That was amazing!" Vince exclaimed. A group of Ravenclaw fourth years melted around them as they made their way towards their next class.

Harry smiled weakly as they went down a set of stairs. "I was unfortunate enough to come across a Dementor or two a few years back. Necessity made for a harsh teacher."

Vince's eyes widened. "A Dementor? But how? Most of them are at Azkaban and as far as I know, Durmstrang doesn't have any on the payroll."

"It's a long story," Harry said as he hooked his bag higher on his shoulder. They scooted along the wall as they passed a corner, the Bloody Baron engaged in an animated conversation with the Fat Friar. Walking through ghosts physically wasn't a problem; if anything, it only felt cold and a weird sensation of being covered in something slime-like. However, Harry thought it was just rude.

"You know, Sayre, you're full of surprises. Mugging off Lestrange, conjuring a Patronus, previously facing off Dementors-" Lenny's voice was infected with a playful mocking before he was cut off.

The corridor ahead echoed with gasps and jeers. Harry and Vince turned to each other before hurrying. As Harry rounded the corner, his heart pounding in his chest, a scene of utter chaos greeted him: James Potter and Sirius Black, wands raised high, their faces contorted in gleeful malice, were dangling a hapless Severus Snape upside down by his ankles, his robes flapping around his ankles like bat wings. Snape's greasy hair hung limply towards the floor, his face a mask of rage as he struggled futilely against the invisible force holding him captive.

The sight of James and Sirius stopped Harry in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. It was like a punch to the gut, a wave of disbelief and a bone-deep sadness washing over him. There they were, his father and godfather, frozen in time, young and vibrant, their laughter echoing through the corridor. James, with his messy black hair and wide grin, the spitting image of Harry himself. Sirius, radiating a reckless charm, his grey eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint that Harry knew all too well.

For a fleeting moment, everything else melted away, and Harry was transported back to fifteen again, listening to the stories he had heard countless times from Remus and Sirius about the Marauders and their legendary pranks and antics. He remembered the photos in the album Hagrid had gifted him and the ache of loss that had haunted his entire life. And now, here they were, in the flesh, living and breathing, a tangible reminder of the family he had been denied, the life he could have had if not for Voldemort.

His joy and elation at seeing them died, replaced by a sickening wave of disgust. He watched as James and Sirius picked on Snape, their voices filled with a casual cruelty that Harry knew all too well. It was like watching a twisted mirror image of his own childhood tormentors, Dudley and his gang, their sneering faces and gleeful cruelty now reflected in the features of his father and godfather.

He felt a profound disconnect at the scene and a sense of betrayal twisted in his gut. Right now, they weren't the Marauders he knew from stories and memories, the playful pranksters who everyone had made them out to be. Snape was no saint, but this was wrong. The sense-memory of a scene within Snape's pensieve flashed across Harry's mind. He couldn't stand idly by while his father and godfather, the men he had idolised for so long, tormented the man who would one day become someone he respected. A man who, despite his flaws and even if he was a greasy-haired, ill-tempered git, deserved better than this.

A small crowd had gathered around the three boys. Harry had seen and been part of enough scuffles in his time at Hogwarts to know that they were eager for a fight, from the fervent whispers and laughter of the growing mob as they crowed and whooped.

"Enough!" he snapped, cutting through the raucous laughter like a knife. James and Sirius turned, surprised at the interruption.

"Ah - Pinner," Sirius said with a smirk.

"Black," Vince replied coolly. "Up to your same old antics, I see."

Sirius gave a bark of laughter, devoid of all mirth as he held his wand loosely. "And you're here to help get Snivellus down, I suppose. Here I thought you were alright for a snake. At least Rosier and Nott have their heads screwed on right."

Vince shrugged, before inclining his head towards Harry. "Not just me, boys."

Cool grey and warm hazel eyes snapped towards Harry. He fought hard to keep the sudden blush rising to his cheeks.

"Who are you?" James questioned, his wand still trained on the flapping Snape, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

Sirius answered for him. "It's Sayre, the Durmstrang transfer, remember? It makes sense he's trying to protect Snivellus. They're probably up to their eyeballs together in the Dark Arts."

James' face twisted into something akin to disgust. "No surprise you ended up in Slytherin then. I know you're new here, Sayre, so I'll cut you some slack. This is between Snape and us, so you'd do well to move on."

Harry's anger boiled over. He couldn't stand by and watch this any more. He stepped forward, his own wand slipping into his hand. Apparently James and Sirius weren't opposed to publicly humiliating other students nor to being complete berks. He noticed that Vince, despite saying little, had drawn his wand covertly and held it at his own side. Linda and Lenny were watching from the sidelines. Harry hoped it would not come to a fight; he had no desire to duel his father and godfather.

"Leave Snape alone," Harry demanded. "Haven't you got something better to do?"

"Aww, look at the noble Slytherin, defending Snivellus," sneered Sirius. "What's the matter, Sayre? Afraid we'll ruin your little Dark Arts get-togethers? Bore off, it's just a bit of fun."

"That's the problem Black, he's one of ours," said Harry testily, remembering the comments from Lenny on the train about Slytherin solidarity, "and it's not funny to me."

"Oh, for Merlin's saggy left-" James began, but Harry cut him off.

"Put him down."

"Oh?" Sirius mocked. "And what are you going to do about it, Sayre? Hex us? Don't make me laugh. Besides, it's no less than the greasy git deserves; he should get a taste of his own medicine."

"Black, stop being a prick. You heard Harry; put Snape down," said Vince.

Before anyone could say anything else, Snape managed to fish his wand from the pockets of his robes and brandished it at James. "Confr-"

Sirius was faster: "Expelliarmus!"

Snape's wand went flying into Sirius' hand before he flicked it again, binding Snape with a gag. "Uh-uh, Snivvy, don't think you're go-"

Harry raised his wand, the tip glowing. "I wasn't asking," he said through gritted teeth.

Sirius turned to him, eyes alight with malicious satisfaction. Harry's stomach flipped at seeing the look on his face. "Try it, Sayre."

James stepped forward, his own wand now drawn at Harry. "Walk away, lads," he said calmly with a smile on his face. "There's no need for you to get hurt. It's just a bit of fun."

"Fun?" said Harry incredulously, his anger undiminished. "Snape doesn't look like he's having fun and - oh! He's defenceless too!"

"He's is now," said James, gesturing towards Snape's bound wrists. "But he wasn't before. He has - had - a wand. He tried to curse us."

"And you disarmed him before he could even finish the incantation," Harry retorted. "Two against one, and you call that a fair fight?"

James shrugged, his smile fading. "He's Snivellus," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

A girl with short brown hair and a determined fire in her eyes suddenly stepped forward between them, making James halt. Harry recognised her as the girl Vince had been staring at in Charms. "He's right, Potter," she declared, her tone surprisingly authoritative for someone so petite. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for hexing Snape and using magic in the corridors. Let him down."

James and Sirius exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them. James still had his wand pointed at Harry as Sirius' idly drifted over to where the girl stood. Harry noticed that Vince was now actively pointing his wand at Sirius, all mirth vacant from his face.

"Warrender," Sirius growled in warning.

"Don't even think about it, Black," snapped Vince.

The girl's - Warrender's - eyes flashed with something undecipherable towards Vince. She spoke next. "Black, Potter. I know you can be a bit dense but I don't think even you two are stupid enough to attack a prefect. I'll say this once more, unless you want me to involve McGonagall; put Snape down. Now."

The Mexican standoff lasted a second longer. Then, with a reluctant sigh, James flicked his wand and Snape clattered to the ground. He turned to Snape with a scathing look, as Sirius threw Snape's wand back.

"See ya, Snivellus."

He and Sirius then left, though not before they shot a nasty look towards Harry as he did, shouldering their way through the throng of people. Harry shook his head and turned to Snape. The greasy-haired boy scrambled to his feet, his face pale and his dark eyes furious, filled with a mixture of humiliation and resentment.

"Thank you," Snape mumbled, his voice barely audible. He cast a venomous glare at retreating forms of his tormentors before scurrying away, his robes billowing behind him.

"Right everyone - the show's over. Hurry to your lessons unless you want me to take more points from you," the girl said. The crowd of students moved with urgency, not keen to be the reason why their houses would be losing points.

The girl turned to Harry, a warm smile spreading across her face. "You're a rare one, Sayre," she said. "Not many people would stick up for Snape."

Harry shrugged, his heart still pounding from the confrontation as he put his wand away. "It was the right thing to do. Snape is one-"

"Of yours, yes, of course - that famed Slytherin solidarity. I'm Penny, by the way," the girl continued, extending her hand. "Penny Warrender. Hufflepuff, seventh year prefect."

Harry shook her hand. "Harry Sayre," he replied. "Slytherin, also seventh year. Though you already knew that."

They let each other go and Harry didn't notice the way that Penny was very much not looking at Vince, nor Vince's sudden nervousness. Linda and Lenny still hung back, watching the scene unfold.

"Hey, Pen," Vince said softly, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his robes as he shifted on the spot.

Penny's face hardened as she sent a scathing look his way. "Don't 'hey Pen' me, Vincent," she said icily as she glared at Vince.

Vince's face fell. "Oh come on Pen, don't be like that," he mumbled.

Harry raised an eyebrow, sensing the tension between them. "Is everything alright?" he asked, glancing between the two.

Vince shrugged, avoiding Penny's gaze. "Yeah, everything's fine," he muttered.

Penny snorted. "Fine? You call what you did fine!?"

Vince's cheeks reddened. "It wasn't like that!" he protested. "You've got to believe me Pen, I wouldn't do that to-"

"Of course you wouldn't," snarked Penny, her arms crossed. "Just like you didn't all those other times."

Vince opened his mouth to argue, but Harry cleared his throat, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "Look, why don't we all just go to Potions together?" he suggested, hoping to diffuse the situation. Linda and Lenny had already started walking.

Penny hesitated, then sighed. "Fine," she said grudgingly. "But don't think I've forgotten, Pinner."

With that, they headed towards the Potions classroom. Penny stalked ahead, Vince hung back, and Harry was left uncomfortably caught up in the middle. There was obvious history between the two, but neither seemed willing to elaborate on it. Harry caught Lenny's eyes, but the boy vigorously shook his head.

They entered the Potions classroom, the dimly lit dungeon with rows of ancient wooden desks and shelves lined with dusty ingredients. Bellatrix was already seated at her cauldron, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration. Upon seeing Harry and Penny enter together, a flicker of annoyance crossed her face, but it was smothered so quickly Harry thought he had imagined it. As he moved through the classroom, he heard Bellatrix call Penny.

"Look who decided to grace us with their presence," she drawled, dripping with sarcasm. "Found yourself another toy, Warrender?"

Penny tensed. "Save it, Black," she said coldly. "Why don't you focus on spells to flay Muggles or whatever misery you like to inflict upon others?"

Before Bellatrix could say anything in return, a familiar face entered the room. Professor Slughorn, his round belly straining against his emerald green waistcoat, bustled between the tables, his booming voice cutting off any further conversation.

"Let's settle down, class," said Slughorn, moustache quivering as he moved with surprising speed towards the front of the class. "Everyone find your seats - Sayre, take the one next to Black."

Harry jolted as Bellatrix turned to him with a predatory grin. Linda sat next to a Hufflepuff boy whilst Lenny went to a desk with another Hufflepuff. Harry hesitated, legs moving slowly towards Bellatrix before Penny spoke up.

"I was already planning to sit there, Professor Slughorn," she said softly. "Pinner has a seat spare."

Slughorn looked up and saw Penny's dazzling smile. "Yes, I suppose that will be fine. Sayre, off to Pinner - let's see if you can help his lamentable abilities."

Harry breathed an internal sigh of relief and turned to Penny, mouthing his thanks. Penny crinkled her eyes. "Don't worry about it, Sayre," she warned, her voice low. "Black's poison. Have fun with Pinner, though."

With no small amount of gratitude, Harry went to Vince's spot and settled at a table near the back of the room. Harry, however, found it difficult to focus on the intricate instructions for brewing the potion. It wasn't helped by Vince fidgeting nervously. His eyes kept darting towards Penny every few seconds, his usual carefree demeanour replaced by a sheepish anxiety.

Finally, unable to bear the awkward silence any longer, Harry leaned towards Vince and whispered, "What's going on between you two? You've been acting strange."

Vince let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. "It's a long story," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the din of the classroom.

"We've got time," Harry assured him, gesturing towards the simmering potion before them. "Slughorn won't be checking on us for a while."

Vince hesitated, then relented with a shrug. "Alright," he began. "Pen and I... well, we used to be a thing. Last year, sixth year. We were practically inseparable."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Used to be?"

Vince nodded glumly. "Yeah. We had a massive falling out. It was - ah - complicated."

"How so?" asked Harry.

Vince shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You've probably noticed that Pen and I are a little awkward with each other, and that she doesn't want to talk to me.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I've noticed."

Vince continued. "Well, let's just say that Pen also has a bit of a temper. And she might have seen a girl try it on with me in Hogsmeade, and assumed that I-"

"Cheated?" Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Did you?"

Vince shook his head vehemently. "No! Of course not! I would never do that. It was just a misunderstanding. Pen saw me, how it looked and jumped to conclusions."

Harry frowned. "That's rough. Did you try to talk to her about it?"

"Countless times," said Vince, his words heavy with frustration. "But she won't listen. She's convinced I'm a lying, cheating scumbag."

"Ouch," Harry winced. "That's gotta hurt."

Vince sighed. "It does. I really liked her, Harry. We were... Well, now we're not even friends. We were good together. And now it's all messed up."

Harry felt a pang of sympathy for his new acquaintance. He knew firsthand the pain of lost love. But he wasn't sure what advice to give. He had never been particularly good at relationships himself, Padma notwithstanding. Harry studied Vince's face, seeing the genuine hurt and confusion in his eyes. "She's just hurt, Vince," he offered gently. "She probably felt betrayed, and it's going to take time for her to heal."

"I know," said Vince, his voice heavy with frustration. "Look, if it's alright with you, I'd rather not talk about it any more."

Harry watched as Vince turned back to the potion, his thoughts clearly still consumed by Penny. He turned back to his own potion as Slughorn came round to check on them, Harry meticulously measuring out ingredients, his movements precise and focused.

He understood Vince's longing - he felt the same for Padma. And as the potion simmered in the cauldron, a wave of sadness washed over Harry as he wondered if he would ever be able to go back. He took the small pewter dish full of dried earwigs, their brittle bodies crunching softly under his knife as he began slowly dicing them. His thoughts drifted to Padma. What would she be doing right now? Was she mourning him? Trying to find him? Or had she given up?

Harry shook his head, forcing the thoughts away. It wouldn't do to dwell on the possibilities, on the what-ifs and maybes. He finished dicing the earwigs and added them to his potion, the mixture bubbling and frothing before turning the colour of aubergine. He stirred it carefully, his movements precise and deliberate, a stark contrast to the inner turmoil of his mind, troubled with the thoughts of those left behind.

A/N: Happy New Year to you all. Thank you again for reading. Please feel free to leave a review.