Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry, to his surprise, discovered that he was actually sort of liking this new arrangement.

Mrs. Figgs was a very odd woman, no doubt about that, and her house smelled horribly, but she treated him nicely. Definitely a ton better than the Dursleys. She gave him cake- it tasted funny, but hey, it was something- and let him watch TV. Her cats tried to maul off his face a couple of times, but well...

Compared to being stuck with his 'Aunt' Marge, or locked in the cupboard? This was paradise.

Maybe, he thought hopefully, if he was quiet and well-behaved enough, the woman would be willing to babysit him some time in the future. It was worth a shot, and there was no way Harry would waste the opportunity of a few future peaceful afternoons.

When Mrs. Figgs informed him that something urgent came up and she was absolutely needed somewhere, thus having to take him with her, since it couldn't wait until the Dursleys came back...Harry was absolutely delighted, at first. Dursley-free time and no horrible smells or murderous cats!

But when his babysitter started muttering something about a Mundungus, and a Ministry of Magic, and misuse of Muggle articrafts, whatever all that was supposed to mean...His feelings were mixed. It all sounded terribly interesting, and he could feel curiousity nagging at him, almost going so far as to ask a question. But, it also seemed unusual, abnormal, and if his relatives found out he was even indirectly involved in something out of the norm, it probably wouldn't end well.

He was really curious though, and it wasn't exactly like he could just choose not to go...Of course, his relatives wouldn't care much about that if they found out, but he couldn't only hope that they wouldn't.

The woman guided him into a phone booth, only it was nothing like a phone booth because a voice came from it and Mrs. Figgs actually had a conversation with it, even though no one was there and then the not-so-phone-booth started going down into the ground like it was an elevator or something! If it was an elevator, why would people make it look like a phone booth?

The place they arrived to was seriously something else- the oddest building he'd ever seen. Harry was completely awestruck.

Mrs. Figgs gave him a glance and sighed. "Suppose I'll have to get someone to obliviate you when I'm done here. That utterly ridiculous Mundungus Fletcher! Stay here for a moment Harry, I'll be right back..."

Harry frowned as she walked off with another sigh and a shake of her head, to talk quietly to a man standing a few feet away. He glanced around, confused, at the strange building and the even stranger people running around- wearing very colourful robes and waving sticks.

He wanted to see more. He was curious about things, always had been, as much as he tried not to, but...this...it was more than curiousity. It was like a tug. Like something was there, calling for him and just like that, all thoughts of the Dursleys and the cupboard and even Mrs. Figgs were gone, and he was only half-conscious of his own feet dragging him forward.

He crept away from Mrs. Figgs soundlessly, a skill he'd been forced to obtain to avoid...rather unpleasant incidents, but none of that mattered at the moment. Either none of the odd people saw him wandering, or they didn't really feel like doing anything about it, because no one attempted to stop Harry's exploration.

He somehow reached a long corridor, with a black door at its end. His head tilted to the side in wonder and he headed towards it, feeling inexplicably magnetized by the door. It opened before Harry could even touch the doorknob, and he found himself in a big, round room, in which everything was pitch black; the floor and ceiling too.

There were about a dozen doors in the room, all identical, while between them candles with blue flames were burning.

Before Harry could take a step further, the walls were suddenly spinning, making him feel naseous. He'd closed the door behind him the moment he entered the room, and so now he had no idea where he came from. But somehow, driven by instinct perhaps, he still knew where he wanted to go.

This time the door also opened without a touch, and Harry was greeted with beautiful, entrancing dots of light, flickering and dancing in the air. He wanted to chase after them, sort of, but he had to continue, so he slipped between various desks and bookshelves in the room- clocks on all of them, and some clocks floating as well.

He found the clocks' ticking sound to be the most soothing thing in the world, filling him with serenity and happiness. Maybe if it wasn't for the mysterious magnetism- the need to go forward- he would have been content to stay there, motionless, forever, just listening to the clocks and watching the dancing dots.

His heart was fluttering excitedly in his chest, beating in sync with the clocks. Whatever it was he needed to find- and God, he needed it like he'd never needed anything before- he was getting closer.

Harry's hand were shaking as he pushed open the last door, the only one he had to physically open, breath coming unevely out of his mouth.

It closed behind him.

This was it.

The room was huge and magneficent, like an ancient altar. There were rounds and rounds of shelves, small glass orbs on them, looking very old and very dusty. Harry shivered, the air in the room being unexpectedly chilly.

Harry...

His name was whispered softly, urging him on, the whispers growing stronger as he went. encouraging him, and-

Abruptly, he came to a halt, gaping at a small, beautiful orb right on the shelf right in fron of him. It was the source of the thrilling, delicious whispers. He could feel it.

Harry couldn't reach it, he was too short, so he began climbing up the shelf, breaking some other orbs in the process. They didn't matter.

He paused again, as he saw the yellow label just below his orb.

"The Dark Lord and Harry Potter," he read slowly, his voice a confused whisper.

What was a dark lord? What did it have to do with him?

Harry...

It was calling for him again, and Harry was happy to comply. His hand wrapped around the pleasantly warm orb and he exhaled sharply.

Thiswasitthiswasitthiswasit.

He let go of the shelf and fell, but miraculously, was not hurt as he hit the ground.

"My name is Harry Potter," he breathed out, not knowing why, heart pounding in his chest.

The orb glowed brightly, and then a voice spoke:

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...

And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power that the Dark Lord knows not...

And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live will the other survives...

The spell was broken.

Fear, absurd fear, cold as ice fear, gripped Harry tightly, and the orb's effetc on him was gone. He let go of it with a gasp, watching it crash to the ground and shatter. Then he ran.

He ran faster than he ever had before to escape Dudley or Vernon, faster than he knew he was capable of running. Maddening, blinding, absolute terror consumed him.

He didn't know what he was running from and he didn't know where he was going, the madness only leaving him as he reached the room of clocks again and, not watching were he was going, crashed into a shelf full of them.

Panting heavily, he watched the shelf shake and collaspe to the ground, he watched the clocks break, one after the other. His surroundings changed. Images flickered in front of his eyes, but they were gone before he could make out what they were- just a bright blur of colours- and then he was flying.

Harry landed abrubtly, legs bucking from the pressure and he fell on his knees. The bright light, sudden and coming in contrast to the darkness of before, brought tears to his eyes.

He blinked several times to adjust.

He was kneeling- well, standing once he'd gotten up- outside of a square building, looking unpleasant at best.

Just out of the gates, right in front of him, was sitting a boy his age, watching him in morbid fascination.

He had a snake wrapped around his shoulders.

The boy was dark-haired, pale, with narrowed blue eyes, and clothes in condition just as horrible as his own.

"H-hi," he croaked out, feeling very small and very timid and very ridiculous under the other's gaze.

The boy eyed him suspisiously. "Who are you? You are not from here."

He shrugged. "...Harry Potter. You? And where is here?"

He felt slightly hesitant to ask the questions, but he'd observed that most people, aside from his relatives, didn't seem to mind them all that much.

"You appeared out of nowhere. I saw you. How did you do that, Harry Potter?" the boy demanded, completely ignoring him.

His tone made Harry gulp, but he did not step backwards. "I don't know. I fell in some clocks."

"What?" the boy blinked at him.

"I don't know, I- uh," Harry sighed. "Nevermind, I'll...just leave."

"Stop him."

At the quietly hissed words, the snake sprung from where it was comfortably resting, and in the blink of an eye, curled itself around Harry's body, like a rope, making movement impossible.

"Let go of me!" Harry exclaimed, instictively struggling against the grip.

The boy's eyes widened, confused, curious, doubting. "You can speak to it, too? How?"

"Talk to it...you mean...you mean it understands our language?" Harry spluttered, just as startled as the other. If not more.

The snake hissed at him angrilly. "Of course not. You are speaking my language, foolish boy."

"What language?"

"You don't think serpents speak English, do you?" the boy drawled, giving him an unimpressed look.

Harry gaped. But he was speaking in English! All three of them were!

"I spoke in a foreign language?" he whispered.

The boy nodded. "That's correct."

"But I don't know foreign languages! How...?"

"You obviously do. Though how, I'd like to know too," the other mused, a gleam in his eyes. "You can appear out of nowhere- you still have to explain that one- and you can talk to snakes. What else can you do, Harry Potter?"

Harry's stomach knotted. It was true, strange things had a tendency to happen around him- he was unsure if he was the one causing them- but to admit that...He couldn't. It was abnormal and freaky and frowned upon, and he really couldn't risk the boy thinking badly of him, what with having a snake that obeyed the other restraining him.

And yet...the boy could speak to snakes as well, like he just discovered he could. He didn't seem disapproving of Harry's ability to do that, or of his sudden appearance. The look he gave Harry was appraising, calcuating...and maybe, somehow, a little bit hopeful.

"What can you do?" he asked quickly, hoping a little bit himself.

The boy hesitated, momentarily. "This, for one."

He focused his gaze on a fallen leaf on the ground, and in a swift motion it was lifted gracefully in the air, floating and spinning around itself.

"Oh wow," Harry murmured appreciatively. "That's amazing!"

The boy beamed, ever so slightly, his lips curling into a smirk. "Well? Can you do that?"

Harry bit his lip, uncertain. Would he be able to do it? Did he want to? It had seemed...impressive when the other did it, but he'd be in so much trouble if anyone discovered. Then again, the only one who could see him was the boy, and he didn't seem to consider these abilities a bad thing.

"I'm not sure," he replied, frowning. "But things happen, you know? Once I changed my shirt's colour, just by looking at it, and I fell from some place high without getting hurt...and well, I got here, too. I guess I can try?"

The boy nodded slightly, pushing the leaf to float up to Harry and fall by his feet. And suddenly, Harry burst out in a careless, happy laughter because it somehow seemed perfectly natural then that he should be able to do it- and sure enough, seconds later the leaf was in the air again, directed by Harry's will this time.

Amazing. This was amazing.

He was in a Dursley-free place, with a boy his own age, who didn't completely dismiss him or consider him a freak, who shared this strange and wonderful ability with him. It was almost like having a friend.

"So, what's your name?" he asked with a sheepish grin, beaming at the other boy.

A thoughtful pause and then, he opened his mouth to reply-

"Tom! Just how did you sneak out again? We locked everything!"

The boy- Tom- watched with a slightly irritated grimace as a flustered, clearly irritated woman exited the building and stormed towards them. Tom gestured for Harry to follow him, unlocked the gates with a flick of his hand, and slipped through them.

"Through the door," Tom replied solemnly.

She scowled. "That's impossible, you couldn't have- who is this?" She turned to Harry. "How did you get here, boy? Who are you?"

"...I'm Harry. Hi," he squeaked nervously.

"He fell in clocks," Tom added, very matter-of-factly.

"Clocks? Tom, I swear, if you had something to do with this...!"

"I'm just as confused as you are, Madame," he assured her, but she still looked incredulous.

"It's not his fault," Harry defended him quickly. "I just- er- got lost. Sorry. I'll leave."

"But you're still lost, no? Madam, surely you will not let him wander off? He is in need of help, and by the looks of it homeless and without a guardian. Logic suggests that he should stay," Tom pointed out.

Harry blinked. Stay? Stay where? He couldn't just stay in a foreign house- couldn't put them in so much trouble for him, it wasn't their fault that he ended up there. But even though Tom seemed to live in that building with the woman, he called her madam, so it appeared like it wasn't his home either. What exactly was this place?

"...Fine. Tom- to your room. Don't leave again. Boy- with me."

"Yes, Ma'am," they answered simultaneously, but the chilly smile Tom sent him behind the woman's back made him doubt the boy's sincerity.

Chapter Text

Harry didn't want to leave.

The place, he had discovered, was an orphanage, and while he'd never heard a good word about them...Tom was there, and that snake they could both talk to, and if he popped back in Privet Drive right now things wouldn't be good. His disappearance was only bound to displease the Dursleys if it ended.

So, when the woman asked him where was his home, and who his parents were...well, he didn't really lie. He said that his parents were dead, which was true, and he said that he didn't have a home, which was also true, because Privet Drive had never been one. And so what if he carefully avoided mentioning he actually had guardians, unpleasant as they may be...

At that, he was left to sit on his own in a small office, while the woman- whose name, he learned, was Mrs. Cole and she also happened to be the matron- went off to make arrangements.

Harry couldn't believe this was really happening, that they were letting him stay so easily. With each passing second, he was again and again surprised that Vernon hadn't stormed in yet, face flushing red with anger, to snatch him away and lock him in the cupboard.

He sat there nervously, posture turning rigid and eyes flickering to the door at the slightest sound. When it did open, his heart actually stopped for a second, freezing in fear- but it was just Tom.

Harry was inexplicably glad; and not just because of the millions of questions he wanted to ask the boy.

"What-" he started, but Tom waved him off.

"You lied," he stated bluntly. "You do have a place to go back to, and the thought of it scares you. How bad can it be, for you to prefer to be here?"

"Please don't tell," Harry pleaded quickly. "I just- I don't want to go back- and I want to know- I mean, what we did, and the snake-"

He didn't know how to properly explain it. But Tom was similar to him in a way no one else had ever been and Harry had to find out more.

Tom nodded, seeming to understand that, somehow. "They'll let you stay, probably. Mrs. Cole is coming back. We'll talk later."

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Harry was given a room of his own; small, true, but it was an actual room with a bed, a desk, a wardrope and a window- not a dark, suffocating cupboard. He didn't have to curl into himself to fit the bed, and he could actually see outside.

The place's rules were explained to him, he was given some bread and cheese, and then left to retreat to his room for the night, since it was already late.

He lay on his bed, eyes wide open and a grin on his face.

Slowly, the fear of being discovered and dragged back to Privet Drive started to lessen- because honestly, the Dursleys were most likely to thank their luck for losing him, rather than trying to find him- so when the very much locked door opened again, he wasn't scared, knowing who it was. Tom told him they'd talk later, after all.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" Harry asked eagerly, astonished with how far these...abilities went.

Surprise flickered in the boy's face, then his expression quickly turned blank. "I wonder the same thing."

At first, Harry had no clue what he wad doing- other than the flying leaf, he'd never made things happen intentionally. But Tom was a good teacher, as far as Harry could judge, albeit not the most patient one.

It took them the biggest part of the night, and Harry was yawning all through the next day, not making the brightest of beginnings in his new living place- but he actually did it, and it was absolutely worth it.

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If someone asked Harry to pinpoint the moment he and Tom Riddle became friends, he wouldn't be able to give an answer.

Maybe they just were, right from the beginning, when Harry fell in front of the other boy. Maybe it happened when Harry first saw what terrible things Tom could do, along with the amazing ones, and despite being angry at the other boy, didn't cringe away from him like everyone else. Maybe it happened the first time someone tried to bully Harry, and Tom had them running off and never so much looking at either of them again.

He didn't know. He had already been thinking of Tom as a friend long before he realized it, long before either of them admitted such a thing.

Their friendship would probably seem very odd to him, if he had others to compare it with, but even like that, he probably wouldn't have minded. He'd slowly come to embrace the something in himself and Tom that made them different and odd in comparison to others.

There were problems, of course, because problems just have their special way of worming into any situation and complicating it- perhaps to remind us why exactly we so much appreciate the good aspects of it.

Due to being very similar to Tom (who wasn't generally liked), but for less agressive and prone to take revenge, all those who had something against his friend decided it was a good idea to take it out on Harry instead, since Tom himself was untouchable. Of course, that all stopped when Tom became aware of it and they somehow had accidents that got them stuck in their beds for several weeks.

Also, again due to Tom's infame, it was not possible for Harry to even so much think of making other friends. That was perfectly fine though; the one he had was more than enough.

Lastly, it meant that he was many times coaxed by the other to break several rules, something Harry would have been alright with, really, if it wasn't for the fact that he wasn't nearly as sneaky as Tom and thus usually got caught. He was improving, though.

And problems or not, Harry was happier than he could have ever imagined himself being.

There were many things about Tom that Harry shouldn't be okay with; the way he automatically looked down at everyone, for one, and the unnecessarily cruel way he dealt with whoever bothered him, for another.

But, well, Harry cared about Tom. And Tom cared about him too, even if he wouldn't say it like Harry did. He had his own way of showing it.

Once, Harry had randomly mentioned that he liked reading, and the very next time Tom snuck away into the night, he returned with a pile of books, all for him. Harry preffered not to think were his friend had gotten them or how, but he was delighted and touched by the gesture anyway.

Other times, he took Harry with him on his midnight strolls; showed him places and told him stories.

Rarely (but it still happened, and that was what counted!), if Tom was cross with someone but Harry didn't want them hurt, his friend would comply. That, of course, would be accompanied by a frustrated sigh and a sour mood for several days.

They bickered and fought sometimes, like when Tom decided that hey, it's a brilliant idea to hang a kid's rabbit! and equally horrible things. Then Harry would get angry and tell Tom he was overdoing it, and Tom would claim that Harry was just being oversensitive and dramatic.

They wouldn't speak to each other for days, but then Tom would drag him aside, looking at him like he was the most moronic person in the world, and explain the reasoning behind everything he did, somehow making it sound like it was all perfectly logical.

So even if Harry knew he probably shouldn't have been okay with it all, he was. Or at least, he choose to ignore those things he wasn't okay with- because he'd never had a friend before, someone to stand up for him the way Tom did, or joke with him, or bicker with him, or be like him.

He used to hate it, that thing that made him different from everyone else. Now he adored it, because it made him similar to Tom, and Harry knew he wouldn't be so terribly alone again, ever.

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Neither before, nor at his first four years in the orphangae, had Harry ever celebrated his birthday. Logically, the fifth shouldn't be any different.

Therefore, as he was laying awake at 00:01, July 31st, he didn't feel much excitement at the fact he had just turned eleven. What of it? The day was bound to be like any other.

He thought so, at least, until Tom burst through the window, throwing something at his head.

Harry caught it, giving his friend an unimpressed look. "Ever heard of knocking? No, scratch that- ever heard of using doors?"

Tom snorted. "Happy birthday, Harry."

"...What."

"Stop gaping and open your present."

"...You got me something."

"You're rather slow today," Tom commented lightly, looking mildly uncomfortable. "Is it the late hour, or what?"

"Thank you!" Harry all but squealed, and in the blink of an eye, he'd rushed over to his friend to squeeze him into a hug. "Seriously. Thank you. You're amazing."

Tom stiffened. "Of course I am. You can let go now."

Harry grinning sheepishly, pulling away. "Now you seriously have to tell me when your birthday is. It's not right if-"

"Just open the thing, Harry. You can rant about right and wrong later."

Harry huffed, but his grin returned, even brighter, once he unwrapped the present.

"Edgar Allan Poe's poems' collection?" he murmured in fascination, giving a whistle.

Tom smiled. "You seemed to like Tales of Mystery and Imagination well enough, so..."

"It's perfect. Thank you."

"And I actually bought it," his friend informed him.

"Where did you get the money?" Harry asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow.

"I stole them, of course."

"Then how," Harry drawled, resisting the urge to facepalm, "is it different from stealing the book?"

Tom shrugged. "To me, it really isn't. But I thought you might find it less 'immoral', or whatever, since the people I got the money from where ridiculously rich, and the bookstore wasn't."

Right. Because it sure as hell didn't make much of a difference to Tom- but he had to admitted, he really tried everything he could to make this as nice as possible, and damnit, Harry was touched.

And if he felt like hugging Tom again, despite his friend's protest, it was just because he'd never had a nice birthday before, really. Nevermind how terribly comfortable and warm Tom was.

...Did he really just think that? Shit.

"You're horrible," Harry scoffed, averting his eyes to the floor and no his face did absolutely not flush red.

Tom blinked at him. "Either I'm amazing or I'm horrible. Which one is it?"

"You're horribly amazing and amazingly horrible, of course."

"Ah. Makes sense."

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Tom watched in mild amusement his friend, curled up in blankets, his eyes glued on the book.

Really, it was good to know Harry appreciated his gift so much, but even he should have enough logic to understand that two in the morning was not the best time for reading. It was ridiculous, albeit a bit sweet.

"Finished it yet? You've only been reading for two hours," he drawled.

"Hush, I'm in a good part."

"Hmm?"

A bit intrigued- he'd give that to Harry, he had a pretty good taste in poetry and literature- he made his way over to his friend, sprawling out next to him to read as well.

"And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting/ On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door," Tom recited, humming thoughtfully.

"And his eyes have all the seemings of a demon that is dreaming/ And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor," Harry continued.

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted- nevermore!

"Not bad," Tom allowed. "You don't recite horribly, either. Though I'm a bit surprised you like this particular poem- It sounds a bit dark for your tastes..."

Harry shrugged, nonplushed. "It...sounded a bit familiar, actually."

Tom realized the implications easily enough and smirked. "So you're the tired, confused poet and I'm your raven demon? Not a bad metaphor."

"I never said I was reffering to you," Harry countered, looking away, blushing furiously. "Quit being all smug and presumptous, I could mean something else entirely!"

"You could, but your defensive tone suggest otherwise," Tom all but sung out, and his friend raised an eyebrow at the cheerfulness. "My, Harry, your face is a little red. I assume you're getting ill. Maybe you shouldn't leave your window open at night, it's rather chilly outside."

Harry glared at him, promptly throwing a pillow at his head. "I didn't leave it open, it was bloody well closed and you opened it just to show off! Chilly outside? Seriously? It's midsummer!"

Tom laughed, catching the pillow midair and giving it a curious look. His friend was just asking for it. "A pillow fight? No, Harry, you've got it all wrong- that's what girls do at sleepovers. You know, in combination with the fact that-"

This time, it was the poetry book that was thrown at him. Tut, tut. Absolutely no respect for presents. Harry better not expect one next year.

"Oh shut up!" Harry snapped. "Seriously, can you behave in a way that doesn't make people feel inclined to break your neck for just ten minutes?"

"And you accuse me of cruelty," Tom said dryly.

"I said feel inclined to," Harry specified, scoffing. "It's not cruelty if I don't actually do it."

Tom snorted. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, boy scout. Now make room, I'm tired."

Harry made a strangled noise, spluttering. "Wh-what? This is my bed, you know! You can't just...God, you're horrible...And why don't you go to your own room, anyway?!"

Tom ignored him.

It made Harry flustered, so it was a good thing- his friend was incredibly entertaining this way. Besides, it was late and his own room was in the other end of the orphanage, staying here was much more practical.

Chapter Text

Tom waited, somewhat irritably but with a growing interest, for the auburn-haired man in robes to finish his explanation.

He did absolutely not glance smugly at Harry.

Really, this was important! As obvious as it always had been that there was something more to himself and Harry, he was finally, finally discovering what. His entire life was about to change, and it turned out many things weren't quite how he imagined them- he should be curious- he was, terribly so, but-

Well, other things kept popping in his head, irritatingly all revolving around Harry. Like how he'd grin proudly and say, "I told you so." once the man had left, or trying to imagine what his friend was thinking about this right now or whatever.

And really, it was very hard to focus when every ten bloody seconds a new Harry-centric thought flooded his mind!

Damn his moronic friend to hell. And back. Because he obviously wasn't allowed to stay there, or any place that Tom wasn't, for the matter.

It wasn't helping either that he had a sneaky feeling if he had not met Harry, this conversation would be going very differently. This was far greater than he had imagined, and there were so many possibilities...It already was hard to not let his excitement get the best out of him, to not let something slip, but if he hadn't encountered someone like himself before...

In any case, Tom didn't like the Professor, as the man called himself. Maybe it was the fact that he'd set his wardrope on fire, when there had been numerous other, less provoking ways to prove he was magical, or it could be the slightly patronizing, supposedly reassuring tone and expression of the other.

The Professor didn't seem to very much like Tom either, though to his credit- hesitantly given- it wasn't very showing. But there was wariness, obviously, and admittedly that wasn't unexpected with what the matron had presumably told him about Tom.

He was a hypocrit if Tom ever saw one. Idly, he wondered what Harry thought of the man- and damnit, he was thinking about Harry again.

But honestly, Harry was far too trusting of people, and Dumbledore hadn't decided to assault his belongings, and he was a wizard after all, so there was a strong chance his friend would like the man. Tom did not aprove. At all.

Finally, the Professor gave them directions to Diagon Alley- he was not amused by his synonimity with a bartender, of all people- and did them the courtesy of leaving them alone already. Tom scowled after him.

Harry blinked at him. "We haven't started Hogwarts yet and you're already making a Professor your enemy? Really?"

Well, maybe Harry sort of had a point there.

Harry had barely managed to supress a, "Oh shit, Tom what did you do now?" when he was called in his friend's room, where the other was sitting accompanied by a man, who called himself a Professor, and was most probably colour-blind if the robes he was wearing were anything to go by.

When the Professor started talking about magic and a school called Hogwarts...for a milisecond, he wanted to protest that it wasn't possible, that magic didn't exist, and even if it did it had nothing to do with him, but...Well, it actually made sense. The things he and Tom could do, was that magic?

It was astonishing, overwhelming; an entire magical community, where what he and Tom were would not be abnormal and freaky, and so much more to learn about magic, and so many people out there who were magical too and-

To say that it was a lot to take in would be an understatement.

But judging by the fact that Tom and the Professor had somehow managed to dislike each other in less than half an hour, it probably wouldnt't be all rainbows either. And Harry was not ready to make enemies and get in fights before they even started, damnit.

"We haven't started Hogwarts yet and you're already making a Professor your enemy? Really?"

Tom just gave him a shrug. " I don't like that man. Be careful around him."

"You like no one, that doesn't mean they're all out to get us," Harry argued.

"Hello, no one."

"Ha-freaking-ha. Hilarious, Riddle."

They both glared sullenly for a moment, before breaking into grins. Fine, he grinned and Tom gave a smug little smile, but the point remained. Really, Harry doubted he could get worked up if he tried; he felt so delighted and anxious that he could hardly think straight.

Magic. A school of magic. They would be going to a school of magic.

"Don't believe me, Harry?" Tom questioned, sniffing mockingly. "I'm sure I could convince you."

Harry was pretty damn sure of that, too. And while the gleam in Tom's eyes was just a tad bit flustering, it was incredibly satisfying to know he was the exception in his friend's belief that absolutely everyone on the planet was to be sneered at. Even if Tom really shouldn't believe that in the first place...

He gave Tom a coy look. "What, that I'm no one? That would be a bit counterproductive, since you've been trying to convince me I'm special for years."

"And it was just proven to you today," Tom pointed out, slyly. "By the way- I told you so. Therefore, since everyone but you and I are dull and boring, and we are special, it is perfectly reasonable that I dislike everyone but you."

He was not supposed to feel touched by that, damnit.

Harry frowned. "...But I thought we're special because of our abilities- our magic? So that would make other magical people special too?"

And it wasn't like he didn't want them to be, exactly...Of course he'd be delighted to meet all these amazing magical people, and of course he wanted the two of them to be accepted in the magical community, and of course he wanted Tom to see that not everyone was horrible, but...

The idea of someone becoming as special to Tom as he was made him feel like he'd been punched in the stomach.

It was utterly absurd, because he didn't even view himself as something significant, and there probably were tons of greater people out there, and Tom was bloody amazing and he deserved the best, but he was Harry's best friend, damnit.

"Partially," Tom allowed. "They're still nowhere near us, though. No one ever will be."

"You can't know that, you've never met them," Harry argued half-heartedly.

"I know what we are like. And if you even suggest that anyone else could be what we are, I'm going to strangle you with your own blanket."

Startled, Harry realized that Tom must have been having the same uneasy thoughts with him. Despite the icily uttered threat and dangerous flash of his friend's eyes, Harry found himself beaming.

"Point taken. I don't think you'd do it, though. You'd be terribly bored if I died."

"Hmm. Who knows? I could always find a way to bring you back later."

Sadly enough, Harry was pretty sure that Tom wasn't joking at all.

Albus Dumbledore was intrigued by the boys- but he was concerned, too.

Tom Riddle and Harry Potter.

Tom had spent his entire life at the orphanage, and Harry had mysteriously appeared there five years ago, the matron had informed him. The former had been a flat-out antisocial and isolated child, but at the latter's appearance they had immediately formed an unusual friendship.

He noticed the way the matron stiffened and hesitated at the word 'friendship', but that was hardly the problem.

The problem was that each boy individually was an enigma, and together...

Both of them were powerful, but Tom seemed more prone to use that power to get his way, with few if any moral restrictions. Aggressive, though he could definitely mask it. The same couldn't be said about Harry. He seemed to be a sweet child, a bit wary and guarded maybe.

And then there was the fact that Harry, clearly a magical child of eleven, had not been in the Hogwarts records. Dumbledore had learned about the boy when talking with the matron about Tom, and he was still unsure just how this had happened. And a Potter? Synonymities were rare to nonexistent in the magical community, and the boy definitely looked like one.

That would have to be looked into.

He was worried, and he was bewildered. Both boys had control of their magic way beyond the average eleven year old magical child, and he wasn't certain at all it would be used correctly, if the two were left to their own devices. He'd given Tom a warning- for he was the cause for the vast majority of unpleasant incidents- but how the boy had taken, it he could only wait and find out.

They influenced each other, that was much clear, and it would be a good thing if only he could find it in himself to believe that Tom would be positively influenced by Harry, not vice versa. He had too much personal experience to believe that.

However...he could not condemn two eleven year old children because of his own mistakes. He would watch them silently, lend a helping hand where he could, step in only if things got out of hand.

But mainly, he would hope.

And maybe the two mysterious children were actually a blessing, in a way.

He'd had nothing to hope for in a long time.

Since Arianna's death, namely.

Newspapers were spread all over the desk.

The latest one of them was a few days old; there was nothing of significance in most recent ones for Gellert Grindelwald to bother acquiring, much less reading them. The pictures in them were unmoving, irritatingly reminding them man of their non-magical nature.

To have to read Muggle newspapers. Honestly.

The content was somewhat satisfying, at least; it probably was unnoticeable to most, but Gellert could read between the lines, and what he reads were signs of an upcoming war. And it could most definitely be used.

By the time his own plans had succeeded and the Stature of Secrecy had crumbled, the Muggles would be just out of a quite possibly highly destructive war, shaken, unbalanced, doubting and blaming current authorities...and then wizards would step into the picture, to seize control and put an order to things like the superior beings they were. It would be glorious.

Of course, originally he'd meant to take actions only after he had collected all three hallows, but when such an opportunity presented itself...Gellert didn't mind adapting. He already had ownership and mastership of the Elder Wand, anyway- it should be enough to defeat anyone in his way.

Except, maybe, for his former best friend and partner, but that was something Gellert would rather not think about until it became absolutely necessary. And it wasn't yet, because if he knew Albus half as well as he thought he did, the man wouldn't be coming after him anytime soon.

Perhaps Albus felt content playing the good little teacher, but some hesitant affection for him, or at least sympathy for their used-to-be-common cause had to remain, and coupled with the fear of learning who had been the one to kill Albus' sister- Gellert couldn't even remember the girl's name, much as he tried. No, he wouldn't be a problem anytime soon.

Besides, he had a new, very promising lead for where the Invisibility Cloak may be.

Chapter Text

Diagon Alley was the most beautiful place Harry had ever seen in his entire life.

The men and women in robes vaguely reminded him of a half-forgotten building and an odd lady with cats, but he ignored the almost-memory. It was from before, and none of it mattered. It was nothing.

His life truly began when he landed in front of Tom Riddle, outside of Wool's Orphanage, five years ago. And maybe they weren't easy years, not easier than before had been, but they were happier. And they were the only years Harry cared to remember, those and the ones that would follow.

Diagon Alley was most certainly one place he'd never forget.

His breath caught sharply and he stared, wide-eyed. He knew his friend was just as awestruck, even if he concealed it better.

"Bloody hell, Tom, this is..."

"I know," Tom whispered, eyes darting around, taking everything in hungrily. He cleared his throat. "...Now stop staring like an idiot. We have shopping to do, and so many other things."

Harry snorted.

Other things like discovering the nastier people or places in the Alley, no doubt. Trust Tom to turn an innocent shopping trip making connections with the wizarding world's underworld.

"No," he said firmly, and before Tom could protest, he continued quickly, "Not today, Tom. We know where the place is. We can come again another day and do whatever creepy villainous things you like. For now, let's just shop and explore a bit, 'kay?"

"I'll think about it," Tom grumbled, glancing around hesitantly.

Harry glowered. "Tom."

"Harry."

"...Please?"

"Fine. But you're not allowed to bring this up again, ever!"

God, and Tom accused him of being the childish one. Harry snickered quietly, the sullen glares he received from Tom not helping his composure at all.

The biggest part of shopping passed uneventfully. Robes, books, cauldrons, telescopes and all the like were bought quite quickly.

And then it was time for wands.

The wandmaker- and seller, that was- Olivander, was quite quirky, but Harry was mostly amused by him, if a bit confused too. They were informed that 'the wand chooses the wizard' and therefore left for their wands to choose them.

Tom's wand was yew, 13 1/2 inches long, with a phoenix feather core.

Harry's wand was holly, 11 inches long, also with a phoenix feather core.

And, apparently, the two feathers were from the same phoenix; making their wands twins, connected. Harry almost felt like he should have seen it coming, somehow, but nonetheless it was a wonderful surprise.

...They got funny looks from Olivander, though.

"You should see your grin, Potter. You look like you're on drugs," Tom noted, but there actually was no mockery in it.

His friend was genuinely happy too, Harry could tell. He wasn't openly smiling or giving any sign of his happines- because god forbid he did that in a public place, it would be so terrible to appear happy- but there was a warmth in his eyes that Harry rarely ever saw, and his posture was open and relaxed (well, for Tom's standards).

Drugs, Tom said. Ha. As if Harry would ever do anything like that. As if his friend himself wasn't an addiction enough of his own.

...Shit, he did not just think that.

"Better watch yourself, Tom," he teased, ignoring the blush that threatened to creep on his cheeks. "I've got a wand, and I'm not afraid to use it! I have no idea how to use it, but my point remains!"

"What are you going to do, poke me to death?" Tom taunted as Harry nudged his shoulder with the wand.

"That was the plan," Harry admitted cheerfully, poking him again. "Of course, it may not seem like a very interesting way to commit murder, but you gotta give it some credit; it's creative."

Tom rolled his eyes. "It is. Creatively moronic."

"Git."

"Shrimp."

"I am not a- Did you just- Uh. Making comments on my height is childish and petty," Harry huffed. "I was born like that, you know. Can't help it."

"I'm certain," Tom returned lightly, looking majorly unconvinced. "But then, is it not reasonable to conclude that, as you were born to be short, I was born to be, as you place it, a git?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "...It doesn't work that way."

"And you know that how?"

At that, instead of a reply, Harry decided to go to his newly acquired books, in hopes of finding a neat little spell to shut his friend up. Nothing good, as far as he could see (which meant nothing, he was too impatient to read past page three). So he settled with jabbing the book at Tom's ribbs instead.

"Now, that's just rude."

"Well, maybe I was born to be rude."

They'd been practising magic every day.

Technically, it was forbidden to use magic out of school until they turned seventeen, but technically, since they hadn't started Hogwarts yet, it wouldn't count as breaking the law, but as an accidental magic outburst.

Or at least, Tom said so. Personally, Harry found the Trace too much of a headache to read about, so he trusted his friend in that. Nobody came to arrest them, so he must have been right.

But practising magic was the easy part; the spells in the first's years books came naturally. The hard part, for him at least, was theory.

It was completely unfair just how quickly Tom got everything they read in the books, while Harry had to struggle and study for hours on end to get the point of it. He wasn't stupid, and he liked reading, he just wasn't very academically intelligent either.

When his friend did him the courtesy- as he should, because it had been his damn perfectionism that insisted they both know everything in their books before even arriving to Hogwarts- of explaining those things in slightly more simplistic terms, Harry understood just fine. The big fancy words and complicated definitions that only served to confuse people simply weren't his cup of tea.

Of course Tom was smug about that, Tom was smug about everything.

Still...it wasn't like Harry really had any objection with studying- otherwise he wouldn't have done it, and let Tom be as grumpy as he liked. But the books, currently, were his only information source about the wizarding world, and it went without saying that he wanted to know more about that.

With most being schoolbooks- they couldn't afford much else, and Harry refused to let Tom steal on that occasion- they had to read between the lines to find any real information, that wasn't all about classes. Hogwarts: A history, dreadfully boring as it was, helped with that, along with a few other books.

Apparently there was a Ministry of Magic( and why did that somehow ring a bell?), that was split in seven departments, which all had ridiculously long names just to irritate him. Harry was certain of it.

There were other magical places, too: Platform 9 and 3/4 (however that worked), from where they'd be taking the train to Hogwarts, and of course the school itself, the place where Tom and Harry would spend the biggest part of the next seven years.

There was so much to learn, it felt like a dozen new questions sprung out of each answered one. It was frustrating, but also exciting.

Tom was being a bit of a prat, too, but that wasn't exactly new.

It was perfectly fine, Harry would soon know all sorts of nifty spells to pay him back. Fear the wrath of an eleven year old, untrained wizard!

He did not like that train of thought. Damn, Tom was a really bad influence. Next thing he'd start laughing evilly, and then he'd being aiming for world domination.

Speaking of plans and aims...

"Oh, we'll be going to Knockturn Alley tomorrow," his friend informed him lightly, not bothering to even look up from his book.

Tom was sprawled across the bed, studying, a small pile of books on the floor next to him. Harry was siting by the desk, practising a levitating charm. The window was flung open and curtains pulled to the side, bright August sun rays invading the room.

With a flick of his wand and a muttered Wingardium Leviosa, Harry sent a pencil on his desk flying. "...Sure. What's that?"

"The dark side of Diagon Alley, so to speak. Dangerous books, dangerous objects, dangerous people."

Well, it made perfect freaking sense that Tom wanted to go then, didn't it?

"Yippie. I'm excited," Harry deadpanned. "Must we honestly get in trouble before we even start our first year?"

"How many times have we gotten in trouble?" Tom asked challengingly.

"Tons," Harry replied automatically.

His friend smirked devilishly. "And how many times was that because you refused to listen to me?"

'Most of them', was the only honest answer Harry could give, and he'd rather not do that.

"How many times did we avoid getting in trouble because I refused to listen to you?" he shot back instead.

Tom stared at him blankly. "None."

"What!" Harry protested. "It's happened lots of times! Don't you just smile all prettily, it changes nothing, I still did!"

"You like my smile, Harry?" Tom mused, head tilting to the side.

"I...Don't change the topic!"

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

Harry bristled. "Whatever. I've still gotten us out of trouble."

Tom's smile only got bigger. "Then do it again tomorrow."

Harry fumed in anger but agreed, eventually.

And of course, he regretted it deeply. They miraculously didn't get into trouble, how that happened he'd wonder forever, but Knockturn Alley was downright disturbing. Among other less-than-pleasant things, one could puchase human bones, fingernails, and toenails- how the bloody hell were toenails even of any use to anyone?!

Tom, the absolute creep, found all those things interesting and delightful. Borgin and Burges, The Coffin House, Ye Olde Curiosity shop, half of the shops there made Harry want to throw up.

Okay, so he didn't know enough about Dark or Light arts to have anything against either, and he'd happily study whatever Dark Arts books Tom managed to snatch- he only agreed to it because obviously, their previous owners didn't get them clearly either...and maybe because Tom was unbearable when he didn't get his way- but that didn't mean he had to like the shops, did it?

"Bloodstained cards and Hangman's rope," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief at the window display of a certain shop. "Why would somebody need Hangman's rope?"

"To hang someone, I assume. Or it could be a murder fetish," Tom replied with a shrug, completely nonchalant.

Harry choked on air. "What the hell?! This place is creepy enough without you saying stuff like that! Bloody hell, we're eleven! That's an image I did not need in my head, okay!"

"Keep your voice down, you're making a scene," his friend said simply. "Really, Harry, this is not a place for kiddies throwing tantrums. You have a brain, please try to use it, I promise it doesn't hurt."

"Oh shut up," Harry scoffed, though in a lower tone. "So what did you actually get? Or did we come here just for you to look at creepy cards?"

"A couple books, and Peruvian instant darkness powder," Tom said, "but that's hardly the reason we came here. I wanted to get a glimpse of the wizarding community's underworld. I did."

"It's utterly disgusting, you must be ecstatic with it."

"Quite...I think, Harry, this will prove to be very, very interesting."

Harry snorted. "More interesting that the rope? I think not."

The sarcasm was either lost on Tom- highly unlikely!- or simply ignored, because his friend only gave him a sly smile in response. "I hadn't realized it fascinated you so much. I can always get it to you for Christmas, if you like."

"Er-yeah, um, no- thanks, but no. I'm not into murder much," Harry bit out, paling visibly.

"Oh, I don't know," Tom crooned, just as they exited the dark (in both senses) alley and were hit by the light and liveliness of Diagon, "it does have a certain appeal..."

Say what now.

No. No, Harry would not analyze that. He refused.

He sighed tiredly and rubbed his eyes. "Seriously, Tom, that's the last thing I want to be thinking about."

"I disagree. I'm quite certain I could inspire far worse thoughts."

Harry wasn't certain at all there was worse. He didn't want to know.

He'd daydream about Hogwarts instead.

Chapter Text

The summer passed in a torturingly slow rythm, but at last, it was September 1st.

Tom was feeling catiously excited.

He didn't want to expect too much from Hogwarts, and yet, surely it would be immensely better than that parody of a home he currently lived in? Surely the people- the wizards- would be better than the petty creatures he grudgingly associated with until then?

Tom couldn't quite help being excited, but he wasn't very happy with his excitement, so he'd rather blame it on the enthusiasm radiating off of Harry, than any foolish expectations of his own.

Of course, at that moment exactly, his idiot of a friend chose to wine and get worried instead. He glanced from platform 9 to 10, not finding platform 9 and 3/4, and gulped nervously.

"Tom, where is it?" he whispered harshly. "Shit, now what, how the-"

"Oh, relax, boy scout," Tom drawled. "Shut up and observe the people. Surely there must be other wizards have to take the train."

A silence followed, both of them analyzing the actions of every person in the station.

"Through the wall?" Harry asked, voice a little hoarse.

"Precisely," Tom murmured. "Come then, let's go."

"Er, Tom...? I'm eleven, I don not care much to break my head and die just yet," Harry managed, giving an awkward laugh.

Tom sighed irritably. "The wall's most obviously charmed, you dence creature. You won't break your head."

"...Fine. Fine, but if I do, I blame you for everything."

They ran- because obviously, walking was too boring- at the wall together.

Logically, Tom knew they'd face no obcastle, but he still, but he still had to supress a flinch as they seemingly ran through the brick; and then it was over, just like that, and they were on the other side.

Magic. It was brilliant.

They got in Hogwarts Express, naturally getting a compartment for themselves.

Tom and Harry were both uncharacteristically quiet, but it was fine. Each other's presense was soothing, even in complete silence, and they were content in their musings and daydreams.

...And they both had to make a notable effort not to glare at the trolley witch when she inquired if they would like something sweet to eat. Though, Tom hid his glare merely to keep up a mask of politeness; he suspected that Harry thought it was wrong of him to be mad at the woman, thus hid it.

Tom grunted. He was going to rule the world, he was not allowed to have a sweet tooth! That was all Harry's influence on him, getting him addicted to sweets when they could hardly ever have any.

The time just insisted to continue passing slowly, but eventually the train came to a stop, and the students stepped down, first years whispering excitedly, and somewhat fearfully, to each other.

Tom and Harry remained silent.

The castle was...it was magnificent, and Tom didn't just offhandedly give compliments.

The first years were put in boats to cross the loch- the Black Lake it was called, if Tom remembered correctly, and he obviously did- and went under an opening in the rocks upon which Hogwarts was built, through a curtain of ivy and finally into an underground harbour.

Seeing the Great Hall was another startle, and really, Tom had had enough of them for a day! He'd even read about the place, it was ridiculous to be so surprised, he should have been able to expect it, but it was just...

The students of the other years were already sitting on the four long tables, laughing and murmuring to each other, anticipation in the air. Countless candles were floating above them, their flickering light casting odd, beautiful shadows. The ceiling was bewitched to look like the dark grey sky outside.

Next to him, Harry made a choking noise. Tom would have made a sarcastic comment, but just then the Sorting Ceremony began, so he instead chose to whisper harshly,

"You realize, of course, that you will be sorted in Slytherin."

"What?" Harry hissed. "The house of dark wizards and stuck up, spoiled purebloods?" Huh, so Harry had studied more than he let on, to know all that. Good boy. "No, I think I'll pass. I want Gryffindor."

"Absolutely not. I'll admit that you have some of Gryffindor-ish traits, but you also have the brain to sustain them," Tom argued. "Can you honestly tell me you don't believe you have Slytherin qualities?"

"...Still don't like it."

"Well, it's not up for debate. I'm quite obviously going to be in Slytherin, it is only logical that you should be, too."

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

Harry turned away with a scowl, but the corners of hims mouth twitched in a smile when he thought Tom wasn't looking.

"Potter, Harry!"

His friend made his way to the stool and placed the Sorting Hat on his head, projecting an image of confidence that Tom could easily see through, but he knew no one else could.

Tom felt just a hint of worry for a second, but the hat was on the boy's head for just a few moments before it cried, "Slytherin!"

Harry's expression of utter surprise when the Slytherin table started clapping- even though it had done so for every other Slytherin as well- was priceless, but it was quickly controlled and turned into a not completely fake, satisfied look.

And maybe Tom felt a bit jealous for a moment.

Whether there was a connection or not, he wasn't certain- but his friend happened to carry an old pureblooded name, so Slytherin house welcomed him with open arms. Tom didn't have that; there would be no clapping at his own sorting, just an awkward silence and sullen glares.

Not that Tom cared for something so trivial as the acceptance of the student body, on itself, but they had power, influence, connections. Things that Tom would have to work from zero to gain, while they all had it served to them in silver plates. And what was even worse, he'd have to earn their good opinion first to achieve that.

It was sickening.

But he could and would do it- he would prove himself more powerful and better than every single one of them. In the end, they'd be nothing but pawns in his game.

"Riddle, Tom!"

He stepped forward decisively, covering the distance between him and the stool in a few long strides. The hat had barely even touched his head, and he could hardly remember the words it whispered to him before-

"Slytherin!"

He got up.

Nothing; the absolute lack of reaction he had predicted.

And then Harry started clapping. Loudly. Grinning goofily even though the entire student population was giving him odd looks. The Professors joined in. Then a few Slytherin first years. He fought off a smile, made his way to the Slytherin table.

It wasn't much, nothing close to it, but it was more than he had expected regardless, and it was all because of Harry. Everything seemed to have something to do with Harry nowadays.

"You utterly moronic creature," he muttered as he slipped into a chair next to his friend, his tone way warmer than he would have liked.

"Proud of it," Harry exclaimed, smirking.

Tom smirked back. "You made quite a show."

"Well, you wanted attention," his friend shrugged, smiling all too innocently. "Now people will talk. It's guaranteed."

"...You do realize you just lost whatever good image our classmates had created of you?"

"Oh, no matter, I'll win them back with my disarming personality."

Tom had to laugh at that, and the rest of the Welcoming Feast passed in much better atmosphere than he could have anticipated.

Because there was Harry.

A prefect led them to the dungeons, where apparently the Common Room was- Harry only just managed to hold back from snickering at the pureblood-ish password, the idiot.

The Common Room was lit by a greenish light, presumably due to being under the lake. It was furnitured with black and dark green leather sofas, low backed and botton-tuffed, as well as dark wood cupboards. Skulls and tapestries decorated it.

Tom felt oddly at peace there.

Nothing needed to be done that night; their belongings were already placed near their beds, introductions were not necessary because the rest of the first years seemed to know each other already, and no one seemed inclined to get to know to Harry and Tom.

Well, some boy called Nott did make an attempt to engage Harry in polite small talk, but the latter was half-asleep in an armchair, his one-worded replies not encouraging the continuation of the conversation.

Idiot.

Still, it was actually tolerable. There were not too many pointed comments on his blood status, or Harry's clapping thing (and apalling manners). When there were, Tom just returned them with very bright, very dangerous smiles.

He was surprisingly satisfied with how the whole thing had gone, he realized hours later, as he lay awake in his bed, gazing at the ceiling.

Potions was their first class, and Tom immediately came to dislike the fat, pompous man he was supposed to call his Professor.

However, he had to grudgingly admit the disgusting man could prove more than a bit useful, and so put on an extra charming act will he proceeded to brew the required potion flawlessly. By the end of the lesson, the Slug was gushing over him like a little girl over a new doll.

Well, him and various other students. Him for his undeniable talent in potions, the rest of them for their relations and connections with powerful people. The rest of the selected few were not happy with his presense among them, but Tom couldn't care less; they'd learn their rightful place soon enough.

Harry didn't make it in those few, if only because Tom's act and the Slug's reaction to it had him snickering into his cauldron instead of focusing.

He had better fix that soon- Tom had a nasty suspision there would be out of class meetings, and he refused to spend time in such dull company without Harry suffering along with him.

Transfiguration was next, and Tom was appalled to see that Dumbledore was the teacher. Harry rudely and unnecessarily elbowed him and murmured to play nice.

Tom had to admit, little as he liked it, that the man wasn't a completely hopeless teacher, but he stood firm by his belief that he was a manipulative bastard, and didn't want him near either himself or Harry.

Charms were all right, a bit noisy, but at least he could freely amuse himself by talking to Harry since there was constantly too much chatter for them to be overheard.

History of Magic and its ghost teacher, for all the Tom was curious at the subject itself, were dreadfully dull, but Tom vowed to get pens that wrote on their own for himself and Harry next time they visited Diagon Alley, so he could muse about far more important matters during that class.

Astrononmy was...well, it was intriguing, he'd admit that. There was a beauty in the sky, and much to be learned, even if he doubted it would be of practical use to a wizard.

Herbology...he didn't much care for flowers or plants in general, but to know how dangerous the combinations of some in potions could be, as well as to be introduced to a few magical plans, very dangerous on their own, was enough to spike his interest in the class.

Defence Against the Dark Arts, despite the completely prejudiced name, was definitely his favourite class, even if he didn't think much of the teacher, Professor Merrythought, and the things they were taught were way too basic.

Generally, he supposed the classes were tolerable- they just weren't anywhere near his level. But nothing and no one was.

...Except maybe for the boy currently sitting next to him in the library, huffing in irritation.

"I hate Potions," Harry exclaimed. "I bloody well hate them."

Tom smiled slyly. "Well, they require focus, and we both know you have the attention span of a goldfish. No wonder you're hopeless at them."

"I'm not hopeless! I just...uh," Harry sighed. "Do my homework? Please? I'll sell you my soul?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "How about I teach you Potions instead? So you won't need me to do your homework every time...I quite like the soul idea, though."

"My sould for a bunch of Potions lessons," Harry laughed. "Sure. Sounds fair, I'm not being cheated at all."

"Oh, please, you would exchange it for a one time homework. I'm doing you a favour."

"...Tom, you absolute creep, you realize we're joking, right?"

Tom gave a mocking sniff. "But why? I like the idea so much! It's not a bad deal, you know you can't go on every day just praying that your potion won't explode into your face this time."

"You'll teach me anyway," Harry stated, matter-of-factly. "Besides, wizards can't steal people's souls."

Tom shrugged.

It still was an enchanting idea.

Chapter Text

Charlus didn't know what to think of Harry Potter.

He was usually quick to form opinions on people, hasty even. He almost always had a gut feeling on the nature of someone, and he trusted it. He was not always correct, but he was rarely too far from the truth.

It was perhaps a rash way of judging people, but it was pretty damn accurate.

Well, except in Harry's case. With him, his gut feeling went on strike.

Which was extremely unfair, because he happened to need to figure him out, and as quickly as possible.

So maybe it was for that reason, or perhaps he was just spending too much time with Dorea, that he observed the boy for an entire week instead of immediately confronting him, like his Gryffindor nature urged him to do.

And Harry was a contradiction all right!

Charlus had no idea in what way he should approach the other. He couldn't understand him. Everything he could think of doing had equal possibilities of being scorned and of being greeted enthusiastically; he just couldn't get what was prone to get a negative reaction out of the boy and what a positive.

To be honest, he was...sort of wary of Harry- of an eleven year old, tiny boy, how was that even possible?!- as much as he found that he liked something about the other. He was friendly and polite enough with everyone, but had a slightly unapproachable aura, whether he realized it or not.

But he was a Potter.

That much was certain, not only for the general lack of synonimities in the Wizarding World. He looked like a Potter; Harry and himself could probably pass for brothers with ease.

Yet he clearly had not been raised in the Wizarding World. He had no clue about the ettiquete, which was even weirder because he was a bloody Slytherin. Muggle-raised, for whatever reason. Still somehow one of the most talented wizards in his year.

Family was important as nothing else to Charlus, and the boy was part of his, even unknowingly. He wanted to do something about it, somehow be a bit more of true family to the boy...but he didn't know how. He couldn't just bring Harry home and introduce him as a long-lost cousin nobody knew about, or something.

He wrote his mother a letter, explaining the situation a bit, and she agreed that something should be done, but first thing they had to discover how exactly Harry was related to them. Which required talking to Harry. And so Charlus was stuck.

He had no idea how to act around the kid- treat him like family, or a friend, or a stranger, or something between?

But confrontation time it was, little as he liked it.

Charlus approached the boy just after lunchtime, as he was exiting the Great Hall with another boy, his ages, dark haired and pale- the only friend Harry actually had, if he remembered correctly, but he couldn't put a name to him.

"Harry! A moment, please," he called, managing a real enough smile.

"Er, yeah, sure," Harry replied uneasily, sending his friend a glance. "I'll, uh, catch up with you in a moment."

The other boy gave a curt nod. "Better make it to class in time. I'm neither keeping notes nor making excuses for you."

"We both know you will!" Harry yelled after the boy, but he had already disappeared in a different corridor.

Was it just Charlus, or had he seemed slightly sullen?

No matter.

"Hello, Harry," he greeted. "I'm Charlus- Charlus Potter."

Harry gave a hesitant smile. "I know. I kind of expected this to come, actually...So I'm assuming the reason of this talk is our possible relation?"

Bit blunt for a Slytherin, but Charlus was just fine with that. Though he still wondered how the boy knew what he was there to say.

"I have no valid proof there is a relation, but it seems more than obvious," he admitted, shrugging. Then he frowned. "You say possible...I suppose that means you don't actually know if we're related or not?"

And there was him hoping that Harry might be able to explain the specifics of said relation. Plan B, then...He didn't actually come with a plan B, but he made up something, quickly enough.

Harry shifted his weight in discomfort, lips pursing. "I grew up in a Muggle orphanage. Had no idea about any of this 'till I got my Hogwarts letter."

Oh. Charlus' stomach knotted, feeling sympathy for the boy, who suddenly seemed shorter and younger than ever. So Harry wasn't used to having any sort of family...Damn, and Charlus thought the situation was awkward for himself.

"There are ways to find out, if you'd like that, what the relation is exactly- assuming that it exists," he offered. "I...I'll be honest with you, I can't know where things will go from there, but..."

"It's kind of you," Harry murmured, tightly. "And I appreciate it, but my parents are dead, so no use digging in the past. There probably isn't much to find. Sorry, I really need to get to class now."

And Harry hastily walked off, giving a slightly apologetic smile. Charlus followed behind him, knowing it was entirely inconsiderate to press, and doing it regardless.

"I'll walk you," he said as he caught up. "Listen, Harry, I'm sorry...I know this must be hard to talk about...but even like that, can you guarantee you don't have other relatives? Wouldn't you like to at least know they exist?"

The boy grimaced involtunarily, something suspiciously like fear flickering in his expresson for a moment. It didn't suit him.

"I don't think there are any, not in your family."

Charlus nearly grunted in frustration. Why did Slytherins have to be so bloody evasive?! He was trying to help the boy here, for god's sake, a bit cooperation wouldn't hurt...Still, he couldn't, as Harry placed it, dig into the other's past just like that. He had to hope Harry would just tell him eventually.

"All right," he consented. "But still, please consider me your friend at least, yeah? If there's anything you need, let me know."

Harry seemed slightly shaken. "...Okay. I'll remember that. Thank you, Charlus."

"Anytime."

Well, it could have gone worse, the boy was actually nicer than he expected, even if secretive. Odd, he hadn't know Slytherins had a capacity for niceness.

Dorea would probably slap him if he said that out loud.

There were many things Alexander Nott prided himself in.

His pure blood. His quick wits. His good looks. And so on.

First and foremost it was the blood, though. Everything started from there. How could he possibly be anything else of importance, if not for his pure magical blood? Wizards were just better, and purebloods the best out of all of them.

It was simple. Logical.

So he was not happy at all with Tom Riddle and Harry Potter, his classmates, god help him.

The latter was at least presumably a pureblood, carrying the surname Potter. But he was painfully, sickeningly unaware of how a true pureblood, a true Slytherin should behave. And he spent a ridiculous amount of time with Riddle.

Riddle, who with an undeniably Muggle surname, was a halfblood at best. Riddle, who walked around the castle like he owned the damn place. Riddle, every teacher's favourite student. Riddle, oh so bright and oh so charming.

How was that even possible?

Logic suggested Riddle was inferior to himself. And yet, blood was the only thing in which he was lacking. Shouldn't that automatically take all other positive qualities away?

It didn't. Alexander hated him for that.

But even like that, he was no fool. He'd been sorted in Slytherin for a reason- he knew where his best interests lay.

Tom Riddle was powerful. He could see that very clearly, even if most of his classmates could not, and liked to provoke the other boy. Mistaking Riddle's cold indifference for cowardice.

It was just as well, though, it meant he had an advantage over them. He used the one time that unbearable Potter was late for class, and promptly sat down next to Riddle. They had Transfiguration.

He sort of expected a, 'the seat is taken', or something similar, but it never came. Instead, the other studied him with a lazy curiosity.

Riddle refused to speak, though. Alexander gritted his teeth. "...Tom, is it? I'm Alexander Nott."

"Pleasure to make you acquaintance," came the smooth reply.

"The pleasure is all mine," he returned with a forced smile.

The boy sent his a dazzling grin at that, but Alexander couldn't help feeling like he was being mocked, somehow.

They made small talk for a few minutes, then Dumbledore walked in and the class started. Alexander glared dully at the needle he was supposed to transfigure. Key word: supposed to.

It didn't help that Riddle got it right on his first try.

Harry fumed angrily, dropping into the only empty seat as he murmured an excuse for his lateness. His gaze was fixed on Tom, glaring furiously, and he didn't pay any attention to whoever was sitting next to him.

"Bastard! Didn't even save me a seat," he huffed, mostly to himself.

The boy next to him gave a good-naturec chuckle. "If that helps, your friend's most probably just as ready to murder Nott as you are. Pleasant fellow, Nott; can get you so bored you'll be begging for death in minutes. Seconds if he's having a good day."

The boy, Harry thought, was casually elegant. Long, lustrous black hair, laughing eyes, fair skin, a wide loop-side smile spread on his face.

"It helps," Harry assured, grinning despite himself. "Though, if he dies sometime later in the week, neither Tom nor I had anything to do with it, naturally."

The boy held a finger to his lips, eyes gleaming mischievously. "My secret's safe with you. Though, if you are planning his murder, you should consider me as an associate. I've been looking for an excuse to do this for ages."

And maybe Harry was spending too much time with Tom, considering how lightly he took jokes about murder. At least with this boy (unlike with a petty bastard that didn't save him a seat), he could be certain they were 100 % on the joke side.

"Well, if we're going to assasinate people together, can I at least know your name?" he inquired.

"But of course! You have the pleasure to be talking to the one and only Alphard Black," the other introduced himself cheerfully, giving a wink.

Harry snickered quietly, absently turning his needle into a match like they were instructed. "Lucky me, then. I'm Harry Potter."

Alphard mimicked him, frowning when the needle remained stubbornly the same. "Oh, yes, you're extraordinarily lucky. I don't plan murders with just anyone."

"I'm sure that's a bit of an overblow, but I'm flattered nonetheless," Harry murmured, snorting in amusement. "You murder people often, then?"

"Occasionally. It's a good way to fill a Sunday evening. They scream so prettily..." Alphard trailed off, dreamily gazing into space.

Harry laughed and shook his head.

Tom turned to smirk at him from his desk in the front of the class, the smug asshole, and soon enough a paper bird was flying over to him. It unfolded itself, and Harry was not very happy to see it containing a note in Tom's neat handwritting.

Making friends, boy scout? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you managed to find the only person in Slytherin with an appalling lack of manners. And subtlety. And brains. You must be proud of yourself.

"Huh," Alphard mused, ducking his head to read as well. "Such kind words. Bit aggressive, isn't he?"

"He just likes to pretend he's a git, don't mind him," Harry dismissed. "He's not that horrible, deep down. Sometimes."

"Yeah, well, better dig the not horrible part out of him. He's sort of judgy, considering his situation."

Situation, meaning blood status.

Harry managed a thin smile, eyes narrowing. "I'm not certain I understand you."

He ignored whatever answer the other murmured, to write back to Tom.

Yes. Or at least, I was. You mind that? Well, deal with it. You're the one who didn't save me a seat, now suffer away from my company! And don't send me notes like we're teenage girls. Just as well that you didn't add, 'yours truly' at the end.

He threw the note at Tom, huffing.

Now, perhaps, he could spend the rest of the class in peace and-

Another note. Really.

Yes, actually, I mind that; but rest assured, it will be dealt with.

Yours truly

Now he was just doing it on purpose.

And what the hell did he mean it would be dealt with?!

Chapter Text

Spiting Harry was one of Tom's favourite pastimes.

It was highly amusing, though it carried some risk, for there were things his friend seriously overreacted about. And because Harry was guaranteed to try and spite him right back. Perhaps that was exactly what made it so amusing.

It was, quite frankly, a game between the two of them, that they had been playing for a long time. In the orphanage, they'd never been wanted in the team games the other children played, so they had to make their own. They were much more fun, anyway.

In this particular one, Tom usually won; Harry was much more prone than him to show irritation quickly.

Like now, for example.

"You're an arse," Harry accused, scoffing as they sat together on a sofa, in the Slytherin common room.

"And it took you five years to realize that?" Tom drawled, smiling slyly. "Really, Harry, I would say that's rather slow."

Harry sent him a look somewhere between glaring and pouting. "You're terrible. I hope Nott bored you to death."

"My, my, Harry," Tom murmured. "Don't tell me you were jealous?"

Harry scoffed, and Tom concluded it was his friend's way of saying, yes, terribly so, please don't leave me alone ever again.

It was flattering, really.

He'd be happy to comply. So long as Harry did the same, of course.

"...So how did it go with Charlus?"

He asked the question with fake nonchalance, reaching for his Astronomy textbook at the same time. Like the conversation was unimportant, something he'd listen to with half an ear.

Harry saw through it, of course, annoyingly enough.

"Oh," he whispered, startled. "Does it...bother you? That I might be related to him, I mean?"

Tom stiffened. "Of course not. That would be absurd."

It was Tom, after all, who had pointed out the possible relation to Harry, and warned him to expect a talk with Charlus soon...Where exactly it would go from there, he wasn't certain.

But it didn't bother him, of course it didn't!

He wasn't worried that Harry might move in with his newfound family and leave him alone. He wasn't worried they'd become more important to him and he'd forget about Tom. He wasn't worried he might lose the only friend he had.

It would be degrading to worry about such things, it would suggest that it would affect him if Harry did leave, and much as Tom was fond of the boy, he didn't like that idea at all. He refused to let it be so important that it would worry him.

"Charlus told me that it was pretty much certain we were related, but there were ways to make sure, if I wanted to," Harry said softly. "I told him I didn't. It doesn't matter. He's nice, I'm sure they all are, and I might like to get to know to them better some day...But I already have a family."

Tom froze.

The worry he stubbornly denied feeling all melted away, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked the absurd, sudden rush of relief that came in its stead.

But most of all, he felt triumph- and that, he'd happily admit and acknowledge. Harry wouldn't leave. Harry wouldn't forget. Surnames and blood relations be damned, Harry was his.

His...family?

It was a foreign word to Tom. Maybe he'd wondered about his family before, dreamed someone would come and take him away from that place, many years ago. But it never happened, so Tom cast those dreams aside. Labeled family as something unnecessary and unimportant.

Harry and he were family? More so than any blood relative of either of them was? He'd had a family for five years, and he didn't even know?

But he'd known, sort of. He'd always known that Harry was...not similar to him, that was a wrong word, their personalities were very different and he enjoyed that...but the same with him, in a way no one else ever would ever be, could ever be, and visa versa.

Yes. It seemed fitting that Harry was his family.

Maybe, Tom allowed, just maybe he had been a tad bit worried. Maybe it would have hurt if Harry left, if Harry forgot. But maybe that was all right, because it was Harry and he never would. 

He swallowed thickly. "That was a highly idiotic thing to do...Thank you."

"Is it really that shocking?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes. "I mean, you call me an idiot every five minutes. You should be used to me acting idiotic by now."

"The level of your idiocy never ceases to amaze me," Tom replied easily, relaxed now. "I suppose I can't blame you, I mean, they'd obviously pale in comparison to myself. But, if you plan to 'get to know to them', better sooner than later. They could be useful."

Harry gave him a dry look. "Sure, now you see it all practically."

Tom shrugged.

"...I actually thought of that, too," Harry admitted awkwardly. "I know you want to make connections...and whatever. I'm not as stupid as you think, I know it would be benefitical to be in good terms with them."

"Well, you thinking something through is not exactly a regular occurance," Tom pointed out playfully. "But why not, then?"

Harry looked hesitant and highly uncomfortable, awkwardly shifting his weight and looking at the floor. "I...I never really told you where I came from, did I?"

"No," Tom replied immediately, intrigued.

Neither of them had ever shared much about their life before they met.

"It was...different," Harry said slowly, closing his eyes. "It's...I don't remember it well, even though logically I should. There are blanks. But...there were things that don't exist here, like...like it was a diferent universe, in some sci-fi novel or something."

Harry released a shaky breath before continuing. "I had...relatives there. An uncle, an aunt, and a cousin. Sort of. They...weren't the kind of people you'd leave a child with. It's all blurred, and I'm grateful for that, because I doubt it's anything I'd like to remember.

So...what if the Potters searched in about me, and found that place? And I was sent back? I don't want to be there. I don't want it to exist."

"I won't let anyone send you there," Tom promised instantly, the words slipping out of his mouth without permission, but he meant them. "No one will take you away, ever. All right?"

Harry gave a small nod. "All right."

Tom knew he probably wasn't a very good friend to keep pressing, when Harry was clearly so uncomfortable with the topic. Especially since his friend didn't want to remember any of this. But he had to know, and he doubted he'd get another chance where Harry might actually tell him.

"Your relatives. Did they hurt you?"

"I just said I don't remember much," Harry murmured, dodging the question.

"But from what you can remember...?"

Harry squirmed. "Not much, not really. It was mainly withholding meals and locking me in a cupboard, I think...it was, er, my room." His friend laughed mirthlessly like that. "My cousin was the only one to get physical, usually. He had a gang...they liked to play 'Harry Hunting'."

Tom had to make a considerable effort to hide how much Harry's casualness about this enraged him. "You said usually. What exactly do you mean usually?!"

He was certain Harry could have dealt with some kids (if he did was a different matter entirely, and he'd have to inquire about that later, too), but with his so called uncle and aunt...

Harry just shrugged. "My uncle too, but rarely. When I asked questions. Wasn't a fan of questions."

"He beat you?!"

"Not really, you know, just...child discipline. This sort of thing. It wasn't-"

The nonchalance was getting too much. His Harry, his friend, his family, had been in pain, had been abused, and to treat it like it was nothing-

"Harry," he interrupted. "If we ever find this place, these people are going to die."

"What?"

"And you'll be the one to do it. I'll happily help along, of course, but..."

"What?"

Tom sent his friend a glare. "Quit trying to convince me you're deaf. You heard me."

"Are you insane?" Harry hissed. "Don't say such things in the bloody common room- regardless of how few people are here! And no, I will most definitely not! Neither will you!"

"Harry, they-"

"Hurt me?" Harry finished. "Yes. But none of it matters. This is the last time I remember this. If we kill them, it's admitting it happened. It's making it true. It's making it matter."

Tom wanted to argue that of course it mattered, that no one could presume to hurt his Harry and get away with it.

But he stopped himself. They would pay for it, one day, but no sooner than when Harry was ready to confront his past. Right now, he wasn't. Tom could wait.

"All right, Harry. Last time we remember this."

They both knew it was a lie.

Tom counted it a success, if only because his friend didn't protest against murder specifically, just its possible results.

Alphard, having been born in the Noble and Ancient House of Black, believed in blood purity.

And surprise! No, that didn't automatically mean he considered everyone that wasn't a pureblood filth.

Sure, he didn't exactly like Muggles, and it seemed pretty damn obvious that they were inferior to wizards. But the bias against muggleborns seemed foolish, really. The purest of families couldn't have always been pure, and today's muggleborns had the potential of producing purebloods, a few generations in the future.

Purebloods did have an advantage over muggleborns, but it seemed to be more the product of their raising than a lack of talent. Ergo, it could be overcome. They'd have to work ten times harder than purebloods and halfbloods, but it theoretically could be done.

That was what Alphard believed, but he wasn't moronic enough to express such beliefs out loud around the people he usually associated with. He didn't care to be disowned at age eleven, thank you very much.

Still, it was rather amusing to watch Tom Riddle, presumably muggleborn, and Harry Potter, blissfully oblivious to the wizarding culture and etiquette, easily top on every class while the rest of them struggled to catch up.

Himself included, but still.

He hadn't really thought much of it until yesterday, though. Hadn't thought it might be the start of something, well, bigger. He'd observed their skills in magic, but never really them.

Harry, for all his cluelessness, had proved surprisingly quick-witted and interesting to talk to. Tom, he didn't know much about; but Nott was a greedy, ambitious fellow, and if he'd aproached the boy despite his blood status, he was willing to bet there was potential.

Potential for what, exactly, he wasn't sure.

But it was clear there was something about them, and well, Alphard was intrigued. He wanted to be a part of whatever they were up to, if only to sate his own curiosity.

Grinning as he entered the Great Hall, he slipped in the seat at Harry's left- Tom was at his right, of course.

"Morning, Harry," he greeted with a yawn, pouring himself a cup of coffee and filling his plate with bacon.

"Alphard? Good morning," Harry returned, if a bit surprised. "Tom, this is Alphard Black; Alphard, this is Tom Riddle."

"A pleasure," Tom said, confidentally holding out his hand.

Alphard shook. "Likewise."

Hump. Maybe he wasn't completely terrible, even if he'd claimed that Alphard had no manners.

He yawned again, wondering how bad an impression it would make if he swallowed a plate full of bacon in one go. Very bad, probably.

"Alphard?" Harry asked, between uneasiness and laughter. "There's a girl from second year glaring daggers at you. What did you do?"

He looked up, snickering once he noticed who Harry was talking about. Walburga.

The most honest, and probably hurtful, answer would be that he was talking to people she considered unworthy, so he'd have to reply just a tad bit vaguely.

"Oh, that's my dearest cousin, Walburga. She hates my guts."

"How so?" Tom inquired.

"No idea," Alphard remarked, solemnly. "Although, it might have something to do with that one time I...accidentally, of course, snuck a dozen nifflers in her room."

Harry blinked. "What's a niffler?

"Treasure-hunting creatures, very attracted to shiny things," Tom clarified. "Useful if you want to locate anything metalic or shimmery, but if Miss. Black had any jewelery in her room...I assume it didn't end well."

It was Alphard's turn to blink. The boy knew that...how? First years didn't even have Care of Magical Creatures as a class, and nifflers were OWL level creatures.

He smiled slowly. Yeah, he was pretty sure he had made a good choice in approaching the two.

Tom gave an irritable sigh, as they left the Great Hall and headed to the Greenhouse. "Next time I send you a note, you don't let anyone read it. Black was apparently wounded by my comment on his manners, and thus tried to rub his ettiquete in my face."

"I think he was...you know, just showing us how that stuff works. To help us, however vaguely," Harry aruged. "Besides, what was that with the notes? This is a fanfiction, not a romantic movie."

"Idiot. Leave the fourth wall alone."

"That doesn't answer my question~" Harry sing-sang.

Tom rolled his eyes. "You were sitting too far away for me to talk to you, and it was the best alternate. Also, it seemed to annoy you, which was a plus."

They entered their classroom, if a meadow could be called that, and Harry snorted in amusement.

"I hope a plant strangles you," he stated.

"You may as well get your wish, today's lesson is on Devil's Snare," his friend shrugged.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He knew he'd read something about Devil's Snare, and he was pretty sure it was a dangerous enough plant, but...

"And it strangles people?"

"Binds their arms and legs, and eventually chokes them. Faster and more tightly if they struggle."

Well, that sounded horrible, it wasn't a big surprise Tom knew of it.

"How do you kill that?"

"Fire spells."

"...Bloody hell, do you know everything?"

Tom gave him a dry look. "Well, of course."

"Hmm," Harry murmured, turning away to hide a smile. "Still hope it strangles you."

Tom snorted. "Your potions still explode in your face more often than not, it would be inconvenient for you if I died."

Yeah, his grade in Potions would definitely be his biggest concern if Tom died...

Chapter Text

Their first two months at Hogwarts passed before Harry could even fully accept that the school year had actually started.

Harry really, really liked being at Hogwarts.

When the day was sunny and he had free time, he liked going for long walks and exploring the landscape around the castle; when it was windy or rainy, he liked to sit in the common room, curled up in an armchair next to the window and watch the creatures that lived in the lake.

He liked taking his breakfast, lunch and dinner in the Great Hall, chattering with the other Slytherins and trying foods he hadn't really known existed before- bread and cheese was as good as it ever got in the orphanage.

He liked learning about magic, and even though he wasn't very studious like Tom was, he liked his classes for all the new information they gave him; and even though he was also not a smug git like Tom was, he liked being good at them, because it was the first time he was good at something.

He liked his classmates too, more or less, even though some got really tiring with their narrow-minded ideas on blood purity and the like, or even with how their main concerns were Quidditch and the House Cup. But he didn't mind the latter, most of the time- he was genuinely happy that they could afford to have such minor concerns.

Most of all, he liked all the things he and Tom could do together; not locked in a small room and fearing the matron would find them and force them away any moment, or sneaking away for a couple hours during which they couldn't fully enjoy their temporary freedom, because it was just that, temporary.

He liked sitting together in classes and competing for top student. He liked studying together in the library. He liked discovering all sorts of things about the castle with his friend. He liked staying away late in the dorms, listening to Tom's plans.

He liked the freedom.

It was Halloween, today. He and Tom planned to go to the Feast just a bit late; with all the students in the Great Hall already, it was a perfect opportunity to explore the castle with no one distracting them, or seeing them in places they probably shouldn't be.

It would have worked, too, had they been the only ones with this idea.

Harry's fists clenched and he gritted his teeth as a group of fourth year Slytherins cornered him and Tom in an otherwise empty corridor, unpleasant smiles on their faces.

He wanted to panic, and curse loudly and search frantically for an escape, but he didn't. Evening his breath, he forced a blank look on his face. Tom's expression was similar, though he seemed more relaxed, with a small smirk on his lips.

Harry saw right through it.

In his friend's seemingly calm eyes, he saw the same realization he himself had come to: they couldn't win or get away from this.

They were outnumbered, their opponents much older, much more experienced in magic than them- skilled or not, Harry and Tom probably were no match.

He also saw, startled for a moment, that his friend's panic was greater than his own. But then he understood. Tom didn't care about the pain whatever curse was thrown at them, not really, but about the humiliation. The fact that everyone would then know they were not invincible.

His hands trembled in silent rage. Well then, at least he'd make sure the school also knew that going against them didn't come without consequences. They'd lose, he knew it, but he was hell bent on ruining the others' victory as much as possible.

"Well, well," one of them drawled, twirling his wand in his hands. "If it isn't Slytherin's mudblood and his faithful dog, the little blood traitor."

The insult didn't sting- Harry didn't care about the blood purity nonsense, and being called Tom's dog was laughable, since Tom genuinely disliked dogs.

But it hurt Tom.

Harry could see that clearly, even as his friend laughed at them coldly and gave a mocking reply- at the word mudblood, Tom's face twitched in loathing and disgust.

Tom was hurt; his smug, arrogant, confident, self-assured, always composed, majorly apathetic friend was hurt.

NO ONE WAS ALLOWED TO HURT TOM.

His hand slipped into his robes' pocket and his wand was pulled out, aiming at the boy's chest. Harry mentally repeated the worst curses and hexes he knew.

Had they hurt him, Harry might have been able to let it go, forgive and forget. He wouldn't fight back more than necessary for self-defence. But now? Now they'd hurt his best friend, first friend, only friend, and Harry would be damned if he let them get away with it.

"Easy," Tom hissed at him, in the snake-tongue only they could understand. "Let them shoot the first curse, to make it perfectly clear we were in the right."

"Being in the right hardly justifies what I want to do to them," Harry hissed back. He almost laughed with how Tom was always the voice of reason, even like this.

Despite the tension, Harry saw a momentary, very pleased gleam in his friend's eyes.

...And the others had taken a small step back, watching them with wide, confused, fearful eyes.

It took Harry a moment to realize what had frightened them, but when he did, a wave of newfound hope rushed through him, because perhaps they could win this, after all. If they could keep them confused and hesitant for a bit longer...

"I-impossible," another one, the only girl in the group, spluttered, "The filthy mudblood can't be speaking parseltongue! It's a trick, it's..."

But Harry and Tom hissed in that language again, and the others's confidence seemed to crumble, if only a little.

Loud footsteps echoed in a nearby corridor, followed by an irritated shout of, "Come on, I refuse to be late because of you!"

The boy who had spoken glanced towards the noise, and hesitated. "Another time," he murmured finally, and the group turned to leave.

Seconds later a Ravenclaw girl and a Gryffindor boy came into sight, the boy being dragged towards the Great Hall by his tie. They hardly paid Tom and Harry any attention.

Harry released a shaky, relieved breath, closing his eyes.

Much as he wanted to hurt them, he'd rather do it under circumstances that favoured himself and Tom more. For now, it was definitely a good thing that the fight was avoided. Revenge could wait.

They spoke nothing of the incident, just followed after the other two, heading to the Great Hall themselves. It was beautifully decorated for the occasion; with human-sized carved pumpkins floating above the tables, bats swarming near the roof, and black cauldrons full of sweet treats added to the usual dishes.

He didn't enjoy a moment of it.

He was tense, eyes flickered across the long Slytherin table, trying to pinpoint where the group from before was seated, but both to his relief and (slightly paranoid, he admitted) worry, he couldn't spot them. He was certain this was far from over.

But more than them, his attention was focused on Tom, whose posture didn't relax, whose eyes remained harder than he had ever seen them before.

Harry felt hollow.

Dorea had just been minding her business, really, choosing to stay in and study instead of joining the other students in the Halloween Feast, when a group of fourth years rushed in; three boys, who quickly withdrew to their dorms, and a girl, who fell into an armchair heavily, looking pale and shaken.

She barely knew the girl, had only talked to her once or twice...but with an entrance like that, she couldn't help being intrigued, and the other hadn't needed much coaxing. Currently, she was sitting with the girl near the fireplace, listening to the most curious tale she'd heard in a while.

Harry didn't know what was wrong with Tom.

He was downright furious with himself that he couldn't figure it out, and even more so that he hadn't noticed right away. He should have know, immediately. He should always know when something was bothering Tom- anything else was unacceptable.

His friend was being snappier than usual, and he spent a ridiculous amount of time in the library. As he was snappy and studious to begin with, it was no wonder (even though still unacceptable) that it took Harry a while to notice the difference.

But Tom's irritation was centered around certain things, like comments on his blood status (which were getting more pointed as time passed), and his studying in the library had nothing to do with their classes. He was searching old school records, old newspapers, and so on.

Harry just didn't get it.

What was the other looking for? Logic suggested he wanted to find information on a person or group of people, but who and why? And why do it alone, not asking for Harry's help?

"Bloody hell, Tom," he murmured, sitting in the table next to his friend. He had fallen asleep over the various papers he was reading. Even in sleep, he looked anything but relaxed; he was clearly stressed and overworking himself. "Why won't you tell me what's wrong? Why don't I know what's wrong?"

It was past curfew, and Harry had come to get Tom back to the dorm, but seeing the other like that, he couldn't find it in himself to wake him.

Options, options...

He was shorter and smaller than Tom, there was no way he could physically carry him. There was also no way he could call for help, because if Tom ever found out, he'd hex the living daylights out of him.

Shrugging, he cast a levitating charm and dragged his now floating friend to the dungeons. Ending the spell, he watched the other fall on his bed with a soft plop. Tom murmured something incoherent, and Harry found himself smiling. His friend could be awfully cute like that, even if he was a stubborn idiot.

"Good night, Tom," he whispered with a goofy grin, pulling the covers over the other.

He headed to his own bed, shaking his head. They'd have to have a long talk in the morning.

When Harry awoke, he was neither surprised nor impressed to find that his friend was already up. And fuming angrily. He decided that Tom was most definitely not a morning person, no matter how early he insisted on waking up.

"Morning," he greeted with forced cheer.

"Morning to you too, sleeping beauty," Tom sneered, and Harry really didn't think he had much right to call anyone that, considering how adorable his friend himself was while asleep.

"Good thing you're an early bird," Harry chirped, glancing around at his sleeping classmates. "Might as well get this over with before breakfast. Tom, what he the hell is going on?"

Tom blinked, in a way that would have been completely innocent if he wasn't, well, Tom. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I take it you brought me back from the library?"

"Well, obviously. Any specific reason you practically live there?"

"You know I take my studies seriously," Tom said dismissively, getting up and preparing for the day.

Harry followed suit. "Other than that?"

"Nothing I'm willing to share."

He fell silent at that, not knowing what he could possibly say that would counter that. If it wasn't a case of Tom being too stubborn and prideful to tell him, but simply not wanting to...well, he'd have to deal with it. He felt stupid for assuming that just because he didn't see reason to hide anything from Tom, his friend would do the same.

They left the dungeons, soon arriving to the Great Hall for a very early breakfast. The charmed ceiling above them showed a sky that was still dark and grey, but whether that was because the sun hadn't risen yet, or because the weather was just shitty today, Harry didn't know. He poked idly at his food, all appetite gone.

"I wasn't aware," he started carefully, "that we'd started keeping secrets from each other."

Tom raised an eyebrow, calmly taking a sip of his tea before bothering to reply. "Everyone has secrets, Harry. You do, too."

"None that I wouldn't tell you if you asked," Harry said instantly, though he immediately regretted it.

It was true enough, of course, but Tom might take this as an invitation to start asking for all sorts of information just to test that, before maybe telling Harry what was bothering him.

"Well," his friend countered, expression softening a bit, "you can't honestly expect the same amount of stupidity from me."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "True. And exactly because unlike me, you are not stupid, I can expect you not to exhaust yourself searching for whatever the hell it is you want to find, when you could have it done twice as quickly if you'd let me help!"

"Let it go, Harry. It's nothing you should be concerned about," Tom said tiredly.

"I decide what I'm concerned about, not you," Harry snapped. "And seeing my best friend closing off and working himself to exhaustion, well, excuse me, but yes it bloody well conce-"

"I'm researching my heritage."

Okay, that was not what he expected. "...What?"

"You heard me. Now quit gaping, it's unbecoming."

Harry blinked slowly, averting his eyes to the table while he tried to comperhend this. Merlin, he had been less puzzled not knowing. 

"Thank you for telling me," he said quietly. "Why, though?"

Tom flinched, uncomfortably. "Why do the research, or why tell you?"

"Why do the research," Harry clarified. "As for the latter, it should be more like why didn't you tell me earlier, but never mind that."

Taking a quick glance around and making sure no one was listening, Tom lowered his voice to a whisper, and said, "I have no intentions of waiting for Halloween to repeat itself. I'm going to resolve the matter of me supposedly being a..." He paused. "Clearly, it's invalid. So like I said, I'll resolve that matter once and for all."

Harry would have argued and snarled at that, because it didn't make any difference whether it was valid or not, if his friend didn't look so tired.

He nodded. "Okay. I personally find this ridiculous, and you're the most amazing person I've ever met- or will ever meet- regardless of who your parents were, but okay. If this is important to you, we'll find out."

Chapter Text

Their research was almost completely fruitless.

Every moment of free time in the next two weeks was spent in the library, with little to no results. Searching, searching, never finding anything. Tom could hardly explain to himself why it was that important; he certainly had no wishes to unite with long lost family members, but he still had to know.

He never quite gave it up, but after two weeks and no progress, he allowed the matter to slip from his priorities and be pushed in the back of his mind. There were other things to focus on; his studies and Harry and the hierarchy structure of Slytherin, or rather, how he could make it to the top of it.

The one discovery he did make concerning the matter, ironically enough, came from a book he had only meant to read at his leisure, not searching for anything in particular.

It was Saturday, an uncharacteristically sunny and warm day for November, and since Harry had insisted (whined and nagged him until he agreed) that it'd be a waste to spend it inside, they were sitting under a tree, facing the Black Lake.

It didn't look black at all that day; its waters, utterly motionless, were shimmering as rays of the sun, slowly descending towards the horizon, fell upon them. The sky was clear, save for a couple of lazy white clouds.

Harry was flipping through his Defence homework. Tom was supposed to be just re-reading Hogwarts: A History- his first read of the book had been a bit hasty, wanting to have the crucial parts down by the time they started Hogwarts, and with everything else on his mind, he hadn't bothered to go over the book again earlier, more thoroughly.

Now...

The section he was going through was interesting enough, briefly explaining the symbolism in the four houses' crests, but hadn't seemed remotely useful...which was, admittedly, why he had skipped it the first time. He shouldn't have dismissed it quite so easily, and maybe there was some sort of lesson to be learned from this; there was importance in details, too.

Because now Tom did a double-check, to make sure he'd read correctly, wide eyed and startled and amazed.

The Slytherin House Crest is composed of the image of a serpent, and water as the background. Their colours are silver and green respectively. A snake is the animal chosen to represent Slytherin House, both for its resoursefulness and ambitious nature, much similar to Slytherin students, and to reflect on Salazar's Slytherin rare ability to speak Parseltongue, the language of serpents. Slytherin often symbolises the element of water-

It was faintly alarming how his first reaction when he had somewhat registered what he read was to shove the book in Harry's face, without a comment. He should have at least considered the possible benefits of keeping this piece of information to himself before sharing it.

"Tom, what the-"

"Third paragraph."

And Harry ducked his head, no (further) questions asked, eyes roaming over the page. "Oh. Bloody hell- language of serpents. So that's what the thing we're doing is called? Parsel-whatever?"

Tom snored. "Correct. Parseltongue."

"So, if Slytherin could do it and it's symbolised in the House Crest," Harry concluded, slowly, "I'm guessing it's a very Slytherin skill. And since everyone's working to make Slytherin an equivalent to snotty pureblood, it's no wonder those kids were confused when we did it. The way it's written, it doesn't sound like it can be learned."

"Correct, again," Tom confirmed, smiling slyly. Though it made him wonder when and how they should further display their ability. "You're being unusually bright today, should I worry?"

Harry fumed, jabbing the book at his shoulder. "Sod off. Just brag about how you have this completely awesome skill that's so very Slytherin but none of our 'true' Slytherin classmates have, or something."

Tom laughed, snatching the book just about Harry was about to start reading again. It wasn't like his friend didn't have his own copy of it, he could easily enough retreat it if he bothered.

He gave a satisfied, and definitely not smug grin as he glanced at the boy, who had pouted and shifted so he was more lying down than sitting, watching the lake. The sun was beginning to set, burning golden and soft red, the light reflecting on the water.

"I never brag. I'm logically and reasonably proud of my absolute, undeniable superiority."

"Sure. 's nice," Harry yawned, dismissively, eyes closing, a bright smile on his face.

"To what do we owe the sudden good mood?" Tom murmured, raising a brow in amusement.

"That's 'cause you're in a good mood too, of course," Harry replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "'s been a while since you last were in a good mood."

Innocent, amazing, confusing Harry.

"I should do it more often. You're rather entertaining like this," he noted, a hint of teasing in his tone.

"Mm. Y' should," his friend agreed. "Hush now. 'm sleepy."

Tom smiled at him fondly. "Let's get you inside then, boy scout. It's past your curfew already."

"Bad enough that the professors give us a curfew," Harry mumbled. "Y' don't get to give me one, too."

Sleepy Harry was always very amusing, and somehow it was all made even better due to the fact that staying up late to help Tom with his research was the reason for Harry's sleepiness.

"If you fall asleep here, I'll walk off and let the big bad monsters come and get you," he informed his friend dryly, the threat very realistic as the were close enough to the Forbidden Forest.

"Ha. Y' won't."

Harry really shouldn't tempt him like that, considering how deeply curious he was about the creatures in the forest. His friend would have truly made lovely bait, if Tom was remotely okay with the idea of letting any harm come to Harry. Which he wasn't, so the entire point was moot, but still...

"Up you go, then. It's getting late, wouldn't do your good little boy repoputation any good to be caught snivelling around."

"Don't call me that!" Harry protested, but got to his feet slowly. He blinked a few times, returning to full coherency apparently. "For your information, I break the rules as much as you do. I just don't do it to fulfil evil purposes or for my own sadistic amusement."

"You think so lowly of me," Tom sniffed mockingly. He probably should be sneaking into the Restricted Section of the library right now, trying to find a book on Parseltongue, but... "Very well. What purpose do you reckon rules should be broken for, then?"

Harry grinned mischievously, suddenly energetic as if he'd just gotten up from a good night's sleep.

Game on.

Really, his friend was more than a little hypocritic for accusing him of breaking the rules for 'his own sadistic amusement'. The pranks they spent the biggest part of the night preparing were, though not immensely painful, humiliating at best.

Pranking had never crossed his mind before, too childish and pointless an activity to seriously consider, even if admittedly somewhat amusing. But it seemed to satisfy Harry, and this excuse seemed to somehow give even the most pathetic activities value.

And well, it wasn't a terrible alternative way to get back at people who irritated him.

Like Alphard Black, whose books kept singing to him in high-pitched voices all through the morning classes, and Radbourne Lestrange, another new acquaintance of Harry's, whose feather pens viciously fought to scribble (maul off) his face whenever he attempted to pick them up.

"Tom, seriously, that was not-" Harry tried to scold him at History of Magic, before breaking off in muffled sniggers.

Tom sneered. "You're hardly one to talk. Did you know that Nott woke up this morning to find his robes dyed hot pink? Very curious, isn't it?"

Harry rolled his eyes, glancing at the boy in question, who was flusing scarlet at the embarrasement of having to walk around in them. The dye was permanent, and pink was definitely not his colour.

"I noticed that, it's a bit hard not to," he drawled, "but he, unlike Alphard and Rad, is a grovelling git, so I don't even feel inclined to be sorry for him."

"Rad? First names basis already?" Tom murmured, raising an eyebrow.

Had he mentioned he sincerely disliked Radbourne Lestrange? Because he did. A lot.

Honestly, Tom knew perfectly well that Harry was a more out-going person than himself. It was expected that his friend would try to make acquaintances, merely for the sake of having them and not because they served some purpose.

But he didn't have to be so friendly with them, did he?

Harry shrugged. "Lestrange sounds kind of depressive. Rad has a nicer ring to it, you know?"

Clearly, he hadn't pranked Lestrange severely enough.

He had far more reason to complain than Harry did, anyway- Tom would hardly endure Nott's presense if it wasn't for the boy's connections. Not that it wasn't, strangely enough, immensely satisfying to know that his friend was just as possesive of him as he was of Harry.

But the other's acquaintances were still despisable, and should consider themselves lucky they'd gotten away simply with some embarrasement.

"At least we can both agree that the army of slugs bursting into Slughorn's classromm and latching onto him were hilarious?" Harry suggested, in a peace offering.

Tom gave him a look. "Of course. All of them were hilarious. They were our doing, how could they not?" It was amazing how he could just throw a comment like that, and Harry would grin so widely that it was practically abuse for his cheeks. "But I'm still bewildered how a good little boy such as yourself would break the rules in such a scandalizing way, let alone influence another to do the same."

"I told you not to call me that!" the other replied, huffing. "If what we're doing isn't downright immoral, I don't mind. I just mind getting caught."

He had a point there.

And though Harry's fear of getting caught edged on the melodramatic side, in the safety of his own mind, Tom had to admit that he'd instilled a very useful catiousness to him, as it was irritating to see Harry sulk whenever they were busted doing something 'wrong' in the orphanage. His actions before Harry came along had been a bit less discreet than he liked...

Why did his friend have to have that stupid effect on him, making him reconsider things he didn't want to, and roping him into participating in activities so irrational and childish as pranking? Especially when there were far more important things he should be focusing on?

At least Binns' class made for excellent free studying time though, and he could somewhat make up for all the time he had (irrationally) wasted. He promptly (childishly) ignored the other for the rest of the class in favour of reading.

He was a spiteful person, and it seemed like appropriate payback.

Chapter Text

We're going to get caught.

It was the only thought racing through Harry's mind, making him panic at the slightest sound as he and Tom slowly advanced in the sleeping castle. It was ridiculous- how many times had they snuck out of the Slytherin dorm at night and made it back just fine?

Numerous, but admittedly, there was a difference in being caught turning your classmates' robes fancy colours, and being caught rummaging through books in the Restricted Section in the library. It was probably restricted for a reason, and he doubted the rope at the entrance was the only thing stopping students from entering.

He wanted to curse himself for his every footstep, ringing far too loud for his liking, and for his heart that pounded frantically in his chest, as if it was trying to wake everyone up. He didn't know what Tom thought of the situation, but his friend's narrowed eyes and hard expression indicated it wasn't very much to his liking, either.

Technically, they could decide to turn back any moment. Practically, they were beyond frustrated with the lack of information in the rest of the library's books, enough to take the risk, and besides, backing down when they'd come so far already didn't appeal to either of them.

The walk to the library was made in complete darkness, which didn't help their resolve to make no sound at all, even after their eyes had somewhat adjusted to it. But they'd agreed beforehand that the occasional small noise would attract less attention than a light.

Finding books when they couldn't see them would be impossible though, and once inside, lumos was a necessity. The restricted section had an eerie atmosphere even in broad daylight, but when only lit by the faint glow coming from Harry's and Tom's wands, it was frightening.

At least, Harry thought so. Maybe Tom liked it. It wouldn't surprise him too much.

"Well, we're in and nothing's gone wrong yet," he murmured, more to reassure himself.

But his voice wasn't the only thing breaking the silence. He thought he'd imagined it at first, but he was growing more certain by the second: faint, but harsh whispers were coming from the books. They gave Harry the feeling he wasn't welcome there.

"Provided the books don't attack us. They don't seem too happy with our presence," Tom noted, confirming his thoughts.

Could the books attack them? With everything else going on in the castle, Harry thought it wasn't too far stretched. They looked creepy enough, anyway: with bloodstains on their covers, and titles in languages foreign to him, but giving the feeling that they spoke of terrible, half-forgotten things.

He'd said already that the Restricted Section was restricted for a reason, but he was only now starting to think what that reason may be.

Cautiously, they began their research, breathing a sigh of relief at every book they opened without resistance or reaction of any kind from its part, and then one of frustration when it proved to be impossible to read, or completely irrelevant to what they were looking for.

"We won't get anywhere like that," Tom decided, maybe two hours later. "We're not even looking for a specific book, and there's no apparent categorization. Let's go."

Harry was happy enough to leave.

Sitting on the roof of a building in the middle of winter, with light clothes on and the wind howling mercilessly was probably not the brightest idea he'd ever had.

Tom would have to head inside soon, both because he didn't intend to freeze out there, and because his absence would be undoubtedly noticed at some point if he was gone for too long. But he was probably in trouble anyway, so he supposed it didn't matter much.

His head whipped around at the sound of footsteps, footsteps- how was that possible, no one should be able to get up there other than him!- to see the one person he'd come up here to avoid more than anyone else, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Hey," Harry greeted, short of breath. He sat down next to Tom, shuddering from the cold and pulling his knees close to his chest. "And thanks for...you know."

Tom blinked. Surely, he was understanding wrong. Or maybe he was hallucinating, actually, because there was no way the boy was so unperturbed sitting next to him, and had just thanked him. But he pinched himself and nothing happened, so it probably wasn't a hallucination, and he knew he had heard right.

"...You're not scared?"

It was supposed to be a statement, and he didn't like the sneaky burst of uncertainty that rose in his chest and coloured his voice, turning it into a question.

"Not really," the other shrugged. "You helped me. Even if..."

"I terrorized and injured a bunch of children in the process?" Tom supplied. "And could do the same to you, for all you know?"

"Yeah, that."

He narrowed his eyes, suspiciously. Was Harry lying? Harry was probably lying.

"So I suppose you didn't tell the matron what happened," he stated- good, a statement this time, but the uncertainty remained, even if he didn't voice it. Probably was not certainly.

Harry frowned, appearing offended at the notion. "Of course not! I'm not going to get you in trouble for helping me."

The boy couldn't be lying about that, he wasn't stupid enough. Tom would find out anyway once he got inside, so there would be not point in it. But if the other wasn't lying...

Harry wasn't afraid, Harry was thanking him, Harry hadn't given him away. And he had no idea how to react to that. Why did the boy insist on doing this? Why did he have to stick around every time Tom thought he'd cringe away, just so it'd be harder to deal with when he eventually did leave once and for all?

Tom wasn't stupid. He refused to believe, or even hope, that Harry would stay despite anything. Just because he hadn't run off as fast as everyone else didn't mean he never would. Just because he wasn't lying or afraid right now didn't mean it would always be like that.

It was bad enough that he genuinely liked having Harry around. He didn't want to deal with this. Why couldn't the boy have been just another whiny brat like the rest of the children in the orphanage?

But no- Harry just had to have the same abilities as him, and do ridiculous things like seek out his company, even on a freezing roof in the middle of winter, and thank him, and be honest to him, and cover for him.

And make Tom wish Harry would stay.

"Why does everyone hate us?" the boy murmured. "I didn't do anything to them! And you- okay, you hurt them, but they tried to hurt us first."

Tom folded his arms over his chest. "I don't know. I don't care."

"Really? I...it's horrible. They all play games together, and they laugh, and Martha's really nice to them. Don't you want that?"

Harry seemed really bothered by that, and if Tom could vaguely understand the feeling, he'd never admit it, neither would he admit how much the sudden image of the boy 'playing games together, and laughing', to quote him, with the rest of them scared him.

"No," he said, sharply. "You shouldn't, either. They're just idiots, and they're afraid of us, because we're better than them."

"But-"

"You don't need them. You have me."

Harry's face lit up at that, all sadness and worry gone. "Okay."

The only information regarding Parseltongue in the library available was that it was very rare, presumably very Dark, and that the most known Parselmouth was Salazar Slytherin. Which was not helpful in the slightest, and Tom was wondering with growing irritation why the skill should be mentioned at all if nothing would be said about it.

All he could deduct was that it was something one was born with, not learned, and he was trying to determine if it happened at random, or if only certain people could be born as parselmouths. With how rare it supposedly was, he assumed two parselmouths born in the same year, growing up in the same place was rather uncharacteristic.

It made him wonder, sometimes, because even if his and Harry's personalities differed like night and day, there were certain similarities that couldn't be missed.

There were too many things he didn't know enough about. He'd thought that learning more about Parseltongue would give him a clue about his heritage, and maybe even his connection with his friend. The problem was, without information he couldn't learn anything more.

If they'd known the title of the book they needed, Tom was certain he could get Slughorn or some other professor to sign the required note to take a book out of the Restricted Section, but as things were...

Sneaking in there had been a fiasco, and he didn't care to lose his sleep and risk being seen wandering around at night again, just to do something that was completely pointless. If they wanted to find anything in that absolute mess, they needed to do it at daytime and without the fear of someone seeing them.

An impossible combination, of course, but he didn't see what else would do it. As he couldn't think of a way to achieve that...well, they hadn't read every book available in the rest of the library yet.

Which was why they'd skipped lunch, grabbing a couple sandwiches from the Great Hall and headed straight to the library. For once, Harry was fully agreeing with him; his friend seemed just as curious in the subject as he was.

So Tom thought that Harry would also agree that they had no time to waste with a grinning Charlus Potter, who approached their table and invited himself to sit down. Perhaps Tom should add him to the list of people he despised merely because they were on good terms with his best friend.

Though, maybe he should be a little bit more worried that he had such a list in the first place.

"Hello, Harry," the irritating sixth year greeted easily. "I don't think I've been introduced to your friend...?"

No, he hadn't, and if it was up to Tom that wouldn't change. But he forced a polite smile on his face and waited for Harry to do the introduction, anyway.

"Right. Tom, this is Charlus Potter," Harry said, throwing him a don't sulk just because I'm talking to people look- and it was a bit disturbing that he received that look often enough to have made a name for it. "Charlus, this is Tom Riddle."

Charlus extended his arm. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure's all mine," Tom returned, lightly, shaking it- don't break his fingers it will get you nowhere!- briefly.

There, they met. No one was murdered or maimed. Now the other could go away, because they had studying to do and he was testing Tom's patience. But Charlus, of course, chose to remain seated and engage in some stupid conversation about Quidditch with Harry, and his friend seemed willing enough to participate.

Tom wanted to choke someone. Preferably the older boy, but anyone would do.

"-Will you be trying for the Slytherin team next year, then? Of course, I want Gryffindor to win the cup, so I probably shouldn't encourage you, but you have the body shape to make an excellent seeker."

"Huh?" Harry looked genuinely surprised, as if the notion that someone assumed he'd be good at something was entirely unbelievable. "Er, no, I don't think so. Probably wouldn't have enough time for it anyway."

Charlus chuckled, not unkindly. "I see. Funny, I somehow hadn't taken you for the studious sort."

"It's all Tom's fault," his friend accused, and how dare he involve him in that ridiculous conversation! "He's turned me into a bookworm."

"I don't recall turning you into anything. Now, if you happen to follow my example and take your studies seriously, I'd hardly call that my fault," he replied evenly.

"My studies, every other topic in the world that can be possibly found in a library, then some more that can't but let's try and study them anyway..." Harry murmured, huffing.

"Oh, yes, because you're so against that and I dragged you in here by your tie, hmm?"

Actually, that seemed like a very effective way of getting his friend where he wanted him, instead of wasting his time arguing about it. He should definitely try it at some point.

Harry refused to answer that, and the third (unwanted) member of their company decided to speak up again. "So what are you trying to study right now?"

"Er," his friend started, unsure how to continue. At least he wasn't stupid enough to consider telling the truth. "We're not studying yet, actually. Just trying to find the right book."

And...weren't sixth and seventh years allowed in the Restricted Section? It was tempting, very much so, but parseltongue didn't so far sound like the kind of thing they could casually bring up around just anyone, even if they claimed to be researching it only out of curiosity.

Charlus frowned, concern and wariness written all over his face. "You...you're not looking for something dark, are you?"

Yes, they definitely couldn't admit to be looking for a book on parseltongue. But maybe if they approached the matter from a different angle...

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you'd think so," he returned cooly, eyes narrowing just enough to project an image of being offended, and maybe slightly wounded by the suggestion. He noticed Harry's eyes roll in exasperation, but Charlus missed it. "It's a rather common occurance in Slytherin, isn't it? And of course, we should remain ignorant of the magic our classmates can perform, with essentially no way to defend ourselves."

"That- that's not what I-" the older boy spluttered.

"We know," Harry murmured, joining in for all his apparent dislike for the particular method. "Just...it's necessary to be aware of some things, at least- you understand that, right? I mean, not everyone's like you, and ignorance isn't much tolerated in our House. You know we're muggle-raised- there's just too much we don't know, about this world generally, that may be obvious to you, even if you don't necessarily like them-"

He let the sentence go unfinished, voice cracking just a bit in the end, looking up at Charlus hopefully. Tom thought Harry was putting up a rather spectacular performance, even if none of the things he said were necessarily untrue. He felt his lips twitch into a smile, and fought it off.

He didn't quite like the pitying look they were now on the receiving end of, but Charlus had completely fallen for it, and that was what mattered for the moment.

The sixth year offered both of them an apologetic, somewhat bashful smile. "Of course, I'm sorry. It's so easy to forget you only recently learned about the wizarding world...tell you what? Ask me anything about any subject you'd like- light, dark, and everything in between- and I promise I'll answer to the best of my capacity, yeah?"

Mission accomplished.

Chapter Text

"Do you...do you think we're related?"

Harry hadn't meant to ask that- it was completely irrational, because whenever the subject of relatives had breen brought up until now he'd cringed away, and suddenly at the prospect of Tom being one, his viewpoint got turned upside down.

Charlus' revelations on Parseltongue- that it was heridatory, and there hadn't been a largely know parselmouth for centuries- lead up to a lot of conclusions. It made both of them descendants of Salazar freaking Slytherin, for one, and effectively nulled the point their dear friends from Halloween were trying to make. Not that blood purity really had a valid point to begin with.

And yet, what came to him first, the thing that got stuck in his mind, twisting and poking and making him think about it and ask right after Charlus bid them goodbye, even when there were several more significant issues to discuss, was the possibility of being related to Tom.

If he wanted to look at it logically, of course, it would help with his friend's research, and that was obviously something to be glad about. He wasn't looking at it logically. He just knew that the thought made him feel very cozy and warm.

"Well, of course," Tom replied, blinking at him in actual confusion. "I thought we established that a while ago. If you mean related by blood- it could be a few generations back, but even if distantly, yes, I think we are."

I thought we established that a while ago.

Harry couldn't- and didn't really care to try- to fight back his grin at that. "And makes Slytherin our great-great-great-great-grandfather. With some dozen more greats. Smug, are you, o Great Descendant of a Hogwarts Founder?"

"Quite," Tom agreed, easily. Satisfaction was written all over his face. "I like how that sounds, I think."

"That was sarcasm, you conceited asshole."

Tom just shrugged at him, maddeningly unfazed.
"It gives us a new lead for our other research, too," he murmured, "and proves our friends' claims wrong. Speaking of them-"

Harry frowned, and promptly threw the thing nearest to him- an ink pot- at the other.
"If you develop blood purity ideas, I'll hex you," he warned, and Tom snorted.

"It's not a matter of ideas. It's simply inconvenient to be anything but a pureblood."

That wasn't exactly innacurate, even if him wasn't happy to admit it, and Harry could accept it.

"Speaking of them," Tom continued, as if there hadn't been an interruption, "I think it's time we give them a reminder of why they keep away from us. It's been a while since Halloween, and they may be growing daring again."

Harry hesitated. His feelings with tfor the would-be-bullies hadn't changed since their encounter, but to strike without being provoked, this time, didn't sit well with him. Then again, they couldn't wait until the others decided to attack them again- they had to be in complete control of the situation, if they wanted to do it right.

"Or, of course, we could do nothing, and regret it when we're once again cornered in a dark, empty corridor. Which option do you prefer, Harry?"

Damn Tom for reflecting his own thoughts. Damn Tom for actually being right. Damn Tom for the fact that the mere memory of his scared and hurt was enough to make Harry want to utterly destroy those measley, pathetic creatures.

"You pick only one of them, no permanent damage done, no more than two weeks in the Hospital Wing," he said finally.

Tom made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. "You're far too merciful."

"It's enough," Harry insisted, stubbornly, no room of argument in his voice. "We're just trying to give them a reminder, no? It doesn't have to be actively harmful. It could be symbolic. Something to get the message across."

His friend gave a sigh of resignation- which Harry found quite funny, actually, considering that he was th e one putting up with all sorts of unimaginable bullshit.

Still. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Dorea Black was amused.

Her lips twitched faintly, and she tilted her head to the side, observing the pale, glaring girl in the Hospital Wing's bed.

"However did she end up like this, Ma'am?" she inquired, adding the stereotypically necessary hint of concern in her tone.

She could care less, to be honest; the girl was a vaguely liked acquaintance, she had it coming, and she didn't appear to be in too much pain. Dorea wanted to see if the brats had been clever enough to cover up their tracks.

"Snake bite," the nurse grumbled, exasperated. "Though it was thankfully not venomous, and a conjurations, as far as I can tell. Reckon some kid was practising a conjuring charm and the product ran off. Of course, they didn't think to inform the professors that there was a snake on the loose."

Well, a prior incantato could potentionally reveal the culprits- she called bullshit to the nurse's theory of it being an acccident- but that could be easily solved by using another's wand. Or even just using another spell right after, so the charm would find that. And the way it was all set up, no one would even think of checking the students' wands.

Nothing all too impressive, quite simple actually, but effective.

Dorea decided she was interested in both brats- Potter and Riddle- and her thoughts flew to her rather large book collection. Maybe she'd get them a little something for Christmas, if they continued being so amusing.

The only reason they'd caught her attention initially was because of Potter's resemblance and relation to Charlus. A silly reason to notice someone, of course, but it turned out to be a good thing that she did, so she wouldn't dwell on it too much.

"Shit, Black," she hissed, once hissed with no amounts of subtlety whatsoever, once the nurse prowled away, and out of hearing distance, "what I told you Halloween night, you don't speak a word about it, is that clear?"

Dorea offered the girl a mockingly sweet smile. "I don't like your tone, dear. You're not in much of a condition to threaten me, no offence. You'll have to try something else."

Of course, she had no intention of going around telling tales about the kids' rather unique talent- she was rather curious to see when they would reveal it themselves. Soon, if they had any common sense. Of course, they didn't know that she knew, but they couldn't hope that intimidation would keep the other girl's and her friends' mouths shut forever.

"He's a mudblood, Riddle," the girl snarled, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "No one will believe you if you tell them. It should be impossible!"

Obviously, he wasn't, his ability was enough to make that certain. But she figured it would be too big of a stab to the girl's ego to admit she'd assumed wrong.

"And yet, you're concerned. Afraid they'll do you in if they find their secret isn't revealed in their own terms?" Dorea suggested, raising a brow.

"They did this because I stood there while an idiot taunted them! You're an idiot too, if you're not afraid."

Of the firsties? As if.

Really, they had potential, and they may make considerable enemies in a few years, but to fear scrawny eleven year olds? She was better than that. And she really didn't like the way this girl was talking to her.

"Would it make you feel better?" Dorea sneered, eyes narrowed. "Will it make it any easier to deal with that you got beaten by children, if I pretend to cower in fear as well?"

The girl glowered.

Dorea decided her newest acquaintance was incredibly dull, for all the useful information she provided her with.

Casting a Disillusionment Charm on themselves and taking shifts outside the Hospital Wing was easy, if not laughably so, at least enough to boost Tom's already unusually good mood even more.

They'd purposedly picked a day when no one else was bedridden, so they would know with absolute certainty who all the visitors came for, and they'd picked a Sunday, so they'd be relatively free to monitor the area all day long.

They would have actually gone inside the Hospital Wing, but their charms tended to wear off after around an hour, and they just couldn't risk being seen, even for a brief second. Changing shifts eah hour, as a result of that, was practical despite the irritation it caused.

Tom cast a glance at the corridor ahead of him, to ensure it was empty, and then walked on towards the corner where he knew Harry would be standing, even if he couldn't see his friend. If he squinted his eyes, he could catch a glimpse of an intangible blur, like a thin line of smoke fading in the air.

He folded his arms and leaned against the chilly wall, inclining his head in greeting when Harry appeared next to him a moment later.

"The two from Halloween, the ones you said came earlier, left about fifteen minutes into the shift," the boy reported. Not too much closeness between them and their victim of choice, then, if they'd stayed with her for less than half an hour. He wondered if the fourth member of the group would show up at all. "A Slytherin prefect, sixth year, came a while later. She's still inside."

"Did you get a name?"

"No, but it shouldn't be too hard to find out who's the sixth year female prefect. Besides that, I think she's a Black- she looks like Alphard and his creepy sister-" Who had developed a habit of trying to glare holes into Harry and Tom occasionally, thus earning the title of creepy, "-quite a lot. I could ask."

"Do that," Tom agreed, pulling out his wand to cast the charm, twirling it around as though trying to wrap himself in rope. He grimaced at the feeling as it took effect. "Last shift for today. It's late, and it would be pointless to stay up spying on our friend's nearly nonexistent associates all night long."

Harry nodded absently, poking the air in front of him to determine where Tom was. "Okay. Don't scare too many kiddies passing by, while you? See you up in the dorm."

No faith in him whatsoever. Not that it wouldn't have been entertaining to boo at the children and watch them panic and try to figure out where the sound came from, but really, he couldn't be bothered. And it wouldn't do good to attract attention to his hiding spot.

"Yes, yes, I'll play nice," he confirmed, and Harry went on him merry way.

The prefect left the Hospital Wing about ten minutes before the hour was up, and Tom followed her back to the Slytherin dorms shortly.

Right after casting a hex on door, blocking the way of whomever may try to go visiting at night.

Chapter Text

Dorea, being a Black and a Slytherin, valued ambition, cunning, and the like.

Therefore, she had no idea how on earth she had been coaxed into spending the last Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas with a very Gryffindor Charlus Potter, who, in her (not) objective opinion, was the polar opposite of all those qualities.

But, well...Being a sixth year from her family, in her house and position required perfect subtlery and composure; every word, every action, every expression was calcuated and judged, and there was no room for mistakes. It was like tightrope walking. The smallest of misteps and everything was over.

Charlus' blunt honesty, his easy manners, how laid-back she could be with him, how openly she could speak her thoughts, or laugh, and still be genuinely liked by the other was like a breath of fresh air.

There was free time, and she simply indulging the boy, since she happened to appreciate his company on some level. Really, if she'd grabbed his hand at some point and entwined their fingers, it was just to lead him into the Three Broomsticks- she wouldn't put it past the idiot to manage to get lost, even in Hogsmeade.

"Any chance I'll get to see you during the Christmas break?" Charlus asked hopefully, setting their butterbeers on the table and plopping down next to her.

They were sitting in a secluded corner, no one that matteres should be able to see them, so she rolled her eyes before giving him a sharp look. "You know the answer to that, Potter."

He made a (worrying adorable) face. "Will you at least write?"

"No," she responded instantly. "I hardly see the reason to do so when we'll be seeing each other again so soon. However, I suppose you can write, and if you mention anything remotely interesting I'll verbally reply after the holidays."

"Soon!" Charlus repeated, incredulously. "Two weeks isn't soon at all."

"Merlin! Is patience an unknown word to you, Potter?"

He gave an all too childish pout, but dropped the matter.

Maybe he wasn't completely hopeless; maybe he had some sort of Gryffindor equivalent to common sense, if such a thing existed. Dorea regarded him with a small smile, and thought that a small reply to his letter, attached to his Christmas present could, in fact, be sent. And promptly scolded herself.

It was not an outrageous thing to do, there was nothing technically wrong with it...But to write back was to admit the lack of communication bothered her, and that was ridiculous in two weeks time. It wasn't like she'd miss the boy, or anything.

Oh, well, there was time to consider it. If there was something that absolutely needed addressing, it'd be justified and logical to answer, wouldn't it? Besides, it was only polite. But then- Dorea had a suspision she was overthinking it.

At least the rest of the da- meeting passed somewhat pleasantly, in a relaxed atmosphere. It wasn't a complete waste of her time. The time to return to Hogwarts, in fact, came much further than she could have anticipated, and she was slightly hesitant to leave.

She would ignore the alarming ease with which Charlus' hand slipped into hers as they got up to leave the shop. Still just indulging him, it was a non-verbal thank you for not being completely unbearable. Simple as that.

Maybe Dorea was a bit fond of him, but it only went that far. Acknowlegement of him not being the worst company in the world, and maybe even platonic friendship. She was certain no one with an ounce of intelligence could be attracted to a Gryffindor.

When the boy glanced around as the reached the castle, making sure no one was looking- Dorea supposed she should thank Merlin he at least thought to take that simple precaution- and then pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, she wasn't quite so certain anymore.

He pulled back quickly, giving a bold but nervous grin. Dorea glared, actually feeling her cheeks redden. She resisted the urge to bring a hand to them, and reached for her wand instead.

"You have a three seconds headstart before I hex you," she warned, eyes narrowed.

Charlus chuckled and ran off. "I'll write to you soon!" he yelled, glancing over his shoulder.

The absolute prat. Wasn't even a good kiss, anyway.

She folded her arms with an irritated huff and headed to the Commom Room, giving no signs of being as unsettled as she felt. Charlus was certainly not getting a letter from her now, with what he went and did, the idiot.

The dim-lit room was almost empty, with most students up in their dormitories to pack their belongings. Very few Slytherins would be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas; a couple or so of seventh years, in hope of peaceful studying for their NEWTS, a girl from third year, two boys from first year- two particular boys she meant to keep an eye on, that was- and herself.

They'd been laying very quietly since that stunt they'd pulled with the conjured snake, but it was a perfect opportunity, and she judged it about time to discover exactly what was the mystery covering Tom Riddle and Harry Potter.

The latter of whom may or may not be related to Charlus, but Dorea refused to think about him at the moment.

One of the many things Harry adored about Hogwarts was its liveliness, but he had to admit that the castle was just as enchanting void of all chattering students.

He spent the first few days of the Christmas holidays going for long walks in the empty, candle-lit corridors, in the seemingly endless grounds surrounding the castle, sometimes with Tom and sometimes alone. It was entrancing- he felt as if Hogwarts itself was a magnificent spell, and he a part of it.

He almost lost track of time, what with not being required to wake up for classes or be in the Great Hall for breakfast, and with the professors- or, well, most of them- uncharacteristically lenient about curfew. It would be easy to believe that Hogwarts existed out of time, almost.

Harry only knew today was Christmas Day because of the presents the rest of the Slytherins had shown off in the common room that morning. He and Tom decided to spend the day outside, with his friend claiming to be irritated by the students' enthusiastic views on Christmas, and Harry himself more than happy to go along with it.

Until then, Harry hadn't very much liked the holiday either, but this year...He received no presents, and there were no special events, but he found it amazing regardless. Just spending the day with his best friend, in a place he was slowly coming to consider home was more than he could have thought to ask for.

"It's snowing," Tom murmured, "you should be dressed warmer."

Harry sent his attire a glance, and shrugged. "I'm not cold. Besides, what do you suggest I wear? Do you plan on knitting mittens for me?"

"Yes, and strangling you with them," Tom clarified, sending him a dark glare. "I swear, Potter, if the whole 'holiday spirit' has lowered your IQ, too..."

"What do you have against holidays, anyway? It's a bit ridiculous."

"Your face is ridiculous, what's your point?"

Harry snorted, ignoring the slightly sullen look on Tom's face. He lingered a few steps behind, kneeling down to pick some snow from the ground, even if his ungloved hands protested at the icy contact. Yes, a pair of mittens would be really helpful at the moment. He made the snow into a ball, shivering.

Tom would probably find this ridiculous, too.

He aimed, then threw.

Tom came to the sudden realization that Harry wasn't walking beside him anymore, and wiped around sharply, just in time to see his friend standing up, clutching something in his hand. He was wearing a grin Tom knew well, and it could mean nothing good.

"If you're doing what I think you're doing-"

The snowball hit him in the face.

Oh, Harry would be paying for this.

"You dare...!"

His friend laughed carelessly and made a run for it, with Tom chasing after him, incredulous of his own actions. He knew that had been Harry's plan precisely, to rope him into retaliating. But just because he could see the trap, didn't mean he wouldn't walk straight into it.

The fact that Harry was a good runner wasn't helping one bit. Tom was taller, and probably stronger physically, logic suggested that he should be able to catch up to Harry pretty fast, however, the distance between them chose to ignore all logic and refused to lessen. It got bigger, if anything.

Still, Tom was the first to remember that they had magic, and with a quickly cast levitating charm on a pile of snow, the chase was over. Harry gave a surprised yelp and tripped, falling on his face and getting even more full of snow, somehow. Tom couldn't quite help feeling a childish sort of triumph.

"You're so petty," Harry huffed.

"I prefer the term vengeful," he corrected with a tauntingly sweet smile.

Harry glowered, scowling darkly.

Game on.

Tom honestly had no idea why his friend was angry with him.

He wasn't the one to start this, and besides, he'd warned Harry to dress warmer, hadn't he? It was entirely the other's fault that he'd gotten a cold, and had to spend his hours sneezing in the common room or dormitory, wrapped up in blankets. He didn't see how blame could possibly fall on him.

If anything, it was Tom who should be angry. They were supposed to practice three new spells over the holidays, and now they would fall behind schedule. Just because Harry felt like being childish and refusing to dress accordingly to the weather.

He made a mental note to take his revenge in a less counter-productive way, next time Harry decided to aggravate him- but it was still the other boy's fault.

So it was completely unreasonable that Tom should feel obliged to remain in the common room with his idiot of a best friend, instead of doing something that actually had somewhat of a point in it. Especially considering how ungrateful Harry was being, whose every sneeze was accompanied by a murmured , "prat."

Yet, there he was.

"You brought this to yourself, you know," he commented lightly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I just randomly decided it'd be tons of fun to bury myself in a pile of snow."

"And I, amazing as I am, decided to assist you," Tom added.

"You're an asshole, has anybody ever told you that?"

Harry's tone was gruff, but Tom detected a hint of amusement in it.

"My best friend may have mentioned it before. Usually he tends to find me incredible, though."

"I find the second part a bit hard to believe. Perhaps you misunderstood. He probably meant conceited."

"Did he now? I remember him saying no such thing, and my memory is excellent."

"Yes, okay, brag some more. You're proving my point."

Tom didn't consider that worth of a reply, much more interested in the fact that they were being approached by an older girl, a sixth year prefect by the name of Dorea Black- mystery girl from the hospital wing. She invited herself to sit on the empty chair right next to him.

Well, this could prove interesting.

Saying nothing, the girl handed a small vial over to Harry, and his friend accepted it mechanically, blinking at her.

"Thanks," he said. "...What is this?"

"Pepper up, for your cold. And," she added, turning to Tom, "if I may make a suggestion, you should learn the heating charm. So next time your friend goes out in the snow thinking we still have September, this doesn't happen."

Tom nodded.

Of course there would be such a charm- he should have thought of it sooner. This entire fiasco could have been avoided.

"I believe it will come in handy. Thank you," he replied evenly, giving a polite smile. "I am Tom Riddle, pleasure to meet you, miss...?"

"Dorea Black, likewise."

"I'm Harry Potter," his friend greeted, going for a grin. "Thanks again."

"Think nothing of it," Dorea dismissed. "After all, us Slytherins got to stick together, no? Merry Christmas, boys."

She stood and left, looking far too accomplished and satisfied with herself. A wrapped, book-sized box lay on the armchair were she was sitting a moment ago.

Harry was beaming.

Tom decided that Blacks were a nuinsance.

"Don't drink that, it might be poisoned," he snapped, as Harry opened the vial and sniffed the potion curiously.

The other snorted. "Yes, because when someone wants to poison you, they do it by openly handing you the poison in front of witnesses. She definitely wouldn't, I don't know, slip it in my food or something."

In all likelihood there was nothing wrong with the potion, he knew, but he still felt the urge to snatch it off Harry's hands and smash it on the ground.

"Perfect bluff."

"My god, you're paranoid."

He was not.

He was just entirely aware of the fact that the vast majority of people had ill intentions, and thus, it was necessary to tread with caution. Especially considering how trusting his friend was, which meant Tom had to be careful enough for both of them.

"You're still not drinking it. Merry Christmas, Harry."

"Merry Christmas, prat."

Chapter Text

It was New Year's Eve.

It was also, coincidentally, Tom's birthday, but the boy was very keen on not thinking about that. Little point in it, anyway; the only ones who knew about this was a short-tempered orphanage matron with breath smelling of alcohol and her helpers. He wasn't expecting a cake or candles to blow, and frankly, he would have been offended more than anything if they'd attempted to offer anything of the sort, not that it was likely.

But maybe, just maybe, the last day of the year could have had the decency not to become one of the worst. Tom rarely ever had good days- though, a bit more frequently in the course of the last two years, but this was another thought he refused to pay attention to- but today was exceptionally ridiculous. It seemed that the world had a habit of being as annoying as possible in the most inconvenient times.

Having fought with Harry was the icing on top of the cake, so to speak. Or, perhaps, their fight was exactly why everything seemed gloomy and terrible today. Well, in any case, more terrible and gloomy than usually. The list of thoughts that had to be pushed back and ignored was growing at an alarming rythm.

"Tom!"

And right on cue, there was the boy, choosing to appear at the exact time that his absense was required, if Tom hoped to clear his mind at all. He continued walking, hands stuffed in his pockets, as if he hadn't heard. There was no need to turn and face the other; the street was quiet and Harry's voice easy to recognize.

"Hey," his friend panted, jogging up to him. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, breathing uneven. "Tom, it's late. Really late. Almost midnight. We need to get back."

"You're free to return anytime you like. In fact, I strongly advise it," Tom bit out.

"It's good advice," Harry allowed, "but you honestly think I'm clever enough to follow it?"

"You are clever enough, but you are also exceptionally stubborn." And Harry needed to stop doing this stupid thing where his eyes lit up every time Tom paid him a compliment, didn't he realize how vulnerable he was making himself like this? Clever, clever idiot. "Still, one would think that through trial and error, you'd sooner or later learn."

It was trurly amazing how many times the boy could figuratively put his hand in a fire, and still expect next time the flames wouldn't burn him. Worse even, keep his hand steadily there and act like whether it burned or not was of no importance.

"Not happening. And since we both know you won't believe that, can we at least agree on not today? Here, I've got cake. I'll bribe you," Harry offered, presenting a squished, crumbled mass that might have been a dessert once.

Coincidence. It was a coincidence. Harry had no idea it was Tom's birthday; this wasn't birthday cake. He was able to grab some food, which was good, and it just so happened to be cake. It didn't mean anything. There was no reason for him to get a lump in his throat.

Tom stared at the cake for the longest time, then took it. "Your bribery is acknowledged and accepted. Were did you get this?"

"Met an old lady. Apparently, I look like her grandson, and her life mission is to make the kid chubby. She was very nice."

Ah, yes, of course. Harry, who made friends with nice old ladies. Harry, who would probably adopt every stray dog in the world if he was in the position to offer them anything. It all made sense now.

"...Is this your way of apologising?"

Harry fixed him with a flat, unimpressed look. "Is it yours?"

"...No."

"That's okay, I wasn't expecting an apology. I mean, you know, it's this thing friends do when they've been really mean to each other and they regret it, but hey."

"Oh, we're friends now?" Tom challenged, even though yes, they were. It was besides the point. "I don't recall ever saying that."

And it was really unfair that Harry, commonly starved for any sort of praise, full of self-doubt and repression, was apparently having a burst of confidence today. "You know, we really are."

The cake tasted funny, but Tom's birthday was actually not one of the worst days of the year anymore.

There was a very loud thump.

A very loud thump that was also completely uncalled for, and Tom didn't deign to startle awake because of it. He kept his eyes closed, grunting into the pillow, promising to himself that, whatever Harry was doing, if he didn't the volume very quickly, he'd hex the boy into next week.

It was only at a curse, followed by squeaked exclamation of "Alphard, you arse!" that he jolted up, eyes flying open to see his friend's upper half dangling off the bed, fingers curled into his blankets, that Black was pulling away with a grin so huge that his face could split in half. Tom hoped it would.

"Come on, rise and shine. Everyone's back, they're waiting for your lazy arse to get out of bed so we can all go for breakfast together," he urged. "Avery's pissed. But Avery's always pissed, and it's our first day back in school. Slytherins gotta present a united front."

"While I'm all for the team spirit," Tom drawled, Black's eyes snapping to him immediately, "I must admit I doubt destroying Harry's blankets it's going to be of much use. Harry, get up, you look ridiculous."

Harry gave a weak scowl, though, to be fair, it might have been a yawn too. Regardless, he crawled out of bed reluctantly, tugging back his blankets.

"Morning, Tom," Black greeted. Far too cheerful. Surely, uncalled for cheer justified a good curse. "Thanks for the help."

"Oh god, don't do that, he's cranky in the morning," Harry laughed. Tom really didn't know who he should be hexing first. It was far too early to deal with any of this. "We're up, Alph. Meet you guys down, okay?"

"Sure."

The moment Black's figure disappeared, Harry promptly fell back on the bed, blankets a scrambled mess around and below him. Like a child, really. Tom, being the mature person, dragged himself out to the cold and shoved his friend off.

"Get up. Have breakfast with the idiots or they won't shut up about it."

"You're coming too," the boy informed him, flashing a smile. "Our friends are back from their homes, and you're going to temporarily remove the stick from your arse to have a breakfast with the rest of us commoners."

Tom narrowed his eyes, expression dark enough to have grown men taking a step back, in surprise if not fear, but it was just like Harry not to play by those rules and remain blatantly unfazed. "They're not my friends, and if you ever refer to them as such in my presence again, I promise to you I will hospitalise them."

Inexplicably, Harry was smiling. "You know, they really are."