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Chapter Text

Chapter One

The Adventures of Mister Cork

Harry reckoned if someone saw him they'd think he was insane. If his relatives walked in unexpectedly Harry knew they'd pitch a fit, but he didn't particularly care about them anymore. He'd been sneaking out for over three weeks now and they hadn't noticed a thing. If they hadn't discovered him by now he doubted they ever would. Regardless, it didn't dampen the amusement it sparked to notice their obliviousness.

Sitting on his bedroom floor, wrapped in the scratchy blanket from his bed, Harry surrounded himself with plans. Dozens of books were lying open on the floor around him, journals and yearbooks discarded near his dresser, papers strewn about rather indiscriminately. All that mattered was that he could see it all at once, no matter how mad he looked boxed in by resources collected from weeks of research.

Ever since Harry discovered Dumbledore hid the Prophecy from him - when he first realized the Headmaster wasn't as trustworthy as he thought - one thing after another was slowly convincing him that maybe Dumbledore wasn't the great man Harry always thought him to be. Once upon a time Harry might've listened to and trusted Dumbledore completely, but for the past few weeks Harry's trust was fading, replaced by wary suspicion.

If there was anything Harry was really good at, it was finding things he wasn't meant to and getting into situations he wasn't supposed to. Sure it usually led to mountain trolls and basilisks and werewolves, but what else was new? Looking at the facts of the situation at hand, Harry didn't really have a choice.

Too much was happening all at once. Dumbledore was keeping secrets, Ron and Hermione weren't writing him anymore, being alone with the Dursleys was slowly chipping away at his sanity, and the nightmares of Cedric and the graveyard only brought his grief to the surface with every day that passed. Harry was drowning. But now he'd found a way to swim.

He was going to make his own way, find his own answers, and solve his problems without caring what Dumbledore thought. If Dumbledore was content to ignore him, Harry would ignore him right back. So Harry was starting with research - research into Dumbledore himself.

“Who's next?” Harry murmured into his empty room, “Who else…”

Over the past week Harry hunted down each and every staff member he knew worked with Dumbledore during the time he was a Transfiguration Professor. He looked into when they quit, where they worked after, whether they stayed relatively close to Hogwarts, and everything in between. He learned a lot from that alone, but that wasn't all he found. Harry already knew Dumbledore's time as a Transfiguration Professor overlapped with Tom Riddle's time as a student, but new information came to light that sparked curiosity and doubt.

Tom Riddle applied to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor in 1945 shortly after graduating, but was denied by the Headmaster at the time, Armando Dippet, due to Riddle's young age. It wasn't even three months later that Headmaster Dippet resigned - and who should take his place but Albus Dumbledore? When Tom Riddle returned, older and more learned, to apply for the position again, Dumbledore turned him away without hesitation. An interesting sequence of events…

At first the facts and timeline may’ve seemed unrelated, but according to almost every person Harry interviewed so far… they very much were connected.

Seven out of the nine Professors Harry interviewed mentioned Tom Riddle as one of the students Dumbledore unfairly accused of evil deeds, and the one subjected to his attention most often. Apparently Dumbledore had an aversion to Slytherins in general, occasionally picking random students to give detention or scold for no reason, but with Riddle it was more prominent, enough so that nearly everyone noticed. It was no question to them why Dumbledore denied Riddle the position, given the terrible history between them.

A couple years ago Harry might've thought they were all crazy. Dumbledore was in the wrong and Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, was completely innocent? That just sounded wrong on so many levels!! But with evidence stacking up, too many things dropped in Harry's lap at once, suddenly he wasn't so sure anymore.

Harry didn't know what to do with all the information he was finding, or what to think about it all. He also didn't know how it fit in with his dreams and the Prophecy he recently discovered. But he knew there was something more going on beneath it all - Harry just couldn't figure out what. Not yet, anyway.

But he would. Harry was sure of it. Determination was one of his chief Gryffindor traits, and he planned to use every ounce of it to find the answers he was looking for.

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Harry looked in the bathroom mirror carefully, making sure everything was in place. The blue contacts were snugly sitting in his eyes, though they made his eyes water a little, and the square glasses he wore sat perched against his nose. He again straightened the bright red beanie that hid his hair, then double checked the foundation covering his scar was well in place. He wore the same disguise for every Professor, using the same name and everything. He wanted to become someone new for these ventures - an aspiring journalist on the hunt for the truth.

It had taken about a week to collect his full disguise, slowly nabbing a few sterling from Petunia's purse to collect enough money to afford the Muggle supplies and inconspicuous clothes. He didn't dare touch his uncle's wallet - Vernon counted his money, so that was a sure way to get caught. Regardless, Harry eventually had his whole disguise in order and wore it when interviewing every Professor. It wasn't perfect, but it did stop them from immediately clocking him as ‘The Great Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived,’ and that was the biggest part, really.

With a deep breath, Harry left the bathroom and headed to Apartment Number 65 and knocked soundly. He waited. A moment later a man answered the door; he was rounded and wide like uncle Vernon, but bald to the point of his head being shiny, his expression pleasant and joyous. Overly so, in Harry's opinion.

“Professor Horace Slughorn?” Harry prompted, dramatically flipping through a few pages on the clipboard he had in hand.

“Yes.” The man confirmed with a laugh. “Though I haven't been a Professor in many years, ha! What can I do for you?”

“I'm Roland Cork, an aspiring Wizarding journalist.” Harry said, grinning brightly at Slughorn. “I've been interviewing retired Professors from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, mostly regarding their careers and notable moments while teaching. I'd just like a moment of your time, perhaps 15 to 20 minutes, to ask you a few questions.”

“How interesting!” Slughorn exclaimed. “And which of my old colleagues have you interviewed?”

“Several, actually.” Harry told him. Again he flipped a few pages on the clipboard, trailing his fingers along the words as if referencing the information he'd already memorized backwards and upside down. “Two of them mentioned and recommended I visit you personally. Healer Merrythought, the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor that shared her time at Hogwarts with you, and Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes Professor that overlapped with you more briefly.”

“Mentioned me, did they?”

“Yes sir, they spoke very highly of you. And they told me about an interesting club you ran while you taught.” Harry said enthusiastically. “The Slug Club? I was wondering if I could ask you about that as well! I hear you had a variety of talented students over the years.”

“That I did, my boy!” Slughorn laughed. “I'm still in contact with the majority of them, I'll have you know. They still greatly rely on me, and all regularly update me on their lives and careers!”

“How exciting!” Harry gasped. “Tell me everything!”

“Well, not everything, of course. A man's gotta have some secrets now.” Slughorn said with a wink. “But I'd love to tell you about it.”

“Great!” Harry enthused. “I'd like to ask you about a few specific students as well, if you don't mind. Including, but not limited to: Miranda Goshawk, Lyall Lupin, Tom Riddle, and Tiberius Nott. They were all in your famous Slug Club, right? The other Professors really sang their praises as well, and I was just wondering if you'd weigh in on their academic accomplishments and personal successes.”

As he spoke, Harry noticed Slughorn suddenly go still. His cheer slowly faded into a more tense smile, that joyful attitude melting away. Harry tilted his head, examining the man. What could've caused that?

“Professor?” Harry prompted.

“Oh yes, they were.” Slughorn said, clearing his throat loudly. “All lovely, lovely students.” He seemed tight-lipped regarding that, which Harry filed away in his brain for later. He moved on smoothly.

“In any case, I'd also like to discuss your relationship with Headmaster Dumbledore. I believe you attended Hogwarts together as students? And he was the Transfiguration Professor for a long while before transitioning to become the Headmaster of Hogwarts.” Harry again flipped some pages, pausing with a hum. “Professor Merrythought cited you two were quite close back in the day. Would you mind telling me more about that as well, in the interview?”

“Uh, well, Dumbledore and I had a… working relationship.” Somehow Slughorn had grown even more tense. “If you've come to talk to me about Dumbledore specifically, I can't help you on that front.”

“That's alright, I have plenty of other questions.” Even as he said it, Harry realized he'd hit a wall in the conversation. So he improvised. “Oh! Is now a bad time?” Harry asked, painting concern across his face. “I'm so sorry! I didn't even ask, how rude of me. How about I come back at a later date? We can continue some other time. How does that sound? We'll get this sorted in no time, I'm sure of it.”

“Yes, quite.” Slughorn nodded, clearing his throat again. “Perhaps a later date would be preferable. I'll check my schedule and see when might be able to–”

“Oh don't even worry about it, Professor!” Harry exclaimed. “I'll figure something out. Next time I'll have the questions all sketched out, so we can just get started instead of standing around in the doorway. We can go over them together then, don't you fret! Bye Professor, it was lovely meeting you. Have a lovely day!”

Without waiting and completely ignoring Slughorn's sputtered protests, Harry promptly left with a skip in his step until he rounded a corner and Slughorn was out of sight. Then Harry paused, frowning as he made his way out of the apartment building more slowly, turning the interaction over in his head. It was interesting how Slughorn flipped his attitude so quickly…

According to the other Professors, Slughorn had sorta played favorites with Tom Riddle - mentoring him and putting him on a pedestal above his other students. Harry didn't expect Slughorn to get so skittish at the mere mention of him. And Harry thought throwing in a bunch of other Slug Club members would help mask the specificity! Damn. He hadn't been subtle enough, unfortunately. Well, at least that wasn't the only thing Harry learned.

It seemed Dumbledore was a sensitive topic for Slughorn, but in a different way than it was for the other Professors.

Healer Merrythought had full-on bashed Dumbledore, accusing him of blatant discrimination based on House without any sort of discretion; it was obvious she was both disdainful and unafraid of Albus Dumbledore. Professor Babbling was a bit more delicate regarding her viewpoint, but again Harry was told Dumbledore was the type to play favorites, whether it be positive or negative favoritism. Herbert Beery, the Herbology Professor of that time, said Dumbledore was a powerful yet prejudiced man; he did not sound fond of Dumbledore, though Beery did seem to respect him. Overall, none of them were loyal to Dumbledore, and none of them even liked him. It made Harry wonder how in the world he became Headmaster in the first place. Especially the convenient timing of the switch happening directly after Riddle's graduation…

But for Slughorn it seemed he was possibly afraid of Dumbledore in a way the others weren't. That struck Harry was odd, especially considering Slughorn and Dumbledore went to school together and were quite close. They should've been on relatively even footing without too much of a knowledge or even a power imbalance, especially with them being the same age. But, then again, Harry was beginning to understand there was far more going on than he'd previously guessed, and lots more he just couldn't see yet.

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Harry waited five days before approaching Slughorn again. In those five days he sketched out exactly what questions he wanted to ask in which order, and how to steer the conversation if Slughorn became skittish or vague in answering. There was only so much preparing he could do, so eventually Harry just mustered his confidence and headed to see Slughorn again.

Upon answering the door, Harry could already see the difference in how the Professor planned on greeting him. His smile was less joyous, eyes less bright, and posture more strict as he stood in the doorway.

“Hello again.” Slughorn said. “Mister Cork, was it?”

“Exactly sir!” Harry said brightly. “I've got everything all set up. And don't worry, I'll run this exactly as I did the other Professors, and they said it wasn't a hassle at all. May I come in?”

“Uh, why yes of course!” Slughorn stammered a little, but he did move aside enough for Harry to squeeze by him.

“Thank you sir.” Harry smiled widely. “You have a lovely home.” Just from a glance, Harry deduced Slughorn was very… showy.

The room was simple yet tastefully expensive, an ornate lampshade or embellished cushion adding a richer atmosphere, and the walls were decorated with Slughorn's successes. Certificates and awards and trophies, some from his years as a student and even more from after. It was immediately obvious he prized himself on his accomplishments and very little else.

And not just his accomplishments, but those of his students as well. That was telling in and of itself - it told Harry that Slughorn was the type to thrive off other people's successes, maybe even more so than his own.

“Ah yes, I see you're drawn to my collections.” Slughorn laughed as Harry paused, looking over the shelves upon shelves of photos and frames and faces smiling wide. “Those are some of my brightest students. Greatly talented, I'll proudly say.”

“I imagine you helped them reach their highest potential, sir.” Harry said. “You must've been very loved as a Professor.” Even as he said it, and even as Slughorn laughed, Harry got a slimy sort of feeling from it all.

“Indeed I did, I'll admit!” Slughorn said, his stiffness melting away a little as he laughed loudly. “I take great pride in my students, as you must've noticed. And I'm still in contact with many of them to this day! So many great minds out there these days, you know.”

“How wonderful.” Harry replied. “Shall we get started then? I don't want to take up too much of your time, sir.”

It felt like too long before they were seated comfortably in the stuffy sitting room, Slughorn having quickly made tea while chatting to Harry about mindless subjects and boasting about his students as if he'd also accomplished what they had along with them - his hubris and blatant arrogance made Harry want to leave and not come back. Unfortunately, Slughorn had valuable information Harry needed and he wasn't leaving without it.

“Ah, that's enough from me.” Slughorn finally paused, clearing his throat. He nodded towards Harry with his cup of tea. “Now then, what was it you needed from me?”

“Oh, I just have a handful of questions.” Harry said, smiling.

“Ask away.” In the process of small talk and making of tea, Slughorn had relaxed enough to seem genuinely receptive to Harry's questions, which was a massive relief. Still, Harry started off easy.

“To start, tell me a little about how you came to teach at Hogwarts.” Harry said, turning a page on his clipboard as he did. “Looking into it, I found you started there when you were around fifty years old. Is that correct?”

“You've done your research!” Slughorn laughed. “Yes, when I graduated from Hogwarts I went on to become a Potioneer, for a time. I traveled around and saw the sights, absorbing what I could while I was still in my prime years. You wouldn't believe how many talented individuals I mentored at the time, many of them are so famous you'd blanch knowing it was I who trained them! But when Dumbledore reached out to me with news that he'd been offered a position at Hogwarts, suddenly I wondered if teaching could be my new passion.”

As Slughorn spoke Harry flipped to his notebook at the back of the clipboard, scribbling down short-hand of what he was hearing. He wasn't worried about Slughorn reading it - Harry's penmanship with a quill was so bad sometimes he couldn't read it himself. And he wrote it!

“It was about two years after that, about 1931, I believe, that I applied to be the Potions Master at Hogwarts.” Slughorn continued. He was smiling wide, genuine and fond. Despite the ick of how he spoke about some of his students, it seemed he really did enjoy teaching. “The previous Potions Master was stepping down, you see, so really it was perfect timing!”

“How wonderful!” Harry looked up from his writings to say. “It seems you found teaching very fulfilling, correct?”

“That's just right.” Slughorn agreed brightly. “Truly, those were the best years of my life.” Harry decided this was a great time for his next angle.

“And how has your retirement been?” Harry asked, flipping through some pages absently. “From what I've read, and heard from your fellow Professors, you departed in 1981 just after He-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat. Do you miss it at all?”

“To tell you the truth, yes, I do.” Slughorn admitted. “It is a sad thing to know current and future students will never know my name, never understand the brilliance my Slug Club held. But I'm getting on in years. I recently celebrated my 114th birthday, I'll have you know.”

“Wow! That's amazing!” Harry exclaimed dramatically. “I imagine a man such as yourself threw a brilliant part to celebrate.”

“That I did, my boy!” Slughorn chuckled. “All my students and important peers attended, it was an amazing occasion.”

“Yours and Headmaster Dumbledore's birthdays are only four months apart, did he attend?” Harry asked. “I can't imagine he wouldn't, after so many years of friendship.” Immediately Slughorn's cheer turned sour, his smile tightening.

“Ah, well, no. Not exactly.” Slughorn set down his tea, signing. “Mister Cork, I am happy to discuss my career, my accomplishments, and especially my students, but if you're here about my relationship with Albus Dumbledore… I'm afraid I cannot help you.” Harry had to conceal a smile.

“Oh sir, I'm here for so much more than that!” Harry assured him with false concern. “I don't mean to offend or push you. My interest is purely academic and professional. Though I'd love to hear about how you and Headmaster Dumbledore became friends, and how you get on now, you needn't feel pressured to share!”

“I appreciate that.” Slughorn nodded tersely. “If you have questions unrelated to Dumbledore, I'd be happy to–”

“If I may, I just have one question regarding Headmaster Dumbledore.” Harry said quickly. “I assure you, it's nothing too personal. I asked all of the Professors I've interviewed a similar question, so it's not just you! I'm looking to better my understanding of Hogwarts, and people like you help more than you could ever know.” Slughorn stared at Harry for a moment, contemplating.

“Just one question?”

“Just the one.”

“I see.” Slughorn pursed his lips for a moment. “I suppose… Well alright. One question.”

“Oh, thank you!” Harry enthused. “Okay. Now. I asked the previous Professors what their current relationship with Headmaster Dumbledore was, and whether they still entertained his company after they left Hogwarts. From your previous answers, I can estimate that you have the same answer for me that all the others did.” Slughorn's eyebrows went up at that. Harry pushed on. “None of them are still in contact with Headmaster Dumbledore, nor do they maintain any significant friendship with him. If asked, I believe you would give me the same answer. So that's not my question for you.”

“And what is your question, dare I ask?” Harry took a deep breath. He really hoped Slughorn didn't kick him out for asking this…

“Would you say that your relationship with Headmaster Dumbledore is negative, or perhaps tense?” Harry said, carefully controlling his expression. “I've noticed you don't want to talk about him, and tend to skate around questions regarding him. Is this because you have an unsteady relationship that keeps you at odds?”

“... It is.” Slughorn said slowly. “You are correct. Dumbledore and I were once very close, but as years went on our relationship was… strained. We had a disagreement that led to resentment, and that resentment still separates us to this day.”

“I see, that's unfortunate.” Harry said seriously. He was definitely asking more than ‘one question’ at this point. Harry just hoped Slughorn wouldn't notice. “If I may be so bold, was that ‘strain’ you mentioned due to the presence of a certain student?”

“Why do you ask?” Slughorn suddenly looked immensely nervous. Harry pretended not to notice and just kept going.

“It's just something a couple of your fellow Professors referenced, a student who you and Headmaster Dumbledore were at odds about. A student named Tom Riddle.” Harry continued. “Tom Riddle, as described to me by multiple sources, was a brilliant student with top marks and a chivalrous personality. Healer Merrythought stated Tom Riddle was one of your favorite students back in the day, Professor. She confided that you spoke often of his talents, and you hoped he'd pursue a career in the Ministry for his intelligence and ambition. I heard similar stories from the Herbology Professor you worked alongside for many years, Herbert Beery? He fondly recounted to me how Mister Riddle was a star at Hogwarts, a real prodigy, one whom you were more than happy to openly support and encourage.” Slughorn opened his mouth, clearly meaning to steer the conversation off-course, but Harry wasn't done.

“According to your old coworkers, Tom Riddle was one of your favorite students, and you saw fit to be a sort of mentor during his time at Hogwarts. But I was also told Headmaster Dumbledore saw Riddle in a much different light - he thought Riddle was a troublemaker. Despite Headmaster Dumbledore's accusations, which were made rather frequently and without any visible evidence, you and the other Professors continued to support Riddle through his years at Hogwarts. He went on to win many awards, as I understand it.

“Knowing this, it's sensible to theorize that Headmaster Dumbledore's disdain towards one of your favored students would cause tension.” Harry said. Slughorn seemed to be growing more and more still as Harry spoke. “So, to bring us back to my question. Was your falling out with Headmaster Dumbledore related at all to Tom Riddle?”

Slughorn was silent for a moment when Harry finished. Which made sense. It probably wasn't every day a random ‘journalist’ interrogated him about the past he'd buried deep behind him. From the sounds of it, Slughorn was running from whatever happened between him, Dumbledore and Tom Riddle. If Harry could just figure out what went down, maybe he'd finally have the answers he needed and how it was tied to his current situation with the dreams and the Prophecy and Dumbledore's secrecy.

“Let me ask you one question.” Slughorn's voice wasn't cheerful anymore. His eyes were sharp and his voice was serious. “Are you reporting back to someone? Dumbledore, perhaps? Or is this just a sham of an interview trying to dig into my personal business? Why are you really here, Mister Cork? Tell me the truth.”

Harry took a deep breath. He'd prepared to answer that question, luckily. Professor Merrythought asked him the same one. With her he'd stumbled through embarrassment, unable to answer confidently, but Merrythought just laughed and said she was messing with him. But it was different this time. Harry was glad he had an answer ready to go, because Slughorn was dead serious.

“Professor, I'm just here to learn. I don't work for anyone, I'm unaffiliated with any individual, corporation, or business, and I certainly don't report back to anyone what I hear or learn.” Harry met Slughorn's eyes and tried to properly convey his sincerity. “There are so many secrets at Hogwarts, yet so few answers. I chose to be a journalist, one of the least respected positions out there, because I have this gnawing urge inside me to know. I don't spend my free time talking to people like you because someone paid me to. I ask questions because I'm curious, I interview people because I want to listen, and I keep asking until I get my answers. Professor, I am an individual seeking the truth, that's all.”

For a moment they just stared at each other.

“You remind me of him just a bit.” Slughorn said softly. Harry blinked.

“Of who?”

“Tom.” Slughorn sighed, running a hand down his face tiredly. “Tom Riddle. He was such a marvelous student. He had talent I'd never seen before, and there's not been a single student I've taught like him since. Tom was a once in a lifetime student, and I'm afraid I wasn't the best mentor for him as I could've been. I did not see where he was headed…”

Slughorn fell silent for a time. Terrified he'd somehow break the fragility of the moment, Harry said nothing and waited. He could scarcely breathe with how carefully he was listening.

“It is not something I am proud of, you understand.” Slughorn said finally. “But I… Well, to put it vaguely, I discussed a piece of dark magic with Tom that I should not have. He was curious, and educating students is what a good teacher and supportive mentor does. So when Tom asked me… I answered. It was quite possibly the worst mistake of my life, and I regret it to this day. I've buried it in my memories, smothered it, but still it haunts me…” Harry didn't even dare write notes, though he desperately wanted to remember every word, fearing the gentle scratching of his quill would snap Slughorn out of whatever trance he was in.

Slughorn blew out a breath. “Albus, many years later, brought up the conversation I'd long since buried and tried to erase. Why, I was so aghast by the suddenness I panicked. I nearly Obliviated myself with shame. That may seem dramatic to you, but when Albus asked me for the exact memory of that day, of that very conversation, I genuinely feared for my life. After that conversation, I retired. I left Hogwarts, teaching, and Dumbledore, behind me. I've worked so hard since then to keep my distance, to protect my mistake and prevent anyone from knowing it, but… I suppose it was bound to come out one way or another.”

“You see, after a meeting with my Slug Club, Tom stayed after to ask me a question.” Slughorn chewed his lip anxiously as he spoke. “He wanted to know about a particularly rare, practically unheard of magic. A very evil, unstable, dangerous type of magic. I thought it odd he was asking, but never did it occur to me that he would use the knowledge to do evil.”

“... What was the magic?” Harry asked, soft and breathless.

“Horcruxes.” Slughorn's eyes fell shut. To Harry's surprise, his expression was filled with grief. Sad, longing, grieving lines cut into his face like tears in aged seams. “I told him, a Horcrux is a magical object that contains a piece of one's very soul. One would split their soul and hide a fragment outside of their body, to keep it safe. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. Looking back, I realize now that he was afraid. Tom was terrified of death, and what might happen if he were vulnerable.”

“But I warned him, to create a Horcrux was to damn yourself forever. To exist in such a state, split into so many pieces, would be a fate worse than death. If all that is left of a person is a tiny fragment of themselves, tucked away in a book or carried inside jewelery, the pain it dealt would have them wish for death, mercy, to save them from the unending agony. That person would be little more than a wraith, cursed to remain alive but untethered, aware but unable to again be really human.”

“There are very few times in my life where I've truly regretted something I'd done, but that conversation was one of them.” Slughorn opened his eyes. Harry was stunned to see tears glistening there. “I don't know what happened to Tom after he left Hogwarts and flew off on his own, but I've heard rumors. I don't want to believe them, for if they're true his fate was partially my fault. I should not have shared that information with him, and if Albus knew what I'd done…” Slughorn shuddered. He then wiped his damp eyes, facing Harry with a sniff. “So there you have it. I do apologise, I've forgotten what your actual question was.”

“No, that answered my questions perfectly.” Harry heard himself say. “Thank you, Professor.”

Vaguely, Harry knew Slughorn said something like “Goodness, look at the time!” and ushered him out immediately, blubbering about something to distract himself or Harry or both as he pushed Harry out. Harry knew he thanked the man at some point for entertaining the interview, but his motions were on autopilot as he tried and failed to comprehend the information offered to him.

Horcruxes. Split souls. Wraiths. Alive but not really human. Tom Riddle. Voldemort. Horcruxes.

It made so much sense. The Diary! Tom Riddle's Diary was a Horcrux! It quite literally contained a piece of his soul and kept Voldemort tethered to life, even in death. That also explained why he was a parasite living off Quirrell's head back in first year, and why he just evaporated into a hazy smoke when Quirrell died! He had no form, no substance, no life. It wasn't until Wormtail dropped him in that gruesome mixture of magic that Voldemort was able to be anything close to human again - not that looking more like a snake than human really counted, but still.

But there was another thing scratching at Harry's thoughts. It was an itch in the back of his mind that he just couldn't quite reach to identify. But Harry knew once he figured it out… nothing would be the same.

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It wasn't even two days later that Harry ended up in Knockturn Alley, looking around for the library. He'd been in Knockturn a time or two before, but he'd been exploring more than actively searching for something. Harry, though he had to ask directions from a very sketchy looking vampire, eventually found a massive library that looked straight out of a dark fairytale.

During his time researching, Harry constantly battled his prejudiced thoughts that nagged at him whenever a banshee or vampire or otherwise suspicious figure strolled along beside him between the aisle of the vast library. He had to remind himself that ‘dark’ and ‘evil’ weren't the same. Sure there was some overlap correlation, but Harry hadn't looked into that enough to really know the facts. So he just tried to put it on the back burner and remember to look more into what ‘dark’ and ‘light’ really meant - it seemed an important thing to learn, in Harry's opinion.

Harry spent three days scouring that library. He searched every aisle, every shelf, every spine in his search. In the entire place, he found only two books that had information on Horcruxes. Slughorn wasn't kidding when he said it was rare and dangerous. Apparently not even the evil people had a lot of information on it. Wait, no, not evil, Harry reminded himself, just dark. In any case, the information was hard to come by.

But that didn't mean he didn't find anything. In fact, Harry found exactly what he was looking for.

Not only is it magically and physically dangerous for the caster, it is legally dangerous as well. Creating Horcruxes is an illegal act worldwide, and if discovered will result in life in Azkaban. Being unable to die, the jailed witch or wizard would live forever in torment of the Dementors standing guard.

In addition to that fate, the Ministry of Magic would send out a team of Unspeakables to hunt down any and all Horcruxes created by the guilty individual. They will destroy any Horcrux objects and kill any Horcrux hosts, not stopping their search until the jailed witch or wizard is without their evil, severed protections. Oftentimes, the jailed witch or wizard perished soon after as well. Creating a Horcrux, if caught, is a death sentence.

And there it was. One sentence in some random book in a dark library on the wrong side of the Leaky Cauldron led Harry to the worst realization of his life.

He was a Horcrux.

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Harry didn't know how he managed it, but he very calmly dressed in his disguise, straightened his beanie, donned those horrid blue contacts, and knocked on Slughorn's door. He carried no clipboard, no notebook, not even a pen. He came to ask one question and one question only.

“Mister Cork?” Slughorn blinked in surprise when he answered the door. “I thought we'd spoken enough the last time you were here!”

“Sir, I just have one question.” Harry, despite his outward calmness, couldn't mask the pleading in his voice. “It's about the Horcruxes. I looked into them to get more information, to widen my knowledge to properly understand the story you were telling of course, and I came across a terrifying thing. I was only wondering if you could confirm what I've read.”

“And what is it that you have read?”

“That Horcruxes don't have to just be objects. They can be within hosts.” Harry's throat closed. His voice came out slightly choked as he continued. “Is it possible… Can a person be a Horcrux? At first I thought they meant animals, pets maybe, but now I'm not so sure. Could a human being be forced to carry a shard of someone's soul without their knowledge? Could a person, a living breathing human, be a Horcrux?”

Slughorn looked confused, but there was also pity in his eyes. Honesty, Harry could take some pity if it meant he got his answers. He needed to know - this was quite literally a life or death situation.

“Yes, it is possible.” Slughorn confirmed, voice soft yet damning. “Though I don't know what kind of effects it would have on the host, I can't imagine it would be a good kind of connection. It might even kill them eventually.”

“Oh God.” Harry choked. His heart raced in his chest. The worst part? Dumbledore knew. He just about told Harry as much after the Basilisk incident! Dumbledore told him that Harry carried a sliver of Voldemort inside him, and that was where he got his Parseltongue ability. Harry remembered so vividly because at the time he worried it meant he was destined to walk in Voldemort's footsteps - and maybe it was true, if Harry's fate was so tied to Voldemort.

“If I may, Mister Cork…” Slughorn stepped forward and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, offering him a weak smile. “Perhaps, you'd best find a different thing to research.”

“Yeah…” Harry swallowed thickly. “That sounds like a good idea.”

—————
.
—————

Dumbledore,

I know you're ignoring me, but this is important. I have learned I am a Horcrux. I've been having strange dreams of rituals and dark hallways and laughter, and assumed they were just dreams.
Eventually, Lord Voldemort was speaking to me. Whispering in my ear and telling me I was a Horcrux and that I was a mistake and needed to die for him to create more.
I want an explanation for this. Do I really have to die? Did you know? Is this why you haven't been writing to me? Do you think I'm cursed or tainted?

Respond this time,
Harry Potter

—————
.
—————

My dear boy,

A Horcrux is a powerful object that holds the soul of another person, giving them immortality. Yes, you carry a piece of Voldemort's soul. It is a heavy burden you must bear.
When it is time, all the Horcruxes must be destroyed. You must understand Harry, your sacrifice will save thousands of lives. Once you have destroyed all the Horcruxes, you must give yourself up. Only then, can this war be ended.
Do not worry for your friends. They are safe with me, and you are safe at the Dursleys. The wards here prevent them from sending owls, but they will see you at King's Cross in September. Stay vigilant.

With love and faith,
Dumbledore

—————
.
—————

After that, so much changed so quickly Harry could barely keep up. Before he knew it, he was running away from Privet Drive yet again. Though, this time Harry was sure there was no going back.

Harry, underneath his Invisibility Cloak, watched the Dursleys eat their dinner. Petunia was smiling at Dudley, though he looked to be complaining about the dinner she served, while Vernon discussed an important work meeting coming up and how investors would be there and how looking good in front of them could get them to fund a new thing they were trying to do. They weren't putting aside a pitiful can of soup to squeeze through the catflap on Harry's door, they weren't complaining about how annoying Harry's owl was when Hedwig wasn't given enough time to fly around, they weren't shouting for Harry to clean up the plates. He literally didn't exist to them.

Looking down at his hands, Harry tried to ignore the faint trembling now present. It was an accident. Harry hadn't meant to erase himself. He didn't mean it. He was just scared, he hadn't even been holding his wand. It was supposed to be safe! Nobody did Wandless magic! Except for Dumbledore and Voldemort, but knowing what he did now Harry didn't want to be like either of them!

What was worse, Harry was felt true fear take root deep in his chest as he collected his things and left Privet Drive behind him. What would Dumbledore say? Not that Harry was going to tell him. Ever. That was also why Harry was taking Muggle transportation to London instead of the Knight Bus; if he didn't use any magical means, Dumbledore couldn't find him. In theory, anyway.

So much had changed, Harry didn't know what he was going to do. Dumbledore wanted him dead, Voldemort wanted him dead, Ron and Hermione were ignoring his owls, and apparently he was Horcrux on top of it all. He just felt so alone…

—————
.
—————

Not even two months later Harry Potter ended up at the center of a revolution, and his Wraiths would ensure he was never alone again.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

Welcome

“Welcome to Gryffindor.” Hermione smiled out at the small group of first years, voice gentle. “We as Gryffindors strive to be brave, stubborn, and loyal to those around us. The Hat put you here because it believes in you, so I hope you all strive to believe in yourself just like it does. Hogwarts is just the beginning of your journey, so enjoy it, and use everything it offers you to build yourself up.”

“We as your House may be a great support for you while you're here at school, but that doesn't mean we'll be the only support you have.” Ron said. He had a hand around Hermione's waist as he faced the ten new students, grinning brightly. “The other Houses also have support to offer you. The Hufflepuffs will show you how to work hard, how to push through anything. The Ravenclaws can teach you how to study, not just school but your own interests that capture your attention. The Slytherins can show you how to reach your highest potential, growing to the great person we all know you can be. So don't be afraid to get to know everyone here at Hogwarts. We all share the same collective mindset of unity. Because we are all in this together.”

“You may have heard silly rumors that Gryffindors are always brave, Hufflepuffs are always lazy, Ravenclaws are always stuck up, and Slytherins are always self-centered, but that's not really true.” Hermione continued. “We are all our own people, yeah? It'd be pretty silly if we Gryffindors were all the exact same person and personality, don't you think?” A couple first years giggled, others rolled their eyes. “Those are just silly superstitions and fairytales that don't necessarily ring true here at Hogwarts. So keep in mind, don't judge others just based on House.”

“But feel free to judge based on personality, or behavior.” Ron added with a grin. “Sometimes we just don't like people. And that's fine, just don't talk to them if you don't want to. Make sense?” The first years nodded their understanding.

Harry, leaning against the far wall near the bookshelf, watched on with a little smile. As sixth year Prefects, Ron and Hermione suddenly had a lot more responsibilities thrust onto them. One of which was introducing the first years to Gryffindor and to Hogwarts, which, in Harry's opinion, they were really good at. They were so genuine and relaxed, it was clear the eleven year old listeners were put at ease by it.

He was also proud Ron and Hermione included House unity as a priority. They'd worked so hard to create a cohesive relationship between all the Houses in their previous year, promoting the idea that individuals matter more than their House, but there was still a certain stigma surrounding the four Houses outside the school they couldn't change just yet; but they'd get there eventually. But the first step was educating the next generation. They were the future, after all.

“They make good Prefects.” Seamus noted. Harry looked over to see Dean was seated on a plush chair, while Seamus had flopped himself over the back of it, wrapping his arms around Dean. That wasn't the weird part; the weird part was the fact that Seamus' robe was on backwards and he was wearing a baseball cap supporting some Muggle football team that clashed horribly.

“You look ridiculous.” Harry commented, one eyebrow raised.

“Obviously.” Seamus said with a sideways grin. “How else am I to introduce myself to the first years on their first morning as Gryffindors?”

“Gotta admit, it's pretty statement-y.” Dean said to Harry. “Properly illustrates this dunce's manners.”

“Hey!” Seamus exclaimed. “I am positively offended by the insinuation that I have manners.” Dean laughed.

“My bad.” He said with a grin. “Next time I'll be sure to make note of your incivility.”

“You do that.” Seamus said with an exaggerated huff. Harry just laughed.

“But I agree.” Harry said. “They do make good Prefects.” Though Harry disliked giving their previous Headmaster any compliments, Dumbledore made the right call making Ron and Hermione Prefects; they were natural leaders once given the opportunity.

Turning back to watch Ron and Hermione, Harry listened as they wrapped up their little speech.

“And please keep in mind, the world doesn't end if you lose us some House points.” Hermione was saying, pointing to the clipboard by the door. “It happens sometimes.”

The board had a constant running tracker on their House points, magically updating when points were lost or added in real time. By the end of the year, the board looked a little like a massive maths problem with endless additions and subtractions totalled at the bottom for them.

“Just do your best to succeed in your classes, and you'll earn those points back at some point.” Ron added. “Merlin only knows I've lost a lot of points over the years, but I've also earned a fair few back with… good behavior.” Ron and Hermione shared a look which Harry interpreted to be a bit of a correction. It was more ‘unfair favoritism’ than ‘good behavior’ that earned them so many points.

“And lastly!” Hermione clapped her hands together with a grin. “Breakfast will be starting soon, and schedules will be handed out by our Head of House during the meal. I know a lot of you have questions regarding your classes and schedule, so feel free to ask once you've got your schedules. We're happy to answer any questions you've got.”

The first years quickly started moving at the mention of breakfast, only a few staying where they were in the Common Room. That freed Ron and Hermione to wander over towards them.

“How did we do?” Hermione asked immediately, anxiety present in wide brown eyes. “Was that alright?”

“That was perfect, Mione.” Harry assured her with a laugh. “You and Ron really nailed it.”

“I told you so.” Ron bumped Hermione's shoulder with his. “Don't worry so much.”

“I thought speeches were Harry's thing.” Ginny said as she strolled over. “You killed it, Hermione.”

“What about me?” Ron raised an eyebrow. Ginny looked him up and down slowly.

“Nope.” She said firmly. “You suck.” Ron squawked in offense. Everyone else laughed.

“On the topic of speeches, will we be inviting the new first years to our meetings?” Seamus asked, straightening a little. “I was looking at them, and they just seem so young.”

“The first years were invited last year.” Dean pointed out.

“Only because Harry invited literally everyone.” Seamus rolled his eyes. “I mean, now that you've got a good group of people already. Are you gonna invite them?”

“I don't think so, no.” Harry said with a small frown. “I feel like eleven is just too young. I'm glad I asked the first years before, now that they're second years they can help the new arrivals to understand the whole ‘unity’ thing. But the new first years coming in don't need to be pulled into all that just yet.”

“Should we be worried they’ll spill the beans about our friends?” Dean frowned. “The second years, I mean.”

“I don't think so, no.” Harry shook his head. “We talked about keeping our secrets a lot last year, and the whole thing with Lisa… I think they understand the importance of it.” They all nodded, falling a bit silent at the reminder of Lisa.

Lisa had caused a real problem for them, outing Harry and Tom and the Wraiths to fucking Umbridge of all people. Because of it Snape ended up erasing Lisa's memory of that entire year, which meant she was repeating her fifth year now. Harry wished he could've stopped it from happening, but at the same time it did solve the whole Umbridge problem. Tom easily modified Umbridge's memory, and after a very short trial Umbridge was sent straight to Azkaban for ‘attacking a student’ and causing ‘irreparable memory damage’. It also paved the way for McGonagall to become Headmistress, which was a massive improvement. With Dumbledore out of the castle, hopefully Harry and his Wraiths could move and speak more freely. They would still need to be extremely careful, though.

“Well then that's good.” Hermione said, clearing her throat. “If the second years can help integrate the new students into their friendship circles, encouraging Inter-House Friendships, then that's one fewer thing for us to worry about.”

“Very true.” Ron nodded, taking her hand with a little smile. “It'll all work out.”

“Ew.” Seamus stuck his tongue out at Ron affectionately kissing Hermione's brow. “PDA, man.”

“Come off it.” Ron scowled playfully.

“Anyway! Who's looking forward to their class schedules??” Hermione said hurriedly, diverting attention.

“I am.” Ginny grinned. “I want to know in which order my classes are gonna murder me.”

“You'll do fine.” Ron rolled his eyes. “It's us you should be worried about. We're taking our N.E.W.T-level classes!”

“Don't remind me.” Harry groaned. “That's gonna suck. I just hope our Professors go easy on us.” He paused to think about it a second, then sighed. “Nevermind, I know for a fact McGonagall and Snape won't hesitate.”

“We don't know what Slughorn's gonna be like.” Hermione hummed. “I wonder if he's any good at Potions.”

“He better be.” Ron said. “I mean, Professor McGonagall hired him herself, right?”

“Snape picked him, actually.” Harry corrected. The group looked at Harry in surprise. “McGonagall told Snape he could be the Defense Professor if he found a replacement. Ergo, Snape picked Slughorn.”

“That… actually makes sense.” Dean said thoughtfully. “Nicely deduced.” Seamus nodded as well.

“Wasn't Slughorn the Professor when Snape was a student?” Hermione blinked.

“Yep.” Harry confirmed. “That probably contributed a bit. But mostly I think Snape was just in a hurry to find a replacement. He really wants to teach Defense.”

“That reminds me!” Hermione exclaimed. “Are you going to continue teaching lessons to the students this year, Harry? I know you enjoyed it.”

“Well, I was only doing it because Umbridge wasn't. Like a substitute.” Harry said. “With Snape teaching, I'm not sure it'll be needed.”

“You could always just wait and see.” Ginny shrugged, pulling on loose ginger strands falling from her ponytail. “If Professor Snape sucks as much ass teaching Defense as he did Potions, we'd much rather have you.”

“Ginny!” Hermione hissed scoldingly, “Language! There are small ears in the room.” Ginny just stuck her tongue out at Hermione with a teasing grin.

“Hey, Mister Harry.” Jason Swann, one of the kids Harry regularly taught during his lessons after Wraith meetings, stepped up and caught his attention. “Sorry, are you busy?”

“Not at all.” Harry said, stepping away from his friends just a little. “What's up?”

“Well, would you be able to help my little sister with some spells, just like you helped me?” Swann was clearly nervous, but he was nevertheless speaking clearly and firmly. “She's only a second year, but she's real powerful and I wanna make sure she's properly challenged. I worry classes won't be enough to keep her engaged.”

“Oh, sure.” Harry blinked. “I'd love to. Only, you don't have to call me Mister Harry, remember.” Harry had sometimes been called ‘Mister Harry’ by the younger years during those training sessions the prior year, but he kept telling them the title wasn't necessary.

“Habit now, Mister Harry.” Swann grinned a bit crookedly. “You're stuck with it now, I'm afraid.”

“Hey Jae!” Allison Barnes, another fourth year Gryffindor, called from across the room. “You coming down with us?”

“Sorry to interrupt, Mister Harry!” Nick Alas, her grinning best friend, shouted as well. Harry just sighed fondly.

“Go on then.” Harry said to Swann, “Don't keep your friends waiting.”

“See you later, Mister Harry!” Swann waved as he jogged over to his friends, joining them at the portrait door as they left. Harry shook his head with a fond smile.

“They were some of your students, right?” Neville asked, straightening his tie as he walked up. “From last year.”

“Yeah, Swann used to attend every session and ask for help on the Freezing Charm.” Harry confirmed. “Those two would always stay behind and pretend to be working, but they were just there to not so subtly support him.”

“That's nice of them.” Neville said with a smile. “I'm glad he's got support.” Harry nodded in agreement.

“Well, we should be heading down too.” Hermione said, checking her wristwatch. “Breakfast has started already.”

“Oh shit, I told Luna I'd sit with her!” Ginny exclaimed. “I've gotta go. Bye!”

“Language!” Hermione called after her, this time more teasing than scolding. Ginny briefly glanced back only to flip Hermione off on her way out the door.

“I thought we agreed we'd be sitting at our assigned tables at the start of the year.” Neville said mildly. “To help the first years adjust to having a House of their own, and offer support.”

“Yeah well, it's Ginny. What were we expecting, really.” Hermione sighed. She then side-eyed Ron with a grin. “You know her, just like her troublesome brothers. Does whatever she wants all the time.”

“Damn right.” Ron laughed. “Wouldn't have it any other way.” Hermione elbowed him with a laugh of her own.

Harry rolled his eyes. He then paused when he caught sight of a small Gryffindor huddled in a chair all by himself, clutching his knees. Harry frowned.

“You guys can head on down, I'll meet you there.” Harry said. He waved off their confused looks and made his way over to the boy. He seemed to be crying.

“Hey, are you alright?” Harry asked. He reached out and gently touched the boy's shoulder. “What's wrong?”

“I don't want to be a Gryffindor.” The boy had tears in his wide green eyes as he looked up at Harry, uncurling only slightly.

“Why not?” Harry tilted his head.

“Because my friend is a Slytherin.” The boy sniffed pitifully, wiping his running nose with the sleeve of his robe. “I know the Prefects said we can be friends with anyone, but I really don't know! My Mum told me Slytherins are no good misfits that will only bring me trouble, but Grim is my friend! He's not like that, I know he's not. It's not fair.”

After a moment of thought, Harry remembered bumping into a first year named Grim Farley at Platform 9 ¾ just the day prior. Perhaps it was the same ‘Grim’ this kid knew.

“So you want to be in Slytherin with your friend?” Harry asked.

“Yeah.” The boy said tearfully. “Maybe if we're both Slytherins, and both misfits, maybe Mum will let us be friends.”

“You don't need to share a House to be friends.” Harry told him gently. “That doesn't matter in the slightest.”

“Huh?” The boy blinked. He slid his knees down a little to look up at Harry better. “But no Gryffindors are friends with Slytherins. That just doesn't happen, no matter what the Prefects say.”

“Lemme tell you a secret.” Harry smiled. He knelt down by the chair, leveling himself with the first year. “Some of my best friends are Slytherin, and they're amazing people. My Slytherin friends are smart, witty, and when they put their mind to something they get it done. That's what it means to be Slytherin.”

“What?” The first year hurriedly pushed brown strands of hair out of his eyes to stare at Harry in disbelief. “But Mum says Slytherins are troublemakers. The whole lot of them.”

“That's just silly superstition.” Harry laughed. “It's not true at all. Here, why don't we head to breakfast and I'll introduce you to my friends. Alright?” The boy hesitated. “I'll be right there with you.”

“... Okay.” Slowly, the boy nodded. “You're sure it's okay to talk to them?”

“Of course!” Harry assured him brightly. “We can all be friends here at Hogwarts, if you want. No House is a bad House, even if people sometimes like to joke about those silly old stereotypes. You could be friends with everyone, if you wanted.”

“I'd like that.” The boy rubbed his eyes again with a little smile.

“What's your name?” Harry asked.

“Cinderford.” He said, clearing his throat of tears. “Brian Cinderford. What's yours?”

“Oh, I'm Harry.” Harry smiled.

“Right, yeah.” Cinderford nodded. “I heard some of the other kids calling you ‘Mister Harry’ earlier.” Harry, unprepared, sputtered a little.

“You don't need to call me that.” Harry assured him quickly. “I'm just Harry. Harry Potter.” Even though he probably should've expected it, Harry was surprised when Cinderford gasped. He really was bad at introducing himself sometimes.

“You're Harry Potter?! The Harry Potter!?” Cinderford exclaimed, mouth dropping open in shock. Harry chuckled.

“Yeah, I am. But I'm no one special.” Harry told him. “That whole Chosen One stuff, defeating You-Know-Who? That's just a story for little kids. My parents are the ones who did all that, protecting me like any parent would. That makes a lot more sense, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Cinderford agreed with a slow nod. “That does make more sense.”

“Exactly.” Harry smiled. “So, I'm just Harry.”

“But I still think you're important.” Cinderford told him matter of factly.

“What makes you say that?” Harry asked.

“Kids call you ‘Mister Harry’, that sounds pretty important to me.” Cinderford gave him a look. “Y’know, you're pretty humble for someone so special.”

“I suppose I just never thought of myself as someone particularly special.” Harry shrugged. “But that's enough about me, let's head on down to breakfast, yeah?”

“Okay.” Cinderford grinned.

Harry stood, glancing over to briefly give his friends a thumbs up. They were still where he'd left them, watching him and Cinderford with concerned frowns. They seemed to relax a little at Harry's acknowledgment.

To help him relax a little, Harry chatted to Cinderford about the Castle as they walked. The first year seemed especially interested when Harry mentioned the other House Commons.

“You've actually been inside the other Common Rooms!?” Cinderford exclaimed, taken aback. “How??”

“I was invited in, of course.” Harry laughed. “My friends and I kinda rotate whose Common Room we hangout in, but mostly it's random.”

“Which one d'you visit most often?”

“Well, probably Slytherin.” Harry hummed, thinking. “I've spent some time in Hufflepuff, mostly for parties, but Slytherin the most. I've spent my fair share in Ravenclaw Tower too, but it's a bit rarer. Only because it's so high up even the Ravenclaws would rather go down to the dungeons for the Slytherin or Hufflepuff Commons, when offered.”

“Is Ravenclaw Tower higher than Gryffindor Tower?” Cinderford asked.

“Much higher.” Harry laughed. “Gryffindor Tower is four floors lower than Ravenclaw Tower. The only part higher in the Castle is the Astronomy Tower.”

“Wow.” Cinderford said, eyes wide. “What's the highest room in the whole Castle?” Harry thought about that for a second.

“Probably the Headmaster's Office.” Harry said finally. “It's a small turret off the Astronomy Tower, and I'm pretty sure it goes higher than the Astronomy classroom and observation deck.”

“That makes sense.” Cinderford said with a nod. “That way the Headmaster can see everything.”

“Very true.” Harry nodded.

Despite easy conversation all the way down the steps and away from Gryffindor Tower, Harry noticed Cinderford's confidence ebbing as they entered the Great Hall. Though he wanted to comfort Cinderford somehow, Harry resisted pointing it out or making a fuss by acknowledging it. Instead Harry just marched right on over to the Slytherin table with a grin.

Theo saw him first, silver eyes rising to meet his as Harry made his way over. He smiled into his book. Soon after, Harry made himself known to everyone else.

“Hiya Draco, Pans.” Harry pressed his hands to the table, leaning down between Draco and Pansy. “How're we doing over here?”

“Hi Harry.” Pansy grinned. “Funny seeing you here.” Harry winked.

“We're just fine, thank you.” Draco drawled. “What brings you over?”

“I've got a Gryffindor here who's looking for a friend.”

“What, yourself?” Draco smirked. Harry rolled his eyes.

“No.” Harry straightened, smiling more gently as he beckoned Cinderford forward. “It's alright. Didn't I tell you? We're all friends over here.”

“Oh, hello.” Draco's expression softened as he met the boy's wide green eyes. “What's your name?”

“Um, Brian Cinderford.” Cinderford said shyly.

“I'm Draco Malfoy, it's a pleasure to meet you.” Draco smiled warmly. “Who is it you're looking for, Brian?”

“My friend, Grim Farley.” Cinderford said quietly, playing with his hands. “We grew up together, and promised to be friends forever. But now he's a Slytherin and I'm a Gryffindor, so I thought we couldn't be friends anymore. But Mister Harry says we can be. Is that true?”

“Absolutely you can be!” Harry enthused. “After all, everyone here is my friend. Right?” Harry pointedly did not acknowledge his friends’ various reactions to the address that he was now apparently stuck with: Pansy choked on her juice, Blaise raised a single eyebrow, Daphne snickered behind a hand, and Theo smirked into his Mathematics textbook.

“Harry's right.” Draco said, clearing his throat against a short laugh. “If you two want to be friends, don't let something as silly as your House stop you. There are much more important things to consider than what some dusty, dirty, ancient old Hat labels you as, yeah?” Cinderford giggled a little at that.

“Yeah.” He agreed, smiling.

“Your friend will be down there with the first years.” Draco pointed to the far end of the table, closest to the High Table. “You can go sit with him if you want, alright?”

“Alright.” Cinderford grinned brightly, squared his shoulders, and marched down the aisle.

“Farley?” Blaise spoke up quietly, frowning. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Gemma Farley.” Pansy told him. “She was the sixth year Prefect that welcomed us to Slytherin. Graduated after our second year.”

“Ohh.” Harry looked down the row at Cinderford anxiously searching for a familiar face. “Huh. He must be her little brother, or something.”

“We never knew her well enough to know if she had siblings.” Pansy shrugged. Harry just hummed an acknowledgement.

Harry watched as Cinderford approached Farley at the end of the table, pulling anxiously at his fingers as he said something to him. They were significantly out of earshot due to the bustling noise of the Great Hall, but after a few short exchanged words Farley stood, grinning, and pulled Cinderford into a tight hug.

It was a little bittersweet seeing them sit down together, shoulder to shoulder with matching grins, and it took a moment for Harry to place why that was.

Harry met Draco's eyes and found the same sad happiness resting there. That could've been them, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin - if things had been different back then, maybe Harry and Draco could've been friends from the start. But it didn't matter much now. They were making sure kids like Cinderford and Farley had the opportunity to be friends in the way Harry and Draco hadn't; House didn't matter one bit, and they would make sure everyone knew that one day.

“I thought we were sitting at our assigned Houses for the start of the year.” Pansy raised an eyebrow at Draco.

“I figured it was fine.” Draco shrugged. “Besides, Ginny's sitting with Luna.” He pointed. They turned to see Ginny sitting at the Ravenclaw table, gesticulating wildly to Luna and the surrounding fifth year Eagles.

“It's Ginny.” Blaise said dryly. “What were you expecting?”

“Touché.” Draco replied.

“You know, we had a near identical conversation just now in the Gryffindor Commons.” Harry told them with a laugh. “I like how we all collectively know Ginny's the sort to do that.”

“She's a Weasley.” Blaise pointed out. “Everybody knows she's as bad as her brothers, if not worse.”

“Though, a year ago, I would've blamed Luna.” Daphne admitted. “Between the two of them, I thought Luna was the crazy one. I was in for a surprise when I actually met them.”

“Can't blame you.” Harry grinned. “Luna's just got a whimsical vibe. It suits Ginny's crackhead energy.”

“That is an excellent way to put that.” Daphne blinked. “Whimsical, and crackhead. I like that.”

Theo caught their attention by closing his textbook and putting it down on the table. “Our schedules are coming around.”

“Finally.” Pansy groaned. “I've been waiting forever!” Harry laughed.

“You'll survive a few more minutes.” Harry told her.

“Potter, you are not a Slytherin.” Snape's voice caught Harry off guard. He turned to see Snape standing nearby, clutching an armful of parchment. “Proceed back to your table to receive your schedule. Now.” Ah, that's probably why Theo announced it like that. Snape, predictably, was handing out their schedules.

“Yessir.” Harry saluted him. Snape's lip twitched into a sneer, which Harry ignored as he turned to his friends with a grin. “See you guys later.” With that he shoved off the table and headed towards the Gryffindors.

Ron and Hermione had saved him a seat, as they always had. Some things never changed. Harry, easily spotting them, headed towards them without hesitating.

“There you are.” Hermione commented as Harry plopped down beside her. “Did everything go okay with that first year?”

“He was just scared about losing a friend to Slytherin.” Harry said. “I reminded him that House didn't matter, and sent him to go say hi to the Slytherins.”

“Then got yourself scolded by Snape.” Ron grinned.

“Nah, just a vaguely bossy warning.” Harry said with a laugh. “I think he's too conflicted to properly scold me. Which, hey, I'm not complaining about.”

“Cheers to that.” Ron agreed.

Harry and his friends happily ate breakfast, their schedules being passed out by Professor Sinistra in McGonagall's stead. It dawned on Harry that they'd be seeing McGonagall less as their Head of House now that she was their Headmistress. Though it made sense, it did make Harry a little sad. She wouldn't be in her warm office anymore if her lions needed anything, she'd be up in the Headteacher's Office behind a password guarded gargoyle.

Things were changing, for better or worse. Maybe both. Regardless, Harry's sixth year had officially begun.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

Defence Against the Dark Arts

Harry examined his schedule, eyeing it closely to see what classes McGonagall had approved for him to take. It seemed he'd be taking N.E.W.T. level classes for Charms, Defense, Herbology, Transfiguration, and Potions. All the classes he'd signed up for. And Harry was relieved to see he'd been allowed to drop both Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Divination for obvious reasons, and Care because Hagrid was just so complicated these days.

“I feel like our schedule is so empty now.” Harry said absently. “We've got a free period directly following breakfast, another after break, and another after lunch.” Typically in a day they had two classes in a row after breakfast, followed by a small fifteen minute break, then one more class before Lunch. After lunch were two more classes, another break, and one more class before dinner. Except apparently Harry, Ron, and a handful of their other six year friends had a lot of free time on their hands now.

“What are we meant to do with so much free time?” Harry hummed, mostly to himself. “Just… chill?”

“Take over the world?” Ron suggested, raising his eyebrows. Harry smacked his shoulder in lieu of response. “Though, I am torn between feeling bad for Hermione for having so many classes, or rubbing it in her face.”

“Oh yeah, she's got Ancient Runes right now.” Harry remembered. “So that's why she rushed off after breakfast.”

“Yepp.” Ron nodded. “But she's got the same free period we've got after lunch.”

“Sweet.” Harry grinned.

“Harry!!” Out of the blue appeared Katie Bell, thick brown curls swinging as she practically jumped him as they entered the Common Room. “You made Quidditch Captain! Oh, I knew you would!”

“Yeah, I did.” Harry laughed. He had the Captain badge pinned to his robes.

“Let me know when you schedule those tryouts!” Katie enthused. “I wanna prove my stuff to you as our new Captain.”

“I already know you're good, Katie. Really good.” Harry said, rolling his eyes a little. “But I will. It'll be fun to watch you show off in front of all the new players we'll be getting.” Harry, Ron, and Katie were the only players left on the team. Everyone else had either dropped out (shoutout to the Weasley twins!) or graduated, which meant they'd need a dedicated tryout day to choose talented students to fill all the necessary positions.

“I'll be there.” Ginny called from across the room, grinning at them.

“You will?” Harry tilted his head. “What position?”

“Chaser.” Ginny said. “I've been practicing with my brothers, so I'm confident I can keep up.”

“We’ll see about that.” Katie grinned, a challenge. Ginny just grinned right back.

“I’ll expect you both at tryouts, then.” Harry laughed.

“D'you think any of the younger years will make the team?” Ron asked. “You were the youngest ever, but a couple second years have made the team before.”

“If they're good enough, sure.” Harry replied with a shrug. “And if a first year makes the team I'll make sure they get their hands on a broom.”

“That's pretty bold of you.” Ron smiled. “I like it.”

Too soon their free period ended and it was time to head down to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry hadn't really thought that much about Snape's teaching methods lately, or how they'd transfer over to becoming a Defense Professor. And aside from small conversations here and there, Harry hadn't really discussed it with his friends either. Snape was complicated in lots of ways, especially when it came to his role as Harry's Professor.

Before Harry sent that letter to Voldemort proposing their alliance, before ‘Voldemort’ became ‘Tom’, before Snape got the surprise of his life finding out Harry was actually the mysterious ‘Speaker’ allied with Tom, before the crazy mess that was everything that followed, Snape had absolutely despised Harry. Snape went out of his way to sabotage Harry's learning, grade marks, and patience; Snape was just another Slytherin bully Harry had to put up with. But now, like so many other Slytherins, Snape miraculously had a change of heart.

Except that the Slytherins Harry's age ended up becoming some of his closest friends, and Snape became a reluctant ally that was both impressed and intimidated by Harry's authority. Not exactly a great dynamic for an easy, or even functional, student-teacher relationship.

When they'd descended all four floors and arrived at the correct classroom, Hermione and Theo and a handful of others were waiting outside already. Hermione, oddly enough, was carrying an armful of books with her bookbag awkwardly hanging off her elbow.

“Woah, you look swamped.” Harry said to Hermione. Hermione huffed, blowing a frizzy coil out of her face. Theo at her side smiled a little as she struggled.

“We're drowning in homework and it’s only been one class!” Hermione exclaimed, flustered by her armful of heavy books. “A fifteen inch essay, two translations, and I’ve got to read all these books by Wednesday!” Harry winced. That only gave her three days, and she was lugging around what looked to be six massive tomes on Ancient Runes.

“I do not envy you.” Ron whistled.

“Theo?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Where’s your bookload?”

“I didn't feel the need to bring them with me to class.” Theo shrugged. “I left them in my dorm.”

“Smartass.” Hermione muttered. Theo just smiled at her angelically.

“We can set up a study sesh later, if you want.” Ron suggested. “I'd bet on at least a dozen people wanting in on a study group, especially so early in the year. It makes them think they can get ahead.”

“Maybe.” Hermione blew out a heavy breath. “Right now I think I just need to focus on our next class.”

“Let me know if there's anything I can do to help.” Ron said, offering a warm smile. Hermione ducked her head shyly, but nodded.

“Let's cross our fingers Snape isn't gonna dump any more reading on us.” Hermione said. “I'm not sure I could do it without staying up all night to get it done. And so early into the year!”

“Goodness, why so many books??” Pansy strode up, a small group of Slytherins behind her.

“Required reading.” Hermione said, hefting them up as they slipped a little.

“Okay, no, no. Hand them over.” Pansy immediately stepped forward. “Give.”

“I don't need help!” Hermione said, quite predictably. Pansy didn't seem to care. “Oh! Hey–!” Half the books were stolen from Hermione. Pansy tucked them under one arm and grinned. “I need those!” Hermione exclaimed, awkwardly trying to take them back despite still carrying three books.

“And you'll get them back after class.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “But lugging them around all together like that? You'll just throw out your poor back, ‘Mione.”

“Fine.” Hermione huffed. “Pushy, pushy.” Pansy just laughed.

“I'm suddenly glad I didn't sign up for Runes.” Draco said, eyeing the girls with amusement.

“Why didn't you?” Harry asked.

“I figured I wouldn't need a N.E.W.T. in it.” Draco shrugged. “I'm content with just earning my O.W.L. last year. Besides, I never really loved that class.”

“Fair.” Ron said. “This lot's just full of overachievers.”

“Hey!” Hermione exclaimed indignantly; at the same time Theo said, “Guilty.”

They all paused as the door to the classroom swung open. Snape appeared in the doorway, eyeing the crowd of students. “Inside.” Snape ordered quietly. He then stepped out of the way, allowing the students to shuffle into the classroom.

Harry took the chance to look around the room, examining Snape’s teaching space. Every Professor decorated their classroom differently, and it was glaringly obvious with the Defence classroom because they’d had so many Professors and, therefore, so many different variations of the classroom. Snape’s choices heavily contrasted Umbridge’s from the previous year, but it vaguely reminded Harry of how Mad-Eye-Crouch-Jr-Moody decorated his version of the room.

The room was dim, not unlike how dim the Potions room had been; The windows were covered with dark curtains, the room’s only light being a handful of candles floating around the room. Pictures adorning the walls depicting gruesome images that had a couple students shying away. They were still pictures, unmoving to permanently display expressions of terror and pain with maiming, gorey injuries and twisted limbs. The shadowy room quieted any bustle or noise the students made as they took their seats.

Hermione tactfully sat next to Pansy, kicking her slightly in prompt. Pansy huffed, silently passing Hermione the three books she’d confiscated.

“Books away.” Snape announced, closing the door and moving to stand behind his desk at the front of the room. “I wish for your utmost attention, for I have much to say.” With a slight fumble, Hermione and Pansy shoved the heavy books under Hermione’s desk. Pansy looked amused while Hermione looked slightly mortified.

Snape leaned his palms on his desk, dark eyes sweeping around the room slowly. “Thus far you all have entertained five Defence Against the Dark Arts Professors, all of which practiced their own methods and priorities. Because of this confusion put before you, I am surprised so many of you managed extraordinary O.W.L results. Though, perhaps that’s not a surprise at all…” Snape met Harry’s eyes and lingered there a beat too long. Harry barely restrained a grin. “In any case, I shall be even more surprised if any of you keep on top of your work in this class due to the increased level of difficulty in a N.E.W.T. level class. What you learn in this classroom will be advanced, and possibly even dangerous. So do your utmost best to pay attention.” Snape moved to slowly pace the room, everyone's eyes following his motions and swishing robe.

“The Dark Arts, as a whole, are many in number, varied in kind, ever-changing and eternal.” Snape said softly, voice carrying in the silent room. “Fighting against it is like fighting a many-headed monster, two heads sprouting where one is cut, each new head cleverer and fiercer than the last, becoming twice as dangerous if combatted or used poorly. Your defenses must therefore be flexible and inventive as the Arts you seek to overcome. The pictures decorated the walls depict victims of the Dark Arts, each representing an aspect of torment they can cause. An example of the evil of suffering.”

“The Cruciatus Curse,” Snape gestured to a picture - a woman screaming, clutching her chest as she was crumpling in on herself, “the Dementor’s Kiss,” framed in black emptiness was a man, painted blank-eyed and empty, no life behind those dull eyes, “even the aggression of a provoked Inferi,” the last picture Snape’s flourishing hand drew their gaze to a portrait that seemed to only been a mass of blood and gore strewn across the painted area. “The Dark Arts knows no limits, which means you must overcome your own limits if you wish to combat them effectively.”

“Now.” Snape had orbited the entire room and returned to his desk, again facing all of them seriously. “None of your previous Professors bothered to teach you the advantages of nonverbal spells. Can someone guess what one such advantage might be?” Hands went up around the classroom, nearly every person prepared to answer. Harry could almost see genuine confusion or surprise in Snape’s black eyes. “Very well, Longbottom?” Neville seemed shocked he was picked, but that’s probably why Snape did it. Snape didn’t really believe Neville would know.

“Because your enemy doesn’t know what you’re casting.” Neville said, clearing his throat slightly to hide the slight tremor in his voice. “It gives you a small advantage because they’re not expecting your attack. But it also goes the other way, so always use extra caution when fighting against opponents also casting nonverbally.”

“… Correct.” Snape murmured, eyeing Neville significantly. Snape’s eyes then traveled back to Harry. “It seems you perhaps did have a teacher demonstrating nonverbal spells.” Harry cracked a smile as Snape tore his gaze from Harry and again addressed the room. “Regardless, yes. Those advanced enough to cast without shouting incantations gain the element of surprise in their spell-casting, be that defensively or offensively. It is a feat of concentration and will of the mind.” Snape paused, assessing if they were all paying attention, then said, “You will now break into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking, and likewise the other will defend themself with equal silence. You may begin.”

Before Harry could even blink, Theo was at his side. “You’re with me.” Harry blinked, then muffled a snort with his hand.

“Fine with me.” Harry whispered in response. Theo’s silver eyes flashed with delight as he drew his wand, ready to start immediately. With a smile, Harry drew his in kind. But Harry also took a small second to glance around the room.

In his Defence lessons the previous year, open to every Wraith in every year, he set aside time to teach all of them how to Shield. After that first meeting with Voldemort where the Order had surprised them, interrupting their parley with Voldemort, Harry knew Protego was something every single of them had to know. It quite literally saved the lives of Harry and all nine volunteers who risked their own safety to stand at his back with shining faith in him and their cause.

Because of that, nearly everyone seemed to be attempting to use Protego as their defensive tactic. The offensive attacks were slightly more varied, but it seemed the Disarming Charm was quite popular. Probably because Harry taught them how to not only cast it, but hold onto their wands if anyone cast it on them. Some of them were very softly murmuring the incantation under their breath instead of casting completely nonverbally, but Harry was still extremely pleased with how much they'd improve and how far they’d come. Once Harry was satisfied knowing everyone was set and working well, he finally turned to meet Theo’s anticipatory gaze.

Theo was the kind of caster that had the special ability to cast without any need to move his hand or lose his perfect neutral expression. He did have a tell, though; one Harry noticed that first Defence class Harry taught so long ago. He merely watched and waited until Theo twisted his fingers ever so slightly, almost as if he was merely adjusting his grip, but half a second later a flash of vivid purple was launched at Harry.

Slashing his wand down in a curving arc Harry’s Protego dissolved the spell and the force of it knocked Theo off balance. He took two stumbled steps back, allowing Harry to blast a red stunner spark his way. Even off-balance, Theo ducked the spell and thrust his wand out with harsh white flashing at the tip of his beautiful wand. Harry slashed through it again, unbalancing Theo the moment he was finally recovering. But Theo surprised Harry by dropping to the floor with a smooth roll and popping up a distance away, far enough Harry’s Protego couldn’t reach. Then the real match began.

Dueling Theo was exhilarating. Harry was constantly on his toes, dodging and shielding and casting with his blood pulsing through his head as magic poured off him in streaming waves. It was like a dance as they trade spells, not a word uttered between them as they did.

Suddenly Harry felt a wisp of a breeze from behind him and he whipped around, shielding against a spell coming from a new direction. Draco and Hermione, who’d paired together to practice, both had their wands drawn and grins painted across their faces. Harry couldn’t help it; he laughed aloud. So then it was Harry against three opponents, silence ringing as Harry’s laugh echoed in the quiet room.

Harry had to admit, the onslaught from three opponents overwhelmed him. It was all he could do to defend himself, having no time for offense as he shielded against their alternating attacks. He finally caught a second to breathe as he lunged forward close enough to knock Hermione off her feet with a swelling Protego. She tripped backwards with a gasp, knocking into Draco and sending them both to the floor. Harry grinned, turning back to Theo with a triumphant grin and a ready wand.

“That is enough.” Theo and Harry paused, turning in surprise to see Snape watching from the shadows of the far corner. In fact, the entire class was watching with wide eyes. The admiration and respect in each of their expressions had Harry’s face heating up with a slight flush. He hadn’t meant to show off, he was just letting loose with Theo!

“Yes, Professor.” Theo replied, though he scowled slightly. He tucked his wand back into his robes smoothly. Harry pocketed his own wand and turned, offering a hand to Hermione. She winced, rubbing her hip that’d hit the floor hard when she fell, but accepted his hand. Draco was just wiping dust from his robe with a sigh of defeat.

“Class is dismissed for today.” Snape announced, eyes still trained on Harry. “And Potter? You stay behind.”

“Yes sir.” Harry said, but rolled his eyes for Hermione and Draco to see. Slowly the other students filtered out of the room, collecting their things and casting Harry backwards, sympathetic looks as they disappeared into the hallway.

“Mister Nott, you’re excused.” Theo hadn’t moved, standing firmly beside Harry with a perfectly neutral expression. “I wish to speak to Potter alone.”

“With all due respect, Professor, he’s just going to tell me the moment you dismiss him.” Theo said evenly. “It would save time to simply address us together.”

“It’s true, Professor.” Harry smiled. “Theo and I have no secrets.” Snape sneered at them.

“That is unwise.” Snape snapped. “There is a necessity to keep some things under wraps, creating a zero percent chance of betrayal or exposure.”

“Watch it.” Theo’s eyes flashed silver as he spoke scathingly, “I would sooner drown myself in my own blood and cut myself into pieces than betray Harry Potter. Can you say the same, Professor?”

“Theo.” Harry admonished quietly. He took Theo’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “Enough.” Theo said nothing, but he met Snape’s heated fury with a cold glare sharp as daggers. “Professor, what is it you have to tell me?” Snape said nothing. Harry snapped in irritation, “Snape, I don’t have time for this. You tell me right now.” Snape stiffened considerably.

“Very well." Snape said, face twisted with unease. Even angry with Harry, Snape knew better than to challenge Harry. “Regardless of your stupidity, Mister Potter, I would strongly advise you to avoid discussing anything to do with your extracurriculars or summer experience. Our previous Headmaster will be contacting you sometime today with a note, an invitation to meet. He plans on beginning private lessons with you that will continue for the duration of the school year.”

“What?” Harry’s eyes widened. “Why? About what?”

“It would be unwise of me to tell you.” Snape sneered. “If he suspects I told you anything at all he would become suspicious.”

“How did you find this out?” Theo asked, mouth set grimly.

“He visited me just before school began. He requested to use my Office as a secret meeting location for your lessons.” Snape glared, clearly disdainful. “I had no choice but to accept. There was nothing I could do. Minerva had already rejected him, forbidding him from using her Office, the Headmaster’s Office. He would not have taken lightly to being dismissed by me after that.”

“I understand.” Harry said with a nod. “I need you to contact our mutual friend and let him know what’s going on, and do it quickly. If our previous Headmaster plans to teach me privately, it’s possible he’ll be keeping a very close eye on me in future. We can’t risk the safety of our mutual friend’s plans.”

“Very well.” Snape looked distinctly unhappy taking Harry’s request, but Harry knew he’d follow through. “Now get out of my sight.”

“With pleasure.” Harry turned on his heel, pulling Theo by the hand as he left the room. Theo seemed inclined to stay, probably to grill Snape for more information, but that wouldn’t do them any good. Theo seemed to realize this and thankfully didn’t fight Harry’s hold on him.

Predictably, when Harry stepped into the hall he was immediately surrounded. Ron, Hermione, Draco, Neville, and Malcolm had all stayed behind to ask what the hell Snape wanted. Calming them with reassurance, Harry relayed the information with Theo adding angry comments about Snape’s blatant disrespect for Harry, and daring to challenge Theo’s loyalty.

“What could he want?” Ron asked after Harry finished explaining.

“Maybe to discuss the Horcruxes?” Draco suggested, frowning. “If he believes the Dark Lord is still a threat, despite there being no evidence of such a thing because of our mutual friend, then he might want your help in locating them.”

“Good fucking luck with that.” Ron muttered.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” Harry sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “We’re going to have to be extremely careful. We were lucky he wasn’t watching me so closely last year, but it seems that luck’s run out.”

“D’you think it’s safe to hold meetings?” Malcolm asked then, “If he’s watching, it might be too dangerous.”

“If it’s that serious, we’ll have to.” Theo said. “But if it comes down to it, we may have to go forward without Harry in attendance.” That silenced them all, grimness settling in their chests. This wasn’t a good start to their year.

It wasn’t even five minutes later that fourth year Jack Sloper stopped them in the hallway with a very nervous expression. “Uh, Mister Harry?” He cleared his throat, looking between Harry and the rolled up parchment. “It’s from Professor Dumbledore.”

“Thank you, Sloper.” Harry offered Sloper a comforting smile. “I’ve been expecting this.”

“Oh.” Some of the tension in Sloper’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s good.”

“Excuse us.” Harry said, ducking his head. “Thank you for delivering this.”

“Oh, no problem Mister Harry!” The boy grinned, running off with a backwards wave to their group.

Harry looked down at the parchment, took a deep breath, then unrolled it.

Dear Harry,
I know we have not spoken in some time, so I’d be delighted if you’d join me in the Potion Master’s Office this Saturday. Please arrive at 8pm. And don’t worry, I will ensure Professor Snape is away for the duration of our time together. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school for another year of learning.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore

“Snape must’ve kept his Office the same, instead of giving it up to Professor Slughorn.” Theo muttered as Harry showed off the letter. “If Snape’s Office is still in the Potion Master’s area. I wonder where Professor Slughorn’s Office is…” Theo looked up at the others and sighed. “Not that that’s particularly important right now, but still.”

“This is bad.” Hermione said, biting her lip. “Why in the world would he feel the need to meet you like this?”

“We shouldn't freak out right now.” Neville told her a bit nervously. “Not until we know what it’s about. Right?" Hermione nodded reluctantly. "But Harry?” Draco addressed Harry with a serious expression and worry in his eyes. “Keep your wand on you. We can’t have another incident like with Umbridge.”

“Right.” Harry nodded. When he was dragged to Umbridge’s Office the night of the Astronomy Exam, he hadn’t been fast enough to draw his wand - Umbridge knocked him unconscious with a stunner before he knew what hit him. “I’ll do my best.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

The Draught of Accidents and Luck

Potions snuck up on Harry, despite the fact that he'd been expecting it. He spent the free period and lunch studying with Ron for Snape's Defense classes. Their assigned textbook covered tips and tricks on channeling spells and magic wordlessly through their wands; Ron said Harry's guidance in his private lessons the previous year were much better.

So when double Potions did come around, Harry met his classmates outside the classroom that was managed by Snape for too many years.

Harry was a little surprised there weren't very many of them in the Potions N.E.W.T. level class, only three Gryffindors, four Slytherins, four Ravenclaws, and one lone Hufflepuff. But he probably shouldn't've been that surprised considering most people hated Potions because of Snape's teaching methods. People probably thought continuing to earn their N.E.W.T. in Potions wasn't worth it, which, honestly, Harry couldn't fault them on that.

“Why isn't Daphne here?” Harry asked. Only Draco, Theo, Blaise, and Pansy were there waiting. “She scored high.”

“Daph wants to study Creatures.” Draco shrugged. “She said Potions wasn't a priority for her.”

“I don't see it.” Theo said, shaking his head. “Potions is an extremely versatile subject and earning a N.E.W.T. offers a leg up no matter what you aim to study.”

“Well Daph disagrees.” Terry Boot said, grinning. “Though, Chael sorta agreed with her. He almost dropped.”

“But I didn't.” Michael Corner slung an arm around Harry wearing a grin matching Terry's. “I decided to stick it out in the pursuit of knowledge.”

“Bullshit.” Ron coughed. “You're just doing it because Terry is.” Michael shrugged, not admitting anything. Terry smiled.

“I didn't know you were pursuing Potions, actually.” Pansy said, turning to Harry. “I know you scored well enough, but I didn't think it was your thing.”

“It's not.” Harry admitted. “But my new friend suggested I should go for it.” Damn Tom for making sense when he made points.

“Oh.” Blaise raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because he thinks it'd be a leg up no matter what I studied.” Harry said, eyeing Theo's smug smile. “Apparently if I wanted to go into a field in Defense, even teaching, having a Potions N.E.W.T. would give me an advantage.”

“Told you.” Theo muttered. Harry elbowed him.

“I'm just here because Harry is.” Ron admitted with a grin. “I got the score, might as well stick it out.”

“Hey, we're happy to have you.” Pansy laughed. "We're apparently running short of Gryffindors."

“Looks like you'll have to make due with three.” Harry grinned. “You've got a three set Gryffindor package, take it or leave it.”

“We're all set, then.” Terry patted Harry's shoulders brightly.

Slughorn then swept the door open and smiled joyfully at them all, ushering them in with surprising excitement. He seemed particularly happy to see Blaise, Harry, and Theo. They ignored his shining smile and headed inside with the crowd.

Inside the classroom Slughorn had set out three tables each with four seats, perfect for their class of a dozen even. Harry ended up sitting with Theo, Hermione, and Draco. It was slightly funny that Harry ended up at what some might call the ‘smart kid table’.

Around the room were three cauldrons, each filled with a different potion, each unique and attention grabbing. The one nearest to the table Harry ended up in was clear, like innocently simmering water. Though Harry doubted it was actually plain water.

“Alright!” Slughorn swept to the front of the room, clapping his hands together with a wide smile. “Scales and potion kits out everyone! And don't forget those textbooks of yours, copies of Advanced Potion-Making.” Harry, among others, plopped his brand new copy of the textbook into the table. Slughorn briefly paused to count twelve copies of Advanced Potion-Making sitting out and ready to be used.

"Perfect." Slughorn continued, satisfied. "Now, I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, a sort of introduction of the curriculum to be studied throughout the year. These potions are the kind of thing you should be able to make with ease after completing your N.E.W.T. classes. You all ought to have heard of them by now, even if you haven't made them. Can anyone tell me what this one is?"

Everyone leaned over to see the cauldron sitting directly next to Draco, the water-looking one. Hermione's hand shot up into the air immediately. Slughorn pointed to her.

"It's Veritaserum." Hermione answered easily. "A colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth." Ah, yes. Snape threatened to put some of that in Harry's pumpkin juice once.

"Very good, very good!" Slughorn praised. He moved towards the table with Ernie MacMillan, Oliver Rivers, Malcolm Preece, and Blaise. Their display cauldron was deep and bubbling, mud popping in squishy motions. It was easily identifiable.

"Now, this one here is pretty well known.” Slughorn said conversationally, “It's featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too, so who can–?" Hermione's hand was up before Slughorn was even finished speaking, nearly whacking Draco in the ear. Theo, seeing this, leaned away from her.

“Polyjuice.” Hermione said immediately. “It's Polyjuice Potion, sir.” Harry ducked his head to hide a grin, remembering what happened the last time they were this close to Polyjuice. Draco kicked him under the table, no doubt remembering the story Harry dramatically recounted for everyone the minute Hermione wasn't lurking around to stop him.

“Correct! Excellent, excellent work.” Slughorn looked delighted at Hermione's easy answer. “And this one?” He gestured to the last cauldron, closest to the far table with Ron, Pansy, Terry, and Michael.

“Amortentia.” Pride shone in Hermione's face. She'd never been called on I'm Potions before; the excitement shook her entire body as Slughorn beamed at her.

“And I presume you know what it does?”

“It's the most powerful love-potion known to man.” Hermione told him eagerly. “It's recognizable by the mother-of-pearl sheen on the surface, and the steam forming into tight spirals. It's supposed to smell differently for everyone, mimicking what attracts us most.”

“Very good! Very good, Miss, uh?” Slughorn gestured to her.

“Hermione Granger.”

“Oh! Any chance you'd be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger?” Slughorn tilted his head with interest. Similar to the sticky interest he expressed when he took Harry, Theo, and Blaise aside on the train. “Founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

“No, I don't think so, sir.” Hermione said, her excitement dimming slightly. “I'm a Muggleborn.”

“Well, either way, twenty points to Gryffindor for your exceptional answers, Miss Granger.” Slughorn offered her a solid nod before turning to the rest of the class. “Now, it's important to note that Amortentia cannot create genuine, honest love; something like that is impossible to manufacture or create out of ingredients and clever stirs. No, Amortentia causes an irresistible infatuation or avid obsession. It is quite possibly the most dangerous potion known to wizardkind, as of now.” He looked around the room sternly to properly gauge their understanding of his wanting. “You may not think it so, but believe me, I have seen over the years the real damage obsessive love can cause.”

“Now!” Slughorn clapped his hands and moved on, despite the unnerved looks the students were exchanging with each other. “It is time for us to get to work.”

“Uh, sir?” Ernie raised his hand awkwardly. “You haven't told us about that one.” He gestured to the black cauldron on Slughorn's desk, square and flat black.

The potion was so gold it radiated brightly from within, swishing around in the cauldron despite not simmering or boiling in any noticeable fashion. Little goldfish made of molten gold droplets danced along the surface, never spilling even as it sloshed over the sides as it danced in place. It was beautiful and mesmerizing.

“Ah, yes.” Slughorn turned to it rather dramatically, as though it was his plan all along to ‘forget’ until someone pointed it out. Theo specifically looked unimpressed by the obvious tactic. “Well, you see, that one happens to be the most curious potion I've ever had the pleasure of brewing and sampling. I presume you can enlighten us as to its name, Miss Granger?”

“Felix Felicis.” Hermione answered without missing a beat. “Also known as Liquid Luck. It makes you extremely lucky.”

“Correct! Ten more points to Gryffindor.” Slughorn chuckled at Hermione's enthusiasm. “Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis. Desperately tricky to make, disastrous if done wrong, and wholly worth it. With a single dose, such as this one, you will find all your endeavors will succeed… until the potions effects wear off.”

“Why don't people take it all the time?” Terry asked. “If it's so great.”

“Because if taken too often, there will be nasty side effects.” Slughorn warned. “Excessive giddiness, recklessness, dangerous arrogance or overconfidence - highly toxic in the case of an overdose, as well.” Terry looked rather green at that.

“Have you ever taken it, sir?” Michael piped up.

“Twice, in my lifetime.” Slughorn smiled, a bit dreamily. “The first time I was twenty-four, the second when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoons with my breakfast, resulting in two perfect days.” He sighed, clearly reminiscing, then shook his nostalgic expression. “And that, my dear students, will be the prize offered after this class lesson.”

Slughorn drew a tiny glass bottle, barely bigger than a vial, housing shining gold liquid, held shut by a thin cork, from his pocket to show off to the room. “Twelve hours worth of Liquid Luck - from dawn to dusk one of you shall have the luckiest day of your life. Though, a word of warning, Felix Felicis is a banned substance from all organized competitions and events. So this luck must be used on an ordinary day, meant to make the ordinary become extraordinary! But how do we intend to win this little Felix, eh? That's what you all must be asking yourselves!”

“To do that, we must turn to page ten in our textbooks, Advanced Potion-Making!” Slughorn tucked the vial away once more, the entire class’ eyes following it disappear. “Today we will be using the last hour or so left in this class to attempt brewing the Draught of Living Death. It's quite possibly the most difficult potion you've ever been asked to brew, but I am not expecting perfection by any means!” Slughorn laughed. “But the student who does the best, and comes the closest to finishing, wins the prize! Now! Let's get brewing, shall we?”

As it would turn out, Slughorn wasn't kidding - the Draught of Living Death was definitely the hardest potion they'd ever been asked to brew. Even Hermione and Theo were struggling to change the color of their respective potions.

Harry ended up following the lead of his tablemates. It did stump him when the three of them started doing things slightly differently each, despite reading the exact same instructions from the textbook.

“Why is yours purple?” Draco demanded, eyeing the royal color of Hermione's potion. “Hermione, we've got the same bloody instructions, how is it yours looks like that? Have you got it wrong?”

“No, it's exactly right because I added the powdered root of asphodel earlier than last fucking week, Draco.” Hermione snapped, sarcasm sharp. “You added yours too late.”

“Did not.” Draco argued. “It said to add as it boils.”

“Yes, as it boils.” Hermione said impatiently. “You added it way after it boiled.”

“That's because ‘as it boils’ means as it's already boiling and ready.”

“You're both wrong.” Theo clicked his tongue, eyes not leaving his own potion. “It clearly means to add it just before it begins to boil, on the tipping point between a simmer and a boil. Hence, ‘as it boils’.”

Harry himself was just trying to keep up with them as best he could. His potion vaguely resembled theirs, but he was mixing and matching their different understandings of the book and didn't have the highest hopes for his work.

Blue fumes slowly filled the air, hit and sticky and humid. Hermione's already frizzy curls tightened, poofing out even more like a mane. Draco's perfectly styled hair was ruffled, and Harry imagined his own hair was even messier than usual. Pansy sure was a picture across the room, her edgy black haircut disheveled and curling slightly at the ends. Everyone was clearly worse for wear as time went on.

“Terry looks distraught.” Harry noted just past the halfway point. “I reckon his potion isn't going so well.”

“Yeah, well, neither are ours.” Draco said, very carefully cutting his sopophorous beans.

“Speak for yourself.” Theo's voice was perfectly calm and collected, as though he were out for a stroll, but his cheeks were flushed and his knuckles were a bright, angry red. Seeing him so frazzled almost made Harry laugh.

Unfortunately his almost-laugh was interrupted because a sopophorous bean flew straight at him. He flinched as it slammed into his face.

“Ouch!” Harry rubbed his nose, a stinging spot forming where the projectile had flown at him. He leaned a hand down on the table to look a bit accusingly at Michael at the nearby table, looking rather guilty.

“Sorry!” Michael called, wincing. “These buggers are hard to cut. It jumped away from me.”

“No worries.” Harry waved him off. Unfortunately the hand he placed on the table came up slick, apparently having squashed a bunch of his sopophorous beans. Harry cursed under his breath. The juice was everywhere - Harry had no idea how the little shriveled beans had so much juice in them!

“What?” Hermione leaned over, peeking at his cauldron as he swore.

“Nothing.” Harry muttered resignedly. They'd all already chopped up their beans and added the juices, so Harry had no other option than to work with what he had. Luckily the smashed beans squeezed out more than enough juice for him to add to his potion.

“What the–” Draco did a double take at Harry's potion as it lightened immediately, reaching a pale shade of lilac. Draco's was nowhere near that color.

“How did you do that?” Hermione demanded, torn between stirring her potion and staring at Harry's.

“I just added the juice.” Harry sighed. “Fuck. I probably added too much.” If his potion was way lighter than all three of their potions were, Harry had definitely done something wrong.

“Too much?” Theo echoed with a blink. “How?”

“There was just so much.” Harry explained awkwardly, “I got it everywhere, honestly. It's a mess.” He hurriedly started stirring it, woefully glancing at his juice soaked textbook. “Which way are we supposed to stir? Clockwise again?”

“No! Counterclockwise.” Hermione answered immediately. Harry nodded.

Stirring counterclockwise, Harry glanced around the room. Ron was cursing himself in circles, angrily stirring a cauldron of tar black that probably should've been purple by now; Pansy beside him looked anxious but determined, muttering to Ron and seemingly pointing out steps in the textbook.

“Careful.” Draco caught Harry's attention. He was eyeing Hermione, who was looking more and more anxious that her potion wasn't changing color no matter what she did. “You'll ruin it if you fuss too much.”

“Where did I go wrong?” Hermione lamented, frustration coloring her tone and face. “Why's it not changing color?” Harry wondered what the right color was, if not Hermione's plum purple colored potion.

“Harry, that's the wrong way.” Theo nudged him. Harry blinked.

“Shit.” As Harry's eyes drifted, apparently he'd started stirring it clockwise instead. Harry hurriedly corrected, again stirring counterclockwise.

“And, that's it! Time's up!” Slughorn announced, smiling out at them. The blue smog in the air was so thick it was a bit hard to see the front of the classroom. “Stirring spoons down, everybody, step back from your work. Now, I ought to come around and check your potions, eh?”

“Fucking hell.” Hermione crossed her arms, glaring at her cauldron.

“Whoever invented this potion sucks.” Draco muttered, eyeing his potion. It was nearly the same color as Hermione's.

“Harry, yours is so light.” Theo completely ignored his own potion, sitting at a pretty shade of lavender, in favor of examining Harry's.

“And pink.” Harry said, resigned. His bubbling potion resembled the color of pink rose petals.

“That's what it's–” Theo broke off as Slughorn made his way over to their table.

“Hmph.” He nodded at Hermione's and Draco's, approval in his eyes. Slughorn smiled a little at Theo's, then paused with a little gasp as he moved to Harry's. “Ah! A clear winner!”

“What.” Harry blinked.

“Excellent work, just excellent.” Slughorn laughed, jolly and bright. “Just a bit paler of a pink and it would be perfect! And I'm sure with more time you'd manage it, no doubt! My my, it's clear you inherited your mother's talent. She was a marvel at Potions, and it's wonderful to see her legacy and talent residing in you.” With a beaming smile Slughorn offered the tiny glass bottle of shimmering gold liquid to Harry. “As promised, twelve hours of Liquid Luck for the winner! Use it well.”

“Um, yes sir.” Harry nodded slowly, accepting the glass vial delicately. He looked at his friends with a confused shrug, then slipped it into his robes.

“That's all the time we have today!” Slughorn clapped his hands together. “Everyone, pack up your things. Vanish the contents of your cauldrons please, if you can. If you cannot, ask a neighbor! Then, off to supper for us all.”

“How did you do that?” Hermione demanded soon after, once they were packed and leaving.

“I dunno.” Harry shrugged. “I messed up and it turned out okay?”

“It must've been the beans.” Theo muttered, eyes sharp as he was clearly deep in thought. “You said you added too much juice?”

“Yeah, I got it all over me.” Harry lamented. Theo looked him up and down, slowly, then nodded. With a muttered cast Theo righted Harry's robes back to clean and dry. “Thanks.” Harry grinned.

“Maybe it requires more juice than it says.” Theo hummed. “Or maybe we simply didn't add enough due to the difficulties in cutting through the beans for their juices.”

“That's possible.” Draco spoke up, “I honestly just added what I could get from my beans, I didn't measure it that well.”

“I measured mine perfectly, and it still wasn't right.” Hermione said with a heavy frown. “Maybe you're right, maybe you need to add half the correct measurement to the recipe to make it right.” Hermione blew out a frustrated breath. “But then why wouldn't it be in the textbook already?”

“No clue, but Harry's clearly onto something.” Draco grinned. “You're a natural at messing up and still winning. Just like your first Quidditch match.”

“I nearly swallowed the Snitch.” Harry laughed. “I remember.”

“Harry, damn, how did you do that?” Ron and the rest of their classmates joined them where they'd stopped in the hall. Ron slung an arm around Harry's shoulder with a grin. “You never win at Potions!”

“He scored an Exceeds Expectations.” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean.” Ron waved him off. “But seriously, what'd you do?”

“Can you believe he doesn't even know?”

For the rest of the day all they could talk about was Harry's miraculous talent at making specifically the Draught of Living Death. They found it absolutely hilarious that he'd succeeded purely by accident, some more than others. Hermione was miffed the proper instructions were failing her, but Harry wasn't too worried about it - she was never the best loser, especially when the ‘winner’ wasn't actually better. But, as always, she'd get over it.

“Only the first day, and you've already got the school in an uproar.” Draco huffed. “That is so Harry.”

“I hate that you're right.” Harry laughed. “Don't worry, I'll definitely and inevitably end up doing it again.” Because if there was anything he was good at, it was causing an uproar.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

The Innocent and The Guilty

“We’ve got Transfiguration, Charms, and Herbology.” Ron said, glancing at their schedule. “But they’re so spread out, we’ve got a lot of free time today.”

“Except we’ll be spending a lot of it studying, I’d imagine.” Harry pointed out. “Transfiguration hasn’t been our best subject, if you recall, and you know as well as I that McGonagall isn’t pulling any punches when it comes to the difficulty of our upcoming lessons.” Ron sighed heavily.

“You’re probably right.” Ron said. “Bloody hell.” Harry laughed.

“Well I’ve got Arithmancy today as well.” Hermione said, reorganizing the books in her bag as they made their way down to breakfast. “Just before lunch. Ugh, I bet there’ll be even more homework dumped on me after that.”

“Yikes.” Harry grinned. “Sucks to be the smartest, I guess.”

“The smartest, eh?” Hermione said, grinning back at him. “I’m telling Theo you said that.”

“Wait, no.” Harry sputtered, “I take it back–”

“Too late!” Hermione called, skipping ahead of him. “I’m gonna teeellll him!”

“I said I take it back! Wait! You’re both the smartest! Oh bollocks–”

Ron’s laughter followed them as Harry ran after Hermione down the marble steps. Harry grinned as he caught her, wrapping his arms around her waist, picking her feet off the floor and spinning her around. Hermione shrieked, giggling as they stumbled into the Great Hall. Hermione dropped her bag, books spilling across the floor.

“Okay! Okay! You win.” Hermione exclaimed, laughter spilling out like her parchment rolls running away on the slick stone. “Theo will never know you think I’m the smartest.”

“You’re both the smartest.” Harry huffed, but he dutifully set her back down and bent to help her retrieve all her parchments and assorted textbooks. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Thank you, I strive to be.” Hermione offered a mock bow. Harry stuck his tongue out at her.

“Okay kids, let’s have some breakfast.” Ron joined them, strolling leisurely into the Hall wearing a sideways grin. “I’m starving.”

The trio plopped down for breakfast with their friends, easily slipping into conversation with the surrounding Gryffindors as food appeared and owls slowly swooped in to deliver the morning mail. As usual, Hermione’s monthly subscription to the Daily Prophet sent an owl to drop off the newest edition. Hermione accepted it with a little nod to the owl.

Harry was just digging into a pile of eggs and strawberries when Hermione gasped, grabbing his attention. Harry looked up to find she was beaming at the pages. She looked up at him as he opened his mouth to ask what she was so excited about.

“Harry! Look.” Hermione's eyes were bright as she hurriedly shoved the Daily Prophet into his hands. Harry fumbled with his fork, throwing her an unimpressed look, but dutifully straightened the flimsy pages to examine it. His eyes then widened in disbelief, a wide smile breaking out across his face.

Sirius Black Ruled Innocent!

This past evening Sirius Black was put on trial for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and a dozen muggles, standing accused of the event on October 31st of 1981, and was deemed innocent. It came to light that Sirius Black was never given a trial upon his arrest, an occurrence that stirred unrest and anger in many who recently learned the truth.

At the height of the war when You-Know-Who was defeated by Harry Potter, trials were put on hold to ensure no suspected Death Eaters were ruled wrongly innocent and released back into the masses. For some, it would seem this restricted their right to justice. It seems while some were kept safe by such a decision, others were condemned by it.

Sirius Black, 21 at the time of the event, was arrested after being found laughing and crying hysterically at the scene surrounded by dead muggles and the single pinky finger of Peter Pettigrew, Black's supposed close friend. It seemed to Aurors on sight that Black was the only possible suspect and executed an immediate arrest. Black was kept in isolation for one week in the Ministry, then sent to Azkaban Prison for life. Or so we thought.

Harry skimmed the article in disbelief, skipping to another page to find even more news on the subject. It seemed everyone had something to say on the topic.

Peter Pettigrew Found Alive?!

Peter Pettigrew, a close friend to both James Potter and Sirius Black, was found alive by Aurors and taken into custody this past summer. This shocking turn of events revealed now put Sirius Black's guilty ruling in question.

Black was accused of Pettigrew's murder on October 31st of 1981, the day of You-Know-Who’s defeat, but with Pettigrew found and in custody it seems Black was innocent and falsely imprisoned. Upon further investigation, it was revealed indisputably that Black was framed by Pettigrew for both Pettigrew's supposed death and the death of all twelve muggles who died in the consequential explosion. Sirius Black is innocent of all accused crimes.

Sirius Black, after years on the run after his infamous escape from Azkaban, finally turned himself in yesterday morning to attend his well earned trial. Though many argued his successful escape from Azkaban warranted him more time spent in prison, a majority raised the concern that he'd simply escape once again. After a hard vote Black was ruled innocent of all crimes, pardoned from all his alleged wrongdoings, and released a free man.

So where is Black now? Black was sent to St. Mungo's for a mandatory wellness check for both his physical and mental condition where he'll be kept for observation for a one week duration. After that Black will be reinstated as a fully free citizen with a clean record, as his felony and criminal status have been wiped from his legal history.

Harry could hardly believe it as he quickly scanned the many pages covering Sirius’ case. Sirius was free. And he was receiving care for his mental and physical health!! That was more than Harry could've hoped for.

“About damn time.” Ron said, peeking over Harry's shoulder. “We've been trying to tell them for years.”

“What's Black going to do now?” Dean asked, peaking over. He couldn't lean very far though because Seamus, sitting next to him, had absently thrown his legs over Dean's lap and sorta trapped him in place. “After he's let out of St Mungo's, I mean.”

“Well, I'd have to ask him.” Harry said, tilting his head. “I remember he mentioned having an apartment before he went to Azkaban.”

“Why didn't he go there after he escaped?” Hermione asked. “We all know he hates it at G—” She choked, then cleared her throat. “At the place Dumbledore has him these days.” Politely, nobody commented on her inability to voice the location. They were all well aware the building was placed under a Fidelius Charm.

“It was probably being watched.” Neville hummed. “If I were an Auror, I'd probably assume an escapee would go straight home after breaking out of prison. They were probably staking out the place as soon as they realized he'd escaped.”

“That makes sense.” Ron agreed with a nod.

“I wonder if Remus is with him.” Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully. “I reckon someone's got to be with him while he's recovering and adjusting to being pardoned.”

“I'd bet on it.” Harry said. “Remus wouldn’t leave his side, I guarantee it.” They all paused as Malcolm strode over from the Ravenclaw table, catching eyes as he switched tables.

“Harry, did you see the article in today's paper?” Malcolm asked, voice low.

“About Sirius?” Harry asked, holding up Hermione’s copy of the Daily Prophet. “It's brilliant, I know.”

“No, not the Prophet.” Malcolm shook his head. “But congrats to your godfather. Anyway, look, in the Wizard's Voice. The article was published this morning, and it's about Dumbledore.”

“What? Dumbledore?” Neville blinked, straightening. “What about?”

“It's about the warrant for his arrest.” Malcolm said, offering Harry the paper. “Turns out, they're still looking for him.”

Harry frowned. He was meeting Dumbledore the following day, and Harry was already planning to bring up the topic of Dumbledore's status with the law and how in the world he'd wormed his way out of the charges this time. Well… it seemed Dumbledore hadn't been able to after all.

Headmaster Dumbledore Still At Large?

Though not many updates have been found regarding previous Headmaster of Hogwarts Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and his supposed plot to overthrow the Ministry, it is a controversial topic that needs to be further addressed.

First of all, what did Headmaster Dumbledore do to warrant such hostility towards his image? According to anonymous sources, Dumbledore plotted to create an army using innocent and woefully misled Hogwarts students to overpower the Ministry and take over as Britain's new Minister for Magic. Though Headmaster Dumbledore has publicly refused the position when previously offered, he keeps a close eye on Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge and offers unsolicited ‘advice’ or ‘counsel’ whenever Headmaster Dumbledore deems his expertise ‘necessary.’

Some say Headmaster Dumbledore is being framed in retaliation for his delusional claims of You-Know-Who’s supposed return following the tragic death of Cedric Diggory, the result of a terrible accident during the Third Task of the 1994 Triwizard Tournament. Headmaster Dumbledore went so far as to suggest Harry Potter, our dear Boy-Who-Lived, was somehow involved in You-Know-Who’s alleged return - a heinous accusation that has since been disregarded by the public after over a year of nothing but undisturbed peace across Britain.

Headmaster Dumbledore's whereabouts are thus far unknown, as are his plans for the Ministry and any future coup attempts. Be vigilant and on the lookout so our hardworking Aurors can bring Headmaster Dumbledore to justice and properly face his crimes against the Ministry.

Harry didn't know what to think as he read. While it was great everyone had it out for Dumbledore, it wouldn't end well if Aurors tried to apprehend him. Last time they tried, back when Umbridge caught on to their DA scheme, Dumbledore blew up his office and collapsed the ceiling on top of everyone, including Harry! That wasn't a good track record for Dumbledore.

“I thought he'd've gotten himself out of trouble by now.” Neville muttered. “Not that I’m unhappy they’ve got it out for him, but it’s odd he hasn’t sorted this out by now, isn’t it?”

“I’m with Neville.” Seamus said, frowning. “This is weird. I feel like Dumbledore’s playing at something.”

“I just have one main concern.” Malcolm said seriously. He kept his voice low, leaning closer to Harry. “How the hell is he planning to offer you private lessons, and inside the castle no less, without being seen or turned in?”

“Shit, you've got a point.” Ron said. “I hadn't thought about that.”

“He has to think nobody here would turn on him, still loyal to their previous Headmaster.” Hermione said with a little frown. “That or he's completely confident nobody will see him aside from Harry.”

“Probably the latter.” Neville said. “He prefers the sneaky side of things.”

“You're right about that.” Ron nodded.

“I'll talk to him.” Harry said finally. “I doubt he'll actually give me an answer, but I'd better bring it up with him anyway. If I just ignore it, it could make him suspicious.”

“I don't like this.” Hermione bit her lip. “I don't like the idea of you spending hours alone with him.”

“I'll be fine.” Harry took her hand with a smile, squeezing gently. “Don't worry. I'll have it handled.” As Hermione squeezed back and offered a wobbly smile, Harry really hoped that was true.

“Well, you’d better not get caught.” Malcolm sighed. “The Ministry is definitely still wary of you, even if they’ve chilled out after the whole mess last year. If you’re seen with Dumbledore… I don’t want anything happening to you. Not after the lengths we’ve gone through to protect you.”

“I don’t think he wants the Ministry to get me either.” Harry assured him, even as the responsibility and weight of the situation settled across his shoulders. “But I’ll be careful. Promise.”

“It’s not your word I doubt.” Malcolm said quietly, He offered a nervous little smile before retreating back to Ravenclaw, leaving the paper behind. Malcolm was immediately surrounded by hushed whispers, Terry and Michael and Padma leaning in to whisper questions Malcolm seemed almost reluctant to answer.

It wasn’t like Harry was keeping the private lessons with Dumbledore a secret, but he hadn’t exactly told anyone outside of who’d read the note with him when it was delivered. Harry would have to make a statement about it eventually, but he didn’t want to cause a panic by telling everyone before Harry even knew what Dumbledore wanted. Besides, one week of waiting wasn’t the end of the world.

Or, that’s what Harry was telling himself.

.

Harry tried not to think about it, but they were collectively subdued as they headed to Transfiguration after breakfast. They tried for cheer, joking around a little, but it wasn’t as genuine or upbeat as it had been. They were all worried, and Harry couldn’t do anything about it until he had more information for them.

“Any idea what McGonagall will be teaching?” Harry asked as they stood outside the classroom.

“Probably higher levels of Transfiguration.” Hermione hummed a little. “Like Human Transfiguration. She mentioned last year that it was a N.E.W.T. level subject, so there’s a strong chance we’ll be learning it this year.”

“How would we even learn that?” Ron blinked. “Not on ourselves, right?”

“I’d guess on ourselves, yeah.” Hermione offered him an angelic smile. “Don’t worry, if you turn your ears blue I’ll fix that right up for you. After a good laugh, of course.”

“Shove off.” Ron huffed, hiding a grin.

They all straightened to attention as McGonagall opened her door, beckoning them all in. There were slightly over a dozen of them, a handful from each House, and they all found an individual desk to occupy as they filtered in. Harry found every desk had a delicate purple pillow sitting dainty dead center, probably about to be Transfigured into something.

McGongall took no time heading to the front of the room and standing firmly before them. Once she had their undivided attention, she addressed them calmly.

“This is the beginning of your N.E.W.T. level education.” McGonagall announced, her clear voice echoing through the room. “My N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration class is only open to students who achieved an EE or higher on their O.W.L. examinations, and as such the curriculum will reflect that strict difficulty level. Do not expect to breeze through this class, as even my most talented over the years have struggled through the N.E.W.T. material. But do not be discouraged. I will remain a resource to all my students during lessons. If you are struggling, take the initiative to approach me and ask for guidance. I may be the Headmistress, but I am first and foremost an educator and Head of House. Do keep that in mind.”

“Now. As I’m sure Professor Snape made perfectly clear, nonverbal casting offers innumerable benefits, and not only in Defense and Transfiguration. You’ll be practicing some nonverbal magic in Charms with Professor Flitwick as well.” McGonagall pulled out her wand and casually held it in hand. “To start off the year we’ll be practicing spells that you’ve already learned and become proficient in. For example.” McGonagall faced her desk, swished her wand, and without a word the purple pillow on her large oak desk, identical to each pillow adorning the student desks, promptly Vanished. Then she turned back to the class. “You all will demonstrate your understanding by mimicking the spell I used. Recognize the spell, and cast it on your own pillows wordlessly. Wands out, you may begin.”

Harry pulled out his wand and examined the pillow. Obviously McGonagall had used the Vanishing Charm, Evanesco. He glanced up at her nervously and wondered vaguely if she knew he could already cast it nonverbally. Harry used Evanesco both wandless and wordless during Wraith meetings when he needed to get the chairs out of their way quickly, so he had plenty of practice over the previous year. Because nonverbal spells hadn't come up in classes before, Harry hadn't broadcasted the ability.

With a deep breath, Harry swished his wand and Vanished the pillow with a single thought. It disappeared cleanly in an instant with a small ‘pop’ as the space it once occupied emptied suddenly.

“Very good, Mister Potter.” McGonagall complimented as she walked by, pacing the length of the classroom. “Two points to Gryffindor.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry nodded, smiling.

“Do it again.” McGonagall Conjured another pillow with a swish of her wand. “This time, do it wandless.”

“Yes, Professor.” Harry nodded again. McGonagall offered him a little nod in return before continuing on her path.

Gryffindor received two more points when Hermione Vanished her pillow first try, and Slytherin earned two when Theo demonstrated the ability as well. Same as Harry, they were given a second pillow to try it without their wand.

Harry, though he tried and failed not to feel smug, managed to wordlessly and wandlessly Vanish his pillow twice. Hermione managed it once, but after that she struggled to muster up enough power to do it again. Theo had to murmur the incantation each time, but confidently Vanished his pillow wandlessly three times in a row. It was a successful day for them.

For students like Ron, Draco, Terry, Susan Bones, and some of the others, they were murmuring the incantation quieter and quieter in an attempt to muster a nonverbal spell. Most of them got pretty damn close, some only needing to mouth the words, but in the end couldn't quite grasp it yet.

“Man, the curriculum really is getting harder.” Ron groaned as they packed to leave. “I kinda wish we were learning Human Transfiguration now.”

“You say that now.” Terry wrinkled his nose. “I bet you'll be singing nonverbal praises once you turn your tongue green by accident.”

“I wouldn't mind a green tongue.” Susan grinned. “At the very least, it'd make for an interesting conversation starter.”

“That's true.” Terry said, pointing a finger in agreement. “Maybe not, then.”

“Harry is kicking our asses this year.” Draco said, shooting Harry a mockly irritated look. “Have you been holding back all these years?”

“Not really.” Harry shrugged. “I've just come to understand my magic a little better over the last year and a half. It also helps that today was more Charms than Transfiguration, and you know how well I do in Charms.”

“Fair.” Draco sighed. “Just you wait, we'll catch you in no time!”

“I'll look forward to it.” Harry laughed. “Catch me if you can.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

Frozen

Harry couldn't remember the last time he and his friends were so silent, standing in a circle just to be in each other's presence without speaking. There were no jokes, no jibes, no sarcastic remarks to keep it light.

Draco reached out and took Harry's hand, squeezed it gently, sighing. “If anything happens–”

“There's nothing you could do.” Harry told him softly. They all knew he was right, though none of them looked happy about it. “But it'll be fine.”

“Oh yes, because sending you to see the person who wants you dead without remorse with the knowledge that he supposedly has something to tell or teach you is so extremely safe.” Theo muttered, voice barbed. “Not to mention the implication that this won't be the sole ‘lesson’ he has for you.”

“As long as he doesn't know about us, I'm sure I can handle it.” Harry sighed. “Besides, there's not much I can do about it anyway.”

“It's eight.” Hermione said, checking her watch. “If you don't wanna be late, it's time.” Harry nodded.

“Good luck in there.” Ron offered Harry a smile.

“Thanks.” Harry huffed. “I'll need it.”

Pulling away from his friends, Harry pushed open the door to Snape's Office and stepped inside. His grip on his bookbag was excessive, clutching it to soothe the unease bubbling in his chest. Snape's Office had been rearranged completely, which made Harry wince. Snape was not going to be happy about it, but at least he couldn't blame Harry for it.

The Potions stations, which did have brewing potions on it, were shoved to the walls and leaning slightly precariously. Snape's large desk was crammed in a corner and disturbing neat bookshelves on the adjacent walls. The shelves full of ingredients were nearly untouched, save one area that Dumbledore had added an odd glass cabinet filled with little vials of a shimmering silver essence that seemed halfway between liquid and gas.

“Harry.” Dumbledore was in the middle of it all, standing at a round table with two chairs that were completely out of place in the dim room. Atop the table was a recognizable basin, shallow and etched with twisting runes that almost seemed to glow. “I'm glad you could make it. It's good to see you again. Please, come in.”

“Thank you.” Harry set his bag on the floor and made his way over. “It's been a while.”

“It has indeed.” Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. “I am afraid that is due to my unpopular status as of now.”

“On that note, I've just got to ask.” Harry said with a little grin. “How are you getting into the castle? One of the secret passages?”

“I know this castle better than most.” Dumbledore said with a little wink. “It is quite easy for me to steal away if need be.”

“I saw the news saying you were still a fugitive.” Harry said, expression the picture of concern. “What if you’re caught?”

“Nobody need know I was ever here.” Dumbledore smiled serenely. “I’m being careful, don’t worry, Harry. And if I am seen here, it wouldn’t be damaging unless someone notified the Ministry, and even then I could claim to have simply broken in without consent from the Headmistress.”

“You’d take the heat for the school?”

“I took the heat for you, didn’t I?” Dumbledore prompted. Harry paused at that. “I have looked after this school and the students housed within for decades, and my dedication to this castle has not changed despite the loss of my dignity and position. It is still my top priority to protect this place of learning and all my students.”

Harry ground his teeth together, holding his tongue. Protect the school? Sure. Except kids who learn better using magic that you consider evil, of course.

“I’m glad.” Harry said finally. “It’s a relief to know you’re being careful.”

“With that out of the way, shall we address why I brought you here?”

“Please.” Harry nodded.

“Well, I'm sure you noticed this.” Dumbledore gestured to the basin, placing a hand on the edge of the pretty stone. “It's a Pensieve. You've seen one before, of course.”

“Yeah, back in fourth year.” Harry confirmed. He then froze as his eyes zoned in on Dumbledore's hand. “What the–”

“Ah, this.” Dumbledore lifted the offending hand, gazing at it with a solemnly sad expression. “I'm afraid this is a result of my own hubris.” Harry wanted to lean away in repulsion, but forced himself to step closer for a better look.

Dumbledore's hand was shriveled and black, fingers twisted as though they were rotting from the inside. His long nails were brittle and chipped, dehydrated and ugly as Dumbledore twirled his fingers a little in thought.

“What's wrong with it?” Harry asked.

“Remember the Horcrux Ring I gave you last year?” Dumbledore asked gently. Harry looked up at him, surprised.

“Of course.”

“Well, it seems Voldemort placed a curse on it with the intent to kill whoever put it on.” Dumbledore said in a sad sort of tone. “It's clever. I felt so drawn to the Ring, I couldn't resist slipping it on. At first I thought nothing of it, but slowly my fingers grew numb and cold. After I destroyed it and gave the remains to you, I believed myself cured of the curse. But alas, it was not so. It is a slow deteriorating curse, but a death sentence nonetheless.”

“You're dying?” Harry exclaimed, incredulous. “Because of the Ring?”

“Just so.” Dumbledore confirmed. “But I've lived a good life, and soon I will consult Severus to see if there is a way to slow the spread of it. Perhaps it will grant me enough time to show you everything you need to know.”

“So that's what prompted the lessons.” Harry realized. “Holy shit. You wanted to explain stuff to me before you died.”

“But that is not something for you to worry about, Harry, it is my burden to bear.” Dumbledore said. “I will not conceal my condition from you, but I do not wish you to feel any worry.” He smiled at Harry, meant to be gentle and placating. Little did he know Harry was a tangle of complex emotions that were tearing him in half.

A part of Harry was filled with vindictive glee; his Wraiths and Tom wouldn't have to worry anymore, wouldn't have to hide, wouldn't have to fear Dumbledore's looming plan that could very well get Harry killed even now. This was the break they'd been waiting for - how to stop Dumbledore from continuing his fight in a war that didn't exist. His death would solve that issue and free them to live and change the world for the better.

But another part of Harry was mourning and confused. This was Dumbledore, an extremely influential person who many people looked up to. He was powerful, successful, and extremely well educated. His death would be a massive loss to the Wizarding community and the waves that followed would be unpredictable and possibly detrimental in the long run. Dumbledore wanted Harry to sacrifice his life for the cause, yeah, but Harry didn't necessarily wish him dead for it. Harry just wanted to be safe.

“Moving past that business,” Dumbledore continued, “Let's get to the point of these lessons.”

“Right, yeah.” Harry tried and failed to put the future out of mind. “So, does it have to do with the Pensieve?” Perhaps Dumbledore planned to show him memories, moments he wanted Harry to see and understand.

“In truth, I first owe you an explanation in full.” Dumbledore said. “Take a seat.” Harry did. “Now, we talked a little bit about the future at the beginning of last year when you asked me for the Ring Horcrux. I believe I explained to you the significance of the Horcruxes, as well as the necessity of destroying them.”

“Yep, that's about it.” Harry nodded. It was barely an explanation at all, really, but Harry hadn't needed a real explanation speech back then because he already knew everything he needed to know to begin his plans. “Though… I'd like a better one now. I want to understand.”

“And that's precisely why I've brought you here today.” Dumbledore smiled. “Before we get into the main reason I prompted the beginning of these lessons, I believe you are ready to know the whole truth. About the Prophecy, your position as a Horcrux, and how we plan to move forward.”

“The Prophecy?” Harry tilted his head. “What Prophecy? You've never mentioned anything like that to me before.”

“Ah, that is the keystone piece to everything else.” Dumbledore said, pity lacing his tone. “Let me tell you a story, then.” So Harry sat, he listened, and he seethed.

Dumbledore told Harry of meeting Sybill Trewlany, of being curious of her supposed talents as a Seer, of ‘someone’ listening in and reporting what little he heard to Voldemort. Dumbledore even brought up a memory in the Pensieve depicting the Prophecy being spoken, Trewlany's ominous figure materializing in front of Harry to confirm what Harry already knew. Harry didn't know how Dumbledore expected him to react, but he did his best to be quiet and act surprised.

Now, Harry already knew everything he was being told. He also knew it was Snape that leaked the Prophecy to Voldemort, despite Dumbledore's mysterious attempt to conceal that fact. Tom was very open about the past when Harry asked, mostly because he never wanted to risk Harry feeling blindsided or betrayed through being uninformed. Tom was considerate like that.

Eventually Dumbledore moved on to address Harry's placement with the Dursleys. Now that got Harry's blood boiling. More than the Prophecy, more than the possibility of his pending death, more than Dumbledore's stupid pity and fake understanding. The betrayal ran deep as emotion bubbled up at the surface.

“You left me with the Dursleys?” Harry asked, hands trembling in his lap. “You left me there?”

“I did. Because my top priority was to keep you alive, above all else.” Dumbledore's eyes were falsely apologetic, but he expressed no regret. None. “You may be wondering why I did what I did, but it was a necessity that may very well have saved your life a hundred times over. Now, any witch or wizard would've happily taken you in, anyone would've been honored and delighted to raise The-Boy-Who-Lived. But you were in more danger than perhaps anyone but myself realized.”

“Voldemort had been vanquished mere hours before, but his supporters were still out there, angry and out for blood. Your blood, to be precise.” Dumbledore told him calmly. “I had to make my decision, and my top priority was your survival. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone forever? No. I didn't know when he would return, how strong he could grow once more, or where he might go, but I knew the moment he thought himself strong enough he would hunt you down and kill you. I couldn't let that happen. I knew that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if Voldemort ever returned to his former power, so I devised a plan using a magic that even he cannot pass through. It was a foolproof plan.”

“Your mother, Lily, sacrificed her life for you. In those last moments she threw her magic over you and created a shield so powerful it remained after her death. That shield remained intact even after Voldemort tried to kill and vanquished himself in the process, the magic of it tied to your blood through Lily's unyielding will to protect.” Dumbledore folded his hands, the healthy hand overtop the decaying one; it would've been the picture of politeness if not for the repulsive view of blackened skin and rotting nail. “When I came across this knowledge, I knew the only way to protect you was to weave that protection into a greater shield that would protect you for Voldemort for years longer. That shield and protection runs through your very veins, down into your blood, and I trusted that when I placed you with Petunia. I threw a shield over that house on Privet Drive, tied to that projection in your blood and your connection to your Aunt. There, housed with your own flesh and blood, the last remnants of your mother, you would be safe.”

“Thus, so long as you make a home in that house where your mother's blood lives on, you would be safe - Voldemort could not touch you. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. Your Aunt Petunia knows this because I explained everything in the letter I left with you on her doorstep, she knew that your survival entirely depended on your residence in her home. That is why you were placed there, that is why you are alive.”

Harry was trembling head to toe. He didn't know whether he wanted to curse Dumbledore into oblivion, watching him suffer the way he abandoned Harry to suffer for years, or break down and cry for hours as he mourned his childhood and the life he was forced to live. Dumbledore had his reasons, sure, maybe even good reasons, but for all the suffering he endured Harry wasn't so sure it was worth it in the end.

“Did you ever think to check up on me?” Harry couldn't help but ask. His chest hurt and his breathing was ragged. “Did it ever even occur to you that maybe they wouldn't treat me well?”

“I had considered the possibility, especially so after McGonagall advised against leaving you with them. She told me they had an aversion to the abnormal.” Dumbledore told him, placating. “But my priority, as I've said, was to keep you alive. When you arrived at Hogwarts, you were not as cared for or as well nourished as I'd have liked, and it was clear to me you'd lived a hard childhood, but I believe it made you stronger. You weren't a spoiled prince or an arrogant prodigy, you were just a boy. That, amongst all the other things I saw in you, was what made it worth it.”

“So you knew.” Harry couldn't breathe, his head spun. “You knew they starved me. You knew they locked me up, treated me worse than a Malfoy house-elf, pushed me around and beat me into the ground, and yet you made me go back?”

“It was essential you stayed within the protections at least once a year, which made the summer holiday the perfect time for it.” Dumbledore looked at Harry with disgusting pity that had Harry feeling nauseated. “Did I know? Not everything, no, but enough. I knew you were not being treated with love, but that is something a person can live without. I am sorry you suffered, but–”

“Do you regret it?” Harry choked. Dumbledore paused. “Do you regret leaving me there?”

“... No.” Dumbledore said finally. “Though I mourn your lack of a childhood, I cannot regret saving your life.”

Harry shoved himself to his feet, nearly knocking over his wooden chair. “Excuse me, sir, but I'm done for tonight.”

“Harry–”

“I'll do whatever you want later.” Harry turned, shoulders tense, and scooped his bag off the floor with haste. “But right now I need to go.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way.” Dumbledore's soft voice followed Harry. “I hope you can forgive me, and I will see you next Saturday. Same time.” Harry didn't deign him a response as he slammed the door behind him.

Harry was running before he even knew what he was doing. Heart pounding, ears ringing, feet stinging, Harry sprinted through the castle to put as much distance between him and Dumbledore as possible. Heavy breaths seared his lungs, pumping arms burned, running muscles gave out.

Crashing to his knees, Harry barely felt the pain of tripping onto the floor, hands meeting cold stone with a shock of sharp cracks. Harry could barely feel his body anymore as he gasped, salt dripping into his mouth as his vision blurred.

Harry didn't know what to do.

°—~—~°~—~—°

Theo flipped the page in his book peacefully. He often read in random places, so it wasn't weird to not be in the Common Room. Today he'd chosen an alcove just off the fourth floor, tucked behind a statue that depicted a wizard with a floating sphere overhead. It was comfy and he wouldn't be interrupted. Theo loved his friends, but sometimes they were very distracting.

His friends also didn't really understand what he was reading because they didn't find it as interesting as he did. He was rereading one of his curious Muggle books on Trigonometry for better understanding, examining the strange combinations of numbers and letters to recall the processes of solving for the applicable letter - the variable.

Mathematics was an interesting subject, but Theo did find it slightly irritating to do over and over again for seemingly no reason. The textbook gave Theo homework, dozens of questions to be answered and scribbled into the margins. Though Theo had asked Hermione why they required so much repetition in seemingly all mathematics texts, he hadn't been given a real answer. Even Hermione didn't know why.

Oddly enough, Hermione did tell him that most of the time Muggle children learned all this in school, specifically ‘secondary school’ as it was called, then promptly forgot it and never used any of it again. That seemed very strange to Theo. What was the point of learning it if they planned to disregard the knowledge entirely and never use it again? Muggles were very strange.

A sudden shock of sizzling pressure left Theo gasping. His skin stung as the invigorating sensation of sparking magic washed over him. He smelled the burning scent of a roaring ocean, embracing the harshness of breathing in water as though he were drowning. It didn't dissipate as it usually did.

Harry.

Theo dropped his book and stumbled to his feet. Never had he felt such raw energy pouring from Harry, so strong Theo felt it from so far away. But that intensity made it so very easy for Theo to follow, sprinting in the direction of that devastating force.

Something must've happened with Dumbledore, something big, something that made Harry lose complete control over his magic because whatever Theo was feeling - Harry wasn't in control.

“Harry!” Theo's heart dropped when he finally arrived.

Harry was sprawled across the stone on his hands and knees, curled up with tears streaming down his face. His breathing was ragged and uneven, enough so that Theo knew he'd been running and crying at the same time - not a great combination for optimal breathing. But Theo was stunned breathless in his own right by what else he found.

The corridor was covered in ice - frost hung in the air and bit at Theo's lungs - slick stone on the floor had Theo treading very carefully - crystallize patterns climbed the walls to smother the overhead torches that Theo hadn't ever seen unlit - snow collected at the ceiling, unfalling as it swirled above them. Harry had turned the hall into a magical disaster of pure unadulterated energy. And it was as heartbreaking as it was breathtaking.

Harry himself was glowing in a way only Theo could see - his magical aura was inflamed, wrapping him in that ocean breeze. His eyes glowed and his hands sparked, Theo's eyes picking up the signs of Harry's magic that nobody else could see or sense.

“Harry.” Theo sank to the ground and gathered Harry up, taking his hands and touching his face to examine him. “Harry. It's okay, I'm here. It's okay.” Harry seemed relatively unharmed, which was the sole positive of the situation.

The only word Theo could use to describe the expression on Harry's face would be devastation. It was all he could do to wrap Harry in his arms and soothe him as best he could. Theo had murder on his mind at the thought of what Dumbledore had done to cause such a reaction.

“It's okay.” Theo whispered. “You're okay.” As Harry grabbed fistfuls of Theo's robes, trembling head to toe, they both knew he was lying.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Nobody Likes It

Harry didn't know how he told Theo about what happened, or how specific he truly was, but as soon as he was calm enough to speak everything spilled out.

From Dumbledore's inevitable death and acceptance of it, to the Professor Trewlany and her Prophecy, to Snape leaking the Prophecy and unknowingly pushing it to fruition, to the shock and betrayal of Dumbledore's decision to place Harry with the Dursleys.

His friends knew that the Dursleys didn't treat Harry very well - Harry hadn't ever tried to hide it. But the harsh truth of it wasn't something Harry liked to share. He didn't necessarily have PTSD, per se, but he sure as hell wasn't over it yet which made opening up to them slightly difficult. But as Harry's world crumbled he spilled it all out for Theo, laying all that information at his feet without warning. Harry didn't know if that was a good idea considering the way Theo was, but at that moment he didn't care and barely knew what he was saying anyway.

Harry only paused when Theo squeezed his hand and Harry felt his fingers tingle painfully.

“What–?” Harry blinked, vision blurring, to find ice spreading from where he sat, frozen handprints imprinted in stone where he'd fallen. “How did–”

“Accidental magic triggered by emotion is common in children with little to no mindfulness for their actions.” Theo's voice was calm, though when Harry looked up his silver eyes were filled with what could only be described as unbelievable hatred. “In adults, typically it's caused by uncontrolled outbursts of untapped magical energy that has nowhere to go but out. Many witches and wizards soothe that outburst of energy with duelling, practicing, or simply blowing off steam by shooting hundreds of spells into the safest space they can reach.”

“I–” Harry was at a loss for words as he realised the result of his anguish. “This hasn't happened since I was a little kid…”

“Was it always ice?” Curiosity peaked through from under the vengeful hatred burning in Theo's eyes.

“Usually, yes.” Harry sighed. “It was one of the first things that tipped Petunia off about me. She'd open my cupboard after days of confinement, and it'd be so cold she feared I'd frozen myself solid. But somehow, every time I remained completely unharmed.” Theo's expression twisted.

“Oftentimes accidental magic such as this doesn't affect the user.” Theo said. “Especially children. It can get dangerous for adults caught unawares, however. Sometimes it can even take their life.”

“Jesus. Okay.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. It was trembling. “Well, I'm fine. So we'll deal with that later.” Theo didn't seem to agree, but he also didn't argue. “We have to contact my friend about this.”

“Something tells me he already knows.” Theo eyed Harry's forehead. “On an unrelated note, your scar is inflamed.”

“Oh.” Harry touched the rough patch above his eyebrow and winced. It sparked under his fingertip. “Yeah, okay.”

“We should probably go see Professor McGonagall, then.” Theo said firmly. “If our friend had any thoughts or concerns regarding your health, he'd go through her.”

“I agree.” Harry sighed. “Here, help me up.”

Despite the frigid temperature of Harry's hands, Theo didn't flinch as he pulled Harry to standing. Neither of them spoke as they walked the halls, heading for McGonagall’s office.

Approaching the door, Harry could hear faint shouting from within.

“I don't care if Dumbledore finds out about me, I'm going to find Harry!” That was Tom.

“Their lessons will be finished in roughly fifteen minutes–”

“Do you have any idea what it's like to feel the suffering of someone you love and cannot fix it?” Tom's seething anger interrupted Snape's placating words. “He is in pain! I would risk discovery in a heartbeat, announce my presence to the whole fucking world if it would keep Harry from harm!”

“Perhaps the pressure you're feeling is mental, not physical.” McGonagall spoke up, not quite gentle but not quite angry. “I doubt Dumbledore would do anything to bodily harm Harry. Not during the school year.”

“Then you are naive.” Tom snapped, “Dumbledore is a manipulator and a hubris wizard - if he believed he could get away with it, he would do anything to further his misguided goals.”

“We can't just interrupt their lessons.” Snape snapped back harshly. “It could be a delicate kind of situation that if interrupted could inadvertently harm Potter even more!”

“You don't even know what the infernal lessons are for!”

Harry and Theo reached the door, pushing it open. The shouts stopped immediately. Harry was greeted by the presence of McGonagall by the fireplace, Snape by the door, and Tom standing in the middle of the room wearing a stormy expression.

“Harry.” Tom's face melted with relief as he scanned Harry and found no visible injuries. “Are you alright?” With two strides he met Harry by the door and embraced him tightly. Harry relaxed into his hold and took a deep breath, blowing it out as Tom stepped back.

Theo, behind them, shut the door gently.

“I just had a little accident.” Harry said, clearing his throat. Tom reached forward and caressed Harry's scar, sending a warm spark that helped soothe the cold in Harry's bones.

“I felt your pain, you were hurting deeply.” Tom murmured. “What happened?”

“It was all emotional.” Harry assured him. “And yeah… I was hurting.”

“Understatement.” Theo murmured from his position leaning against the wall. Harry ignored this.

“Anyway,” Harry continued, “My lesson with Dumbledore tonight was… postponed.”

“Why?” McGonagall asked.

“It's complicated.” Harry said shortly.

“Did you at least discover what the lesson pertains to?” Snape spoke up, eyes calculating.

“He wants to show me memories of some kind, using a Pensieve. He didn't get to explain much else about that though.” Harry winced. “I sorta walked out on him.”

“Why?” Tom frowned. “What aren't you saying?”

“Um.” Harry looked at Snape, chewing his lip. He then took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. It wasn't the time to be a hesitant teenager, it was time to be the leader they needed. He was their Speaker and he needed to act like it.

“Snape, Dumbledore is going to bring this information to your attention in the near future.” Harry said, firm and blunt. “You should either leave now, or you'd better be a phenomenal actor when the time comes.”

“I was a successful spy for many years, fooling both parties using me for information.” Snape said tightly. “I'm sure I can manage a small, correct reaction.” Harry sighed, but nodded. He took a deep breath.

“Please don't interrupt me.” Harry prefaced. They all nodded, looking eager or impatient. “As of last summer, Dumbledore is dying. He told me himself that he likely won't outlive the school year.” All three adults looked on the edge of displaying varying levels of alarm or surprise or something along those lines, but with a warning look from Harry they let him continue. “Before he destroyed the Ring Horcrux last year, he put it on. Dumbledore described it as though he was attracted by something, compelled to wear it. But as soon as he did, apparently it cursed him with a deteriorating sickness that's spreading from the spot the Ring rested. His right hand is completely mangled - seriously, I wanted to throw up a little bit just looking at it - but regardless he's dying, and plans to ask Snape to look into a way of slowing it so he lasts the school year. He wants a chance to teach me something he deemed really important before he dies, but aside from that he's fully accepted his inevitably approaching demise. ” Harry then gestured vaguely to the adults, prompting and allowing.

“There was a curse on the Ring?” McGonagall was the first to speak, astonished as she turned to Tom. “Albus never mentioned anything to me. Riddle? Did you know?”

“I placed no such curse on the Ring, nor any of my Horcruxes.” Tom tilted his head, a look of inquisitive unease. “It's possible that, over time, they each created their own forms of protection. For example, Harry informed me the Diary had a will of its own, wanting to become real and corporal and remove all Muggle blood from the school through possession. Perhaps the Ring wove a curse into its essence and compelled people to put it on, activating the curse without their knowledge.”

“That is… incredible magic.” Snape said, eyes wide and his voice terse. “You believe such small portions of your soul could do that?”

“It's possible.” Tom hummed. “Remember, Horcruxes are powered by malice and blood. They were filled and fueled by my hatred. I wouldn't be surprised at all if there was enough passion and rage for each one to protect themselves well.”

“Dying…” McGonagall looked much like Harry felt, torn between relieved and devastated by the thought. But she had ten times more reason to be devastated by it. “I can't believe it.”

“This does solve one issue, that being his intention to sacrifice Harry and persuade him to fight in a war that does not exist.” Tom pointed out, though he frowned. “But it creates a dozen more problems at the same time. Mostly centered around politics, how the Wizarding World will react to the passing of someone extremely influential, and the loss of a wizard they worship. Or, worshipped. Past tense, these days.”

“I really don't have the capacity to deal with all of this right now, so I'd like to be excused.” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. “But one last thing: Dumbledore is almost undoubtedly going to be watching me closely this year to ensure I'm not getting up to no good while he's giving me these ‘lessons’ or whatever.” Harry broke off with a shaking breath, fighting the burning in his lungs that threatened to smother him. “Because of that I'm not going to be able to communicate as freely. So no meetings with the others, no meetings with Tom, no owling or outside communication aimed at or sourced from me. It's too risky.”

“Then how do you intend to communicate what Dumbledore is teaching you?” Tom frowned. “I for one am greatly concerned by what he deems ‘necessary information’ to convey via a Pensieve before he dies. I'd be much more comfortable if you could somehow let me know you're alright.”

“Fine.” Harry sighed. “I guess I'll tell McGonagall everything that happens and have her communicate it with you however she wants.”

“Why not me?” Snape didn't look particularly vexed by Harry's choice, but he did seem curious and skeptical. “Am I not your preferred method of communication?”

“Dumbledore will be watching you too, obviously.” Harry scowled, barely resisting the urge to snap at him. “If he plans to ask for your help with the curse, he'll be keeping an eye on you to ensure you're not running off to tell people.”

“I'd never reveal sensitive inf–”

“Well I know that, but Dumbledore has serious trust issues.” Harry finally snapped. “So if you'd just lay low and mind your own fucking business and pretend you never heard anything from me, that would be bloody splendid.”

Theo, who'd remained (mostly) silent throughout the discussion, finally stepped forward. “Harry.” He took Harry's hand smoothly, squeezing gently. “Take a breath.”

Harry blew out a frustrated breath, then blinked in surprise as the condensation from his breath hung in the air as a frosty mist. He grimaced. “Sorry everyone.” The room had dropped several degrees, cold enough to bite at hands and noses.

“Does this happen often?” Tom asked softly, eyeing Harry assessingly. “I haven't seen it before.”

“More when I was young.” Harry admitted. He sniffed irritably as the cold had his nose beginning to run. “I'm just exhausted right now, that's all.” A lie.

“It happened earlier too.” Theo said softly, gently swiping his thumb across the back of Harry's hand. “I found him collapsed in the corridor. He'd frozen the floor and walls, streams of ice practically seeping out of him.”

“That's what I could feel.” Tom murmured. “You were in pain, suffering so badly you had an uncontrolled magical reaction, and it traveled to me via our connection.”

“I'm fine, it's not a problem.” Harry denied. “Sorry for worrying you.”

“Harry, you should tell them.” Theo said then, silver eyes knowing.

“Tell us what?” McGonagall prompted. She rubbed her hands together slightly, then stuffed them in the pockets of her robes. “Is something aside from Albus’ death upsetting you? Is that what's caused this… reaction?”

Harry sent Theo a harsh glare, which Theo faced with passive acceptance. Harry was stubborn, but he also knew Theo would tell them if Harry didn't. And that would be much more blunt and unsweetened.

“Dumbledore just brought up some stuff from when I was a kid, that's all.” Harry ground out. “About my relatives.”

“Those godawful Muggles?” McGonagall frowned. “What about them?” Harry shook his head and squeezed Theo's hand tightly. Maybe the harsh truth was what they needed to hear…

“Harry's Aunt and Uncle abused and neglected Harry his entire childhood. He grew up with nothing, and broken for any small mistake.” Theo said flatly, eyes flashing as he faced the adults straight on. “It was revealed today that Dumbledore knew. He was perfectly aware Harry was beaten, starved, treated less than human, and Dumbledore made him stay there anyway. It wasn't that Dumbledore didn't know Harry was being treated poorly, it was that he didn't care. Whenever Harry tried to talk to Dumbledore over the years, confess the truth of his suffering, Dumbledore rebuked him and shipped him right back to his relatives. Dumbledore just dropped that on Harry's shoulders with no warning, citing it was for the ‘Greater Good’. It's despicable.”

“You were abused?” Tom's carefully constructed mask of cold indifference slid into place to conceal the untapped rage in his voice and expression. “By the Muggles you Obliviated? You never mentioned they were abusive, you said the Obliviation was accidental.”

“It was accidental.” Harry admitted, swallowing thickly. “But yes, they… they hurt me. I was so terrified of what they'd do to me in retribution if they knew I'd been sneaking out at night to do freakish stuff - I panicked. That's how it happened.”

“Abused - I can't believe Albus would–” McGonagall looked physically sick, turning away to press a hand over her mouth.

“You used to stuff food in your school bag.” Snape said suddenly, pale and so very still. “I caught you snacking during lessons and assigned you detention, multiple times. I told you not to eat…” Harry winced. Snape looked pained.

Tom stepped forward and pulled Harry into a hug, gentle and warm in the frigid cold filling McGonagall's Office. “You're safe now. I swear it.” Harry, reaching his breaking point, pressed his face into Tom's chest and cried.

Harry didn't know how long he stayed there after that. He knew McGonagall also hugged him and Theo held his hand and Tom promised not to hunt down Harry's relatives and murder them; Snape simply stalked out of the room at some point, but Harry didn't bother acknowledging his exit at all.

Eventually Tom took his leave as well, kissing Harry's forehead and promising to keep in touch - subtly, of course, but enough to reassure them both that all was well. McGonagall said something about finding an excuse to have little meetings of their own, just Harry and McGonagall, to discuss anything that happened so she could pass it along to Tom. Harry barely processed everything, but he knew Theo was listening and Theo would tell him later.

Then it was just Harry and Theo in the corridor again as they left. With care and a soft hand, Theo led Harry back to the Gryffindor Common Room for the night. Soon enough Harry was engulfed by warmth.

Nobody knew what'd happened - they wouldn't know until later when Harry called an emergency Wraith meeting - but nevertheless Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Neville and everyone else crowded around the fire to warm Harry and keep him company. Theo stayed by his side, Harry's grip on Theo's hand ironclad, and they all laid there together.

They'd deal with everything in a few hours, Harry knew, and he wouldn't have to do it alone.

.

Harry stood before all his Wraiths, seventh years to second years, more somber than he'd been in a long time. They noticed. They listened.

“I called you here because I've discovered Dumbledore will be watching me very closely this year. Dangerously close.” Harry began, leaning forward to prop his forearms across the back on the chair he wasn't able to sit in. Harry was too anxious to sit in one spot - he felt constricted and trapped. So he stood, and he ignored the trembling of his hands. “That's why this meeting is at three in the morning. So that Dumbledore doesn't notice students unaccounted for. But this can't become a regular thing, eventually someone will get caught or seen or something similar, and our secrecy will be compromised. Our cause is too important to risk just because of me - I won't allow our work to be jeopardized by my own recklessness or arrogance. As such, this will be my last meeting with you all for the rest of the school year.” Chaos broke out.

Exclamations and whispers filled the room, some loudly arguing with their neighbors, asking what would they do now, how would they continue with him? Harry held up a hand for silence. They quieted.

“We will proceed with our plans just as before. I need all of you to continue our work like nothing’s changed.” Harry said, scanning the room with open sincerity. “I will protect every single one of you if or when the time comes, but until then I have to distance myself from our cause. I will still assist when I can, I will subtly convey messages when I receive new information, but I won’t be attending any future meetings until I figure out how to manage Dumbledore and the focus he’s got on me right now.”

“Ever since the beginning I have been up here speaking for you as a collective, an acting representative of your votes and words. Now I’m turning it over to you guys. We agreed I would be your Voice, but now it’s time each of you learn to speak as well. Create your own voices, build your own plans, coordinate with each other and stay connected. You are all incredibly powerful if only you believe anything is possible.” Harry smiled out at them. They were all giving him their undivided attention. Slytherins watched with stiffness and anger in their posture; Hufflepuffs sported hard expressions or teary eyes; Ravenclaws clenched their fists and held sharpness in their eyes; Gryffindors held vengeance in their expressions and set jaws. “We have much yet to change, so much still to accomplish. This revolution has only just begun. No matter our obstacles, let’s see this through, yeah? Together, as always.”

At the end of the meeting a small collection of his friends stayed behind. Harry welcomed the company and selfishly let them linger a while longer. Even if they should’ve all been headed back to their Commons.

“You are all out of sorts.” Luna took Harry's hand, tracing the lines of his palm gently. Her baby soft fingertips caught on his rough calluses. “You've great struggle in you right now.”

“I know.” Harry squeezed his fingers. “But I'm handling it.” Luna leaned against his side with an affectionate hum. Her waist length silvery hair tickled Harry's skin.

“There's something else, isn't there.” It wasn't a question; Neville was too perceptive. “Something you didn't tell the others.”

“There is.” Harry confirmed quietly. “This can't be spread around - I'm talking top secret information that can't be told to anybody.”

“We understand.” Ginny nodded. “What is it?”

“Well… it's about Dumbledore.” Harry went on to explain the situation, relaying the facts of Dumbledore's cursed hand, pending death, and what he put Harry through for dropping him on the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive. Righteously they were furious, Ginny even threatening to storm into the Muggle suburb to kick their asses the Muggle way with her fists. Harry talked her out of it.

“Can we focus on the Dumbledore problem?” Harry insisted. “I'd much prefer we freak about that the Headmaster has literal months to live.”

“Alright, fine.” Neville sighed deeply. “What're your plans for that?”

“It sounds like there's not much you can really do, in the grand scheme of things.” Blaise spoke up, frowning. “If Dumbledore is right, there's nothing to be done about it.”

“Snape's not actually going to find a way to help him, right?” Ginny wrinkled her nose. “Prolong his life?”

“He will, and I approve of it.” Harry said. “Snape can't risk tipping his hand and revealing his loyalty has changed. Besides, Dumbledore's death is going to be a complete disaster for our world. I mean, people right now think he's a delusional liar that framed me by lying about Voldemort, but even so people still look up to him. In their minds, he's the greatest wizard since Grindelwald.”

“Ironic, really.” Draco muttered.

“The point is,” Harry continued, “We need to delay his death for as long as possible. Yes, we need him out of the picture, but I didn't plan on him actually dying.”

“I fantasized about it.” Ginny said sweetly. Harry rolled his eyes.

“For now, all we can do is wait.” Harry sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. It was greasy with sweat. “Jesus I need a shower.”

“And sleep.” Luna told him. “Come on, let's go.” Harry smiled, nodded, and followed her.

Luna led their little group to the Ravenclaw Common Room, answering a pretty riddle for entry. There is where they all crashed, welcomed by the Ravenclaws because every returning student was a Wraith - all of them. Harry was warm inside as he felt so blessed for their loyalty and support.

When it was time for bed, they all piled in front of the grand fireplace with blankets and pillows for a massive sleepover. Harry ended up holding Ginny's hand while placing his head in Luna's lap. It was extremely comfortable.

“You're okay now.” Luna murmured to Harry. She kissed the top of his head with a little smile. “We've got you.”

“Thanks, for everything.” Harry smiled softly, genuinely.

Maybe it would be okay, after all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Hard Discussions

The next day was a Sunday, which thankfully meant they had no classes. Not to say they didn't have homework, because they did. A lot of it. Luckily, when they took turns complaining it made the whole thing a lot easier. And more fun.

“Why has Aguamenti got to be on the nonverbal list?” Neville muttered. “It's hard enough even with the incantation.”

“Pretty much everything is on the nonverbal list.” Michael said, frowning at the numerous scrolls and parchments strewn across their makeshift study table. They'd shoved all the smaller tables in the Gryffindor Commons together to make a larger, if not misshapen, table to use. “It's expected that we just suddenly know how to do it, despite not really doing it in previous years.”

“Maybe I should just start now.” Ginny groaned, flopping across the table. “I'm stressing over N.E.W.Ts because of you guys, and I've not even taken my O.W.L.s yet! This is ridiculous.”

“You don't have to study with us.” Hermione reminded her, smiling. “I know your head hurts terribly looking at all this extremely advanced gibberish magic.” Hermione dramatically gestured to her Arithmancy work, equations and symbols scrawled sideways across the parchment, and Ginny scowled.

“Yuck, get it away.” Ginny made a mocking face and stood, settling down on the floor near Luna. “I'll be over here, safe from that utter madness.”

“Suit yourself.” Hermione rolled her eyes with a grin.

“I'll protect you.” Luna said, stroking Ginny’s hair. Ginny laughed.

“How about you, Harry?” Neville asked. “I heard you were doing really well in Transfiguration.”

“At first, yeah.” Harry nodded. “McGonagall had us doing nonverbal spells we already knew, which was easy. I excel at that kinda stuff apparently. But now that we're getting into new spells, it's getting really hard.”

“Even I have to ask clarifying questions.” Hermione admitted sheepishly. “McGonagall just moves so fast these days. It's hard to keep up sometimes.”

“Maybe it's a blessing I'm not in that class.” Neville sighed.

“I'll still show you some stuff so you don't fall behind, if you'd like.” Harry offered, “Practice some of the spells we're going over in class.”

“I'd like that.” Neville smiled. “You're a great teacher, you know.”

“Oh, thanks.” Harry said, grinning. “That's what everyone tells me when I mention I wanna be a Professor.”

“That's because it really does suit you.” Hermione said. “You're patient, confident, and you can clearly command a room with your presence. Like Professor McGonagall!”

“Don't get ahead of yourself, I'm not sure I deserve praise like that.” Harry laughed fondly. “I've a lot to learn still. But I'm glad you think I could do it.”

“She's right about the confidence bit.” Luna smiled. “We are all helplessly enamored by you, mind. You command attention effortlessly.”

“I wouldn't say effortlessly.” Harry replied, “But I'm pretty good at keeping my composure.”

“Speaking of your composure…” Malcolm spoke up hesitatingly. “I have a question.” Harry blinked.

“What's up?”

“What happened last night that shook you so badly?” Malcolm sounded uncertain, surprising Harry. “You said Dumbledore brought up your childhood, but why did that cause such a reaction? You've never lost your cool like that before.”

“Malcolm!” Hermione hissed. Malcolm ignored her.

“I only meant,” Malcolm said carefully, looking back at Harry. “I've never seen you so… unsure of yourself. Almost timid, somehow. I never associated that with you before. You always seem so confident, so untouchable. None of us think of you any different for this, honest, but it does confuse me. What changed?” Harry thought about it for a moment.

“I suppose… I never really got over what happened to me as a kid.” Harry admitted. “When it comes to the future, I'm a lot more focused. We've so much planned, getting caught up in Dumbledore's schemes and manipulations is pointless. He wants me dead, so he needs to be stopped. Having a plan and all of your support made it even easier. And leading is easier still, I have so many people on my side and willing to listen, it helps loads with my anxieties and stuff. But when it comes to my childhood… I don't talk about it a lot, and I guess I felt like I was a scared little kid again being told all my suffering could've been prevented, if only someone had reached out with kindness. I lost my composure.”

“Well, we don't think of you any differently for it.” Malcolm reached over to squeeze his hand with a little smile. “Unexpected and unfortunate as it was, I'm sorta glad I got to see it. Here I was thinking you were unshakeable there, Harry.”

“I wish.” Harry laughed. “No such luck.”

“Let's hope Dumbledore doesn't bring it up again.” Malcolm said, releasing his hand. “I hated seeing you like that.”

“Hm, I think it would hurt less if he did.” Harry hummed, “Now that I've talked about it with you guys, felt it all already, it feels… lighter. I don't think it'll be a problem.”

“I'm glad.” Malcolm smiled.

“Why can't we just get rid of Dumbledore?” Ginny suggested then. “That'd fix the whole thing.”

“What?” Harry frowned.

“We did it last year.” Ginny shrugged. “Except now it's even easier, he's wanted by the Ministry; he's a literal fugitive. It wouldn't even be that hard to tip off some Aurors and put him on the run again.”

“That would only be more dangerous for Harry.” Neville told her, shaking his head. “We all know Dumbledore wouldn't be caught, not for real, and it would create huge suspicion in Dumbledore's eyes considering nobody is supposed to know he's been here but Harry. On top of that, he'd find a way to continue his lessons with Harry - he'd probably move to somewhere outside the castle, away from any possibility of discovery. Harry is much safer here where people can protect him. And not just us Wraiths, but the teachers too. Every one of them would step up if they believed Harry was in danger, even the ones that aren't with us.”

“I just hate that Harry has to be alone with him.” Ginny huffed, crossing her arms with a harsh scowl. “This whole situation sucks.”

“Why's Dumbledore so dangerous now anyway?” They all looked over at Dean, sitting by the fire. Surprisingly, he didn't have Seamus draped all over him for once.

“What d'you mean?” Hermione frowned. “He's extremely powerful and wants Harry dead. That seems like a damn good reason to worry.”

“Sure, but he doesn't want Harry dead now.” Dean said slowly. “It sounds like he's desperate, risking everything to teach Harry as much as possible before he dies. Yeah, Dumbledore's definitely a wildcard, but I don't think Harry's in any real danger from him. Or… physical danger, at least.”

“You make a good point with that,” Malcolm acknowledged, “But you're forgetting that we still don't know exactly what Dumbledore wants from Harry. For all we know he could be using these ‘lessons’ as a cover for something.”

“Personally, I'm a lot less worried now.” Luna hummed, running her fingers through Ginny's hair smoothly. “I'm with Dean for the most part. Dumbledore, at this time, most likely doesn't mean Harry any real harm.”

“He's scrambling for time, all while accepting his inevitable fate.” Dean added. “He can't very well dispose of Harry when Dumbledore himself is on the way out.”

“We should still be careful.” Neville said seriously. “We may have the numbers advantage, but Dumbledore has fought and won against two Dark Lords and their applicable armies. Not to mention he's dying now, and desperation can be as much a killer as anything. Caution never hurts when faced with unknown circumstances.”

“I'd still like him thrown in Azkaban.” Ginny muttered. “Plop him in a cell right next to Umbitch.”

“Guys.” Harry sighed. “Remember what happened to Lisa?” They collectively sombered immediately. Harry looked at them all in turn, serious and sincere. “I'm not the only one at risk if Dumbledore becomes suspicious or feels otherwise threatened by anyone; Lisa just happened to be in the room when things went south, and she suffered because of it. We chose as a group to avoid conflict and focus on diplomacy. I'm not going to let my friends down by starting something that we'll all have to finish.” Harry said. “Taking it slow and steady is all we can do now. Unknown intentions or not, impending doom or not.” The room fell quiet.

Hermione stared at the table, hands clenched in her lap; Neville watched Harry with sad eyes; Ginny still scowled at Malcolm, who looked deep in thought; the only movement came from Luna's deft fingers braiding Ginny's long hair.

“I guess that answers my question.” Malcolm broke the silence. For some reason, Neville laughed. Then they all laughed, and they were all okay again.

.

“Let me get this straight,” Tiberius Nott stood before Tom, confusion blatant on his face. “You plan to waltz into public, completely nonchalant, with the sole intention of being recognized by reporters and journalists?”

“Yes.” Tom said, amused. “It's the easiest and softest way to reintroduce myself to society, plus you all spread the rumors months ago, and it creates an opportunity for reporters to contact me requesting interviews. Which I plan to attend and humor, of course.”

“That's… incredibly bold.” Tiberius said, chuckling slightly. “That’s definitely one way to go about it. Are you sure? We could set up a much more controlled incident if need be, we have enough support in the Ministry to make it happen.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Tom reached out and squeezed Tiberius’ shoulder, reassuring and firm. “I have fallback plans if things go wrong. But, there’s no need for them. I’ve got everything under control.”

“Did you tell the Speaker you were planning this?” Tiberius asked. “I know you went and visited them last night.” Tom blinked.

“How did you know?”

“You activated the Floo without bothering to mask it.” Tiberius said, raising an eyebrow. “It must’ve been important, too. You’re usually more careful, covering the sound and light emitted so you can leave or arrive silently.” Tom sighed, fond and resigned.

“Can’t get anything past you.” Tom chuckled. “Never could.” Tiberius smirked.

“Regardless, did it involve your plans for societal reentry?”

“No, I didn’t think to mention it.” Tom admitted, “It was… It was a bad time.”

“Was there trouble?” Tiberius asked, frowning deeply. “Did it involve the Wraiths?”

“There was trouble, yes, but it revolved around the Speaker, for the most part.” Tom sighed. “The Speaker has gotten themself into a rather complicated situation, which is becoming detrimental to everyone around them.”

“I see.” There were clouds in Tiberius’ silver eyes, an emotion Tom couldn't quite place resting there. “Well then, I expect the Speaker is in for quite the surprise.”

“Indeed.” Tom cracked a smile.

“When are you planning to go?” Tiberius asked. Tom checked his watch.

“Perhaps, fifteen minutes from now.” Tiberius looked taken aback. “What? I made a plan, and I intend to enact it.”

“I'm just surprised because it seems so fast.” Tiberius said. Then he nodded. “Very well, let me fetch my cloak. I'll go with.”

“Oh?” Tom quirked an eyebrow.

“If you've just returned to Britain, it only makes sense you'd contact an old friend to get yourself up to speed.” Tiberius grinned. “Who would be better? Our lovely friends in Azkaban?” Tom sighed. It was true. Most of the people close to Tom back in the day were, unfortunately, the ones who went as insane as he did.

“Very well.” Tom smiled. “Wear sturdy boots, I plan to be out for a long while.”

“You got it.” Tiberius offered a sarcastic salute as he made for the stairs. Tom looked after him fondly.

Tiberius was slowly becoming more comfortable around him, losing the wary edge that portrayed suspicion and hope; especially since he was temporarily staying in Riddle Manor while Tom worked on reentering society. They were close back at Hogwarts, despite Tiberius being younger than him, and despite how different things were now, it was near effortless to fall into old habits with Tiberius. Sarcasm, teasing, and close friendship. Tom had no idea he missed having genuine friends all these years, only retaining terrified followers after his descent into madness. It was… nice.

A part of Tom wished his other Knights could follow Tiberius’ lead and slowly come around and become more comfortable with him, but that wasn't a luxury many could afford. Tiberius was his only Knight that had no obligation to work, no children or spouse waiting at home, thus he was free to spend the school year wherever he liked. Unless his son visited during the holidays, of course.

Come to think of it, the silver eyed boy at Harry's side the night before did bear a resemblance… Like father like son, it would seem. It seemed the Notts had a tendency to glue themselves to the central power around them. An incredibly smart choice. Tom just hoped Harry's little Nott was as supportive towards Harry as Tiberius was to Tom.

“I'm ready.” Tiberius reappeared, boots on and cloak over his arm. “Shall we?” Tom smiled.

“Let's.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Friends and Strangers

Saturday was a bustling day that Harry was both looking forward to and dreading. It was finally Quidditch tryouts, Harry's first real session as Captain, and he was unimaginably excited. Quidditch was the sole thing Harry got chosen for purely out of talent. No bias, no Boy-Who-Lived crap, they just saw his raw, untrained talent and demanded he jump aboard. Though, as Captain, suddenly Harry had a lot more responsibility on his plate. Luckily, he had the full support of his friends and teammates to keep his head on straight.

“You'd best watch out today,” Ginny bumped Harry's shoulder with a grin. “I'm gonna sweep you off your feet with my broom skills.”

“I'd like to see you try,” Harry winked. “Maybe I'll even look forward to it.” Ginny laughed brightly.

“Are you seducing my best friend?” Ron called, heading down the stairs after them, smirking. “I'll have you know he's already got a Weasley in his bed, and it isn't you.”

“Hm, tell Bill to make his move soon, in that case.” Ginny smirked. “He's the only other Weasley I can imagine infiltrating Harry's bed.” Harry choked.

“Guys!” Harry exclaimed, flushed up to his ears. “I call a guy hot one time–”

“Are we talking about Neville?” Luna floated over with wide, amused eyes. “I've seen him lately, you know. This past summer was exceptionally kind to him.”

“Sadly, no.” Ginny lamented.

“Nah, we're talking about Harry's kid crush on our older brother Bill.” Ron grinned wickedly. “Harry had stars in his eyes for Bill back in fourth year.”

“No, I– Ugh!” Harry smothered himself with his hands. “It wasn't like that, he's just really cool okay? And yes, he's hot, but a lot of people are! Like, uh, Neville? Yeah, Luna's right about his glow up, and Luna too, speaking of–”

“We're just teasing you.” Ginny clapped him on the back with a laugh. “Now Bill would give you a run for your money on a broom. Hell of a Chaser, he was. One of Gryffindor’s best.”

“Really?” Harry blinked, slowly lowering his hands. “I only knew Charlie was on the team. A Seeker.”

“Nope, Gryffindor got everyone playing.” Ron said brightly, “Except Percy, of course. The spoil sport.”

“So you've got two Chasers, two Beaters, a Keeper, and a Seeker?” Harry tilted his head. “You've almost got a full team.”

“All we needed was Perce to be a Chaser and the seven of us would've been a pure Weasley team. Gingers ruling the world.” Ginny sighed dramatically, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. “But that's okay, taking it on alone I'm ready to steal Ron's spotlight as the newest and bestest Weasley on the Quidditch scene.”

“No chance.” Ron said dryly. Ginny just laughed.

Together they headed down to breakfast, reassuring the small first and second years hesitantly asking if they were allowed to attend the tryouts among the others. Harry told them everyone was welcome, skill determined whether they made the team - not age. Who was Harry to discriminate over a number? He himself was a first year when he started, so he had no reason to protest. If they were good, they were in.

To Harry's surprise, Hermione leaned close during breakfast and lowered her voice to speak to him. To those around them, Hermione's soft question melded with the chaos of the bustling Great Hall.

“I've been wondering,” Hermione whispered. “Are you gonna reject anyone for not being with us?” Harry blinked.

“I hadn't really considered it,” Harry told her. “There aren't many Gryffindors we didn't snag. There's less than a dozen, and they're all upper years.”

“Still,” Hermione pressed. “D'you think it's a good idea? I mean, might it cause problems?”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “Guess we'll just have to see.” Hermione pursed her lips.

By the time Harry got down to the pitch, Katie excitedly hanging off his arm chatting his ear off about strategies they could implement in the upcoming season, they’d amassed quite the following, from first years all the way to seventh. Harry couldn’t help but smile - for someone humble enough to never assume she’d make the team, Katie’s easy confidence was a staple of her personality that was hard not to admire.

“What trials have you prepared?” Katie asked with wide, ready eyes. “You never had to tryout because of the whole ‘Boy-Who-Lived' thing, but Oliver had us near running til sundown.” Harry laughed.

“Don’t worry,” Harry said. “While I admire Oliver’s tenacity, I don’t think that tactic is for me. I have simpler, more straight-forward tasks planned. It’ll quickly weed out the inexperienced and doubtful, letting the engaged and confident step forward.”

“Oooohh,” Katie grinned. “I can’t wait. Are you testing Chasers first?”

“Sorta,” Harry laughed. “You’ll see.” Katie, if possible, looked even more excited.

Soon enough Harry stood before forty some-odd candidates, a handful from each year, from a tiny first year clutching her school sanctioned broom to a swaggering seventh year eyeing Harry with a sly grin. When instructed, they began to split into groups of ten for the first exercise. For some reason, the swaggering seventh year Harry recognized as Cormac McLaggen, the Gryffindor he met on the Hogwarts Express that left a slimy feeling in Harry’s memory, strolled right up to Harry without joining any of the groups.

“Potter,” McLaggen held out a hand. “We met on the train, if you remember. Slughorn’s compartment? Dare I say, I’m rather memorable.” Harry shook his hand.

“I’m told likewise, myself.” Harry said dryly. McLaggen laughed.

“It’s swell to see you’re the Captain, seeing as we know each other already.” McLaggen said, “This’ll be a cinch. I’m a Keeper.”

“What makes you say that?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t played at all, if I’m not mistaken.” And he wasn’t - he’d never seen McLaggen at any practice or match any of the years prior.

“Ah, I was in Hospital last year, but I meant to try out that year,” McLaggen waved him off, though with a playful wink. “Made myself sick on a pound of doxy eggs for a bet. A bet I won, I should clarify.”

“Right,” Harry drawled. “Now why don’t you join that group there, see, and we can get started.”

“Sure,” McLaggen said, though he now looked annoyed. “As you say, Cap.” Harry eyed him as he passed, but swiftly moved on to begin his exercises.

“Alright!” Harry clapped for attention. “To start, we’ll be making three laps around the Pitch in our groups of ten. This will test stability and confidence. If you can’t manage to fly in a circle, I’d say we can’t have you on the team just yet. Group one, mount your brooms!”

Harry mounted his own broom too, launching with them and guiding them as far as they managed. Suffice to say, it was a good place to start. The first group, made up of entirely first years, barely remained airborne more than a few moments if they made it up at all. Harry made sure to encourage them to find their growth, to take their time, while gently sending them off the Pitch. The next few groups were better, but only marginally; thus the real trials didn’t start for another hour while they went slowly up the years to more competent riders.

The Chasers were tasked with firing the Quaffle at the hoops quickly and accurately, working up from stationary to in motion to gaining speed; with that Harry found his three. Katie, as confident as ever with her twelve goals in six minutes, Ginny, smug and bright with seventeen goals in ten minutes, and Demelza Robins, a fourth year Harry remembered as one of his Wraiths. He then gave them twenty minutes together to toss the Quaffle between them, adjusting to each other’s strengths, while Harry moved on to the Beaters.

“Okay…” Harry muttered to himself, watching two rogue Bludgers smash wildly into everyone swinging their bats rather haphazardly with little to no intention. “Perhaps this one I didn’t think completely through.”

In theory, the Beaters were meant to redirect Bludgers Harry released in their general direction so Harry could see their swing strength and their accuracy. Things did not go his way, however, as he had underestimated the sheer incompetence of some of his candidates. He was quickly nursing a lump on the back of his head from a hard hit by Jimmy Peakes, which he actually rewarded Peakes for with his instatement onto the team. With Fred and George gone, they needed good hitters. So Peakes joined the team alongside Richie Coote, a small third year Harry vaguely recognized - Harry couldn’t discern whether or not Coote was a Wraith, so Harry resolved to be careful around him. As much for Coote’s safety as everyone else’s.

When it finally came to the Keepers, Harry was surprised to see Hermione on her field. She had no broom, no gear, no intent to play, but she was jogging over to a very anxious looking Ron. It made Harry smile. Ron had confidence issues when it came to crowds, and the crowd for Keeper tryouts had grown rather large. Most of their Wraith friends had come to watch and support. A blessing and a curse - if Ron lost here, there wasn’t another chance he could play that year, making it much higher stakes than any match during the active season.

“You got this,” Hermione said to Ron, taking his hands. “None of these guys are as experienced as you, and you’re among the oldest.”

“Yeah, but that guy is getting on my nerves,” Ron shrugged towards McLaggen. “He was cracking jokes about winning the season as the best Gryffindor Keeper in years.”

“Bullshit,” Hermione said fiercely. Ron blinked. “You are an amazing Keeper. I say that as a Gryffindor who wants to win the Quidditch Cup, not just as your girlfriend. You got this.”

“Girlfriend?” McLaggen spoke up, eyeing them. “You’re hanging off his arm?” Hermione glared wickedly.

“I don’t hang,” Hermione told him coldly. “I choose. And I chose the best of the bunch, and that’s that.” Ron flushed to the tips of his ears. McLaggen sneered.

“Hey!” Harry shouted, “We’re about to start.” Hermione, grudgingly, gave Ron a chaste kiss before hurrying off the field. McLaggen and Ron had a brief stare-off, interrupted only by Harry harshly clearing his throat.

“Ginny, you’re up.” Harry beckoned her over, grinning widely. “You’ll be shooting for us today.”

“Hell yeah!” Ginny whooped sprinting for her broom. Harry laughed, grabbing the Quaffle.

“Alright, first up!” Harry called, rising into the air. “Get in position.”

The warbled turn order the seven candidates put themselves into placed Ron last, McLaggen just before him. As the first five went, each failing to save more than one or two, Harry kept one eye on the two boys he feared might start brawling on the grass at any moment. Somehow they made it to McLaggen’s turn without swinging punches, which meant McLaggen slipped into the air with a swaggering smile and an air of confidence.

Ginny shot one, two, three, four, five– McLaggen matched each throw with a hearty block, all but the last. As the Quaffle zipped towards the center goalpost, McLaggen jerked in the opposite direction and missed it by a mile. With gritted teeth and a harsh snarl, McLaggen landed. Harry resisted a laugh at how ridiculously upset the seventh year looked - if Quidditch truly mattered to him so much, he probably should’ve tried out a couple times before to ensure his talent matched his arrogance.

When it came Ron’s turn, his expression was clear and his head on straight. Again Ginny shot five, each one harder and faster than the last, and Ron saved one after the next with smooth ease and a practiced hand. By the fifth save, Ron had won himself a spot on the Gryffindor team for the second year in a row. Ron’s enthusiasm was contagious as he shouted with joy, running over to the edge to meet Hermione as she bounded her way down from the stands to meet him.

“Get me back up there.” Suddenly McLaggen appeared, blocking Harry’s view and path.

“Don't be a poor sport,” Harry told him smoothly. “You had your go, and so did Ron. You saved four, he saved five. The maths speak for themselves, no?”

“His sister didn't even try–”

“Ginny has never hit harder, actually.” Harry said, voice now cold. “And if you insult another of my players, Weasley or otherwise, I'll have you off this field quicker than I can catch a Snitch.” McLaggen had never been redder. Harry met his eyes evenly and firmly. McLaggen caved first - he stormed off, muttering curses and threats under his breath.

“Someone's got his undies in a twist,” Ginny commented as she landed beside him. “Sore loser?”

“Indeed.” Harry said dryly. “Anyway, gather ‘round! It seems we have our team!” Standing before him were Ron, Ginny and Katie and Demelza Jones, Jimmy Peakes and Richie Coote. A fine line up, in Harry's opinion.

“Welcome to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, new and returning players.” Harry winked at Katie, who giggled. “Our goal, above all else, is to work as one. During our practice times we will be working on formations, seeing with our peripheral vision, and trusting one another. During a game, we need to be able to know what every other member is thinking so we can always be one step ahead of our opponents, no matter what House they're in. Are we agreed?”

“Yes sir!”

“You betcha!”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, Mister Harry.”

Harry flushed, then laughed. “Good! Then let's get planning.”

It took roughly another half hour to map out what day they'd be playing, how they'd set up their mornings, how long each practice would be, and so forth. With Ron and Katie his only returning players, they had to be meticulously sure the new boys weren't overwhelmed or confused. So, naturally, it took longer, but it was necessary and worthwhile.

Ron was riding the high of it the whole way back to the castle, and likewise to the Great Hall.

“Did you see McLaggen on that last save?” Ron said after many mentions of his own saves, “He went completely awry on that fifth one, he looked a bit Confunded, to be honest. But, more likely he hasn't the ability to tell where Ginny was aiming. Good riddance, I say.”

“Yes, good riddance.” Hermione chirped, completely self-satisfied. “You did much better than him.”

“I know,” Ron smiled. Then he paused, eyeing her. “You sound rather cheerful. Smug, even.” Hermione looked at him innocently.

“Just happy to see my boyfriend succeed,” Hermione smiled. “That's all.”

“Hmm, well, you were seated right in front of the goal posts.” Harry said then, a grin forming. “And he did look rather Confunded, didn't you say so, Ron?” Hermione ducked her head with a squeak.

“Hermione wouldn't do that,” Ron said. But even as he did, he didn't sound to believe himself.

“Hey look, there he is now.” Harry pointed. They all looked.

McLaggen, trying to enter the Great Hall, walked right into the doors before richotecing off with a curse. Upon trying again, he clipped her shoulder, tripped over the corner of his cloak, and fell on his face. Ron burst out laughing and Hermione sighed.

“Hmmm,” Harry said dramatically. “I dunno, that looks pretty Confunded to me. But, then again, what would I know?”

“Alright, I did it!” Hermione groaned, “But that asshole deserved it. You should've heard him talking about you both, and Ginny! Besides, he's a total hothead, as you saw, so you wouldn't've wanted someone that insubordinate on the team anyway. And furthermore! He's not one of us, so that's another thing–”

“Hermione, love,” Ron took her wildly waving hands in his, and chuckled. “It's fine. You don't have to defend yourself like this.” Hermione paused.

“You're… not mad?”

“Are you kidding?” Ron looked over his shoulder to watch McLaggen trip over the Gryffindor table, spilling gravy all over his neighbor. “This is the best thing I've seen all year.”

“Oh.” Hermione brightened considerably. “I was worried you'd be angry. But I swear, it wasn't because I doubted you! I was just getting back at him for the smack he was talking.”

“Well, you're definitely right we don't need that kind of negativity on our team.” Harry said, “But here I thought you were a Prefect…”

“Oh shut it!” Hermione shoved him. They both laughed.

Lunch was an easy meal full of success and lighthearted teasing. Dean and Seamus were all over each other again, this time Seamus perched on Dean's armrest and mooching off his plate; Luna sat between Ginny, Padma and Parvati, basking in their jokes and banter; Theo moved over with Blaise to bother Harry and everyone else nearby: Blaise spent most of the time vying for Ginny's attention, for some reason, which meant interrupting many conversations spanning the entire meal, while Theo poked Harry's shoulder at random intervals for no seeming reason without looking up from his book. All in all, a perfect meal.

Until the mail, delivered late on Saturdays, arrived for them via a storm of owls.

“What's the Prophet got for us today?” Luna asked, leaning over to look at Hermione's copy. “Any news about the moon frogs?”

“No,” Hermione said absently. “But… Wait! I can't believe it!”

“What?” Everyone leaned in also, until they realized they had half a dozen within reach and snatched up the nearest paper to them to share with their neighbors.

“Look,” Hermione showed hers to Harry and Ron, which meant Theo snuck a look too. “It's… him.”

“Tom Riddle,” Theo's calculating silver eyes scanned the page. “So he's made his move.”

“Isn't that your Dad?” Harry asked, pointing. Theo just nodded.

The Prophet's front page news was a picture of Tom and, slightly hidden from the angle, a vaguely recognizable Tiberius Nott. The confirmation was in the title, however, so there was no room for doubt.

Tom Riddle's Return
Riddle Spotted in Diagon Alley with Old Friend Tiberius Nott!

For the first time since his disappearance in 1946, Tom Riddle, Hogwarts Prefect and Ministry Hopeful, has returned to Britain. Tom Riddle was once the talk of the Ministry as his growth to adulthood was approaching, seeing as Riddle was a straight ‘O’utstanding student with a Prefect badge and educational awards to match. With prowess in Potions, Defence, and Transfiguration, in his youth it was predicted Riddle was to become the next great monumental figure in history.

Shocking to all, Riddle delved into a career in finding and restoring old magical artifacts at Borgin & Burkes, a now washed up junk shop in Knockturn Alley. Though he received many offers from various offices within the Ministry, Riddle settled down into a simpler life as an appraiser and a curator following his graduation at Hogwarts.

In 1946, a year after his graduation, Tom Riddle mysteriously quit his job at Borgin & Burkes and disappeared, leaving no trace for his employers or disappointed onlookers. It was thought that he'd grown bored of his low-stakes job and sought out something more thrilling in secret, but, without real evidence, Riddle was a topic left to the wind. Until now.

With his return catching attention, information has been shared revealing the truth behind his disappearance. In truth, Riddle fled Britain to pursue rumors of possible living family in America. Riddle is famously an orphan, raised at a Muggle orphanage, having no connection to his family all his life, so such a reason is understandable in every fashion.

According to sources, Riddle returns home disappointed as all leads dried up and his hunt for family ended coldly. But things are looking up for Riddle as he reunites with old friend Tiberius Nott, a younger student and close friend of Riddle's while attending Hogwarts, to readjust to living in Britain. It is unclear whether Riddle plans to stay in Britain for years to come, or if it is a mere visit to see old friends.

One question asked by many and left completely unanswered, how is it Riddle looks to have aged perhaps 2 years since his disappearance 50 years ago?

More on page 17 and 18.

Front page image features Tom Riddle (young, appearing age twenty) walking beside his friends Tiberius Nott (middle aged, appearing age forty) through Diagon Alley, smiling and talking. Nott points out shops and Riddle nods.

“They answered their own question in the description caption,” Theo said, squinting at the paper. “It says Riddle disappeared 50 years ago, yet my Dad looks 40. That answers their question as to Riddle's looks, does it not?” Harry blinked.

“I'm not following.”

“Wizards choose how they age, to an extent,” Theo explained, “My Dad stayed looking roughly 40 for the past twenty or so years. Look at Professor Slughorn, too. He's 114 years old, and he looks, what, sixty?”

“He's what?” Blaise choked on his peas. “That makes him as old as Professor Dumbledore!!”

“They went to school together.” Harry reminded him. Blaise still looked unreasonably shocked.

“My point is,” Theo continued, “We reach a point in our lives where we stop aging, typically in our forties, and we remain the same for hundreds of years. That stopping point just differs person to person. Professor McGonagall looks around 45, while Professor Sprout, who's the same age as Professor McGonagall in actuality, looks to be around ten years younger.”

“Wow,” Luna breathed. “That's magical.” Theo smiled.

“It is.”

“What about people like Professor Dumbledore?” Ron asked then. “He just looks old as hell.” Several people listening in choked on laughter.

“That's where the ‘choosing’ part happens,” Theo explained. “Part of Professor Dumbledore's whole personality is how eccentric he is, how mystical, how old and wise he is; his aging matched that personality and his preferred aesthetic.”

“That's so cool!” Hermione enthused, “I never knew there was so much nuance behind how wizards aged. Do you have any book recommendations on the topic?” Theo smirked.

“Who d'you think you're asking? Of course I've got books.”

“Harry,” Draco approached, tapping Harry on the shoulder. “Are we having a meeting to discuss this?” He held up his own copy of the Prophet. Harry blinked.

“Do you think we need one?”

“I do, yeah.” Draco nodded. “Riddle making an appearance could change our plans, and the timing of any changes we sent to implement.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “Why not talk to some of the others about it, and you can lead a meeting.” Draco blanched.

“You want me to lead the meeting?”

“And why not?” Harry arched one eyebrow. “You're the one with concerns, and you're more than qualified, as one of my best friends. I trust you.” Draco looked apprehensive, but nodded.

“I'll get everything set up, then.” Draco said, “I won't let you down.” Harry smiled.

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Memories

Once again, Harry found himself knocking on the door to Snape's Office at eight o'clock in the evening. The corridor was drafty. Harry shivered.

Pushing open the door at Dumbledore's soft acknowledgement, Harry stepped into the space Dumbledore had once again rearranged for the purpose of making space for the Pensieve, placed atop a small table.

“Harry, good to see you,” Dumbledore said warmly. “Are you feeling better?” Dumbledore was smiling, but with enough of an undertone for Harry to gauge there was a right and wrong answer to his question.

“I am,” Harry told him. “And I'm ready to learn whatever you're ready to teach me.” Dumbledore nodded.

“I am glad you recovered well from what upset you. Now, I may be overstepping, but I took it upon myself to check up on you after our unfortunate parting last week,” Dumbledore told him, fauxly bashful. “I noticed you didn't seek comfort in Miss Granger or Mister Weasley - rather, it was Theodore Nott that sought you out.”

“It's Theo,” Harry told him firmly. “He really doesn't like Theodore.” Theo didn't tell Harry why, but he didn't need to. That was his business.

“Even so,” Dumbledore said. “Are you certain he's a good person to associate with? Perhaps you're unaware, but his father was a Death Eater.”

“Really?” Harry tilted his head innocently. “I didn't know that, Theo never mentioned his father went to Azkaban.”

“Mister Nott was one of the many participants that were not prosecuted for their part in the war,” Dumbledore said gravely. “Much like Professor Snape, and Lucius Malfoy.”

“I don't see the problem,” Harry shrugged. “Theo isn't his father, and neither is Draco. Condemning kids for their father's behavior is unreasonable.” Harry paused, eyeing the man. “Consider Professor Snape, for example. He was a Death Eater, and he hates me because of my Dad. Will you warn me against Professor Snape too?”

“That is different entirely,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “Professor Snape has his reasons for that.”

“I don't really care,” Harry shrugged. “He can hate me if he wants, so long as he teaches me fair square.” Nowadays he actually did teach Harry equally, offering him the same chances as everyone else, despite how often he glared and growled under his breath. Maybe it had something to do with Snape being pledged to Harry and his ‘army’, but Harry didn't like thinking about that.

“I haven't known you to abandon your friends so easily,” Dumbledore said with a sad sort of smile. “Could it be you've had a falling out with your Gryffindor friends?”

“Not at all, I love Ron and Hermione, more so than ever for how they support me,” Harry said. “I've just decided to expand my circle, bring in new friends. I like it more this way. I've got so many more people in my corner now, isn't that a good thing?”

“One might not say so,” Dumbledore admitted quietly. “But perhaps that is a conversation for another time.” He cleared his throat. “Do you remember what I told you last week?” Harry's pleasant expression dropped.

“What aspect of it?”

“As to what our lessons would pertain to,” Dumbledore said with a little smile. His keen eyes told Harry he knew what Harry was thinking; it was frustrating beyond measure how little Dumbledore cared.

“Of course,” Harry replied evenly. “You said we'd be using the Pensieve, so I presume we'll be viewing memories?”

“Precisely,” Dumbledore beamed. “We're headed down the well traveled path of Bob Ogden's memories.” Harry blinked, uncomprehending.

“Who's Bob Ogden?”

“He was the Head Auror at one time, working inside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Dumbledore said. From his pocket he withdrew a crystal bottle, a swirling silvery-white substance stirring up inside. “He was… let's say an acquaintance of mine prior to his death. I tracked him down before he died, and I managed to collect a few memories from him, with much negotiating and convincing. It was necessary, as this story we must build upon needs a foundation. Now, if you'd be so kind as to join me?”

Harry stood, padding over to Dumbledore's side to stand before the Pensieve. He watched as Dumbledore fumbled the small bottle with his crippled hand, finally using his wand to pop the cork when his dead fingers refused to cooperate. It fueled the unease in Harry's mind - he still didn't know how long Dumbledore had left. The shriveled, blackened, useless appendages marring Dumbledore's hand were a death sentence creeping ever closer.

“After you,” Dumbledore said. The basin's shimmering liquid was now mixing with the glowing memories, a marbled vestige unlike anything else.

Harry nodded, took a deep breath, and plunged headfirst into the Pensieve.

Falling into a basin of liquid starlight always felt uncomfortable - his feet lifted off the ground and he hurtled at great speed down and down, hair whipping and eyes stinging, until he blinked and found himself righted onto his own two feet. The sunlight was blinding above Harry, he nearly missed Dumbledore's arrival as he squinted and blinked away the sudden brightness.

They stood on a country lane sided by large hedges, keeping a clear path for large carriages and careful foot traffic. The sun lit up the countryside perfectly, reflecting the bountiful colors that were almost distracting enough to overtake Harry's attention, reluctantly drawn to the man before them. He unfortunately had fallen victim to misunderstanding Muggle clothing, for he wore a striped bathing suit and a long smock jacket; the glasses he wore, so thick they shrunk his eyes small as fleas, only added to the ridiculous scene. As the only ‘real’ person present, Harry deduced he must be Bob Ogden.

Together they walked, the three of them, following directions given by a large sign. One branch posted Great Hangleton in 5 miles, Little Hangleton in 1 mile. Harry smiled.

“Professor. Why's he so important?” Harry asked as they followed the man, traversing down a smooth dirt road. “You said something about a foundation.”

“Bob Ogden is one of the first Ministry officials to encounter the Gaunt family out here,” Dumbledore told him. “Do you know who the Gaunt family is?”

“No sir,” Harry lied.

“It is the family in which Voldemort comes from,” Dumbledore said somberly. “A tortured family, I'm afraid; though their torment and toil is a result of their own poor choices. A once proud name fallen to time, decades of squandering wealth and keeping their line too pure, an unfortunate death sentence to those at the bottom of their lineage. It's quite the sad tale of a broken people, I'm afraid.” Harry said nothing, looking out as the hedges shortened and the home Harry came to love dawned into view.

Riddle Manor stood atop a large hill, shining and perfect in the bright sun with velvet smooth rolling grounds surrounding it. They were perfectly groomed and managed, a picture painted of a family living in great wealth. In the well of those hills, in a small valley, rested the graveyard. Beyond that stood the large church overlooking it all. Little Hangleton was much more familiar to him than Dumbledore would ever know.

“Voldemort's family lived here?” Harry asked. “But it's so pretty.”

“Ah, and this is where you're wrong.” Dumbledore gestured to Bob Ogden as he stepped off the path and onto a much more rugged path, uncared for as it fell into disrepair with pot-holes and crooked stones and tree roots protruding where feet were meant to walk. “They did not live in the village, you see, for then they would have to dwell with Muggles there. You'll soon understand why they do not.”

Bob Ogden stopped before a patch of large, dark trees. Between the rotten wood trunks stood a small cottage held together by little more than rusted hinges and moldy walls. Nettles surrounding the place up to the windows, forgotten ceiling tiles fallen to the forest floor, cracking windows and moss crawling across the visible rafters implied a lack of residents within. A snake was nailed to the uninviting front door, throat torn and scales peeling.

Harry remembered seeing this shape before, this outline. At the very edge of the Riddle property that Harry knew, the Gaunt Shack where Tom's family lived and died was visible inside a cluster of trees. It was different now, the trees darker and stronger, but it held the same bones Harry remembered glimpses of. Harry knew that Tom's Muggle family owned everything up to the very edge of this Shack.

Bob Ogden raised a hand to knock, only to jump backwards with a shout as a man dropped from a tall tree above the door. The foreign man moved like a snake, head cocked, hair so matted Harry was sure there was more dirt and foliage than actual hair. He wore little more than rags, and an odor more pungent than the dead snake radiated from him.

‘Leave,’ whispered the man. ‘You're not welcome.’ Harry's eyes widened - he was a Parselmouth!

“Uh, hello,” said Ogden. “I'm an official from the Ministry of Magic and–”

‘Did you not hear me?’ the man said dangerously, advancing with smooth, fluid motions. He held a wand in one hand and a chipped, bloody dagger in the other. ‘You're not welcome!’

“I'm sorry,” fumbled Ogden. “But, sir, I can't understand you.”

“I presume you understand him?” Dumbledore prompted softly. Harry nodded.

“It's Parseltongue,” Harry told him. “I'd forgotten Voldemort was a Parselmouth, it only makes sense he got it from his family.”

“Do you know why?” Dumbledore asked.

“Slytherin's line,” Harry said. “They're direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin.”

“Correct,” Dumbledore praised. “Keep listening.”

There wasn't much to listen to as the wild man pounded Ogden right in the face, sending him straight to the ground, causing snot and pus to pour from the poor man's nose. The dirty man cackled, advancing further, until the door to the Shack blew open to reveal an elderly man with blocky shoulders and long arms. He sneered at Ogden, but restrained the wild man with a sharp glance.

“Yer a Ministry official, eh?” the old man said with a sneer. “Don't you know better than to come onto private property without properly identifying yourself?”

“Identify myself!?” Ogden sputtered, “I've come from the Ministry!”

“My son's not got to listen to your babble,” said the elderly man. “You failed to identify yourself. Naming your affiliation helps us none.”

“Well I–” Bob Ogden stared up at them as he tapped his face with a long wand, face red with anger as pus and snot vanished from his weeping nose. “Right then. My name is Bob Ogden. Can I assume you're Mr. Gaunt?”

“Ya can,” said Mr. Gaunt.

“And this must be Morfin,” Ogden looked the wild man up and down.

“It is,” Mr. Gaunt confirmed. As Ogden clambered to his feet, swiping pus off his smock, Mr. Gaunt leaned close to his son and hissed, ’Morfin, get inside. Don't you dare protest.’ It was then that everything clicked into place for Harry, even as the wild man went inside with an angry grunt, slipping out of sight.

Harry suddenly understood that he was Morfin Gaunt, Tom's maternal uncle, the man Tom framed for murder between his fifth and sixth year. Born insane from inbreeding in the Pureblood line, Morfin attacked and tortured Muggles for sport, specifically Tom Riddle Sr., before being sent to Azkaban; he never recovered after he returned to Little Hangleton following his release. It probably didn't help that he went right back to Azkaban after Tom framed him, but it meant he died pretty quickly after. That also meant Mr. Gaunt was Marvolo, Tom's grandfather. It was startling to see them so… different than Tom.

“It's actually Morfin that I'm here to see,” Ogden said then, quite loudly. “I–”

“Are you Pureblood?” Mr. Gaunt interrupted, eyes wild as he stared into Ogden's face. “Ogden isn't a very Pureblood name now is it?”

“That's unrelated to the matter at hand,” Ogden replied firmly. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation inside?”

“Inside, why?” Mr. Gaunt, Marvolo, rebuked.

“Yes, it seems this will be quite the conversation with you,” Ogden snapped. “I sent you an owl in advance–”

“We don't take owls here,” Marvolo bit back. “We've no need for foreign letters.”

“Then you can't very well expect visitors without reading your letters now can you?” Ogden exclaimed. “I must insist. I'm here to discuss with you the serious infraction that occurred here last night–”

“Bloody fine, if you will!” Marvolo threw open the door, growling at Ogden with all his rotten teeth. “Lotta good it'll do ya, I'm warning you now.” Ogden muttered unintelligibly and slid through the gap into the small house that really was better described as a Shack.

With only three rooms, Harry could see the entire space from the doorway. The main room, a kitchen and tiny living room smashed and overlapped, stood before them with rotting furniture, a smokey fireplace, and appliances that Harry wouldn't dare touch, let alone eat from. Morfin had collapsed in a moldy armchair, wringing a half dead snake in hand and singing softly to it in broken, guttural Parseltongue.

It was then that Harry's eyes found the woman he could only assume was Merope, Tom's mother, standing alone in the kitchen. With dull brown hair and a heavy-set face, there was little to no resemblance between her and Tom, but Harry expected that; Tom often said he looked just like his father, whether he liked it or not. Though, Merope looked far more defeated and desolate than Harry imagined her to be. Whereas Morfin was sharp and violent, Merope was dull and blank.

“And who's this?” Ogden inquired.

“Merope,” Marvolo said it with heavy disdain. “My daughter.”

“Morning ma'am,” Ogden offered her a nod. She didn't even lift her eyes. Merope turned and busied herself with straightening the pots and pans that hung from the ceiling by the open window letting precious air into the stale room.

“Let's get to it then,” Ogden said, clearing his throat. “We have evidence that Morfin Gaunt displayed magic on and before a Muggle late last night, to the not insignificant harm of said Muggle.”

A pan dropped to the floor with a heavy clatter as Merope's expression went slack, her hands following suit. She hurriedly scooped it up as her father began to shout, but it seemed that was the wrong thing to do.

“Oh that's how it is, yeah? Grub around on the floor like a bloody worthless peasant?” Marvolo bellowed. “What's your wand any good for anyway! You're too worthless to even pick up a pot with any sense.” Merope went miserably red as she fumbled for her wand.

“Mr. Gaunt, please–” Ogden's placating attempts were interrupted by Merope sending the poor pan flying across the room, slamming into the far wall with a clang that cracked the handle right off the pot.

“WELL FIX IT!” Marvolo had to scream to be heard over Morfin's sudden laughter. “GO ON YOU USELESS SQUIB!”

“Oh bother - Reparo!” With a deft intervention from Ogden, the pot righted itself. Marvolo seemed ready to burst from anger, but he aimed it at his daughter instead of Ogden.

“Saved by the Ministry man, it would seem,” sneered Marvolo. “Perhaps he'd take you off my hands, if I so asked. He'd have more use for a worthless squib than I ever do.” Merope wilted, clutching the flawless pot to her chest as she retreated back into the kitchen, damn near melting into the wall where she wanted to disappear forever.

“Mr. Gaunt, I must insist you focus.” Ogden said firmly, “I am here because–”

“We all heard you,” snapped Marvolo. “My son cast some magic, so what? The Muggle had it coming, I'd betchya!”

“What he did was against the law,” Ogden told them. Morfin snickered to himself in the corner, hands wringing the life from the snake in his lap.

“Teaching a weaselly Muggle a little lesson's against the law now?” Marvolo jeered.

“It's illegal, yes,” said Ogden plainly. He rifled around in the pocket of his smock. “Here is a summons for Morfin, we–”

“One does not summon my son!” Marvolo shouted, eyes dark. “Who do you think you are!?”

“I am the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad,” said Ogden simply. “As such, I administer summons to anyone needing to answer for their crimes.”

“CRIMES?” Marvolo stepped up to Ogden, outstretching a hand with yellowing fingernails. “You think you're talking to some scummy lowlifes, do ya? D'ya have any idea who you're in the presence of?”

“Yes,” Ogden said, leaning away from Marvolo's crusty hand. “You are Mr. Gaunt, and this is your family.”

“That's damn right! You see here!? See what I've got?” Harry spotted it then - the Gaunt Ring sat on Marvolo's finger, the same Ring Tom later used as a Horcrux. Harry's eyes flickered then to Dumbledore's hand, the one hidden beneath a thick sleeve.

Dumbledore said nothing as he pressed a finger to his lips with his untainted hand. It said to Harry, ‘Wait, we're not done yet.’ So Harry kept watching as the memory played out.

“I've been offered galleons - GALLEONS - for this here Ring!” Marvolo screamed in Ogden's face, “This here is how you know we've stayed pure for GENERATIONS. The Peverell coat of arms, you recognize that, you filthy Mudblood?”

“I see it, but I'm not here for your Ring,” Ogden told him hastily. “I'm here because your son has committed a crime —”

“NO!” Marvolo threw himself across the room at his daughter, grabbing her by the collar of her shirt and yanking her forward - exposing her throat, Marvolo grabbed at the thin chain around her neck. Weighing down the dainty chain rested a thick pendant marked by an S. It was Slytherin's locket, the very same Harry received from Kreacher the House elf two summers prior.

“Mr. Gaunt, your daughter–” Ogden went ignored even as Merope choked, her throat compressed.

“This here is the locket of Salazar Slytherin!” Marvolo sounded hysterical as he screamed himself hoarse. “Slytherin! We're the direct line from Slytherin himself! So don't you talk to us like we're nothing! There's nobody like us in all the world, I tell you!!” He shoved Merope away - she slammed into the windowsill with gasps of terror and relief.

“I'm afraid your ancestors matter as much as mine in this case,” Ogden said, glancing between Marvolo, pissing mad, Merope, half choked to death, and Morfin, cackling on the couch, then back. “I'm here about one thing and one thing only. Evidence suggests your son Morfin jinxed or otherwise hexed a Muggle to experience intensely painful hives.”

‘Be quiet, Morfin.’ Marvolo hushed his manicly giggling son. “So what if he did? Hives never killed no one, even a dirty worthless Muggle. And you've no doubt wiped the poor slob's mind, so there's no harm.”

“That's not the point,” Ogden snapped. “It was an unprovoked attack–”

“Muggle-loving Mudblood, you are.” Marvolo snarled, “Defending those worthless peasants like they're our friends.”

“You're not listening to me,” Ogden said. “Whether you like it or not, your son has been summoned to a hearing on the fourteenth of September to be tried for his crimes. That being: using magic in front of a Muggle, causing harm or distress to the same Muggle and —”

He broke off as they all turned, the clopping echoes of a horse's shoes filling the shack from the open window. Merope went slack-faced as she spun to the window; Morfin, looking distinctly hungry, hissed to himself and snapped towards the sounds as well.

“Oh gracious me! Look at that!” It was a girl’s voice. “What an eyesore!”

Harry, curious, headed for the door to investigate. Dumbledore grabbed his arm and shook his head. Harry paused, frowning.

“Can't your father have this all removed?” The girlish voice asked. “It's a bore to look at, Tom." Harry froze.

“It doesn't belong to us,” replied a young man. Luckily, his voice was unfamiliar. “We own the valley and the majority of these woods, but that place belongs to a man named Gaunt. And his children, I suppose.” The noises rolled closer. “The son's quite mad, you see. You should hear some of the rumors of him they tell around the village.”

Morfin stood from the couch, eyes wild, but with a sharp, ‘Stay where you are!’ from Marvolo, Morfin paused.

“Tom… Is that a snake nailed to their door?” said the girl. Her voice trembled.

“God, it is! That'll be the son's doing,” the man called Tom replied quickly. “Look away, Cecilia, darling, he's clearly lost in the head.”

‘Darling, darling,’ Morfin chanted as Tom and Cecilia rode away. ‘See? He wouldn't want you either way, he has a darling… Cecilia darling…’ He giggled at his sister with a wicked grin.

‘What's that supposed to mean?’ hissed Marvolo, looking between them. Merope's head shot up, looking between them with pure panic.

‘She stares at that Muggle, always waiting to see him from between the trees,’ Morfin said cruelly, only smiling wider at the terror growing on his sister's face. ‘Last night… oohh… Last night she near hung herself from the window just to see him ride by, heading home from the village.’

Marvolo had gone very still. Merope seemed to be contemplating legitimately hanging herself from the window as her father slowly turned to face her.

‘The window, huh? Looking at a Muggle?’ whispered Marvolo. ‘Is that right? Is my only daughter, a Pureblood, even a useless one like you, really slutting after a sullied Muggle with mud-filled veins? Is what he says true, Merope?’

Merope seemed unable to speak as she frantically clawed at her throat, shaking her head desperately as her knees trembled and she threw herself backwards into the wall harder and harder as her father's face darkened with murder.

‘But father, see, I got him!’ Morfin cackled, dragging his wand across his face. ‘I got that Muggle's face real good so he won't look pretty for her anymore, not with all those bumps, I got him!’

Marvolo ignored Morfin completely to lunge at Merope - hissing venomously with his hands around her throat, Marvolo began throttling his daughter in earnest as Morfin laughed and laughed.

“MR. GAUNT!” Bob Ogden drew his wand, “Relashio!” Marvolo was flung across the room - Merope collapsed into a heap - Morfin, with a terrible shout, threw aside his limp snake and lunged for poor Ogden with his bloody knife and wand sparking. Smartly, Ogden ran.

Dumbledore took off after him, forcing Harry to follow with a muttered curse. They didn't make it far, however, as Ogden burst from the treeline and smacked straight into a chestnut horse with sleek, well loved hair. Atop the horse was a handsome man and a pretty girl, both of which laughed at the sight of Bob Ogden. Harry couldn't blame them. But Harry couldn't take his eyes off the Muggle man. It was immediately obvious the man was Tom's father, the original Tom Riddle.

With smooth dark hair and hazel eyes framed by a porcelain complexion, Harry was stunned by the resemblance. With small changes to the eye shape and length of the nose, the face before him might've been that of the Tom that Harry knew and now considered family. No wonder Tom felt so wronged when he visited Riddle Manor and found himself unwelcome - the resemblance was so stark, so obvious and true, it was insane of the Riddles to turn him away without a care.

“That's quite enough for today,” Dumbledore said then. He grabbed Harry's elbow and jumped, sending them both up into the clouds, tumbling from the memory into Snape's office on rivers of stars.

Harry kept his feet and stared at the basin, unsure and unsteady as he was dropped into the dim light of Snape's Office. His mind sped off like a rushing train after his fleeting thoughts and confused feelings.

“That was Voldemort's father,” Harry said, almost without meaning to. “I mean - the resemblance - it's uncanny. It's - er, it's just like the memories of Voldemort I saw from his fifth year.”

“Nicely spotted,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. “Anyone else you may've identified?”

“I think Merope is Voldemort's mother,” Harry said with false hesitance. “That makes Morfin his, what, uncle? And Mr. Gaunt would be his grandfather.”

“Just so,” Dumbledore beamed at him. “You're even more observant than I'd hoped. Well done.” Harry offered a wary smile.

“What happened to them?” Harry asked. “After Ogden left.”

“Oh, Ogden returned in less than a quarter hour with numerous Aurors at his back. Morfin and Marvolo were both apprehended, though with great struggle.” Dumbledore told him with great care, “Both were given Azkaban sentences. Morfin, with a history of attacking Muggle and expressing no remorse, received three years in Azkaban. Marvolo served a mere six months for attacking Aurors and evading arrest. The Wizengamot did not take kindly to their aggressive attitudes.”

“Noboby would,” said Harry. “But that left Merope alone in that terrible place. Is that when she seduced Tom Riddle Senior?”

“You tell me,” Dumbledore smiled. “What do you think is most likely?” Harry frowned.

“Perhaps she cast a spell on him,” Harry said carefully. He already knew what Merope did, but he had no way of justifying how he got that information. Harry needed to be careful. “It seems Tom Sr. already had someone with him, it doesn't seem likely he'd drop that girl - Cecilia - for someone like Merope. It could've also been a love potion, such as Amortentia. We learned about that in Potions class recently.”

“Precisely what I myself believe as well,” Dumbledore exclaimed brightly. “Experiencing freedom from an abusive environment for the first time can be extremely liberating, but it can lead to some dangerous plots as all that pent up anger has nowhere to go with the objects of that hatred absent. It's a double-edged sword people can rarely balance alone. Merope was alone, and I believe she chose to force Tom Sr. to stand at her side as the companion she so desperately desired. He was everything she was not, and I imagine that was quite attractive to a woman such as Merope.”

“What happened when Marvolo got out of prison?” Harry asked.

“He returned to a farewell note and the cottage vacant,” Dumbledore said with a gentle sigh. “Perhaps he couldn't care for himself after his time in Azkaban, or perhaps he never knew how to care for himself at all and relied exclusively on his children, but, for whatever reason, Marvolo died shortly after his release in that same empty cottage. Merope had abandoned him, not without good reason, and that did contribute to her father's death.”

“Where did she go?” Harry frowned. “Did she move in with the Riddle family?”

“That is where the majority of our guesswork comes in,” Dumbledore told him. “Merope and Riddle eloped, disappearing with quite the scandal following them, but Riddle returned alone not even four months later. My assumption, based on the knowledge I've collected from both Muggle and Magical sources, is that Riddle Sr. abandoned Merope when she discovered she was pregnant.”

“Why?” Harry frowned. “With the love potion involved, he couldn't just up and leave.”

“Ah, but what would a woman in love do upon finding out about a child?” Dumbledore's eyes were sad, pity filling his expression as he turned towards the basin, tracing the runes delicately. “I believe she stopped dosing Riddle in the hope that, with a child on the way, he would love her unaided and remain with her of his own volition. It would seem it did not play out as she intended.”

“No shit,” Harry sighed. He ran a hand through his hand, sighing. “So Tom Sr. left, returning home, which forced Merope to seek asylum at that orphanage. You told me Voldemort grew up in an orphanage, right?”

“Just so,” Dumbledore nodded. “For his mother died in childbirth, and his father wanted nothing to do with his son. I imagine, in Riddle’s mind, his son was the result of unexplainable rape; that would certainly dampen a father's love, I'd imagine.”

“Ya think,” Harry muttered. Dumbledore sighed, his tainted hand twitching at his side. Harry paused. “That Ring - it's the Ring you gave me last year. The one that cursed you.”

“That would be correct, Harry,” Dumbledore said with soft inflection. “It was in that very cottage that I found it, hidden beneath that floorboards.”

“You used the memories to find it,” Harry deduced. “So you could destroy it.” Dumbledore just nodded. “What else are you going to show me?”

“Some of this and some of that,” Dumbledore said with a little smile. “Some memories from me, some from others. My goal is to educate you and paint a clear picture of Voldemort's true past in your head, so you can have a solid foundation for everything I plan to ask of you.”

“And what do you plan to ask of me?” Harry asked nervously.

“Ah, but I think that's enough for tonight,” Dumbledore said with a coy smile. He lit another lamp, cupping the light to fill the dark space with a warm fire glow. “You kept up marvelously. Much better than last week. Well done this time, Harry.” Harry ground his teeth.

“Yes sir,” Harry offered a stretched smile. “Will you be showing me memories of Voldemort's personal past next week, then?”

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said. “I feel we have some more outward contributions to view first, but if you're just as observant with those memories as you were Bob Ogden's, I'd say our lessons will be most productive.”

“Yes sir,” Harry said again. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Despite the late hour, Harry went straight to McGonagall’s Office. She was waiting inside for him, which shouldn't've surprised him and yet it did.

“Professor,” Harry nodded politely as he stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him.

“How was your session with Dumbledore?” McGonagall gestured to the opposite seat, a plate of biscuits resting on her desk. “Tell me everything.”

“Okay.” Harry smiled, relief melting through his tense shoulders. “You won't believe what Dumbledore dug from that guy's mind to show me. Some Head Auror named Bob Ogden.”

Harry launched into a summary, telling more of a story rather than detailing what he witnessed in the memory. McGonagall listened, asking no questions, until Harry had finished. Her questions were easy, and answers came immediately from Harry until she was all up to speed.

“Will you tell Riddle of this?” McGonagall asked finally.

“Yes,” Harry said. “In fact, could you mail a letter for me?

“Happily,” McGonagall smiled.

So Harry wrote a letter. Personally delivered by McGonagall, with no chance of loss or interception, Harry didn't bother using riddles or false words. He wrote exactly what he felt.

Tom,

The truth of Dumbledore's lessons has yet to be revealed to me, but I have a start. As a ‘foundation’ for what he intends to teach me in the end, he is showing me memories of your family's past. Tonight he showed me a memory of the Gaunts, how Marvolo Gaunt treated his daughter and son, your mother and uncle, through the eyes of a Ministry official who did not give up his memories willingly, and a glimpse at the horror that occurred between your parents. You've told me a lot, but seeing it is another experience entirely.

Impossibly, I wish to see you, if only to ask you how I am to deal with this. I know most of what he is showing me - the Prophecy, the history of Snape's involvement, the facts of your family's past and their sins and their downfall - and I find myself doubting whether I am a good enough actor to fool him into believing I am as oblivious as he believes me to be.

I also wish I could see your side of things. He will soon show me memories of you, taken from his own mind, but I know they will be skewed by his personal perception of you. I am not looking forward to it, and I can only hope I can become a better liar than I know myself to be. Any advice is welcome, I am in dire need of your support right now.

I miss you, and tell Nagini I miss her too.

Sincerely, yours,
Harry

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven

It Takes Two

“I'm gonna be honest, I have no idea what I'm doing. So, bear with me.” Draco addressed the Wraiths with a rigid tone, the room watching him with curious eyes. He'd gathered only the upper years, fourth year and above. Draco decided the younger Wraiths weren't needed for the meeting; perhaps Harry would've disagreed, choosing instead to include them anyway, but Harry wasn't there. Draco stood alone.

Draco was more used to standing beside people, a pillar of support, perhaps even a bodyguard, but never was he the sole focus. He hadn't yearned for constant attention in years, not since he realized not everything was about money or his father's influence and Draco wasn't the center of the universe. He did take comfort in the presence of Hermione, Theo, Ron, Blaise, Neville, and Luna sitting in the front row just before him. They looked more than ready to jump up if he needed them.

“I'm sure we've all seen the papers,” Draco said awkwardly, holding up one such copy of the Prophet. “I spoke with Harry, and he encouraged us to go on with our plans without him. With Riddle finally making his appearance, we might have to start moving our timeline forward sooner than expected.”

“What timeline?” called some Hufflepuff girl. Draco felt the sharp twang of guilt at not knowing her name, or even what year she was in. Harry would've known her name.

“Harry sketched out a rough plan for us, marking important milestones to accomplish this school year,” Draco said. “They weren't completely fleshed out into full plans, they were more bulleted ideas. However, with Riddle's public appearance out of the blue, I think it's best we start working towards one of those ideas.” A hand shot up. Feeling like a complete imposter of a leader, Draco pointed to the boy with a nod. “Yeah, you?”

“What did you have in mind?” the Slytherin boy asked seriously. “I remember Mister Harry mentioning a few smaller things, stuff my friend and I can accomplish even though we're still only fourth years.”

“Kevin said something about our parents,” another Hufflepuff spoke up. “Kevin?”

“Yeah, Harry mentioned us talking to our parents and asking about Riddle.” Ah, Draco knew him! Kevin Entwhistle was a Ravenclaw in their year, and his younger sister Annabel must be the Hufflepuff girl.

“That's exactly it,” Draco confirmed. “Harry wants us to begin asking our parents about this Riddle guy from the papers, planting seeds of trust and remembrance. It could really help our cause in the long run.”

“Why would we ask our parents?” The Slytherin boy made a face. “Isn't Riddle from a long time ago?”

“How old do you think your parents are, Haruka?” Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Some of them went to school with Riddle, or attended school while he was still a bit of a legend and role model amongst the students who got to meet him.”

“Mams was a first year when Riddle graduated,” said Annabel. “Asking her about his return and what she thinks about it would probably be beneficial.”

“Why?” asked the boy called Haruka.

“Because Harry wants us to bring the Wizengmot onto Riddle's side,” Draco said, interrupting. “Riddle aims to infiltrate the Ministry to gain popularity, making it easier for us to change things. Once we have the majority of people supporting Riddle, his movement will quickly gain traction, allowing him to suggest changes and ideas that otherwise would be immediately dismissed.”

“What would some of those changes be?” A small Ravenclaw spoke up, “I joined you all last year because I heard the upper years talking about the cause and the good Mister Harry can bring, but I don't actually remember or know what we're doing.” Draco repressed a long sigh, wishing he could blow out the stress steadily building. He didn't know how Harry kept so many people straight while also remembering what he wanted to address - Harry was so good at speeches, Draco didn't feel like a good enough replacement to lead in such a way. Also it was really fucking annoying for people to attend meetings without even knowing what there were attending for!

“I–” Draco opened his mouth, only to close it when Neville stood with a small smile. Neville stepped up the dais to Draco's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. Draco, though he'd not easily admit it, felt relief as the spotlight was drawn from him. “I'll let Neville here explain it a bit more.”

“I've spoken with Harry many times about his short term goals,” Neville said strongly. “The first change he intends to make is promoting fair education. In our recent history the word ‘Dark’ has been used synonymously to ‘Evil’, unfairly linking the two after the war against Grindelwald, and the proper resources for education weren't given to remind the masses of the true meaning of that word ‘Dark.’ Harry's first goal is to show people the variations possible within magic; Light magic, Neutral magic, and Dark magic are all unique in the way they feel and how you gather your magic to cast them. That education begins with an influential presence to advocate, and that's where Riddle comes in.”

“So he's just going to teach people stuff?” asked the small Ravenclaw. “Is that really gonna help?”

“It will help immensely,” Neville confirmed. “Once people understand the different types of magic, they'll be banging mad to learn that Hogwarts doesn't teach them all. Only Light, and a bit of Neutral magics.”

“Do you have any examples?” A Gryffindor raised her hand high. She had bright red hair and green eyes, not dissimilar to a Weasley, but Draco noted her robes were straight and new. “Of a spell from each category.”

“Absolutely,” Neville nodded. “For Light spells we've got Aquamenti as an obvious one, as well as Incendio and Accio. Some Neutral spells would include Protego, Arresto Momentum, and I think Confundo. Dark spells would be more like the Patronus Charm, Fiendyre, and Riddikulus to ward off Boggarts.”

“Oh!” Hermione lit up, eyes bright. “Of course! Dark spells are fueled by emotions, Light magic is fueled by precision, and Neutral combines the two!”

“Correct!” Neville grinned. “Depending on your core alignment, each of us is predetermined to strive using one such category. People like you, Hermione, are extremely precise in your casting - everything you do is perfect and clean, which makes it difficult for you to pour emotions and deep need into your spells, hindering you in the Dark spell category. However, Dark wizards like myself pour our hearts out into every spell, which puts some serious power into the Dark spells that require a deeply emotional cast, while my precision can be lacking in some areas.” Neville looked back at the Gryffindor girl. “Does that make sense, Anita?”

“Yeah,” the Gryffindor girl called Anita nodded. “That makes sense, especially since the Core Viewer told me I'm Dark. I really struggle being perfect with my casts.”

“And that's totally fine,” Neville said warmly. “Someday Hogwarts will be a school that teaches the three categories of magic evenly and wixen from all categories will be able to thrive, using their magical abilities to the fullest while learning why some spells are easier than others. Not everyone has to be good at everything, but trying and understanding are two very different things.” Neville smiled out at the crowd, all watching with complete attention.

“But, Draco,” Neville then turned to Draco expectantly. “You were saying? You had concerns regarding Riddle's appearance and how to handle the tasks moving forward.”

“Right.” Draco nodded and confidence swelled as he stood tall with Neville at his side. “I'd like everyone to write to their parents and comment on the article. It can be as simple as, ‘Did you see the Daily Prophet article?’ or as obvious as something like, ‘I heard this Riddle guy might've gone to school with you, what was he like?’ Regardless of how you go about it, it's important to put the seed of thought out there as much as possible. And if you don't know what or how to say it, that's fine too. You can ask your friends, the volunteer groups or otherwise experienced Wraiths, or even Harry, if it's subtle and during normal class hours. You have so many resources helping out, and asking for help isn't a sign of weakness.” Draco smiled. “Asking for help is a sign of strength.”

After the meeting was adjourned, several dozen students from four different years filtering through the great doors into the main castle, Draco stayed behind as his friends crowded close.

“How did I do?” Draco asked.

“You did great,” Hermione said with a grin. “You really perked up after Neville stole the show for a minute.”

“It was easier not being the sole person in charge,” Draco shuddered. “I don't know how Harry does it. I felt like an idiot standing up there, addressing people I've no recollection of, pretending they're all my friends; clearly I'm not cut out to lead a revolution of my own.”

“Damn it,” said Neville with a great sigh. “There goes my plan to have you overthrow Harry and take over.” Draco cracked a smile.

“If we're talking about overthrowing Harry, I'd say Theo has the best chance.” Luna said, “Not only is he powerful, he's got Harry's complete trust. He'd never see it coming.”

“Am I a part of a coup and wasn't informed?” Theo said dryly. “How inconsiderate of me. I've been neglecting my duties by having never heard of them.” Draco snickered.

“Today was a good day for the meeting,” Blaise said then, speaking more seriously. “This was good timing, Draco, really. Harry reached out to Riddle after the lesson he had with Dumbledore last night, so lining it all up for the next motion now is smart.”

“You're right,” Draco said. “But I planned this meeting before Harry's lesson with Dumbledore, so I can't really take credit for the perfect timing. More or a coincidence, if anything.”

“Poor Harry,” said Luna with a wistful sigh. “He was so tired last night.” Draco couldn't help but agree.

They all remembered how late Harry returned, tired yet lucid enough to give them a rundown of the lesson after having already explained it to McGonagall, before passing out dead asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Harry told them he'd written to Riddle about it, though he didn't go in depth regarding the contents of the letter. Hopefully he knew to ask Riddle for guidance with how to proceed, especially with Dumbledore digging through the past with Harry on his arm.

“It would be easier if Dumbledore wasn't stalking Harry,” Theo muttered. “It's ridiculous, really. As if passive aggressive comments could separate Harry from us.”

Draco frowned, reminded that Dumbledore really was watching Harry's every move. Harry wasn't kidding - Dumbledore's eye followed Harry wherever he went.

.

“He said that?” Theo blinked slowly, disbelief morphing into cold anger. “He said I was a bad friend?”

“Sorta. He insinuated you'd be a bad person to rely on because your Dad's a Death Eater,” Harry confirmed tiredly. “He saw us in the hallway, it would seem. He claims it was to check on me after I ran out on him, but I'd wager he has other means of watching me around the clock. He wasn't too pleased it was you who found me instead of, say, Ron or Hermione. If Dumbledore had the choice, he'd probably rather no one had found me, so long as it kept you away.”

“I should rip his tongue out,” Theo hissed. “As if I would've left you to suffer alone.”

“He said the same about Draco,” Harry looked around at their small group. “Because his Dad is also a Death Eater. Though, Dumbledore is apparently under the impression that Draco and I aren't on good terms still.”

“I understand why he said it, but that's ridiculous,” Draco sniffed. “So what if our Dads were Death Eaters? That doesn't automatically make us Death Eaters too - it's not hereditary!”

“Well, not always heredity, but Mister Malfoy actually was a Legacy Death Eater,” Harry reminded him. “I'd understand Dumbledore's assumption if the war was back on and Voldemort was attacking people in the streets, but with no evil lurking around corners or any proof beyond my own word that Voldemort was back? It doesn't make sense that he'd assume you guys would automatically become Legacies. There's no proof any of you even know about Voldemort's alleged return. You've done no wrongs whatsoever, yet still he judges you on the faults of your Fathers. That's what's despicable in my eyes.”

“He watched me comfort you, then turned around and said I'm a bad person to associate with,” Theo's jaw clenched. “Because that's not blasphemous at all.”

“I told him as much,” Harry said, taking Theo's hand. Theo squeezed it tightly. “But it didn't really matter how I justified it, because all he had to say afterwards was that I'd abandoned my Gryffindor friends.”

“HUH” Hermione straightened, sitting up from her spot on Ron's lap. “He said what!?”

“He said I must've had a falling out with ‘Miss Granger and Mister Weasley’ because I was relying on other people and making new friends,” Harry laughed, a morbid sound. “I said, ‘Isn't that a good thing?’ and he told me, ‘One might not say so.’ Isn't that funny?”

“I could kill him,” Hermione seethed. “He probably thinks you don't need friends because he'll ask you to die soon anyway!”

“Probably,” Harry agreed simply. “But it doesn't matter, since I've only got to endure it for this school year. And after the years we've had so far, I'm sure I can handle a few Pensieve lessons with Dumbledore.”

“That depends on your point of view,” Luna said quietly. “Which is more dangerous - Voldemort's obvious malice, or Dumbledore's subtle scheming?” Harry smiled.

“I guess we'll find out.”

.

“Despite how argumentative Harry was when it comes to his association with us,” Draco said, “He can't do that when it comes to Riddle. He has to make absolutely sure Dumbledore never finds out about their connection or friendship, nor how long they've been corresponding. And if Dumbledore does find out, it's got to be on Harry's terms.”

“We should ask Harry if he's got plans for that,” Ron hummed. “Knowing Harry, he probably does.”

“Or it's never occurred to him in the slightest,” Luna smiled with a small giggle. “There is no inbetween with Harry.”

“Fair enough,” Ron acknowledged.

“Either way, Riddle will make sure they've got all the plans we need,” Blaise said evenly. “If there's anything that matters to Riddle, it's Harry.” They then all paused as Blaise turned suddenly, watching a very hunched and quiet Ginny slip out of the Room without saying goodbye. “Hey… I'll talk to you guys later.” Without another word Blaise hurried off after her.

“What was that about?” Hermione asked, looking to Ron.

“I dunno,” Ron said. “But Gin's been off for a few days now, I just figured she was coming down with something.”

“Have you talked to her?” Hermione glanced back at the door in concern.

“Nah, I was giving her some space,” Ron said.

“Blaise seemed worried,” Draco frowned. “Should we be worried?”

“Ginny's not the type to accept help easily,” Ron replied with a wince. “I'd be seriously surprised if she let Blaise do anything about it, even if she does really need help. She's way too independent for her own good.”

“She's strong,” Luna said softly. “But I can see she's cracking.”

“Cracking?” Ron echoed. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Ginny's struggling with something,” Luna told him. “I can see it in her eyes, in how she walks, how she talks. It's obvious when you see her in almost every class - which I do. Maybe Blaise sees what I see.”

“Should we be worried, then?” Ron asked her. “Are you worried?”

“I haven't decided yet,” Luna pushed silvery strands out of her face, carefully not to disrupt the wand resting precariously behind her ear. “But I'll let you know if I think it's getting bad.”

“Okay,” Ron nodded slowly. “I'll trust you with that, then.” Draco could tell Ron wasn't happy with that answer, but Ron also clearly didn't want to push.

“I'm sure Blaise will help too,” Draco said, throwing an arm over Ron's shoulder. “See how he went after her? Not to worry. Blaise is more comforting than you think.”

“I know,” Ron sighed. “I just hope Ginny finds him as comforting as we do.” It was clear he still believed Ginny wouldn't accept Blaise’s help, but Draco was confident in Blaise's ability to charm people. Not with magic, nor with potions or tricks, but with solidly his own charisma and care.

Wrapped in a blank-faced neutral-toned package, Blaise was the ultimate therapist friend they all went to when they needed to rant. And, when needed, they all gave Blaise their ears right back. Even therapist friends needed to vent sometimes, and they made sure Blaise knew it.

“We should get to lunch,” Hermione said then. “We'll need all the sustenance we can get if we're to study all day tomorrow.”

“We're studying all day tomorrow?” Ron groaned. “You're joking, right?”

“No,” said Hermione. “But, if you need, we can do flash cards or something instead of note taking. Or we could play some type of game to help with memorization.”

“That might work,” Ron sighed. “Okay, fine. Let's go have lunch to prepare for our inevitable doom tomorrow.” Hermione's laugh echoed through the Room, making him smile.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve

Ginny’s Plight

With how many Saturdays had come and gone, Saturday the 9th of November came for them quickly. With Harry stressing over Dumbledore’ watchful eye, Tom’s public appearance with no apparent fallout, and the mess of homework breathing down their necks, the Quidditch team only managed a handful of practice days before the first match arrived that 9th of November, Gryffindor against Slytherin.

“How goes the preparation?” Draco appeared at the Gryffindor table during breakfast, smirk wide and eyes bright. “It’ll be all for nought against us, but I’d be disappointed if our victory was just handed to us.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry said. “My team could pummel yours any day of the week without so much as a single day of practice.”

“Is that so?” Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “You’d best hope you can put your money where your mouth is because there’s bets spreading like wildfire.”

“Bets?” Ron, from two seats down, leaned far enough to see Draco. “Can I get in on those?”

“Players can’t place bets,” Hermione said dryly. “That would screw up the whole system, players betting could topple the fairness of the match. If everyone bets the other team will win, they could throw the game to ensure their preferred outcome happens.”

“Damn,” said Ron. “I was gonna bet on Slytherin.”

“You see?” Hermione sighed. “That’s exactly the problem. Congratulations, you, Ronald, are the problem.” Ron winked.

“I strive for it.”

“While I appreciate the support,” Draco interrupted, “I won’t be holding back, and I hope none of you do either.”

“Do I look like the sort of girl to hold my punches?” Katie, listening in, drawled.

“Not for a second,” Draco laughed. “I’ll make sure our Chasers keep an eye on you.” Katie looked immensely pleased.

“I must say, I’m surprised you came to place your threatening seeds and not your Captain,” Harry said with a grin. “Where is Bletchley, anyhow?”

“Beating Urquhart into submission,” Draco glanced over his shoulder, nodding towards the Slytherin table on the far side of the Ravenclaw. “Urquhart was supposed to be Quidditch Captain, but McGonagall decided Miles would be a better choice, since he’s been on the team since he was a second year.”

“Oh right,” Harry blinked. “Isn’t this Urquhart’s first year on the team? Even though he's a seventh year?” Draco nodded. “So why was he in the running at all?”

“We suspect Dumbledore wanted to destabilize the team by appointing an inexperienced Captain, but who knows.” Draco shrugged, “Either way, McGonagall straightened it out.”

“And Urquhart isn’t taking it well?” Harry asked.

“Well the reason he expressed interest was because Professor Snape implied he’d be Captain if he joined," Draco explained. “So yeah, he was a little hurt the opportunity was taken from him. Anyone would be, I’d imagine.”

“Fair enough.” Harry said.

“How’s your team holding up?” asked Draco. “Are your Chasers ready to take the heat?”

“You know it,” Harry laughed. “Katie’s got the experience, Demelza’s got the confidence, and Ginny’s got those miraculous Weasley genes. I think we’re all set over here. What of your new Chasers?”

“They saw the competition, so they've been practicing twice as hard to make up for their newbie status,” Draco grinned. “Vaisley hits the Pitch every morning and Urquhart pours all his resentment into practicing to make up for his lack of a title and crippling inexperience.”

“And your third?”

“That’ll be Harper,” Draco replied with a hum. “He originally wanted to be a Seeker, but during the tryouts Miles said his flying better fit a Chaser. We’ll have to be careful around him. Harper's not… with us.”

“Ah, I think we’ve got one on my team too,” Harry nodded. “Richie Coote, one of my Beaters.”

“Looks like both teams have secrets to keep,” said Draco. “But I’m not worried - we’ve kept it under wraps this long, what’s another year of hiding?”

“Don’t jinx it,” Harry muttered. Malfoy smirked.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Breakfast wrapped up with many jokes and grins, especially when Luna stopped by to show off the return of her lion and snake support hat, of which she’d replicated and convinced a handful of their friends to wear as well. Rather enthusiastically, Luna explained how she specifically equipped at least two students from each House to represent support from the whole school. Harry, falling on his knees, thanked her with a very dramatic kiss on the hand. He got a boisterous laugh from her and every onlooker, pleasing Harry greatly. He then thanked her more sincerely, which Luna accepted with humble delight.

As shenanigans calmed down and allowed the players to keep some sham of a schedule, the Gryffindor Quidditch team gathered outside the Great Hall following breakfast to head down to the Pitch as a group. The Slytherin team also collected there, mingling and chatting with their opponents.

“You’d better watch your back,” Katie said, grinning at Goyle. “I can outfly you in my sleep.”

“Back at you,” Goyle grumbled with a smirk. “But I’m the one with the bat.”

“Brave words when she’s the best at dodging,” Demelza piped up, voice peppy and bright. “Plus, that bat only’s as good as the Beater, and the Bludger has a mind of its own.”

“Good thing I’ve got strength and control on my side,” Goyle quipped. “Unlike Peakes, it would seem.”

“Hey!” Jimmy Peakes whined. “You wouldn’t hit a second year, would you?”

“Yes I would,” Goyle replied. “If you were winning.”

“Guess I’ll be nought but bruises by the end,” Peakes grinned. “Because I plan to win the whole time.”

Harry listened only half heartedly, distracted by the silence from one particular player. Ginny walked with the crowd seamlessly, not jumping ahead or falling behind, but her jaw was tight and her chest barely moved and her eyes stared straight ahead without her usual vigilance via monitoring her surroundings; she seemed completely checked out.

“Hey Gin,” Harry pulled back to stand beside her at the center of their little group. “Not losing your nerve, are you?” He teased with a small smile.

“As if,” Ginny scoffed, crossing her arms. Harry tracked her fingers, clutching the fabric tightly. “I’m always ready to school some Slytherins.”

“You and me both,” Harry laughed. “Do you need anything from me, as Captain? It’s your first game, I know that can be intimidating.”

“Yeah?” Ginny looked at him sharply. “Did you ask Peakes and Coote the same? Robins? They’re new too.” Harry fought a frown.

“Of course,” Harry said smoothly. “I gotta fill Angelina’s shoes best I can, else the ghost of her enthusiasm will throttle me in my sleep. Just as Oliver’s ghost possessed Angelina into drowning herself in the showers when we all quit last year.” Ginny’s lips twitched towards a smile.

“True,” Ginny said. “You’d better pick up the pace then, Angelina’s shoes are mighty big to fill.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry groaned. “I dread the owl I’ll receive if I don’t get the Cup for us come end of term.”

“I’ll host a funeral for your hopes and dreams,” Ginny snickered - a callback, an inside joke of sorts.

“Curses!” Harry exclaimed without missing a beat. “I really am following in Angelina’s footsteps!” Ginny really laughed then, hands unclenching, and Harry smiled. She’d be alright. Probably.

Madam Hooch waited at the center of the field as they changed in the locker rooms, hyping each other up and lightheartedly badmouthing their opponents while dressing. Morale was high, even with nerves biting at the newbie’s ankles, inexperience clinging to their robes. Harry led the way out and onto the Pitch with the large crowd cheering all around them. To his delight, the stands were a sea of House colors, mixed between all four areas with no acknowledgement of the prearranged seating expectations. The roaring lion and striking snake hats were visible in all four spectating bleachers. Luna would be proud.

“Captains,” Hooch called. “Step up to shake hands.” Harry and Bletchley met in the middle, reaching out with matching grins, and shook hands fairly. The crowd cheered. “Mount your brooms.” Hooch knelt by the locked box containing the balls. It trembled violently.

“Three - Two - One!” The lock blew off, the lid popped free, four balls shot skyward. “!!”

The whistle blew and the teams were off. Chasers raced for possession of the Quaffle, Keepers darted for their posts, Beaters lunged for that first hit as the Bludgers barrelled under and across. Harry and Malfoy hung back, eyeing each other and the Pitch as chaos erupted around them. The Snitch was long gone, but it would be back.

“With the Quaffle release, Gryffidor takes possession with Bell on a hot streak -” Zacharius Smith on the mic was grinning, McGonagall watching like a hawk. It seems she was still suspicious after Lee Jordan’s years of out-of-pocket commentary explanations. “Out of the gate Gryffindor seems ready to win! With both sides sporting brand new teams, we’ll get to see new dynamics and flying habits! And oh– Gryffindor Chaser Bell loses focus as Slytherin Beater Goyle sends a mean swing her way! Bell fumbles - WOAH - the Quaffle is up for grabs as Bell loses it - Slytherin Chaser Vaisey snatches the Quaffle midair with a tight dive! He heads straight for Keeper Weasley — Ron Weasley, not his sister Ginny as a Chaser, or his now graduated brothers, twins Fred and George — OUCH would you look at that save! Hope Weasley’s got all his fingers after that!”

Harry watched the Quaffle spin off Ron’s outstretched hand, broom lunging to the side as Vaisey sent the ball careening towards the leftmost hoop - a spectacular hit with Ron guarding the lowest post. Despite the speed and power of such a hit, Ron’s cupped hand sent the Quaffle ricocheting off point back into the play zone. Demelza, laying in wait, scooped it up and zipped off down the side of the Pitch, hugging the stands.

“Still nothing on the Snitch front, but there goes Gryffindor Chaser Robins passing to Gryffindor Chaser Weasley - WHAT - Weasley fumbles and drops the Quaffle?! I can't believe it!!” Harry couldn't believe it either.

Ginny looked absolutely furious, be that with herself or the world around her, because Demelza’s pass was beautiful, sailing right into Ginny’s hands, and the tiniest moment of distraction was enough for the Quaffle to pounce right out of Ginny’s lap as she failed to properly grasp the ball. With a look of baffled enthusiasm, the Quaffle was scooped up by Harper and he shot off with a clever pass to Urquhart, hurtling towards Ron for another shot at their hoops. Much to Harry’s distress, Ginny’s distraction continued, only worsening the longer the game dragged on.

By the time an hour had passed the team quit trying to pass to Ginny completely, which only infuriated her more. Her temper reached its peak when she finally had a chance to shoot a goal, only for her shot to sail wide - Bletchley didn’t have to move an inch.

“Chaser Weasley, rightfully so, is being practically sidelined by her team! Chasers Robins and Bell pass to each other once again, despite Weasley’s arm wide open for a catch. She does NOT look pleased by that–”

“Smith, I could kill you!” Ginny screeched, “Shut the fuck up already!”

“We’ve got yet another hothead Weasley on our hands–” Smith said, averting his eyes quickly. “And oh look - Chaser Robins is lining up for another shot - SHE SCORES! Bletchley couldn’t quite save it. Another point to Gryffindor, trumping the tie and crawling into the lead!”

Despite Ginny being only a detriment to the team, the Gryffindors were scraping by with three scores to two. Ron, frustratingly so, was quite obviously distracted by his sister's performance issues, resulting in two missed saves of the five shots Slytherin took against him. It wasn't like Ginny to miss, let alone drop the Quaffle.

Ginny was their best Chaser, at both tryouts and all their (albeit few) practice matches. Seeing her struggle when it really mattered, in front of the whole Pitch during the first game of the season, gave Harry major deja vu - perhaps she and Ron weren't so different in that regard.

“Ginny!” Harry shouted, pulling up beside his fuming teammate. “Get it together! We still have time to get them–”

“Shut up!” Ginny screamed, “You don’t think I know?! I’m trying, but they won’t send me the goddamn Quaffle!”

“If they send it your way,” Harry shot back, “Would you actually do anything with it?”

“I guess we’ll never fucking know will we?!” Ginny turned sharply, shooting off after the Quaffle, Vaisey having fumbled halfway across the Pitch. Harry sighed. He needed to finish the match quickly - if not for Ginny’s sake, then for Ron’s. Ron was clearly growing more anxious as Ginny’s mood continued to plummet. So much for his hope of racking up points before catching the Snitch…

Harry scanned the sky, unfocusing his eyes and allowing them to blur, watching the sea of colours surround him. Yellow bright from Hufflepuff stands - gold logos flashing carved into brooms - sunlight reflecting off Quidditch jerseys - wings beating against the wind and a speck of gold flashing across the Pitch - there.

“It seems both Weasleys are losing their touch - or perhaps they never had anything to begin with - who knows at this point -” boomed Smith’s voice, “Slytherin SCORES! Keeper Weasley dives and fails to save yet another goal, and Slytherin and Gryffindor are tied again! But - LOOK - the Snitch has finally been spotted by Seeker and Captain Harry Potter - Slytherin Seeker Malfoy is right on his tail! Go get it! Where is the elusive ball headed?!”

Harry’s vision tunnelled as he dove, spinning around a Bludger and pausing to deflect the Quaffle with his arm guard, inadvertently passing it right into Ginny’s arms. The fury on her face was paired with fiery determination. Harry didn’t have time for any kind of reaction or acknowledgement as he hurtled by and continued his chase for the Snitch. It zipped past and around the hoops, sending Harry on a chase all around the Pitch.

“Is Weasley getting her confidence back?! Where is she headed - Oh she’s - CHASER WEASLEY SCORES!!”

Harry gasped as Draco intercepted him, forcing Harry to pull up and lose the Snitch. Draco smirked and darted away, leaning forward with focused speed. Harry immediately gave chase, a grin ripping his face wide open.

“Ginerva Weasley is making up for her poor performance all at once! ANOTHER SCORE! That puts Gryffindor in the lead, seventy to thirty! That’s four scores from Chaser Weasley in a row!! Chasers Robins and Bell have been COMPLETELY sidelined! The tides have turned entirely! Chaser Weasley is untouchable!!”

Harry chased Draco with all he had, though even as they raced Harry saw no sign of the Snitch. It took him a while, but with a dumb moment of Draco looking back at him with a shit-eating grin, Harry realized Draco wasn’t leading him anywhere. They’d both lost track of the Snitch and Draco was simply distracting him!

“You bastard!” Harry shouted, immediately whipping around to scan the sky. It was directly above him. Harry shot upwards, only for a Bludger to careen his way and hit both Harry’s hand and the Snitch - the Snitch blew straight into Harry’s hand. Good news: Smith announced Gryffindor's win. Bad news: Harry’s hand was 100% broken.

“Gryffindor wins 240 to 30! What a smashing end to patch up that rather pitiful start! After a game of disappointment, Chaser Ginny Weasley made six scores back to back in a matter of minutes!! I’d say she’s more than earned that win, and she’s loudly announced her redemption!!”

All eyes were on Ginny, screaming in triumph, as the team rallied around her, landing in a huddle with cheers and laughter. Harry landed with a laugh, running over to congratulate her, cradling his hand to his chest. He still clutched the Snitch between his mangled fingers, delicate wings beating against his palm.

Outside the Pitch waited Theo, Hermione, Luna, and Blaise. The rest of the team kept walking with snickers and knowing looks as the four waiting students pounced on their targets. Ginny was scooped into a hug by Blaise as Luna grasped Ginny’s hands, worry and amazement and praise bleeding from them; Luna had given her hat to Blaise, who was wearing it quite unenthusiastically, but wearing it nonetheless. Hermione ran straight for Ron, jumping into his arms with a laugh and a bright kiss; his performance had been stellar, despite the few scores he let through, as those miraculous saves well made up for them. Theo, more quietly, approached Harry.

“Good job,” Theo’s eyes were sharp, silver flashing. “Give me the Snitch, will you? I’d like a trophy for such a win.”

“Uhh,” Harry laughed awkwardly. “I think I’ll hang onto it for a bit.” Theo’s eyes were too knowing.

“Hand it over,” Theo said firmly. “And that hand of yours. I saw that last hit.” Harry sighed.

“Nothing gets past you.” Harry reluctantly outstretched his arm, wincing as he twisted his wrist around. With excruciating softness, Theo took Harry’s wrist to examine his hand more closely.

“Can you even let it go?” ask Theo with a blink. “Can you uncurl your fingers?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “Can’t feel them at all, actually.” Theo sighed deeply, loudly.

“What’s up?” Ron stepped up, swiping sweat off his forehead. Hermione scrubbed a hand on her robes, Ron's sweat having rubbed off on her.

“Harry’s broken his hand,” Theo said plainly. “That last Bludger really nailed him.”

“Harry! Why didn’t you say something?” Hermione fluttered forward, fussing without touching, peeking over Theo’s shoulder. “I’ll get Madam Pomfrey–”

“I can walk,” said Harry with a chuckle. He retracted his hand, hiding a wince as he tucked it back to his chest. “I’ll just walk my ass up there, no point fetching her for just a broken hand.”

“We’ll come too,” said Ron quickly.

“No, you should hit the showers,” Harry said pointedly. “And you too, Ginny. Go get changed, I’ll be fine without a party of escorts with me.”

“If you say so,” Ron allowed. “But I’ll come check on you when we’re done!”

“If you say so,” Harry mimicked. Ron laughed.

Reluctantly, Blaise, Luna, and Hermione joined the Weasleys heading to the locker rooms. Theo and Harry headed into the castle, up the many steps to the Hospital Wing. Predictably, Madam Pomfrey made a much bigger fuss than was necessary.

“I’m glad you didn’t attempt to fix this by yourself!” Madam Pomfrey huffed. “If you had, your hand would’ve been healed in this curled position and I’d’ve had to rebreak them all to set them properly!”

“I deduced as much,” Theo said with a nod. “When he said he couldn’t uncurl his fingers, I knew we needed an expert.”

“A wise conclusion,” sniffed Madam Pomfrey. “Because you, in fact, are not an expert.”

“Not yet,” Theo muttered.

Harry spent the next several hours in the Hospital Wing, Theo watching closely.

"Here," Harry said, handing Theo the Snitch once it had been extracted from his broken grasp. "Your trophy." Theo just smiled.

.

Ginny

There was a party going down in the Slytherin Common Room, the dungeon having the biggest Common space to house the sheer number of people wanting in on the inevitable shenanigans, but Ginny did not join them. Feigning exhaustion after her scoring spree at the end, Ginny retreated to the silent Gryffindor dorm and collapsed on her bed.

The picture secretly tucked beneath her pillow practically burned a hole straight through into her head, consuming her every thought. It was stupid of her to put it under her pillow, but her mind laughed at the irony of it. There used to be something different under her pillow, something more dangerous, yet it was the same vestige haunting her once more.

An itch in the corner of her brain had her reaching for the flimsy piece of paper, lifting her head to mutely pull out the article clipping hidden there. Ginny’s hands shook as the picture moved, a familiar smile burned into her vision. A porcelain face, beautiful as a doll; flawless hair, ebony brushed into a perfect shape; an effortless smile edged with a little something extra, perhaps hidden, ulterior motives lurking beneath such a smile. A face she would never forget.

Front page image features Tom Riddle (young, appearing age twenty) walking beside his friends Tiberius Nott (middle aged, appearing age forty) through Diagon Alley, smiling and talking. Nott points out shops and Riddle nods.

Oh, how Ginny remembered that smile… Age could only change so much, and his jump from sixteen to twenty wasn’t nearly enough of a difference. The flashes in Ginny’s mind grew the longer she dared hold the smiling image in front of her.

The Diary used to hug her in her sleep - Tom Riddle would appear in her dreams and cradle her as Ginny poured all her worries, her strife, her naive fears and fragile hopes into the boy she thought she could trust. She shared intimate secrets, her most inner thoughts, her every motion and doubt, things she could never unshare or take back. He stole those things from her, fulfilling those naive fears and breaking those fragile hopes. The Diary sucked all the life out of her, almost literally, and she was too stupid to see it happening. There were signs, oh so many signs, but they fell on deaf ears and blind eyes and mute lips.

Ginny shoved the paper back under her pillow with a gasping breath, quick but gentle as the terror of damaging it clung to her trembling fingers. The paper captivated her so completely - Ginny had forgotten to breathe. The moment it was gone she begged for air, heart racing, lungs empty, head pounding. Despite the ice crawling through her veins, fire consumed her system from head to toe as she remembered the feeling of warm hands curling around her throat - large, adult hands on the throat of a small, naive first year.

The squeal of hinge broke her panic - the door creaked open. Ginny took a breath and held it.

“Ginny.” It was only Luna. Ginny blew out her panicked breath. Her chest burned.

Luna pushed aside Ginny’s closed curtains in one smooth motion, clever eyes ever watchful. Ginny said nothing. Luna wordlessly joined Ginny and sat on the bed, then fell onto the soft sheets at Ginny’s side. They stayed like that, basking in the silence.

Luna simply laid beside Ginny, hands touching, staring up at the ceiling together. Luna's plume of silvery hair tickled Ginny cheek where it splayed across the pillow they now shared. Luna's hands were cold against Ginny's feverish skin. Or perhaps the fever was all in her head.

“You’re missing the party,” Luna told her.

“I know,” Ginny replied.

“People are doing shots in your name,” Luna said. Ginny sighed.

“Of course they are,” Ginny said. “I reckon some of them will take any excuse to take a shot.” Luna only hummed her agreement.

Ginny was relieved Luna didn't ask about the game. If she had, Ginny wouldn't quite have an answer. How did she admit that, the moment the game started, Ginny was struck dumb by the memory of scribbling away in the Diary as she watched Harry Potter, only a second year at the time, fly so fast and so elegantly that she was inspired to fly too? How did she admit that the thing she once loved now carried too many memories for her to navigate without catching herself losing focus? How could she make up for the utter humiliation she served the team on the Pitch, all because a face in an article reminded her of a memory long dead?

Luna didn't ask, so Ginny didn't have to answer. When Luna did speak, breaking her silence to ask a question, it wasn't about the match. Ginny didn't know if that was better or not.

“Ginny,” said Luna, her voice falling feather soft. “Why are your thoughts riddled with Wallokurts?”

“I don't know what you're asking,” Ginny said blandly.

“They're little creatures inhabiting a person's mind, like Wrackspurts,” Luna told her. “They're in your head, you know. Like a cloud, hazing your mind. They trouble you, I know it. Why do you suffer so?” Ginny said nothing.

The ceiling above her was covered in painted stories of long forgotten Gryffindor myths. Wandless figures surrounded by light, creatures and beasts lurking around them, colours flying as spells danced through the air. The red curtains framing her bed created a shadow as light from the dorm filled the spade hidden by the curtain, throwing lines of hidden space, adding an ominous feeling as shadows encroached on the ancient legends. It was a comfort to know they were up there, perhaps watching. Though, when she really needed it, all those years ago on the darkest nights of her life, they hadn't been any help to her at all.

“It's nothing,” said Ginny. “My dreams haven't been kind to me as of late.”

“Are you hurt in your nightmares?” Luna asked. Her hand twitched, brushing Ginny's fingers softly. She made no further moves - just a quiet offer.

“No, I'm not hurt,” Ginny whispered. “But perhaps it would be better if I was; then I'd have more justification for how it's affecting me. But… it's just on loop in my head, I see it every time I close my eyes.” Torture was the closest word she could find. Mental torture.

“What do you see?” Luna inquired. Her hair still tickled Ginny's face.

“I see a boy I once knew,” Ginny told her. “A boy who I once trusted with my whole self - I gave him everything he asked for and more. A piece of me was given to him that I never quite got back. It didn't leave a scar, no mark of him was inflicted on my body, but I feel it inside me still. I thought I'd long forgotten the feeling, but I was wrong, I'm feeling it again and again, every time I fall asleep.” Sometimes, even when she was awake.

Luna remained silent. Again her hand twitched, a gentle caress. This time Ginny accepted, intertwining their fingers and squeezing tight - she imagined Luna never letting go, protecting her in the dark.

“Tom Riddle,” Luna said. Not a guess - a fact.

“Yes,” Ginny said evenly, eyes staring straight at the stories above her. “His name means nothing to me, nor Voldemort or any of his weird nicknames and titles. None of that felt the same as what I experienced in the Diary. It was just a name, right? But when I saw his face in the paper…” Ginny blew out a breath. “I don't know, it was like I could feel him with me again, shadowing behind me. I can't shake it, no matter how hard I try.”

“I can see why that would make it hard to sleep,” said Luna. “Is there anything that helps?”

“No,” Ginny sighed. “Nothing I’ve found, at least.”

“I could stay with you tonight,” Luna offered quietly. “I have nothing to do in the morning, I'd be happy to keep you company while you sleep. I’ll protect you from his shadow.”

“No,” Ginny said tightly. “I wake up sweaty and gross after I sleep, you wouldn't want to see that.”

“Yes I would.” Ginny turned her head in surprise. Luna was looking at her with wide, pale eyes with sincerity bleeding from the edges of her smile. The smile lines on her face and the dimple by her eye caught in Ginny's searching gaze, honesty open and pure. Her silver hair was a halo.

“Why?” Ginny croaked.

“Because you're my friend,” Luna said simply. “I've never had friends like you and the rest of the Wraiths before. People always teased me and stole my stuff, hid them in secret, mimicking the nargles around the castle. I didn't know it was them at first, I was naive. I know that. People told me I'd never be a real Ravenclaw, and I pretended it didn't bother me. But since joining Harry… I've never once felt left out. I’m a Ravenclaw because I want to learn, I want to see, I want to study my creatures in peace and collect knowledge like dust on parchment. You all have opened my eyes and accepted me as a person, as a Ravenclaw, and as Wraith.” Luna stared into Ginny's eyes wearing a serene smile.

“I'm endlessly grateful for everyone I have now, but especially you. You spoke to me kindly even before everyone else, helping me and defending me against the people who otherwise would've treated me poorly. You braid flowers into my hair and ask me how I'm doing, and you believe me when I tell you about the creatures others scoff at. I value you, Ginny Weasley. I want to help you if I can. And if we get sweaty, we can take a shower. Such is the beauty of running water.” Ginny laughed, her voice cracking.

Ginny didn't know how to respond to that. Luna’s speech was painfully sincere, that much was undeniable, and it warmed the ice growing on Ginny's broken heart. It was hard to describe what Ginny was feeling, but it was a good feeling. She squeezed Luna's fingers and offered her a small smile.

“Thank you,” Ginny said after a pause. “... And yes, you can stay.”

That night, hand in hand with Luna, warm under many soft blankets, a pillow shared with whimsical strands of silver and soft touches, Ginny had no nightmares. Luna and her light kept the shadows away. Maybe not forever, but Ginny didn't need forever. One night of peace was enough to overwhelm the fright so many nights in torment.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Slimy

“I'm starting to think you're taking a smidge of that Liquid Luck every morning,” Draco muttered, staring at yet another potion Harry managed to concoct perfectly. “It's uncanny.”

“As if I need luck to be better than you,” Harry preened. Draco shoved him and Harry laughed. “But seriously, I don't know what it could be. I'm not doing anything different than I used to.”

“Clearly you are,” Hermione huffed. She'd not stopped pouting since Harry began receiving more attention from Slughorn during class than she had. “What's your secret? What's been whispering in your ear to make you so good at Potions?”

“Perhaps you've improved because we've stopped sabotaging your brews,” Pansy said plainly, cleaning her station thoroughly. “Maybe you've been good all along and us messing with you, tossing things in your cauldron and stuff, hindered and masked your skill.”

“Now wouldn't that be something,” Harry chuckled.

“You weren't doing it last year, though,” Blaise said pointedly. “And your work remained the same. So how in the world have you improved so much?”

“I wish I knew,” Harry sighed. “All I've got are the notes I nabbed from you when we were kids, Hermione.”

“Notes?” Theo's eyebrows shot up. “Let me see.” Harry shrugged.

Rifling around in his bag, Harry retrieved a handful of rolled up parchments decorated with Hermione's slanted cursive, bullet points copied from the chalk board Snape used to teach and summaries of verbal instructions given. Some detailed how ingredients interacted with one another, some mapped out how to harvest and use certain plants, and more miscellaneous, random information. It was the basics written out by a first year Hermione, nothing more.

“I wrote this when I was eleven,” Hermione said. “How is this what's been helping you?”

“I didn't say it was helping me,” Harry remarked with a shrug. “I just said that it's all I've got. When I go to study Potions, this is what I use. It's like starting over and rebuilding the basics for me, since I'm meant to mind my education this year. I barely open my textbook anymore.”

“How?” Draco leaned in. “This is quite literally first year material.”

“It told me that crushing sopophorous beans is better than cutting them,” Harry said pointedly. “According to Snape's teachings. And, accidentally, that's exactly what I did for the Draught of Living Death. I crushed them with my hand and juice went everywhere.”

“That's not what the textbook says to do.” Hermione flicked curls out of her face with a frown. “Why would Professor Snape teach differently than the textbook?”

“Dunno,” Harry said with a shrug. “But it's the only thing I've done differently this year. I found them at the bottom of my trunk - they must've fallen at some point and never got thrown out.”

“Can I borrow them?” Theo asked. “I'd like to compare them to the textbook and see where the differences become obvious. If it only impacts difficult potions, the easier ones being much harder to screw up with, it would make sense that we've struggled to maintain our grades in the absence of Professor Snape's unique techniques. He was a master potioneer for years, I wouldn't be surprised if he modified or improved some recipes.”

“Looking for someone else to blame for your disappointing performances?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Theo said unashamedly. Harry snickered.

“Now that we're all finished and your potion samples have been turned in,” called Slughorn, reeling in their attention to his position at the head of the classroom. “Class is dismissed! Double check your potion vials are labeled for proper grading, and look forward to our next lesson!” Harry and his friends packed up their stuff.

“Harry!” Terry Boot ran up to them, grinning, hand in hand with a fondly smiling Michael Corner. “You did so great! Again!”

“I know,” Harry laughed. “I'm as baffled as you, honest.”

“It's because our new friend's rubbed off on you,” Terry said brightly. “I'll bet you've absorbed his talents just by standing in his magnanimous presence.”

“Wouldn't that be something?” Harry mused.

“Where are you two headed?” Draco asked.

“Down to the lake,” Michael said with a smile. “Terry wants to see the Giant Squid again.”

“I've got a whole loaf of toasted bread in my bag,” Terry said triumphantly, patting the leather satchel. “Let's see her try to resist me now.” Michael laughed quietly, fondly.

“We'll see you at dinner,” Michael said then, just before Terry took off, dragging Michael behind in his excitement.

“They look good together,” Hermione said. Harry blinked at her.

“Huh?”

“Oh please,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Didn't you see them after the Quidditch game? It was ridiculously obvious.”

“At the party?” Harry asked blankly. “I wasn't there, I was in the Hospital Wing.”

“They were pouring shots into each other's mouths and then snogging,” Draco said dryly. “Swapping spit and alcohol.”

“Ew,” Harry recoiled. “That sounds… well, it sounds rather gross.” Draco shrugged.

“Some people are into it.”

They all paused as Slughorn trotted over, his bald head catching in the bright firelight. His vest was pristine despite spending hours in the humid dungeons, buttons carefully fastened so as to prevent his large girth to pop the vest open.

“Oh! Just perfect,” Slughorn said merrily. “I was hoping to catch you all before supper! I know you spend the time socializing with the many different Houses, very admirable, I might add, but would you be interested in dining with me tonight? It'll be a little bit of a party, a couple of my talented students gathered so as to get to know each other better. There's nothing better than an intelligent collective, especially not smart solitude!”

“That sounds, er, great,” Harry said awkwardly.

“Wonderful!” Slughorn beamed. “Just wonderful. I'd like for you to come of course, Harry, but also some of your delightful friends. I know I mentioned it to Theo and Blaise on the train, wonderful to speak with you both again, but I'd like to extend my invitation to you as well, Mister Malfoy. And you, Miss Granger. Would you two do me the favor of attending my first Slug Club meeting since my return from retirement?”

“Sure,” Draco said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I'd be delighted to join the festivities."

"I would as well, Professor,” Hermione said quickly. “I'm honored.”

“Well, I must treasure my top students while I have them!” Slughorn laughed boisterously. “Soon enough you'll be gone, spreading your wings and going on to be successful individuals guided personally by my good self. Doesn't that sound lovely? I certainly say so!”

“It does,” Hermione said, shifting. “I'll look forward to it.”

“Oh! How delightful,” Slughorn said. “I'll see you all in a few hours then, let's say, 7 o'clock? It'll be hosted in my personal rooms, so just knock and I'll answer!”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said politely.

“Think nothing of it, my boy!” Slughorn said, rather gaiety. “I'll see you all at 7 o'clock, then.” Slughorn bustled off, carefully tailored clothes crinkling and stretching as he walked.

“So I'm just invisible, yeah?” Pansy muttered darkly, crossing her arms.

“You and me both,” Ron glowered.

“Believe me, you don't want his attention,” Harry warned. “He's just after the fame or money or information you can supply him with to grow his influence. Students are just trophies to Slughorn, nothing more.”

“How did I get dragged into this?” Draco said warily. “He didn't want to see us prior to the start of the year, clearly he didn't think we were worth his attention before. What changed?”

“Probably the snippet about your father in the Prophet this morning,” Blaise said blandly. Draco frowned.

“What snippet?” Draco asked.

“It was barely a page, all the way in the back. It featured a picture of him at a Ministry meeting with Theo's dad, nothing out of the ordinary.” Blaise told him. “But Harry mentioned Slughorn practically worshipped the ground Tom Riddle walked on once upon a time, and Mister Nott is cozying up to Riddle. Mister Malfoy is close with Mister Nott, thus it's possible Mister Malfoy associates with Riddle as well. Political nonsense, of course, but Slughorn seems the type to pay attention to the small things.”

“I thought he hated Riddle now,” Theo said carefully. He lowered his voice. “Didn't Mister Cork learn that Slughorn was regretful to know and tutor Riddle?”

“He did,” Harry confirmed. They all leaned in to hear. “But Mister Cork said Slughorn never mentioned He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during their interview. Only Riddle, and he expressed only sadness and regret for what went down between them.”

“Did Professor Slughorn suspect what might've happened to Riddle?” Hermione breathed. “What he might've become?”

“Mister Cork couldn't tell,” Harry said with a frown. “Slughorn said he'd heard rumors about Riddle's fate, but he didn't want to believe them to be true.”

“Slughorn probably takes Riddle reappearance to mean that the rumors weren't true,” Ron said then. “It's like an out for him - proof the knowledge he shared wasn't as dangerous and damning as he'd assumed. If Riddle is back, the same man Slughorn once knew, confident and whole, not a trace of malice or Horcrux madness clinging to him, Slughorn is likely giving him the benefit of the doubt and pouncing on the opportunity to free himself of the guilt he carried around for so long.”

“I think you're right,” Harry nodded. “Which means Slughorn will likely attempt to reconnect with Riddle soon, probably to see if the claws he sank into Riddle while he was at school still hold any purchase.”

“If they ever held any purchase to begin with,” Theo mused. Harry smiled.

“I wonder if it'll impact Riddle's motions,” Draco said. “If he can add Slughorn to his long list of supporters, it could offer many more connections through Slughorn's trophy collection.”

“Knowing Riddle, he's probably counting on it.” Harry straightened, breaking their whispering huddle, and cleared his throat. “But enough about Slughorn, why don't we join Terry and Michael by the Lake?”

“I'd like to go to the library,” Theo said. “I've some research to do with these notes.” He gestured with the parchment rolls Harry handed him.

“I'll want those back,” Harry said, eyeing the glimmer in Theo's expression. It was dangerously close to suggesting Harry wasn't getting Hermione's notes back.

“I'll do my best to humor your abstract study habits,” Theo said. “You'll see them again.”

“But will I get them back?” Harry raised his eyebrows. “In the same condition as I gave them to you?” Theo only smiled, angelic in all but his sharp metallic eyes.

“Mm... You'll see them again.”

To say Slughorn's personal chambers were big would be the understatement of the century - they were huge. There was no doubt Slughorn had enhanced everything inside, widening the walls and pushing the ceilings upwards, creating more space from nothing to add a luxurious atmosphere that reeked of false compliments and political schemes. Harry was surprised by the level of detail poured into every inch of the room, portraying all the Professor wanted to go unsaid. Luxury surrounded them, but it was simple in a way that expressed a sort of humble wealth, owning all the most expensive items but keeping them plain as possible. A falsehood, a lie, but a clever one. Slughorn was a Slytherin for a reason - that cleverness was all in the details.

Just inside the wooden door to his rooms was a large foyer, two sofas placed before a roaring fireplace, a soft rug inviting people to take a seat and stay forever. Adjacent was a dining hall, a round table so large in circumference it could fit perhaps fifteen people comfortably, though ten chairs were strategically placed with a name plate at each seat. The balcony beyond the dining hall was decorated with softly burning candles and plush seats on wooden chairs, a perfect scene of comfort and softness for more intimate meetings.

“Showy, isn't he?” Theo said, looking around with a calculating glance.

“Remind me not to take a picture with him,” Blaise said. “I would rather not end up on his trophy wall or display shelf.” They all looked to the wall of portraits, some graduate photos, Hogwarts students posed with Slughorn, holding awards and offers for work for rather impressive positions; Slughorn with individuals, Slughorn with larger groups, Slughorn throwing parties with laughing students and bright-eyed teens with sharpness and disdain in their eyes. Many remained oblivious to Slughorn's true intentions, but others were clearly wary with understanding as they stood and laughed with Slughorn in forever looping pictures.

“Ah, hello!” Slughorn burst from a closed door, presumably his private chambers, and greeted them all with firm handshakes and a joyous smile. “Welcome, welcome! Why don't you join the others in this room over here? Now we're just waiting for Miss Bobbin!”

Their group was led into yet another well decorated room, this one a massive library with large bookshelves and a rolling ladder to reach the ceilings. There was no fireplace, but the room was warm from the dozens of candles floating around the room over every flat surface, spinning slowly to throw shadows across the vast shelves. Hermione gasped and Theo's eyes widened almost imperceptively - their eyes raked across the titles, it was obvious they recognized very few as desired greatly to snatch them off the shelves.

“Ah, book lovers, are we?” Slughorn laughed loudly, “Feel free to visit me and my library any time! So long as you're gentle with them, you may read them here whenever you like.”

“Thank you, sir,” Theo said softly. “You are too kind.” Harry had to turn away and cough at the bland essence of the words, disdain at the locked up knowledge aimed at Slughorn beneath the veiled softness.

“Oh think nothing of it!” Slughorn said. “Make yourselves comfortable, I'll just finish up the table to ensure everything is set for supper while we wait for Miss Bobbin.” Slughorn bustled out of the room.

Harry stood awkwardly, surveying the other occupants. Two girls, looking to be twins, sat on a couch together with bland looks, staring at the shelves blankly; there looked to be little behind their eyes,

“Potter,” McLaggen drawled, lounging on a nearby couch by a large bay window. “Granger… What a lovely surprise.”

“I can't say I feel the same,” Harry said coldly. McLaggen ignored him.

“Hello again, Granger,” he said. “I see you're without that dreary boyfriend of yours - what, he doesn't live up to Slughorn's expectations?”

“Watch it,” Hermione hissed. “I'll take your knees if you talk about Ron like that again.”

“I wouldn't mind being on my knees for you,” McLaggen smirked. Hermione's face heated, brown cheeks darkening, and her fingers twitched towards her wand. Harry stepped forward and took her trembling hand in his. She squeezed tightly.

“That's not polite,” Harry said lightly. “Nor appropriate at a gathering such as this.”

“I wasn't talking to you.” McLaggen leaned forward with a sneer. “After barring me from the team, you're lucky I didn't report you for biased judgement.”

“Biased judgement?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “How terrible of me to pick the Quidditch hopeful who saved more goals. That sounds oh so biased to you, but not so to anyone with a proper brain.” McLaggen flushed with anger.

“How dare you–”

“Professor,” Draco said loudly, silencing the room. “I see Bobbin has arrived. Wonderful.”

“It is so!” Slughorn exclaimed, entering the library with Melinda Bobbin in tow. “Are you already acquainted?” Harry recognized her name and face, she was one of his fourth year Ravenclaws. Slughorn likely took interest in Bobbin's position as the heiress of a massively successful apothecary chain, set to inherit everything when her wealthy and accomplished parents retired. She smiled shyly, waving.

“We do,” Draco told him. “Hello again, Bobbin.”

“Hello,” She said softly. Bobbin looked at Harry, mischief sparking in her eyes. “Good evening, Mister Harry.” He forced down a heavy sigh or an embarrassed laugh, only inclining his head to her.

“Mister Harry?” Slughorn exclaimed, beaming with excitement. “And what's prompted an honorific such as that?” Harry sighed, eyeing Bobbin's not-at-all-apologetic quiet smirk.

“I used to tutor some of the younger years,” Harry said. “It was nothing, really, but apparently it made an impact on them.”

“How marvelous!” Slughorn clapped his hands together with a gasp. “Do you aspire to be a Professor, then?”

“I do,” admitted Harry. “A Defense Professor.”

“Ah! We must have a chat about that some time!” Slughorn chuckled. “I'd wager we can swap a few stories as well, I'd love to hear about some of the lessons you've given.” Harry barely kept a smile on his face - there were very few things he'd enjoy less than that.

“Perhaps some time,” Harry said through his false smile. Slughorn practically vibrated in place from excitement.

“And on that note, speaking of stories,” Slughorn said with a great clap. “I'd very much like to begin our dinner and get this party started. I can hear from all of you at once throughout! Who's hungry?”

“I'm starved,” McLaggen drawled, standing in an elegant sweep. “Lead the way.” Slughorn beamed.

The dinner went smoothly, but it was clear to Harry that only McLaggen was enjoying himself. Even the Carrow twins looked bored to death, not showing the slightest interest in Slughorn as he praised the accomplishments of their mother, a rather famous Charms Master that frequented Africa in the hopes of becoming proficient in wandless magic and spellcrafting. Harry had to admit, creating new spells was well above what he imagined himself capable above. He wondered if perhaps Theo could have a stab at it…

“Thank you all for your company tonight,” Slughorn said as they all gathered in the main foyer, finished eating and chatting until Slughorn cried in surprise over the time that'd passed during his babbling at dinner. “I do hope to see you all again next Thursday as well, perhaps it can become a habit!” Slughorn laughed heartily.

“I wouldn't miss more chances to speak with a Professor of your status and intellect.” McLaggen swaggered, and Harry wrinkled his nose. Harry got the distinct feeling McLaggen and Slughorn were of the same mind - McLaggen was just as slimy and prideful as their new Professor.

They were dismissed, all assured they wouldn't receive detentions for wandering around so late, and Slughorn was grinning ear to ear as he watched them go. Harry finally let out a shudder as they turned a corner and out of sight.

“That didn't end soon enough,” Blaise groaned. “Who knew someone could talk so much and portray so little?”

“Especially McLaggen,” Theo mused. “Every word from his mouth was filler, evading the point of his sentence for far longer than necessary, just to hear his own voice for longer.”

“Slughorn wasn't much better,” Hermione winced. “I thought, as a Professor, he'd have more interesting things to talk about than just the accomplishments of his previous students. But, it would seem, I was wrong.”

“Right?” Draco said, and cursed under his breath. “What was McGonagall thinking? Him? What made her think he was a good choice?”

“She didn't pick him,” said Harry tiredly. “Snape was in charge of finding his replacement, and he was likely in a hurry to find a replacement Potions Master before his dream position was taken from him again. I imagine he just went to the man who taught him and called it a day. In the grand scheme of things, Slughorn's not a bad choice. He's got teaching experience, he actually enjoys educating, and his only defect is his affinity to collect talented students he deems ‘special’ in some way. It's not the worst choice, all things considered.”

“Whatever Snape thought,” Draco made a face. “I'm not a fan of it.”

“Compared to the other new Professors we've had,” Hermione said. “I'd say we can put up with the occasional slimy dinners.” She smiled.

“When you put it like that…” Draco crossed his arms. “But must we attend his dinners? I've only been to one and already I wish he'd go back to ignoring me.”

“Can we just skip?” Blaise raised an eyebrow. “I can't imagine he'd force us to attend if we said no.”

“I can,” Draco said darkly. Harry chuckled at them both.

They spent the rest of the evening complaining about Slughorn, all smiling as they bundled up together on the couch of the Gryffindor Common Room before the roaring fire in thick red blankets and fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Politics

“Today marks the beginning of our revolution. All the progress we've made throughout my allyship with the Speaker, throughout my recovery and return to humanity, throughout my reintroduction to the Wizarding community of Britain, has been mere behind the scenes management. The real groundwork begins now at last.”

Tom sat before his Knights, all seated where he'd directed them, his hands folded on the table before him as he surveyed their faces. Tiberius was the bravest among them, smiling with open trust and admiration - he'd accepted Tom's return the easiest of his Knights, and with the most genuine relief. They were only kids dreaming of change once upon a time. The others were still wary, some more than others, particularly the pair of siblings seated across from each other down the table; Tom was watching them closely, unsure whether they'd test their boundaries and break his trust. Loyalty only went as far as the subject's will.

“Today I am to visit the Ministry and request a position within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Tom said after an appropriate silence. “They'll accept my request immediately, though they'll surely question it, and from inside we can slowly tear down the fragile walls.”

“Why the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?” Yaxley asked, just as he'd asked a dozen times already. “It doesn't make sense - forgive me, Riddle, but I cannot fathom why you want to gather the trust of minorities such as Beings and Beasts.” Tom clicked his tongue.

“Those minorities are far greater in number than any governing body can track, let alone regulate,” Tom told him. “Instead of registering and regulating the existence of the troubled peoples, the Ministry should be offering help. Werewolves aren't dangerous going about their daily lives, and their monthly needs can be met through access to a safe place to change or with the aid of Wolfsbane to retain control of their mind. Vampires are widely misunderstood as well, considering they're only dangerous when starved; if vampires are kept fed and properly cared for then they're not a threat to those around them whatsoever.

“So many part-wixen or wixen-adjacent individuals are misunderstood due to blatant falsehoods and harmful propaganda shared amongst the masses, and supporting these banished peoples can make such a difference in the lives of those forgiving enough to give us a chance to help.” Tom looked to all of his Knights in turn. “They've been oppressed for too long - our revolution begins with the fraying edges of society, and we'll work our way into the core of it one campaign at a time.”

Tom smiled at Yaxley, sweet and sharp. “Does that answer your question?”

“I suppose,” Yaxley said with a tight frown. “You make it sound so grand, what with your showy speeches, yet I can't make myself care about them as you seem to.”

“You don't have to care,” Tom told him simply. “That's my job, and the Speaker's job. Your job is to assist in any way I might need, specifically within the inner workings of the Ministry where decisions are made behind the scenes. You don't have to understand my goals to follow my orders.”

“I know,” Yaxley sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You are most magnanimous, Riddle.” Tom only smiled at the slight jab.

“So in all of that mess of plans and ideals,” drawled Alecto Carrow, gaze firm as she met Tom's eyes. “Where do we come in?” Her brother Amycus tilted his head, awaiting Tom's answer as well.

“Same as Yaxley,” Tom reminded them with one arched eyebrow. “You work within the Ministry. Keep an eye and an ear out for any whispers of distrust or disdain towards me and my plans, and notify me of any ill-intent you hear. Never, I repeat, never, are you to take any matter into your own hands. I care not what they say or what they do, all information must be presented to me and all actions carried out will be at my word. Any insubordination on your part will be instantly known to me, and your Unbreakable Vows will ensure a swift death to any of you that may seek to sabotage or betray me.” His followers shifted uncomfortably, all reminded of the consequences awaiting traitors.

The shift in their goals was difficult for some of his Knights - they were expected to release years of conditioned hatred and prejudice towards entire populations between one day and the next, so a struggle to comprehend the massive shift in ideals was understandable. They followed a man who sought to slaughter hundreds and butcher thousands, committing great acts of genocide between meals like all those deaths meant nothing; torture was second-nature to the Death Eaters following Lord Voldemort. Unfortunately for his Knights of Walpurgis, the ones who now swore their allegiance to Tom Riddle, that behavior and belief system was no longer acceptable.

It took awhile, but Tom took Harry's advice and tied every one of his Knights down with an Unbreakable Vow to ensure they kept their wands and tongues to themselves. Though… Tom didn't follow Harry's suggestions exactly. He let himself be a little more creative with the punishments. Any attempt to harm another living being, for self defense or otherwise, would end in a pain not unlike the Cruciatus shooting through their entire body. If that warning didn't suffice, any second attempt, be that immediate or years after, would result in instantaneous death. If they attempted to divulge Tom's secrets, or secrets regarding the Speaker, their tongue would be ripped out of their mouths and thrown up on the floor in moments. Suffice to say, his Knights didn't intend to betray him anytime soon.

Tom told Harry of the Vows, of course, but he neglected to mention the details; he knew Harry wouldn't approve. Harry would much rather see traitors thrown in Azkaban, tortured to insanity and death by the dementors guarding the desolate island, but what Harry didn't know wouldn't hurt him! Tom was taking no risks when it came to Harry's safety and security - if that meant sending his followers to their deaths instead of Azkaban if they try to defect, then so be it.

The meeting ended shortly after, reports given and orders doled out, leaving Tom and Tiberius alone in the Manor once again.

“Do you have eyes on any of them?” Tiberius asked him. “Yaxley had his mouth open this session.” Anger flashed in bright metallic eyes.

“I doubt he'll do anything bolder than speak out,” Tom mused. “The worst he can do is nothing - if he chooses to step away for us and no longer follow my orders, I won't stop him. The Vow will keep his silence better than loyalty ever could.”

“You could stop him.” Tiberius looked at the door with a scowl. “I could rip out his tongue for speaking to you like that.” Tom laughed.

“You sound like we're kids again,” Tom said warmly. “Old habits die hard, it would seem.”

“When are you heading to the Ministry?” Tiberius asked, steering away from his protective anger. The request in his voice was obvious enough to have Tom smiling.

“In about an hour,” Tom said lightly. “Though I'd love for you to accompany me, I think it's best my independence isn't questioned when I'm applying for a job.”

“Understandable,” Tiberius conceded. “And how do you plan to acquire said job?”

“I'll speak to Miss Gethsemane Prickle, freshly appointed the Head of the Department,” Tom said. “She's still green, having been given the title only two years ago, and I know she'd much rather be in the Research Committee.”

“The Research Committee?” Tiberius raised an eyebrow. “I thought being assigned there was only temporary, a stepping stone before being transferred to one of the various Departments.”

“It certainly can be, but there are some who dedicate themselves to gathering research to better serve the Departments in which they send new hires off to.” Tom headed up the grand staircase to his quarters, Tiberius trailing behind. “Prickle is a Potioneer and a Herbologist by trade and education, and her use in the Department of Magical Creature Regulation is no greater than any individual chosen off the street. If I manage to dissuade her from the position as Head, I could likely usurp her position and reassign her to the Research Committee. It would be a sting to her pride, that's for sure, but she'd be happier in the long run as she'd turn her career onto a path she's truly passionate about.”

“Let me guess,” Tiberius drawled. “You already have a speech prepared.” He leaned against the open doorway as Tom slipped inside his room to gather his fine coat and shined shoes.

“Naturally,” Tom replied with a lazy grin. “I've always been a planner, Tiberius.”

“I know that all too well,” Tiberius chuckled. “Even back in school you were always so collected, so ready for anything. You had backup plans for days, over even the smallest, most trivial things.”

“Nothing is trivial in politics,” Tom said. “Every move must be calculated, slow, and with perfect intent. You know this.” Tiberius shrugged.

“I'm not one for politics,” Tiberius reminded him, as he always did when Tom spoke of it. “I'm more of a follower than anything.”

“And you're damn good at it,” Tom told him. “As you are at everything you do.”

“You flatter me.” Tiberius grinned widely. Tom laughed.

“I must be going,” Tom said. “I've a Head to usurp and a Department to take.”

“Good luck,” Tiberius said dryly, moving aside to let Tom leave. “Though Merlin knows you won't need it.” Tom just winked as he left Tiberius in the hall, heading for the Ministry and his future.

Tom arrived at the Ministry, appearing in the wide open Atrium with not so much as a wobble as he landed, smiling to himself as he remembered the first few times he attempted Apparition and how badly it turned out for him. He straightened his vest, pressed and steamed into perfection, not a wrinkle marring the vest or the white button-up beneath it, and headed for the elevators.

People stared as he passed. Tom knew he looked beautiful, regal, humble confidence and bright talent oozing from his every step. With his head held high and his back straight, shoulders back, Tom walked like a predator sent to protect the prey, to save them, to change their world and enlighten them to the true meaning of magic. Harry's smile flashed in Tom's mind, a reminder of why he cared enough to push his way back into the politics he once ran from in the pursuit of immortality and ultimate power. He wanted to rule the world, once, and perhaps he still did, but now he thought differently about it. He wondered what kind of world could he build to match Harry's hopes and dreams - once it came to fruition, would they be able to maintain it? Or would they slowly crawl back into prejudice and hatred after Harry and Tom were gone? Well… that was a problem for later.

“Mister Riddle!” Ah, he'd been spotted by reporters; hungry vultures stalking the next story, the next headline. “Mister Riddle - a moment of your time!”

“I do apologise,” Tom said to them, smiling as he pushed past the growing crowd of cameras and microphones. “I don't have time for an interview today.”

“Can't you tell us where you've been?” A shout called above the bustle. “You disappeared decades ago, where have you been all this time?”

“I've been in America,” Tom told them. He reached the elevators and turned to face them, preventing any eager journalists from jumping in with him. “I wished to learn about magic there, and I've found something fascinating I plan to share with everyone. Not today, no, but once I've settled and I'm ready to reenter society as your equal, you'll be the first to know.”

Light flashed and voices overlapped, excitement and shock and awe rising exponentially, but the elevator jumped with a start as Tom pressed the glowing number 4 along the elevator wall. The lift's robotic, feminine voice was drowned out by the noise. Tom saw that as a blessing, glad the reporters and various vultures wouldn't know where he was headed. He wasn't ready to announce his plans yet - he still had much to discuss with Harry before Tom did too much without him. But Harry was kind and forgiving, thus Tom wasn't terribly worried. If it was for the betterment of their cause, Harry wouldn't protest beyond mild irritation for being left out.

“Level Four: Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating the Beast Division, Being Division, Spirit Division, Goblin Liaison Office, Centaur Liaison Office, Pest Advisory Board, and the Office of Misinformation.” Tom stepped off the lift.

The lobby for the Department was spacious, the smooth marbled floors echoing his footsteps, the high ceilings catching his breaths as he looked above. Colored stripes led from the lift through the many doorways, a curious design that struck Tom as intentional. He hadn't ever bothered to visit Level Four of the Ministry before he lost himself, he'd never had a reason to. Now, however, he was impressed by the simple elegance that spoke volumes to how they cared for it. Perhaps it was one of the under-appreciated Departments, but that wouldn't go on for long.

A man sat behind a long desk pressed against the far wall, the clean wood countertop clear of clutter and organized impressively. Tom approached the desk and the man looked up at him, eyes widening as he beheld and recognized Tom.

“How can I help you?” asked the man, clearing his throat and straightening.

“My name is Tom Riddle,” Tom said, voice like silk. “I'd like an audience with the Head of your Department, Miss Gethsemane Prickle.”

“Uh– Do you have an appointment?” The man pulled out a thick binder from somewhere under the desk. “I don't recall seeing an appointment with her today on the schedule.”

“No, I don't,” Tom admitted. He sounded sheepish, but falsely so. “I do apologize, I know her time is most valuable. Only, I was hoping she could take time out of her busy day to see me.”

“I'll certainly ask,” the man said, again clearing his throat. “You can take a seat for a moment, if you like.”

“Thank you,” Tom said graciously.

The lift was framed by a line of chairs against the curved wall of the rounded lobby space, each delicately carved wood with swirling patterns of creatures and magic. Tom chose one at random, examining the carvings. His chair was decorated with roaring flames and cunning eyes, claws of werewolves and teeth of vampires. They existed together in the carvings, a beauty in the images that drew Tom's attention genuinely. They were a small detail in an elegant room, but it was the details that made all the difference.

“Mister Riddle,” the man at the desk called. “She'll see you now.” Tom stood.

“How kind of her,” Tom said graciously. “Thank you very much for your help.” The man flushed to the tips of his ears, blood rushing to his face.

“Just doing my job,” he replied. “Follow the blue lines on the floor, they'll lead you to her private office.”

“Thank you,” Tom said again. He then turned, eyeing the stripes of color in the marble as he found and followed the blue stripe. It was a piece of the sea, sun hitting the water at just the right time to make it glow. It captured the vibrant color so well as it ran along the floor, mapping the path for visitors to follow. Other colors were present too: yellow daisies covered with morning dew, anger and heat in a red smile, dainty leaves falling from autumn trees, and green not unlike grass under an overcast sky. They were beautiful together like that, even as they split off and disappeared around corners and through doors, leading the unfamiliar through maze-like halls. Tom followed his ocean stripe dutifully.

The door to Prickle's office was nothing special as he reached it, a wooden door with iron hinges painted a smooth gray, and Tom knocked gently with the gold knocker centered above the round handle. A call from inside answered, “Come in.” The door swung open with a soft groan.

Prickle was beautiful in her youthful poise, springy blonde curls framing an ivory face, an expression of determination flashing across her sharp, pureblood features as she beheld him. She was intimated, but trying not to show it. Tom respected her for it immensely.

“Mister Riddle, I presume?” She asked, gesturing to the seat across from her on the opposite side of her desk. “I admit, I was surprised to hear you'd come to see me.”

“Thank you for taking the time to see me,” Tom said graciously, sitting as prompted. “I have matters I wish to discuss with you, to which I hope you're receptive.”

“What's this about?” Her thoughtful eyes narrowed.

“I learned you used to be part of the Research Committee before your transplant over here,” Tom said. “The Research Committee, to my understanding, is in charge of testing and hiring new staff members. Is that correct?”

“It is,” Prickle said.

“Wonderful,” Tom smiled. “I know you're no longer part of the Committee, but I'm aiming to join this Department specifically, and I fear I'll be placed somewhere quite random if I go through the usual processes. I thought of you, of how you were unfortunately assigned here when your heart lies elsewhere, and I hoped you might be able to understand me better than the Committee as a whole.” Prickle's expression was softer than before.

“It's true that I didn't originally want to be here,” she said. “But I cannot change that placement. I'm not sure it would be fair of me to change your placement either, wherever that may be.”

“You wish to change your position?” Tom tilted his head. “Has your time here not cemented your love for it?”

“It has not, unfortunately, but as Head of the Department I am needed,” Prickle sighed heavily. “If I asked for a transfer, who's to say my replacement would be any better than I? I may not love my job here, but the responsibility of keeping such a lost Department up and running with so little traffic has been… difficult, to say the least.” She grimaced.

“I understand,” Tom told her softly. “I too am worried for the Department, that's why I've come.”

“Are you fond of Creatures?” Prickle asked. Tom nodded brightly, smile growing.

“While I was traveling in America, I encountered more non-wixen and wixen-adjacent individuals than I'd ever seen here,” Tom confided. “They're not so shunned there, and the openness of it all really impacted me. I made friends with werewolves, vampires, even some better tempered hags. They're not so different from you and I, they just need good people to look out for them. This Department is so empty because we don't yet have solutions for the problems that plague our people, but I feel those solutions are within our grasp if only we had the passion to find them. I want to make a difference, I always have, and this goal seems attainable to me, if only I have the backing of the Ministry. Individually, even with the support of my friends and the media following me around everywhere, I can't make the kind of difference I want to. That's why I sit before you and ask to be hired here, in this Department. I want to help, and I feel you're the perfect person to help me get started on the path I've dreamed of for years now.”

“Am I fond of Creatures?” Tom continued, circling back. “Yes, I am. Creatures, Beings, Beasts, even Spirits, I just want to help them. They're so oppressed it makes me ill when I see it in the streets of our community. My heart aches for them, and I want them to feel safe enough to ask for help. That's all I want, and I feel that you can help me.” He said nothing more, looking away in false embarrassment before looking back at Miss Prickle through veiled eyelashes.

Prickle looked at him with unbridled awe. Wonder oozed from her face and posture, leaning towards him almost against her will as he drew her in with his speech. Tom was used to that look - expected it - desired it. It had been a long time since he used natural charm over spelled torture, and he was reminded of why he became a leader in the first place. It wasn't to dominate, it wasn't to rule, it wasn't to destroy and leave death in his wake, he wanted to inspire others and lead. He wanted to guide people, to teach them, protect them. When had he lost that? At what point did it become about dominion over enlightenment? Tom didn't know, and looking into Prickle's unbridled admiration, Tom decided he didn't care. He spent too long living in his past to do so now - this was all for the future.

When Prickle finally spoke, it surprised Tom. “What would you do as Head?”

“I don't imagine myself in such a position so quickly,” Tom lied shyly. “But… If I were Head, I'd begin restructuring this Department to support Beasts and Beings over regulating them. People treated like criminals act like criminals, it's inevitable, a dark slope many fall into not by choice but by being forced down there by others. I would begin my change there.”

“What kind of support would you offer?”

“For werewolves, I'd create a space for them to safely Turn.” Tom shifted in his seat, looking her in the face now. “Not cells, no, but rooms with padding and light and room to pace. They'd be sealed inside from dusk to dawn, and then released to eat and get medical attention if they've injured themselves. If we get enough funding, perhaps we'd also sell small cases of Wolfsbane. The rooms would be free, of course, but the Wolfsbane would be a purchasable item to those with the resources to afford it. Having two options will create a sense of safety in the community, especially if we don't ask for their name, their address, not even a way to contact them. It would be framed like a charity, not a prison.”

“For vampires, we'd likely be relying on the generosity of sponsors and supporters.” Tom crossed his legs, playing with a frown on his face. “If we had a store of blood, disease free and healthy, like a Muggle blood bank, available to vampires in need of sustenance, we could eliminate the famine amongst the vampiric communities. Those crazed rampage and bloodthirsty, savage attacks only happen when vampires are starved of what sustains their mind and actions. Their hunger is valid, and offering them a safe option for feeding would help exponentially as more and more vampires trusted us enough to come for blood. Of course, as I mentioned, we'd be relying on blood donations, which may be hard to find at first. We'd need to spend money on advertising, which is an unfortunate evil we must deal with. But with proper information given out, and good marketing, vampires would be rendered harmless and sane as any other wixen-adjacent individuals.”

“I suppose you have plans for the Liaison Offices as well,” Prickle deduced, eyes still wide. “What of those?”

“Collective meetings would be the first step,” Tom hummed a little. “I'd gather as many willing participants to a sort of counsel meeting, proposing a different system than our current regulatory method. Instead it should be about building alliances, strengthening relations and creating a sense of unity. We aren't better than the other races, we're just the dominating overwhelming force, which means we have the resources to oppress them as we see fit. That's wrong. We should beg their forgiveness and ask they give us another chance to make things right. This Department has maintained a bad reputation for too long, and parleying with the offended parties would set us ahead and help raise our reputation to something respectable.”

Again, Prickle was speechless. Every word he spoke, through no magic or mental coercion, charmed her greatly. She saw the sincerity, the truth in his speech, though she missed the underlying grandeur he added just to impress her, and it inspired her. Tom saw it all process in thoughtful, clear-minded eyes that watched and understood.

“Apologies if I came on too strong,” Tom said bashfully. “I just really care about these issues, and working here in this Department is so important to me.”

“No, you didn't,” Prickle said quickly. “I mean - your speech was everything I needed to hear. Thank you.”

“So…” Tom trailed off, lowering his eyes. “What do you think? Would I be a good candidate for this Department?”

“Riddle,” Prickle sighed. She seemed to be steeling herself, determination outweighing whatever else she might've felt. “I'd love to have you on board with me. However, I have one condition.”

“Oh?” Tom looked up, pouring excitement and relief into his face. “Name it.” Prickle took a deep breath.

“I want you to be the Head of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Prickle said, face set and voice hard. “I've never been passionate about the work I do here, my talents are in Potions and Herbology, and perhaps a demotion and transfer back to the Research Committee where I started will bring me some clarity. As for you, I believe letting you serve as the Head of this Department will be the best thing this place has ever seen. You strike me as determined, confident, emotional, and passionate. You're the perfect person to replace me.”

“What?” Tom's eyes widened, feigning shock. “Me? But I've never worked as a Head before.”

“Yet you'd do the job better than anyone I've worked with.” Prickle's eyes were sad as she sighed. “Give me two days to request a transfer and notify the board of all this, and you'll soon receive an owl with your congratulatory letter and official job offer.”

“I– I can't thank you enough,” Tom said warmly, painstakingly glad. “To give me your position - I won't let you down.” She reached across the desk to touch his hand, smiling.

“I know you won't.”

Tom went home that day victorious.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Wool's Orphanage

A stream of yellow and black soared by, whipping Harry's face with wind and cold. The Seekers were on a chase - Austin Summerby was good, really good, but Cho was pulling ahead with a wild grin. Her hair was plaited back, but still it slashed around her face like dark water rushing down a river.

“Another score for Hufflepuff, Craig Dunn is on fire!! That puts Ravenclaw down by thirty! Seventy to forty to Hufflepuff!” Zachariah Smith was on the mic again, screaming into it as the game came down to its final moments. “Ravenclaw's only hope now is to catch the Snitch, and Seeker Cho Chang is a fingertip away - YIKES! Tricky move from Hufflepuff Chaser Cadwallader, passing the Quaffle to the waiting hands of fellow Chaser Dunn straight through Seeker Chang's path of flight! She fumbles - there goes Summerby taking the lead –”

Harry's eyes widened at Summerby's dive, hurtling towards the ground with a hand outstretched. The Snitch jerked upwards, twisting impossibly midair to change direction far too quickly for a person to replicate. So Summerby jumped. His hands stretched forward, both of them, groping for the Snitch as he fell. His fingers brushed it.

“Austin Summerby everybody, he's caught the Snitch!” Smith shrieked loudly, voice ringing through the Pitch. “And OW what a nasty fall! Don't worry guys, we've learned our lesson and have Madam Pomfrey on standby! He's in good hands, and so is the Snitch! The game ends with a Hufflepuff win, two hundred and twenty points to forty! A crushing defeat for Ravenclaw.” Smith, a Hufflepuff, seemed immensely pleased with that. Though he said nothing more into the mic so as not to trigger McGonagall, lying in wait for him to slip up.

The party in the basement of the castle following the game was massive, Hufflepuff patting the Ravenclaws on the back and sharing snacks and blankets as they utterly demolished the Hufflepuff Common Room. Drinks and finger food and blankets and pillows were readily available for those in need, building an irresistible fort and ambience that kept the party going for hours.

Harry stayed as long as he could, finally forced away by his biweekly Saturday commitments.

“What d'you think he'll show you this time?” Draco asked, escorting Harry through the castle. He didn't need an escort, but his Prefect friends insisted someone walk with him just in case. Draco won the intense Roshambo match they all played out this time.

“I'm not sure,” Harry admitted. “He said we'd been looking directly into Voldemort's past, but he also said he'd have ‘outward contributions’ for me to see as well. Whatever that means.”

“I wonder what he'd deem important enough to show you…” Draco trailed off, humming to himself. “Perhaps the first time that Dumbledore found Tom suspicious.”

“So the first time they met,” Harry mused. “Makes sense.” Draco snickered.

Together they made their way through the halls, Draco leaving Harry at the doors of Snape's Office with a mocking bow. Harry just shooed him away with a laugh, soundly knocking on the door. Dumbledore welcomed him inside.

“When I determined you'd brought the Malfoy boy with you, I nearly assumed you were being escorted to detention.” Dumbledore's eyes gleamed, though Harry wouldn't tell what the intent behind it was.

“Draco's a friend,” Harry reminded the Headmaster evenly. “It's late, and he wanted to walk with me. That's all.”

“Hm. A curious friendship,” Dumbledore said softly. “But that's not why we're here, is it? We're here to talk of Tom Riddle.”

“Yes sir.” Harry confirmed. “So what's on the agenda for today?”

“Two memories,” Dumbledore said. He beckoned Harry to the Pensieve, drawing a vial from his sleeve. The blackened hand hidden there was limp and twisted. “As I'm sure you recall, I showed you before of the living conditions in which Merope Gaunt lived, and the tale of her ruined marriage to the handsome Muggle Tom Riddle. Today, we will explore her journey through London carrying the child who would become Lord Voldemort.” Harry just nodded.

Dumbledore poured the vial of starlight into the basin, watching as the fog intermingled with shining water. Harry looked at Dumbledore curiously.

“This memory is courtesy of Caractacus Burke, co-founder of Borgin and Burke's.” Dumbledore stroked the runed edge of the stone rim. “It was a chance meeting that brought me to Caractacus Burke, but a pleasant one. Pleasant for me, anyway, and the memory we're to view today is indeed useful to our purpose.”

“How's Burke related to Merope?” Harry asked. He didn't want to know how Dumbledore retrieved a useful memory from Burke - it likely wasn't offered to him by choice.

“She had no money when she arrived in London after Tom Riddle left her, and nowhere to seek refuge,” Dumbledore told him. “She had even less to barter with. All she had was the family pendant she wore, and she was desperate enough to seek out Burke, a rare artefact collector.”

“She sold him the Locket?” Harry exclaimed. “He must've passed out from excitement, it's priceless! Or - I guess it would be - I mean, if it was a real heirloom of Slytherin - like Marvolo said, I think.” Damn it, stupid! Harry wasn't supposed to know of the Locket, except for the tiny bit Marvolo Gaunt had said of it in the previous memory!

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said with a nod, miraculously having missed Harry's stupid slip up. “He was beside himself with smug pleasure at the scam he ran with her. But he gave her enough for her to find sanctuary to birth her son.”

“That's terrible,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “Scamming people is despicable, she didn't deserve that.” Dumbledore smiled.

“The sympathy you show is valiant, but Burke was not known for his generosity,” Dumbledore said softly. “Let's delve right in, shall we?”

“Sure.” Harry nodded, blowing out a breath and turning to the basin. He needed to keep his mouth in check.

Harry was expecting the feeling of his feet leaving the ground this time as he looked into the water, holding his breath as he was tossed over the edge and sent tumbling through a starry space of silver and white. He landed in a dark alley he recognized - it was Knockturn, just outside Borgin and Burke's. He'd been there a handful of times, including his accidental visit via a botched Floo trip.

Dumbledore landed silently beside him, guiding Harry forward as a shadow ducked between alleys and shuffled through the streets. It was a small woman hidden beneath a cloak, shoeless with a tattered dress hanging just past her knees. Harry winced at the state of her battered legs, bare and scrapped with little skin to be seen beneath the grime and blood. Harry felt sorrow for her, for what she'd suffered. Merope Gaunt was far from innocent, but her life was still one he greatly pitied.

“At this point, she had perhaps two weeks before the birth of her son,” Dumbledore said conversationally, following as Merope headed for the glass doors of the bargain shop. “I can assume this was a last resort.” Harry said nothing.

They followed as Merope slipped inside, the door creaking as it swung open just enough to let her through. It was lit inside, still dim but certainly brighter than the dark night outside. Merope tossed down her hood, revealing matted and greasy hair. Her face bore two bruises over one side of her face, indications of an alteration not revealed. She was round with child, starvation clinging to her body with her stomach protruding viciously, the baby clearly draining her for all the little she had. It looked anything but comfortable. Harry had a hard time looking at her.

“What?” A man appeared, snapping at her. He was small and mousy, hair like straw long enough to fall over his eyes. “What do you want?”

“I'm here to sell,” Merope whispered. She clung to the pendant around her throat. “My name is Merope Gaunt, I'm a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. This…” She took a deep, shuddering breath as a breeze swept in the unsealed window. “This locket is a family heirloom, dating back to Slytherin himself.” She sounded repulsed by her own words.

“Is that so?” Burke raised a drawling, disbelieving eyebrow. “Let me see it.” Merope unclasped it with shaking hands.

They stood in silence as Burke examined it, turning it in hand and muttering, tapping the symbol and engraved markings with a short apple wand. With every tap of his wand his eyes grew wider, a hunger stirring as his fingers clasped it. He didn't want to let it go, he didn't want to lose such a precious artefact. It was one of a kind, genuine, and the truth of it dawned in his eyes all at once. He slid narrowed eyes at Merope, standing in the middle of the room shivering and shaking. Her rags brushed the floor, only dirtying them further.

“Well, it passed my inspection,” Burke said casually, licking his lips. “It seems to be real. I'll offer you some galleons for it. What's your price?” He knew Merope didn't know how special it was - he was well prepared to milk that obliviousness as much as possible.

“Twenty galleons,” Merope murmured. Harry knew that was enough for two nights at the Leaky Cauldron, or a few trips on the Knight Bus.

“Phew,” Burke groaned. “I can't do that. How about five?” Merope whimpered.

“Fifteen.” Her voice was anything but strong.

“Fine, I'll offer you ten,” Burke grinned. “Final offer.” Merope wilted, shoulders slouching as she clutched her bulging stomach.

“Fine,” she breathed. “Give me ten and the locket is yours.” Burke's smirk widened. He snagged a coin pouch from the nearby counter, peeking inside before throwing it at her. Merope cried out as it fell at her feet, scrambling and failing to pick it up as her bones creaked and her belly got in her way. Burke just laughed, disappearing into the back room as Merope struggled.

“That was cruel,” Harry said tightly. “She offered him what was probably more valuable than the entire shop was worth, and he tossed her ten galleons?” He couldn't rip his eyes from Merope, panting and sweating as she finally scooped the pouch off the ground. She wobbled, but kept her feet as she limped out of the shop.

“Business is cruel,” Dumbledore replied. “Though your compassion is amazing for such a woman.”

“She was just a mother,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “She was looking out for her kid.” Dumbledore's pitying smile only irritated Harry further.

“Not every mother is as brave as yours,” Dumbledore told him, gentle and serene. “Merope Gaunt lived a life of suffering, and when the stress of birth took her health she didn't fight it. She chose to die despite a newborn son who needed her. That is not a choice made by the brave, but by the wounded.” Harry just nodded, remaining silent so as not to shout. He didn't know what to think of her, but the way Dumbledore spoke as if she were as bad as Voldemort was absurd. Merope was just a girl drowning in her own poor choices, she was hardly evil.

With a wave of Dumbledore's hand they surfaced, Harry gasping as he was thrown back into Snape's dim office. He barely had time to adjust before Dumbledore tipped another vial and stirred a new memory into the basin. Harry calmed his racing heart with several deep breaths.

“Where are we going now?”

“We're delving into one of my memories,” Dumbledore told him. “I think you'll find it insightful.” Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders.

“I'm getting sick of Pensieves,” Harry muttered. Dumbledore laughed, eyes bright. Harry faceplanted into the water, falling down and down and down. He landed on the streets of London in midday, overcast skies above them. It was an old fashioned sort of street, an ancient building standing before them.

Made of bricks and stone, the building was several stories tall and sturdy, snuggled between two buildings climbing much higher, marking the beginnings of skyscrapers taking root in the city. Wooden shutters decorated the outside of the building, all painted a clear white, well maintained without chipping or cracks. It seemed nice, if not a little plain, with very little in the way of charm. An iron gate surrounded the square faced building, railings and bars reaching past the first level, a large white sign posted for all to see.

Wool's Orphanage, A Children's Sanctuary

Harry knew of Wool's Orphanage, he'd heard of it from Tom. The place caught his mother's attention because of the name; she thought Tom would be safe there. They rarely discussed Tom's childhood, but Harry knew he grew up in the heart of London at Wool's Orphanage under the matron named Ms. Cole, a plain woman with cruelty nestled beneath her breast. Tom was anything but safe in the orphanage of his childhood, and Harry feared Dumbledore would show him exactly why.

Harry remained still as Dumbledore landed beside him.

“Ah, there I am.” Dumbledore's words brought Harry's attention to a young sized wizard with reddish auburn hair and a neatly trimmed beard, donning a bright purple velvet three piece suit. Harry choked. Dumbledore just smiled knowingly.

They followed as the young Dumbledore strode towards the gate, unlatching it to approach the large double doors to the orphanage. He knocked, the sound echoing in the empty courtyard. The door creaked open to reveal a small girl in an apron, hair frazzled and face pinched.

“Good afternoon, miss,” Young Dumbledore said. “I have an appointment with your matron, Ms. Cole. Would you be able to help me?”

“Just a moment.” The girl eyed him up and down, then turned and shouted over her shoulder, “MS. COLE! A VISITOR!” A shriek in response crooned, and the girl turned back to Dumbledore. “She'll see you in a moment. Come in.”

Harry followed the two Dumbledores inside, scanning the space. The floors were tile, checkered black and white in pattern, the walls bare and smooth. It looked shabby and bland, but it was clean and maintained just fine. It looked outwardly to be a fine space to raise children without homes, discipline and safety taking priority over comfort and any sort of welcoming ambience.

A voice could be heard down the hall. “No no, stupid! Take that to Martha, she's in need of some iodine for her injured leg, not the boys! Billy and Eric need bandages for their chickenpox welts - they've been scratching and pickin’ lately, they'll no doubt scar if we don't tie their hands too. There's some more rope in the basements if you need, just keep those boys from pickin’ those welts. Lord knows we don't want no infections –”

A middle aged woman, anxious and messy, bustled in with a nurse on her heels. The woman, Ms. Cole, struck Harry as a busy sort of person, uncaring so long as everything that needed to be done was carried out and tied in a neat bow. She ran a tight ship by any means necessary, and it seemed Dumbledore in his purple suit didn't fit in her little ship. She stopped dead upon seeing him in the foyer.

“Hello,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “I sent a letter requesting an appointment, and you so kindly invited me to see you. My name is Albus Dumbledore, if you recall?”

“Uh, yes,” Ms. Cole said skeptically. She turned to the nurse quickly. “Miranda, take care of lunch for me, will you? Send the sick kids to their rooms for isolation, we don't need that horrid disease spreading. Two staff members haven't had it, and if they develop shingles I'll have to let them go.” The nurse, Miranda, nodded.

“Yes ma'am.” Miranda scuttled away.

“We had an appointment, you say?” Ms. Cole said to Dumbledore

“Just so.”

“Guess you'd better come to my office, then.” She led Dumbledore through an old door, revealing a room fit for both an office and a sitting room, featuring all manner of ancient and mismatched furniture pieces. She sat behind an old desk and motioned for Dumbledore to take a seat in a thickly woven chair with a wood frame. Harry watched, very conscious of his own Dumbledore watching too.

“Thank you for seeing me,” the young Dumbledore said to start. “As I mentioned in my letter, I'm here to discuss Tom Riddle and his future.”

“You family of his?” Ms. Cole asked.

“No, I'm a Professor,” Dumbledore smiled kindly. “I've come to offer Tom a place at my school.”

“What school would that be?”

“Hogwarts, by name.” Dumbledore sat back in his chair, interlacing his fingers. “It's a boarding school in Scotland, so you needn't worry about transporting him every day.”

“Why is it you're interested in Tom?” The woman's eyes were sharp.

“He seems to have the abilities we search for in our students.”

“Like a scholarship?” Her brows raised. “He's not applied for any schools or scholarships, we wouldn't allow it here for our children.”

“Ah, but we've had his name down as a prospective student since his birth.”

“How could you have?” Ms. Cole demanded. “Who'd have enrolled him? Certainly not his mother, and we've not heard a lick of his father, despite Tom being named after him with both his given and surname.”

Dumbledore, with a sigh, came to the same conclusion as Harry - Ms. Cole wasn't buying it. So Dumbledore pulled out his wand and a parchment, smiling widely at Ms. Cole as he handed her the blank sheet, tapping it once.

“I believe this should explain everything.” Ms. Cole accepted the paper skeptically, but then her eyes faded away and a haze clouded her face. Harry watched her sway, then straighten. She blinked.

“That does clear things up,” She said faintly. “Everything seems to be in order.”

“Just so.” Dumbledore nodded, waving a hand to summon a bottle of gin and two glasses. “I'm glad we could sort that out.” Ms. Cole blinked again.

“... Would you like a glass of gin? I do like gin when I have the time to sit.”

“I would, thank you,” Dumbledore beamed. Harry watched Ms. Cole pour two generous glasses, then knock hers back in one gulp. It twisted his stomach to see the disorientation she expressed, Dumbledore's talons groping her mind.

“Now, if you would humor me, would you tell me more about Tom's history?” Dumbledore asked, swirling his glass but not drinking. “He was born here at the orphanage, was he not?”

“Right you are,” She said clumsily. “I'd just started here myself when his mother stumbled in, New Year's Eve, you know. She was cold as ice, she was, it was snowing outside. I'm surprised she lived long enough to carry the kid to term - she looked so ill and frozen. We lost her nought an hour after her son was born. All she told us was he was for his given name to be Tom, after his father, his middle name Marvolo, to honor her father, and Riddle last to claim his father's family. Load of good it did him, no Tom or Riddle came knocking. Nobody ever came to get him or see him.”

Dumbledore said nothing, only watched as Ms. Cole took a swig of gin straight from the bottle and sighed heavily. It seemed she really wasn't taking the mental gymnastics he'd done very well.

“He's a funny boy,” Ms. Cole said then. “Always has been.”

“I'd imagine so,” Dumbledore mused. Suddenly Ms. Cole looked at him, eyes bright and sharp once more.

“You're taking him away?” She demanded.

“Yes.”

“And nothing I say'll change that?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Hmm.” Ms. Cole paused, thoughtful, then sighed again as a drunk flush ghosted her cheeks. “I'll thank you for it, if that's not too much to say.” Dumbledore cocked his head.

“Why do you say that?” He asked.

“He scares the other children.” Ms. Cole looked around as though Tom might hear, then continued. “I've never caught him doing mischief, but something about him tells me he did it…”

“Unnatural things?” Dumbledore asked carefully. Ms. Cole nodded.

“Billy Stubbs got himself a rabbit, see, and Tom hated that thing, he did. Billy and Tom had a bit of a quarrel and, what do you know, we found that rabbit strung across the rafters the next morn. I don't know how Tom woulda done it, being as small as he is, but I can't help but suspect him.” She wiped her chin as gin slid down after a particularly large swig, and her cheeks were flaming red now. Harry was starting to wonder if she'd keel over midsentence.

“There was another incident - we take the children down once a year for a trip, a summer outing, see - we went seaside for a few days and when we came back poor little Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite the same. They'd wandered off with Tom, see.” She pushed back stray hairs that stuck to her damp chin. “They all swore up and down that nothing happened, none more than Tom, but I know something was amiss when they got back. Such funny things… Tom really does scare them, you know…”

Harry eyed the bottle of gin, noting two thirds had been drained by Ms. Cole alone, Dumbledore still swirling his untouched glass.

“Why gin?” Harry asked, turning to his older version of Dumbledore. “Why get her drunk for this?”

“I did nothing - she already had a bit of a palette for it,” Dumbledore said, quite amused. “I noticed she had some in her cabinet, and it was easy enough to summon before her. She needed no coaxing to offer me some, and then she was off.”

“I take it that's because of the spell you used to change her mind,” Harry said wearily. “It probably gave her a wicked headache.” Dumbledore only smiled.

“I s'pose you’ll want to see Tom?” Ms. Cole said, nodding to the door as Harry turned back to the scene.

“Oh, very much so.” Dumbledore beamed. He smoothly got to his feet, and Ms. Cole followed with a surprisingly steady gait. It seemed her cheeks and tongue were more heavily afflicted by alcohol than her feet were.

They followed as she led them up a flight of stone stairs, the checkered tiles continuing as the landing spread into a long hallway. Helpers passing by received clipped instructions, albeit slightly slurred, and children in the hall all but melted into the walls as Ms. Cole strode by. They all wore dingy but well made grey tunics, dull and lifeless as the building itself. Harry shuddered - it seemed a desolate place to grow up, orphan or no.

Ms. Cole led them to a room with a blue door and a silver letter marking it. She knocked.

“Tom, you have a visitor. This is Mr. Dunderfloor - no, Dumbleboar, or, whatever. He's here to talk to you about - oh bother, I'll let him explain. We're coming in.” The door swung open and Ms. Cole ushered Dumbledore inside, thus Harry and future Dumbledore followed. The door swung shut behind them.

The room was as barren as Harry expected, nought but a wardrobe, a wooden chair by the window, and a bed sat on an iron frame. The walls were as grey as the sheets and wardrobe, dull enough to depress even the brightest of children. Tom sat on the bed - he was tall for an eleven year old, but his face portrayed pale, innocent beauty. He looked just like his father, Harry realized, the resemblance was uncanny.

“I'm Professor Dumbledore,” said the young Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand to shake, smiling gently. Tom only stared for a moment, then suspiciously shook Dumbledore's hand.

“You're a Professor,” Tom said softly. “Is that like a doctor?”

“Not at all, I am a teacher.”

“I don't believe you.” Tom's tone was as bland as his expression. “They want me looked at again, they want to chase away the things inside me that make me different.”

“Well, I'm afraid there's no way to do that,” Dumbledore said with a small chuckle. “You see, I teach at a school called Hogwarts. It's a school for people possessing magic. Wizards and witches, that being, wixen. We carry something ordinary people don't. You carry it too, don't you Tom? The magic in your blood. You can do things the other children can't do.”

Tom's expression cracked as excitement sparked in his eyes, a flush of something close to pride crossing his face as he replied, “Magic? What I have is magic?”

“Just so,” Dumbledore told him. “And what kind of magic can you do?”

“Lots,” Tom breathed. “I can make things move without touching them - I can make animals do what I say without training them - I can make people tell me the truth, I can make them hurt, if I want.”

“Yes, those are all things a wizard is capable of.” Dumbledore leaned forward. “Hogwarts is a place for green students to hone and control their magic. At school you will learn more than you can even imagine, but you must wield that magic only for the betterment of you and those around you. It is not a toy.”

“I know,” Tom whispered. He looked down at his hands, awe floating across his expression. “I knew I was special, I knew I wasn't mad. Magic, all along it was magic…” He looked up suddenly. “You say I'm a wizard - are you a wizard too?”

“I am.”

“Show me,” Tom commanded. Dumbledore clicked his tongue.

“If you are to attend Hogwarts, I will be your Professor,” Dumbledore scolded lightly. “You will address me only as ‘Professor’ or ‘Sir’ in all cases.” Tom's face went blank, all emotion smothered.

“I understand.” Tom's voice was suddenly polite, angelic, even. “I was only wondering, Professor, if you might demonstrate. Please, sir, I must see it with my own eyes to believe it.” Harry glanced at Dumbledore. Would he allow such a thing? In a building full of Muggles?

He got his answer when Dumbledore drew his wand. Tom watched, entranced, as Dumbledore reached over to tap the top of the wardrobe, pulling back as the whole of it went up in flame. Green and blue flames licked the ceiling, torching everything in an arm's breadth. Tom jumped to his feet with a shout, eyes bulging. Dumbledore extinguished the flame in an instant.

Tom turned to Dumbledore very slowly. He pointed, “When do I get one of those things?”

“A wand?” Dumbledore slid it back up the sleeve of his suit. “All in due time, Tom. For now, I believe there's something in your wardrobe there shouldn't be.” Tom tensed. A rattling could be heard inside the wardrobe, muffled and shuffling. “Open it.”

Tom slid the door open and reached up, already knowing what it was Dumbledore wanted. Above the hanging grey uniforms and the shelf for shoes, Tom retrieved a trembling silver box. It rattled as though live animals were attempting to escape. Tom looked at Dumbledore expectantly.

“Is there something in that box that ought not be?” Dumbledore asked keenly.

“One might say so, sir,” Tom replied evenly. With a coaxing motion from Dumbledore, Tom opened the silver box to reveal completely ordinary objects. He dropped them only to the bed. A yo-yo, harmonica, a collection of small marbles - none of it seemed particularly interesting.

“You'll see to it that those are returned to their rightful owners with many apologies,” Dumbledore said to Tom. “Thievery will not be tolerated at Hogwarts, Tom.” His eyes dared Tom to argue - he didn't take the bait.

“Yes sir.” Tom didn't so much as twitch.

“Now, I'm sure you've been using your magic quite often up until now,” Dumbledore said. “You've been using this power of yours in various ways our school would never teach or allow, all accidentally, I would hope. It is understandable considering your circumstances, but that behavior ends now. We at Hogwarts have the ability to expel students who do not follow our rules, and our Ministry of Magic will dole out punishments severely to those who break laws outside of the school as well. You are responsible for your actions now that you know what you are, now that you're joining our world accountability is essential. Do you understand me, Tom?”

“Yes sir,” Tom repeated evenly. Dumbledore nodded firmly.

“Now, here is your official letter.” Dumbledore drew a letter from his velvet pocket, holding it out. Tom accepted it like the envelope was made of gold. “Inside you will find your acceptance letter, as well as a list of all the school supplies you'll need before the start of the school year next September.”

“I haven't any money.” Tom examined Dumbledore cautiously. Dumbledore only smiled, again reaching into his pocket to produce a small coin pouch.

“There are funds available for students in need of financial assistance,” said Dumbledore. Now what Tom accepted actually was gold, and he clutched it with awe and possessive desire. “You may need to buy some of your robes and spellbooks secondhand, but there will be enough if you use it sparingly.”

“Where am I to buy those things?” Tom asked. He eyed the gold galleons inside, correctly deducing no ordinary store would accept such currency.

“Diagon Alley, of course,” Dumbledore said. “I'll be there to show you where everything is.”

“You're showing me around?” Tom looked up.

“I will, if you need–”

“I don't need you,” Tom said quickly. “Sir, I mean to say. I'm well used to being on my own, I walk around London alone all the time. I just need directions, if you wouldn't mind, Professor. Where might I find this - Diagon Alley?” Dumbledore gave him a calculating look, then nodded.

The young Dumbledore began explaining the secret entrance through the Leaky Cauldron, giving Tom a rundown of how to enter the magical community through the brick courtyard, and offering small insights into the layout of Diagon. He named shops, routes, and people, so many that Harry was surprised by how intently Tom was listening, as if absorbing every word. It was very Tom, Harry realized with a hidden smile.

“You said school starts next September,” Tom said once Dumbledore had finished. “Where am I to go?”

“There is a train ticket in there for you as well,” Dumbledore told him, pointing to the letter. “That'll be Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross station, accessible through the permeable barrier between Platforms 9 and 10.” Tom nodded seriously, clutching the envelope and the pouch.

“Thank you for this opportunity, Professor Dumbledore,” said Tom with infinite politeness. Now Dumbledore smiled, warmth returning.

“My pleasure,” He said, and stood. “Now, is there anything else you wish to ask before I leave? If you need no help in Diagon Alley, you won't see me until classes start in September.” Tom frowned. He looked to be deep in thought before looking up at Dumbledore again, suddenly hesitant.

“The snakes,” Tom said softly. Dumbledore paused. “They find me. Everywhere I go they find me, talk to me. They say things, all kinds of things, and I can speak to them like any person. They follow me without me asking. Is that normal for someone like us? For a wizard?”

Dumbledore was very still when he spoke. “Such an ability is unusual, but not unheard of.” Dumbledore turned away. “It's inherited from a parent to a child, that's all.”

Tom's eyes gleamed as Dumbledore turned away. “Inherit…” He whispered the word like a prayer.

“I believe that's enough. M” Dumbledore, the current one, touched Harry's shoulder, pulling him up and up and up, until Harry's face broke the surface of the memory water and gasped.

The room was darker than Harry remembered - he blinked and wiped his nose, as surprised as he always was to find himself completely dry. Dumbledore coaxed Harry into a chair, watching him and waiting.

“He believed you so easily,” Harry said with a blink. “It took far longer for me to believe Hagrid's words were the truth. I mean, I didn't believe him even after he cursed Dudley. I thought it was a dream, perhaps even a hallucination.”

“Tom was more than willing to believe in magic in a way you were unprepared for,” Dumbledore told him. “Using his words, Tom always knew he was ‘special’. That is the difference between you and him.”

“He seemed so normal,” Harry said, and meant it. Tom, so young and alone, seemed so relatable to Harry. He was alone, friendless, people driven away by his magic and his strange habits, accused of ridiculous acts they couldn't prove. Much the same happened to Harry in his childhood - every class pet that died, every article of homework lost, every fault and error was blamed on Harry. Harry was the bully, the troublemaker, the villain in their eyes because he was strange and easy to blame. It seemed, at least to Harry, that the same phenomenon happened to Tom.

“An easy thing to acknowledge,” Dumbledore replied. “But did you notice his independence? He asked for no help, save information, preferring to work alone in isolation. Tom Riddle, even as a child, was possessive of his time, his abilities, his accomplishments - those stolen possessions were trophies of his misdeeds. This magpie-esque behavior was the beginning of his journey towards creating his Horcruxes. How many of those cursed objects he created I could not tell, but perhaps as we progress down his story it will become known.”

“Did you think he was evil from the moment you met him?” Harry asked quietly. He wondered if Dumbledore would have seen the same in Harry himself if he heard what Petunia and Vernon said about him - he was definitely the villain in their little deluded story.

“No, not evil,” Dumbledore hummed. He tapped his uninjured hand on the table between them. “But I had decided to keep an eye on him when he arrived at Hogwarts, though perhaps I would've done so anyway, since he was so friendless and disliked for a reason. He was unusually powerful for one so young, competent enough to wield it not only accidentally, but purposefully. He used his magic to twist those around him, he used it to get what he wanted. It unnerved me greatly to sense his obvious inclination towards domination, cruelty, and malice, especially in one so young. I do believe my caution was warranted, seeing how things played out in the end.” Harry said nothing.

Dumbledore had his eye on Tom from the start, all because one building hated him, the people he grew up with, people he was trapped with his entire life. Dumbledore took everything at face value, investigating nothing beyond his own careless suspicions. Maybe Tom was at fault for some things, maybe he learned to wield his magic to protect himself from the lurking evils within the orphanage, but Dumbledore didn't care to ask if Tom actually did those things, or if the people trapping him were merely slandering his name. It made Harry's stomach churn.

“Time really does steal away,” Dumbledore said then. “It's best if we head in for the night, I'm sure Professor Snape will be glad to have his Office back.” Harry nodded. He got to his feet, deep in thought.

“Professor.” Harry looked back at Dumbledore as he made to leave. “Where do these memories lead?” Dumbledore only smiled.

“Wherever they take you.”

Harry again found his way to McGonagall’s Office, pushing open the door without bothering to knock. She was waiting for him, of course, but she wasn't alone. Tom was leaned up against her desk, half covered by an invisibility cloak, a dashing image that reminded him that Tom really was the perfect politician. Tom looked up in delight.

“Harry,” Tom took a step forward, pulling him into a tight hug the moment he got close. “I received your letter. I cannot visit often, but tonight I had business with McGonagall and decided it wouldn't hurt to see you too.”

“Good to know I'm an afterthought,” Harry said with a grin. He shot McGonagall, sitting at her large desk with a fond smile on her face, a short wink. “What kind of business?”

“The kind that needs to remain a surprise,” Tom told him. He stepped back, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. “But I digress - I wanted to speak with you about something. It's about the memories.”

“I saw more tonight,” Harry said quickly. “Dumbledore showed me Merope selling the Slytherin Locket to Burke while she was pregnant with you, getting herself completely swindled as he only offered her ten galleons. I also saw the day you and Dumbledore met at Wool's, which he had a lot to say about.” Harry paused - Tom looked paler than usual. “Are you alright?”

“My mother…” Tom shook his head roughly. The perfectly placed strands of ebony hair shifted, falling across his forehead. “I'm just going to move past that and say what I wanted to say. Harry, in your letter, you said you wished to see my memories, correct?” Harry nodded, baffled. “You see, I believe I've found a way for you to do just that.”

“Huh?” Harry blinked stupidly. “How? Do you have a Pensieve too?”

“No, it's much more invasive than a Pensieve.” Tom took a deep breath, removing his hand from Harry's shoulder. “As Voldemort, I toyed with the idea of trying to control you through our Horcrux connection, influencing your dreams and thoughts, but discarded it in the mind of keeping our alliance sincere. Now, if you allowed it, I believe I could do something similar with better accuracy and the proper delicacy needed for such an act.”

“I'm not following,” Harry said, frowning. “You'd, what, go in my head?”

“If you asked me to show you memories, I could push them into your dreams and show them to you.” Tom smiled, apologetic and soft. “It would probably be quite unpleasant, seeing as you'd be quite literally living my memories instead of watching them. You'd feel what I felt, see what I saw, everything. I know it's not a Pensieve, and probably a terrible idea, but I thought it better to ask than keep the possibility to myself. I would also never attempt such a thing without your permission, thus I decided to broach the subject–”

“How?” Harry asked, interrupting as confusion built. “Does the Horcrux give you access to my head?” Tom winced.

“Not quite, but… sort of.” Tom reached out a hand and brushed his thumb across Harry's scar. That comforting spark filled Harry's body with a hum - a familial ache that soothed Harry to his core. “That. You feel that connection? That's the Horcrux tying us together. During the ritual, I spoke to it. That piece of me inside you is like a gateway, and I believe I can tap into it to reach you, if I must. I'd discarded such a thing before, deeming it unnecessary due to our closeness, but perhaps I could use it for communication through your dreams.”

“You can talk to the Horcrux?” Harry touched his scar, exactly where Tom had touched moments before. He felt nothing. “Is it sentient?”

“All of them were, they carried pieces of me inside them. You still do.” Tom sighed. “If you are against the idea, the best I can do is write to you every week through McGonagall. This visit will be the only one - my role in our plans is starting, and my time will be monopolized very soon by the new position I've set myself up with. It will be good for our goals in the meantime, and it'll get our cause a foothold in the community, but it means I won't have time to see you again for some time–”

“Do it,” Harry interrupted again. Tom paused. “Dumbledore is going to show me more of you in his memories, I can tell, and I want your side of things. I want to understand what he's showing me, understand where it's coming from. If that means living your memories like they were my own, I'm willing to do that. Letters won't cut it, and, if you're going to be busy with our work, I want answers the best way you can give them to me.”

“Harry, are you sure?” Tom asked.

“You're offering,” Harry said with a shrug. “Why not? If you're sure it's safe, and it'll get me the answer you need, I'll do it. How would it work?”

“Well, I couldn't do it after your lessons,” Tom said slowly. “Too much time spent sorting through other people's memories could harm you and your own memories, be that with a Pensieve or your dreams, and I would never wish for that. But if I did it slowly, perhaps one scene per week, well enough away from your lessons with Dumbledore, I could reveal to you moments relevant to what you're seeing in your lessons.”

“Would I just tell McGonagall what I'm learning and relay that to you?”

“That would suffice.” Tom glanced back at McGonagall. “I apologize for leaving you out of this conversation. Would this arrangement be agreeable? Unfortunately, it would seem we intend to use you as our middleman.”

“I believe I can manage to send a letter or two every fortnight,” McGonagall said dryly. Harry laughed.

They spent the next half hour together as Harry recounted everything Dumbledore showed him, laying it out for both Tom and McGonagall to hear. Tom reacted poorly to the memory of his mother, torn between so many valid reactions, but seemed to shove it down as Harry explored the visit Dumbledore paid to Wool's.

Harry was exhausted by the end of it. Tom said his goodbyes and stepped through the Floo with another tight hug, and Harry collapsed on McGonagall’s couch the moment he disappeared. She knelt at the edge of the couch, brushing back his sweaty bangs. His eyes drooped with tired, glad exhaustion.

“He really cares for you,” McGonagall whispered. “Riddle. He worries, you know, and it would seem to me that you worry for him too.”

“He's my family,” Harry murmured back. “As are you, Professor.”

Harry drifted off to sleep before hearing her response.