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The cold air bites at his cheeks; his fingers are so icy they would ache if he weren't already used to it.
Death isn't warm. It's cold and damp.
The glasses on his nose slip, but his eyes can't tear themselves away from the water.
The black lake is beginning to freeze. The tree branches have been bare for some time now.
His mind is elsewhere.
A place that probably won't happen. Before, but technically after.
He's never liked water.
I mean, he likes showering, but he can't stand the feeling of water on his face…
“Potter, tell me what you know. Potter.”
The water burned in his lungs. It hurt, a lot.
“I promise you, if you tell me what you know, it will all stop.”
How he hated sessions with Moody or anyone who was with him and Dumbledore.
It didn't matter what he did or said. The water always, always ended up in his lungs.
“Harry!”
A snap of fingers in front of his face snapped him out of his reverie.
“Lucretia, I told you not to approach like that.”
“But Harry, I’ve been yelling at you from the entrance.”
Lucretia’s whiny tone irritated him, made him angry just hearing it.
“Tom wants to see you.”
“Tell Tom he can go to hell, Lucretia. I’m not going to be part of his circus.”
Now she was pouting as if he owed her something. He didn’t, and he could barely stand her most of the time.
But he needs her.
She's the most tolerable of Tom's followers. The most useful to him.
Lucretia Black and Morgana Malfoy.
Morgana is more tolerable; she's not a fanatic. She says she refuses to follow a half-blood.
If only she knew that he himself is one of the filthy half-bloods she hates so much.
He was never interested in pure-blood ideology.
He's spilled so much blood that it all looks the same on the floor.
Red, wet, and hot.
One of the dogs Hogwarts keeps approaches him and rubs against his trousers.
The furry thing is drying on his clothes.
A chuckle escapes his lips, and he bends down to stroke its head.
"Tom really wants to see you. He's..."
Lucretia lifts the sleeve of her robes, and Harry can sense the magic before he even sees the wound.
Tom Riddle is a damned idiot who uses blood quills on his followers. But Harry can't do anything; they choose where they want to be.
"You're a fool if you let him treat you like this. Tom has threatened Morgana countless times, and she's never wavered."
The dog smells damp, but he can't stop petting it and drying its fur with a gentle spell.
"Morgana doesn't know what she's doing, Tom will rule the wizarding world. Are you really going to act like this?"
"Like what, Lucretia?"
"You're always against him. Tom's never done anything to you. He tries to be your friend."
Wasn't killing his beloved enough? It was enough for Harry, and it was enough for him to hate him for the rest of his immortal life.
"Harry, don't tickle me..."
Blonde hair on the pillow, loud laughter, and Draco's hands on his shoulders were the warmest place Harry had ever been.
"I don't like Tom Riddle, and that should explain it to you. Stop insisting."
"But Harry..."
"No."
He gets up from the floor, gives the dog one last pat on the belly, and walks away without a second glance.
Morgana is sitting on the main staircase. She had been waiting for him, and from where she sat, she could see him perfectly.
Harry taps his shoe against hers.
"Were you watching me?"
"Someone has to. Besides, who knows? Maybe you needed to be saved from Lucretia."
Morgana looks up from the book on her lap, and Harry's heart stops.
Her pale eyes and blonde hair always make his heart ache.
"Don't be silly, I don't need anyone to save me."
"Are you sure? Riddle's right behind you."
His head snaps around, and Morgana's giggles make him roll his eyes.
"I'm going to hit you."
"You won't."
He won't, but she doesn't need to know that.
Morgana pats the spot next to her on the stairs, and he slumps down.
“I was thinking… Christopher asked me out, and you know I like him a lot, but he’s also talking to Camille, the Hufflepuff…”
“Don’t go out with him, he’s an idiot. I already told you, Morgana.”
“Harry, listen to me… you didn’t even let me finish.”
He huffs and throws his head back. His elbows are on a few steps above where he’s sitting.
“I don’t have to listen to you, Mora. Christopher’s an idiot, okay? His family’s broke, and what is better than to marry a Malfoy? He’s talking to Camille because she’s a Mudblood, and he thinks it’s okay to play with her.”
Morgana punches him in the arm and glares at him.
“How do you know? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I heard it. Ravenclaws shout like the rest of us don’t have ears. And yes, I did try to tell you, but you were too busy swooning over him.”
“Harry Peverell thought we were friends. Friends tell each other things straight…”
She’s being dramatic while coming to terms with the fact that Christopher isn’t right for her. Morgana knows he never lies; he has no reason to lie to her, and if he says he’s no good, then he isn’t.
“We are, but you’re so…”
“Peverell.”
The good mood Harry was starting to feel vanishes like a fire in the fireplace after using Floo.
“Riddle. It’s good to see you. A little first-year was looking for help, tutoring or something, and you’re a prefect.”
Morgana stands slightly between him and Tom, even though she doesn’t need protection. She does it for him, so he doesn’t have to talk to Tom.
“I’m not tutoring right now, Malfoy. May I speak with Peverell alone?”
Tom's tone is weary, as if he's tired and fed up with Morgana.
"You didn't even let me finish. You don't know what subject she needs help with. Besides, it's incredibly rude of you practically cutting me off when, to begin with, I was talking to Harry first."
To her credit, for someone smaller than him, Tom is handling it remarkably well. Harry is easily two heads taller than her, and Tom at least one.
The other man ignores her, his eyes fixed on his. Harry glances at Morgana. He has many talents, and Occlumency isn't one of them.
"Peverell..."
He doesn't let him finish.
"Riddle. Why don't you go check Lucretia's arm? You don't want it to get infected and Dippet to start asking questions."
Riddle's jaw clenches, and a murderous glare flashes at Morgana. Tom seems to think it's her fault he can't stand him. The two of them already had a history of animosity before he even arrived in the past. If he understood correctly, it was all due to a misunderstanding. Morgana laughed at the wrong moment about something completely unrelated to Tom, and he took it personally.
Harry pulls her behind him and stares intently at Riddle's tie.
"Go away, Riddle. Harry and I are going on a date."
What?
"What?"
"Goodbye."
Harry takes her wrist, lifts her backpack, and practically drags her away from Tom.
"Why did you say that to him?"
"We've been sharing a house with him for six years. If there's one thing that bothers him, it's couples. He reminds me a lot of a chihuahua barking from a purse. All bark and no bite."
That's because Tom hasn't had the chance to bite her yet, and he won't. But he does bite, and he bites hard.
Morgana is looking at her nails like a show-off. Harry hates her.
"Don't be mad, Harry. If I bother you, I'm sorry, but it always works when Riddle's sticking his nose into my business. He's tried to get me expelled six times, and that's just this year. I'm going to hug you, okay?"
She tells him she's going to hug him and doesn't wait for a response; she just does it. She knows she has to warn him of her movements when she's so close to him.
She's warm against his body, and his arms wrap around her. Since Death claimed him as its master, his skin is icy cold. Morgana spends all her time glued to his side on hot days. She says no cooling spell is as good as Harry.
"Where will you spend Yule? Will you be staying at school again?"
The house where he's staying is in Manchester, in a Muggle neighborhood where nobody asks questions and absolutely nobody looks anyone in the eye.
"I don't know, you know the only Slytherins staying are Riddle and me… Maybe I'll go home."
"My parents are going to Germany to visit my cousins, you can come with me."
"Why don't you come with me?"
He says it as a joke, nothing more than a way to deflect attention; he doesn't want her to see the way his throat tightens.
"Oh my god! YES! You're always telling me that Muggles aren't beasts and stuff like that, you can show me everything."
Oh no…
"Sure, I'll let you know, okay? Do you need me to write a letter to your parents?"
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and her eyes darkened. He knows that magic signature even though it feels weak. Tom must be under a concealment spell.
“Uh? I don’t know, I’ll write to them today.”
Harry kisses her forehead and steps back.
“Okay, let me know. I’ll see you later, Mora. I didn’t do Slughorn’s homework, and you know how he gets.”
Morgana is distracted when Harry’s hand reaches out and pulls Tom, who was behind the tapestry, out of the way.
“What are you doing?”
“No, what are you doing?”
“You don’t want to talk to me.”
“I don’t want to, and I won’t. I don’t owe you anything, Riddle. Keep pushing, and you won’t like what happens.”
He starts to back away, and Tom speaks behind him, his voice full of rage.
“I think you’ll want to talk to me when your blond bitch disappears.”
Harry’s back tenses, and he quickly turns back to slam Tom against the wall behind him, his forearm pressing against Tom’s throat.
“Say it again.”
The silence is enough to know that he’s chickened out. They’re wizards, after all; things never get physical.
“You’re a coward, Riddle. You’re nothing but a sheep playing at being a wolf. You’re nothing without your pureblood entourage. You can be clever and all that, but in a real fight? You’re screwed. Touch Morgana and you’ll truly meet your match.”
Harry pulls him away from the wall only to slam him against it again and spits at his feet.