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Chapter Text

Spells crackled through the dark halls of the Department of Mysteries. Harry's footsteps echoed against the stone floor as he ducked behind a shelf filled with glowing time-turners. Red and green lights flashed overhead, illuminating the dust particles floating through the air.

"Stupefy!" Hermione's voice rang out from somewhere to his left.

A Death Eater crashed into the shelf behind Harry. The entire structure swayed, glass tinkling as hundreds of time-turners shifted precariously.

"Harry, move!" Neville shouted.

Harry dove forward just as the massive shelf began to topple. Time-turners rained down, their delicate golden chains tangling around his arms and neck. Glass shattered against the floor, releasing clouds of glittering sand that swirled through the air like a golden tornado.

The world spun. Colors blurred together as Harry felt himself being pulled in every direction at once. His stomach lurched. The voices of his friends grew distant, warping and stretching until they faded completely.

The spinning stopped. Harry slammed into cold stone. The Department of Mysteries materialized around him - but different. Gone were the scorch marks from spells. The shelves stood pristine, organized, with fewer time-turners than before.

Harry's head throbbed. Shards of broken time-turners surrounded him, their golden sand scattered across the floor. He pushed himself up, his palm slicing against a piece of glass.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, trying to get his bearings. The room tilted and swayed.

Footsteps approached from behind. Harry spun around, nearly losing his balance.

A tall wizard in navy ministry robes stood at the end of the aisle, wand pointed directly at Harry's chest. His sharp features twisted into a scowl. "This is a restricted area. How did you get in here?"

Harry gripped his wand tighter, mind racing. The wizard's stance spoke of experience - feet planted, wand arm steady.

"I can explain-"

"Incarcerous!" Thick ropes shot from the wizard's wand.

"Protego!" Harry's shield charm burst to life just in time. The ropes bounced off harmlessly.

The wizard's eyes narrowed. "Breaking into the Department of Mysteries and resisting arrest. Drop your wand."

"Wait, please, I'm not-"

"Stupefy!"

Harry dove behind a shelf. The stunning spell exploded against the wall behind him, showering him with stone chips.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry called out, but the wizard deflected it with a casual flick.

"Impedimenta! Incarcerous! Stupefy!"

The spells came in rapid succession. Harry blocked the first two but the stunning spell caught him in the shoulder. His arm went numb, wand nearly slipping from his fingers.

He scrambled backwards, firing off random hexes. The ministry wizard advanced methodically, batting away Harry's spells like annoying flies.

"Expelliarmus!"

This time the spell connected. Harry's wand flew from his grip, clattering somewhere in the darkness beyond the shelves. Before he could move, ropes wrapped around his arms and legs, binding him tight.

The wizard approached, keeping his wand trained on Harry. "Breaking into the Department of Mysteries. That's a serious offense, boy. The Aurors will want to have a word with you."

Harry struggled against the ropes, but they only tightened. His shoulder still tingled from the stunning spell. Without his wand, he was helpless.

The ministry wizard levitated Harry through winding corridors, his body floating stiffly behind like a wrapped package. They passed dozens of black doors, each identical to the last, until stopping at one marked "Interrogation Room C."

The room contained a single metal table bolted to the floor and three uncomfortable-looking chairs. The walls gleamed an unsettling shade of white that seemed to absorb shadows. No windows, just a floating orb of light that cast everything in harsh relief.

The wizard deposited Harry none too gently into one of the chairs. The ropes loosened just enough to allow him to sit properly, but kept his arms bound tight.

"Comfortable?" The wizard's lip curled. "The Aurors will be here shortly."

Harry's shoulder had regained feeling, but a dull ache remained where the stunning spell had hit. He tested the ropes - no give at all.

Two Aurors entered, their crimson robes a stark contrast against the white walls. The first, a broad-shouldered woman with close-cropped grey hair, took the seat across from Harry. Her partner, younger with a thin mustache, remained standing by the door.

"I'm Auror Collins." The woman placed a thin file on the table. "Care to explain how you breached one of the most secure areas in the Ministry of Magic?"

"I didn't break in. There was a fight - Death Eaters attacked-"

The Aurors exchanged glances. Collins leaned forward, her eyes narrowing.

"Death Eaters? What are you talking about?"

"The followers of Vol- of You-Know-Who. They attacked us in the Department of Mysteries."

The younger Auror snorted. "You-Know-Who? Who's that supposed to be?"

Harry's stomach dropped. Something was very wrong. He looked closer at the room - the interrogation chairs appeared newer, the metal unmarred by years of use. The floating light orb's design was different too, more angular than the smooth spheres used in his time.

"What's today's date?"

"December 12th, 1942," Collins said. "And don't try changing the subject. You were found in a restricted area surrounded by broken time-turners."

The blood drained from Harry's face. 1942. Tom Riddle would still be at Hogwarts, probably in his fifth year. Voldemort, Death Eaters, the war - none of it existed yet.

"I..." Harry's mouth went dry. He couldn't tell them the truth. The consequences of revealing future events could be catastrophic. "I got lost. In the Ministry. Took a wrong turn."

"Lost?" Collins' voice dripped with skepticism. "The Department of Mysteries has multiple security checkpoints. No one just wanders in by accident."

"Check my pockets," Harry said. "I have a Hogwarts student ID."

The younger Auror stepped forward and retrieved Harry's school ID from his robes. He frowned at it, then showed it to Collins.

"This is fake," the Auror declared. "The enchantments are all wrong, and I've never seen this format before."

Collins tapped the ID with her wand. The edges glowed blue. "Advanced forgery work. Professional grade." She fixed Harry with a steely gaze. "Who are you really working for?"

Harry's mind raced. He needed his wand. He needed to get back to the time-turner room. But most of all, he needed to be extremely careful about what he revealed. One wrong word could change everything.

Collins's gaze bored into Harry. "Who are your partners? What information have you gathered so far?"

Harry shook his head. "I was working alone. I don't know anything about time-turners, honestly. I was just..." He trailed off, racking his brain for a plausible excuse. "Curious. They're fascinating devices. I wanted to see one up close."

"Curious?" Collins repeated, her voice skeptical.

Harry nodded, hoping his expression conveyed innocence. "It was stupid, I know. I heard stories about time-turners and I just wanted to see one. I didn't realize it was such a heavily restricted area."

The younger Auror snorted. "Stupid indeed. Making a forgery that good would cost a pretty galleon. How did you even afford it?"

"Saved up." Harry shrugged as much as the ropes would allow. "I was planning to use it to get into the Ministry Archives, but I never expected to make it all the way to the Department of Mysteries."

"Hmph." Collins steepled her fingers, eyes narrowed in thought. "The Minister will not be pleased that security was breached so easily."

Harry swallowed. "I know. I understand if you need to take disciplinary action. But please, I'm just a curious student. I didn't mean any harm."

Collins regarded him for a long moment. "Very well. We'll send you back to Hogwarts with a warning. Consider yourself lucky."

Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Thank you, Auror Collins. I won't make the same mistake again, I promise."

The Auror gave a curt nod. "Escort him out, Hawkins. Return him to his Head of House."

Harry stood, his legs stiff from being bound for so long. Hawkins removed the ropes with a quick wave of his wand, then gestured for Harry to precede him out of the room.

They walked in silence through the winding corridors of the Ministry. Harry's mind raced as he tried to think of a way to retrieve his wand and return to the time-turner room without being caught. But with his cover blown, he knew his chances of success were slim.

As they approached the Atrium, Hawkins spoke up. "You're lucky Collins decided to let this slide. Don't try anything like this again, understand?"

Harry nodded. "I won't. And thanks, Auror Hawkins."

The wizard grunted in response. They stepped out into the bustling main hall, the familiar sight of the magical fountain a welcome relief after the stark interrogation room.

"Back to school, then." Hawkins flicked his wand, summoning a pair of Ministry owls. "You'll need transportation. Your wand will arrive separately, per regulations."

Harry glanced back at the hallways leading to the Department of Mysteries. Retrieieving his wand and returning to that room seemed impossible now.

"Up you go," Hawkins said, prodding Harry toward the owls.

Harry took a step forward, one owl gripping his robes as the other lent its support. They lifted into the air, soaring toward the vaulted ceiling.

Below, the Ministry workers scurried like ants, the scene blurring as the owls gained height. Harry's gaze drifted to the entrance of the Department of Mysteries. The memory of red and green spells flashed through his mind, along with the faces of his friends.

He whispered to the owls, guiding them toward the large oak doors. He needed to get back, back to his own time, to warn his friends and stop Voldemort. The owls banked toward the Ministry exit, but Harry's mind latched onto a new possibility. Dumbledore. The wizard would be teaching Transfiguration at Hogwarts right now. If anyone could help him navigate this temporal mess, it would be him.

Harry shifted his weight, directing the owls higher. The younger Dumbledore might not know him, but he'd understand the gravity of time travel. He'd helped Hermione with the time-turner in their third year, after all.

The familiar towers of Hogwarts appeared on the horizon. Harry's chest tightened at the sight - the castle looked exactly the same, yet everything about this time felt wrong. The grounds appeared different - younger trees, missing paths, and subtle changes that made his home feel alien.The owls deposited Harry at Hogwarts' front gates with surprising gentleness. 

A stern-faced witch in emerald robes strode down from the castle. Her quick pace and rigid posture reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall, though this witch had steel-grey hair pulled into a severe bun.

"I received word from the Ministry about an intruder." Her sharp eyes assessed Harry. "Though you look rather young for a security breach."

"I'm not an intruder, Professor. There's been a misunderstanding."

"Professor Merrythought." She gestured for Harry to follow. "And we shall see about that. The Headmaster will determine the truth of the matter."

They walked through corridors that were simultaneously familiar and strange. The suits of armor stood in different positions, portraits Harry had never seen hung on the walls, and even the stone felt somehow newer beneath his feet.

Students whispered as they passed, their robes cut in a slightly different style than Harry was used to. He caught fragments of their conversations:

"Who's that with Professor Merrythought?"

"Never seen him before..."

"Looks our age, but he's not wearing house colors..."

The gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office looked exactly the same, at least. Professor Merrythought spoke the password - "Jobberknoll" - and the spiral staircase carried them upward.

Headmaster Armando Dippet sat behind the massive desk Harry had always associated with Dumbledore. The chamber seemed more sober, missing the spinning metallic devices and stands where the phoenix would rest. Dippet himself was a frail-looking wizard with wispy white hair and alert eyes that fixed on Harry the moment he entered.

"Ah, our mysterious visitor." Dippet's voice carried surprising strength. "The Ministry's owl mentioned quite the commotion in the Department of Mysteries."

"Headmaster." Harry bowed slightly, mind racing. He couldn't reveal his true identity or purpose - the consequences could be catastrophic. But he needed a cover story that would hold up. "I apologize for the trouble. I made a terrible mistake."

"Indeed?" Dippet leaned forward. "And what might your name be, young man?"

Harry hesitated. Using his real name was out of the question - the Potter family was well-known in the wizarding world. "Harry... Harry Evans, sir." He hoped it sounded natural enough.

"Evans?" Dippet consulted a thick ledger. "I don't see any Evans currently enrolled at Hogwarts."

"I'm not enrolled, sir. Not yet. I was..." Harry swallowed. "I was hoping to transfer. My previous schooling was... private. Family tutors."

"Interesting." Dippet's eyes narrowed. "And your first act was to break into the Department of Mysteries?"

Heat crept up Harry's neck. "No, sir. I went to the Ministry to inquire about enrollment procedures. I got lost, took a wrong turn. The Aurors already gave me a warning about it."

"Lost enough to end up in one of the most secure areas of the Ministry?" Professor Merrythought's tone dripped skepticism.

"I know it sounds impossible." Harry met their gazes steadily. "But I swear I meant no harm. I just want to complete my education properly, at Hogwarts."

Dippet and Merrythought exchanged looks. The Headmaster drummed his fingers on the desk.

"Your timing is peculiar, Mr. Evans. Term is nearly half over."

"I understand, sir. But I'm willing to work hard to catch up."

"And your parents? They approve of this transfer?"

Harry's throat tightened. "They're... no longer with us, sir. I've been on my own for some time." That part, at least, wasn't a lie. 

Dippet cleared his throat. "Well, Mr. Evans, if you're to join us at Hogwarts, we'll need to determine your proper placement. Both house and year." He stood, retrieving the Sorting Hat from its shelf.

Harry's heart jumped. He hadn't expected to be sorted again. What if the hat recognized him? What if it announced his true identity to everyone?

"Your age suggests fifth or sixth year," Professor Merrythought said. "We'll need to assess your skill level."

"I believe I'd be suited for fifth year, Professor." Harry kept his voice steady. The same year as Tom Riddle - he needed to keep an eye on the future Dark Lord.

"We shall see." Dippet placed the hat on Harry's head. The familiar musty smell filled his nostrils.

Curious... most curious. The hat's voice whispered in Harry's mind. I've sorted you before - or rather, I will sort you. The threads of time are tangled around you, Harry Potter.

Harry's fingers gripped the edges of his chair. Please, he thought desperately. Don't reveal who I am.

Fear not. The secrets of those I sort remain their own. But this presents an interesting opportunity. You're here in a time of great change, when choices matter more than ever. Your courage remains, yes, and loyalty... but there's something else. A burning need to survive, to adapt, to succeed at any cost. You know what must be done.

Harry's stomach clenched. Not Slytherin. Not again.

You rejected that path once before. But circumstances have changed, haven't they? In this time, in this place, you'll need every advantage. Better be...

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat announced to the room.

Dippet removed the hat. "Excellent. Now, as for your year placement..." He waved his wand, conjuring a piece of parchment. "A few quick tests should determine your academic level."

"The fifth years are preparing for their O.W.L.s," Professor Merrythought added. "You'll need to demonstrate proficiency in core subjects."

"I understand." Harry accepted the parchment. Basic spells, potion ingredients, magical creatures - he recognized most of the questions from his own time. The curriculum hadn't changed much in fifty years.

Twenty minutes later, Dippet reviewed his answers. "Acceptable knowledge level for fifth year, though you'll need some catching up in History of Magic and Arithmancy. Professor Merrythought, would you arrange a meeting with Professor Slughorn? As Head of Slytherin House, he should be informed of his new student. He'll also see to your class schedule and living arrangements."

"Thank you, sir." Harry's voice sounded distant to his own ears. Slytherin. He'd been sorted into the same house as Tom Riddle.

"Professor Merrythought, would you escort Mr. Evans to the dungeons? And send word to Horace about his new student."

Professor Merrythought led Harry through familiar corridors that felt alien in this time. The castle's bones remained the same, but subtle differences nagged at him - missing portraits, different suits of armor, even the torch brackets seemed older in design.

"The Slytherin common room password is 'Basilisk's Eye,'" Professor Merrythought said as they descended into the dungeons. "Professor Slughorn will meet us there shortly."

The stone walls grew damper, the air cooler. Harry's footsteps echoed off the ancient flagstones. Other students passed them, their curious glances lingering on his plain black robes.

They reached the bare stretch of wall that concealed the Slytherin common room entrance. Professor Merrythought spoke the password, and the stone melted away to reveal the familiar green-tinged chamber.

The common room hadn't changed much in fifty years. The same black leather sofas faced the ornate fireplace, and elaborate tapestries still adorned the walls. Silver lanterns cast their ethereal light across the dungeon space, and the giant window still looked out into the murky depths of the lake.

A cluster of students lounged near the fire, their conversation dying as Harry and Professor Merrythought entered. Harry scanned their faces, his heart rate quickening as he searched for Tom Riddle.

"Ah, Professor Merrythought!" A booming voice preceded the arrival of a much younger Horace Slughorn. His walrus mustache was more brown than grey, but his rotund figure and jovial manner remained unchanged. "And this must be our new student!"

"Indeed, Horace. Harry Evans, transferring into fifth year."

Slughorn's eyes gleamed with interest. "Evans? I don't believe I'm familiar with that name in wizarding circles."

"My parents preferred a private education, sir," Harry said carefully. "Until now."

"Fascinating, fascinating." Slughorn twirled his mustache. "Well, we'll soon have you settled in. The fifth-year dormitory has an empty bed - tragic business with young Aberdeen's dragon pox last term, but it works out well for you!"

Harry forced a polite smile, his mind still scanning the room for any sign of Riddle.

"Tom!" Slughorn called out suddenly. "Come here, my boy. Meet your new housemate!"

A tall, dark-haired boy detached himself from a group near the bookshelves. Harry's breath caught in his throat. The future Dark Lord moved with fluid grace, his prefect badge gleaming on immaculate robes. His handsome features showed none of the serpentine malformation that would later mark him as Voldemort.

"This is Tom Riddle, one of our brightest students," Slughorn beamed. "Tom, this is Harry Evans. He'll be joining your year."

"Welcome to Slytherin." Riddle's voice was smooth, cultured. He extended his hand with a pleasant smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm sure you'll find our house... accommodating."

Harry fought to keep his expression neutral as he shook Riddle's hand. The skin was warm, human - not the cold, corpse-like texture he remembered from the graveyard. "Thank you. I look forward to it."

"Tom, would you show Harry to the dormitory?" Slughorn asked. "Help him get settled in? I need to discuss his class schedule with Professor Merrythought."

"Of course, Professor." Riddle's perfect prefect mask never wavered. "This way, Evans."

Harry followed Riddle down a curved staircase to the boys' dormitories, every muscle tense. The future murderer of his parents walked ahead, pointing out features of the common room as they passed.

The dormitory looked exactly as Harry remembered from his brief glimpse during second year - green silk hangings, carved wooden beds, silver lanterns casting dancing shadows on ancient stone walls.

"This will be your bed." Riddle gestured to an empty four-poster. "The house-elves will bring your trunk once it arrives."

"Thanks." Harry set down the few belongings the Ministry had returned to him.

"Interesting timing, transferring mid-term." Riddle's tone remained casual as he settled onto his own bed across from Harry's. "Most unusual."

"Family circumstances changed." Harry kept his voice neutral.

"Indeed?" Riddle's dark eyes studied him with genuine curiosity. "You mentioned private tutoring before. Which methods did your instructors favor? I've always found different teaching approaches fascinating."

The question seemed innocent enough, but Harry recognized the probe for information. Still, he found himself drawn into the conversation by Riddle's earnest interest.

"Practical application, mostly. Learning by doing rather than just theory."

"Ah, like Durmstrang's approach." Riddle smiled warmly. "They emphasize hands-on experience over academic study. Though your accent suggests you're local?"

"Moved around a lot," Harry said, surprised by how easily the half-truths flowed. "Never stayed in one place long enough for traditional schooling."

"That must have been challenging." Riddle's sympathy felt genuine. "Though it likely exposed you to varied magical traditions. I'd love to hear about different regional approaches sometime."

Harry caught himself nodding before he remembered who he was talking to. But this wasn't the Voldemort he knew - not yet. This was Tom Riddle, brilliant student and trusted prefect. Even knowing what he would become, Harry understood how people had been drawn to him.

"Perhaps we could exchange notes," Riddle suggested. "I'm quite interested in practical applications myself. Always eager to learn new perspectives."

His enthusiasm for magical knowledge shone through, making it easy to forget the darkness that lurked beneath. Harry found himself relaxing despite his better judgment, pulled in by Riddle's magnetic personality.

"I should let you settle in." Riddle rose from his bed, straightening his robes with practiced elegance. "Dinner's at six - I'll make sure someone shows you to the Great Hall." He paused at the doorway, that perfect smile returning. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Evans."

Chapter Text

The castle felt both familiar and foreign. Same halls, different faces - and a decidedly different atmosphere. Students walked with stiffer postures, their uniforms pressed crisp without a wrinkle in sight. The girls wore their skirts below the knee, hair neatly pinned back. Boys' ties stayed perfectly knotted even during meals.

Harry's first Transfiguration class with Dumbledore jarred him. The auburn-haired professor taught with the same twinkling eyes, but lacked the grandfatherly air he remembered. This younger Dumbledore moved with vigor, demonstrating wand movements with sharp precision.

"Your form needs adjustment, Mr. Evans." Dumbledore corrected Harry's grip during practice. "Though your results are impressive. Private tutoring, you say?"

The constant questions about his background wore thin. Harry stuck to his prepared story, but the scrutiny from teachers and students alike made him miss his own time's more relaxed attitudes.

In the Slytherin common room, Abraxas Malfoy's white-blond hair caught his eye - so like Draco's, yet the boy carried himself with less entitled swagger and more calculated poise.

"Evans." Abraxas nodded as Harry passed. "Join us for chess?"

A small group gathered around an ornate board. Harry recognized several surnames - Nott, Rosier, Avery. Future Death Eaters' parents or grandparents, but here they were just students.

"I'm rubbish at chess," Harry admitted.

"Nonsense. Sit." Abraxas gestured to an empty chair. "Every proper wizard should know the game."

The emphasis on "proper" behavior surfaced constantly. Table manners, posture, speech patterns - the pure-blood students scrutinized everything. Harry caught himself slouching at dinner and straightened quickly under disapproving looks.

"Were you raised by muggles?" Lucretia Black asked during Potions, watching him struggle with proper ingredient preparation techniques. Her tone held genuine curiosity rather than the sneering prejudice he expected.

"No, just... different methods." Harry focused on chopping his valerian roots. The 1940s approach to potions seemed unnecessarily formal, with specific cutting angles and stirring patterns that Snape had never mentioned.

The war with Grindelwald colored everything. Daily Prophet headlines tracked his movements across Europe. Students clustered around wireless sets during meals, listening for news. Even the muggle war filtered in - several students had relatives fighting overseas.

"Father says the muggles' weapons could level entire cities now," Nott commented during a study session. "Perhaps Grindelwald has the right idea about controlling them."

Harry bit his tongue. The casual bigotry felt different here - less hostile hatred, more paternalistic superiority. Many seemed to genuinely believe wizards should rule "for the greater good."

Throughout the week, he caught glimpses of Riddle. The future Dark Lord maintained his distance, but Harry often felt those dark eyes studying him across the common room. During meals, Riddle held court at the center of the Slytherin table, prefects and professors alike drawn to his charm.

"Riddle's brilliant," Avery told Harry after Charms. "Top marks in everything. Professor Merrythought says he could teach Defense himself."

"And so modest about it," Lucretia added with a dreamy sigh that made Harry's stomach turn.

By Friday, Harry's head spun from navigating the complex social expectations. Everything required the right words, the right gestures, the right connections. A simple "thank you" needed the perfect slight bow of acknowledgment. Holding doors, walking on the correct side of corridors, using proper titles - the rules never ended.

"You're adapting well," Abraxas commented during breakfast. "Though your table manners still need work."

Harry glanced down at his multiple forks and spoons. "Right."

Across the table, Riddle looked up from his newspaper, that perfect prefect smile in place. Their eyes met briefly before Harry looked away. He still couldn't reconcile this polished student with the monster he would become.

The weekend loomed ahead, and Harry dreaded having more free time to navigate the social minefield. He almost missed the homework - at least academic rules made sense. He slumped into an armchair in a hidden alcove of the library, his shoulders dropping the perfect posture he'd maintained all day.

The book he'd selected about prominent Hogwarts prefects lay unopened in his lap. He'd meant to research Riddle's school achievements, hoping to spot any early signs of his darker pursuits. But his eyes kept drifting shut.

"Your tie is crooked, Evans."

Harry jumped. Lucretia Black stood between the shelves, her own uniform immaculate as always.

"Thanks." He tugged half-heartedly at the offending garment.

"The Slug Club meets tonight. You received an invitation, yes?"

"I did." Another social obligation requiring perfect manners and careful conversation. His stomach churned at the thought.

"Professor Slughorn specifically mentioned hoping to hear about your previous schooling." Lucretia's tone carried the same polite curiosity that seemed to follow Harry everywhere.

"I'm feeling under the weather." Harry faked a cough. "Think I'll skip it."

"But Riddle will be there. He always gives the most fascinating insights during discussions."

Harry straightened in his chair, mind racing. Slughorn's gatherings were intimate affairs - a perfect chance to observe Riddle up close without raising suspicion. The young Dark Lord always performed for an audience, especially around professors. Maybe he'd reveal something useful.

"Actually, I'm feeling better already." Harry adjusted his tie properly this time. "What time does it start?"

"Eight o'clock sharp." Lucretia beamed. "Don't be late - punctuality matters to Professor Slughorn."

Harry nodded, already planning his approach. He'd need to blend in, ask the right questions without seeming too interested. The prospect of spending an evening in close quarters with Riddle set his nerves on edge, but this opportunity was too valuable to waste.

*

Slughorn's office sparkled with crystal glasses and silver serving trays. The usual furniture had vanished, replaced by plush armchairs arranged in a semicircle. Floating candles cast a warm glow over the gathered students.

Harry slipped into a chair near the edge, accepting a glass of elderflower wine from a passing tray. The other students arranged themselves with careful precision - the closer to Slughorn's central seat, the higher their social standing.

Tom Riddle sat at Slughorn's right hand, his posture perfect as he sipped his drink. The candlelight caught his prefect badge, making it gleam.

"Now then!" Slughorn settled into his chair, his velvet smoking jacket stretching across his substantial belly. "I thought we might discuss recent advances in defensive magic, given the current climate. Tom, you had some fascinating thoughts on shield charms last time."

Harry watched Riddle lean forward, commanding the room's attention without visible effort. "Thank you, Professor. I've been researching variations of Protego that incorporate intent-based modifications."

The other students nodded along as Riddle explained his theories. Harry had to admit, the technical discussion showed impressive magical knowledge. But something in Riddle's tone - that hint of superiority beneath the polite surface - set Harry's teeth on edge.

"The key lies in viewing defensive magic as fundamentally protective rather than reactive," Riddle continued. "By focusing on preservation of life as the core principle-"

Harry's laugh cut through the reverent silence. Every head turned toward him.

"Something amusing, Mr. Evans?" Slughorn asked.

Harry knew he should stay quiet. He'd promised himself to observe only. But the words spilled out anyway.

"Sorry, but that's rubbish. Defense isn't about abstract principles - it's about survival. When someone's trying to kill you, you don't think about the philosophical implications of your shield charm."

The silence turned thick enough to cut. Several students gaped at him. Lucretia pressed a hand to her chest as if about to faint.

Riddle's pleasant expression didn't waver, but his eyes went cold. "You speak from experience, Evans?"

"More than you'd think." Harry met that icy stare. "Theory's worthless without practical application. The best defensive magic comes from instinct and experience, not academic debate."

"How fascinating!" Slughorn clapped his hands, breaking the tension. "What an interesting perspective. Where did you say you studied before, my boy?"

"Private tutoring," Harry muttered, suddenly aware of every eye in the room fixed on him.

"Well, this calls for a practical demonstration!" Slughorn gestured expansively. "Perhaps you and Tom could demonstrate your different approaches?"

"Professor-" Harry started to protest, but Riddle was already standing.

"An excellent suggestion." That perfect prefect smile stayed fixed in place as Riddle drew his wand. "Shall we, Evans?"

The other students pressed back against the walls, clearing space in the center of Slughorn's office. Crystal glasses and delicate serving trays floated out of harm's way. Harry rose slowly, his wand already in his hand.

"Just a friendly demonstration," Slughorn called from his armchair. "Standard dueling rules apply."

Riddle's bow was textbook perfect. Harry jerked his head in a bare acknowledgment, earning disapproving murmurs from the watching crowd.

"Begin on three," Slughorn announced. "One-"

Riddle's silent spell crackled through the air. Harry's Shield Charm snapped into place purely on reflex, deflecting the hex into a bookshelf.

"Tom!" Slughorn's protest held more amusement than censure. "Bit eager there, weren't we?"

"My apologies, Professor." Riddle's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I thought we'd agreed practical experience trumps formal rules?"

Harry's answering Stunner sliced through Riddle's shield, forcing him to sidestep. The future Dark Lord's composure cracked for just a moment - surprise flickering across his features before the mask settled back into place.

"Excellent form, both of you!" Slughorn called as spells flew back and forth. "Notice how Tom's technique emphasizes efficiency of movement, while our new friend favors a more... dynamic approach."

Sweat beaded on Harry's forehead as he blocked another precisely aimed hex. Riddle's spells came in perfect rhythm - each one just powerful enough to test Harry's shields without revealing his true strength. The bastard was playing with him.

A Cutting Curse whistled past Harry's ear, taking a few strands of hair. Riddle hadn't even bothered with a verbal incantation. His wand moved in elegant arcs, each gesture flowing into the next like a deadly dance. No wasted motion, no flashy displays - just ruthless efficiency.

"Remarkable control, Tom!" Slughorn's voice barely registered through Harry's pounding pulse. "See how he maintains form even while pressing the attack?"

Harry's next spell went wide as he stumbled back from a particularly nasty jinx. His shoulders hit the wall. Riddle advanced with measured steps, that perfect prefect smile still fixed in place.

That smile. The same one from the diary, from the graveyard, from a dozen nightmares. Polite, pleasant, utterly devoid of humanity.

Raw fury surged through Harry's chest. His wand snapped up before conscious thought took hold.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Prongs burst forth in a blaze of silver light, filling Slughorn's office with ethereal radiance. Several students gasped. The stag charged straight at Riddle, forcing him to stumble back a step.

Harry didn't hesitate. He launched himself forward, shoulder-first, while Riddle was distracted by the Patronus. They crashed together in a tangle of limbs and robes. Harry's momentum carried them both to the floor.

"Good heavens!" Slughorn's exclamation mixed with shocked murmurs from the watching students.

They hit the ground hard. Harry's elbow caught Riddle in the ribs, driving out a grunt of surprise. Up close, that handsome face contorted with rage - no trace of the perfect prefect remained.

Riddle's wand pressed against Harry's throat. Harry jammed his own into Riddle's chest. They froze, locked in a deadly stalemate on Slughorn's expensive carpet.

"Boys! That's quite enough demonstration for one evening." Slughorn's voice carried an edge of authority beneath the jovial tone.

Neither moved. Harry met Riddle's gaze, seeing naked hatred there before the mask slammed back into place. In that moment, he glimpsed the true Tom Riddle - not the charming prefect, but the darkness coiled beneath.

"Most irregular dueling technique, Evans." Riddle's voice came out smooth despite their awkward position. "I wasn't aware physical contact was considered proper form."

"Sometimes proper form gets you killed." Harry tightened his grip on his wand.

"Fascinating perspective." That perfect smile returned, though Riddle's eyes remained cold. "We must discuss your... unique training sometime."

"Up you get, both of you!" Slughorn clapped his hands. "Splendid show, absolutely splendid. Though perhaps a bit more intensity than intended for a friendly demonstration."

They untangled themselves with careful movements, neither turning their back on the other. Harry's robes were wrinkled beyond salvation. Riddle straightened his tie with precise motions, every hair still perfectly in place despite their scuffle.

The other students whispered behind their hands, shooting furtive glances between Harry and Riddle. Lucretia looked ready to faint. Abraxas's expression mixed shock with calculation.

"Well!" Slughorn smoothed his mustache. "I believe that's enough excitement for one evening. Though I must say, Mr. Evans, that was quite an impressive Patronus. Full corporeal form is rare at your age."

"Indeed." Riddle's tone stayed pleasant, but his eyes followed Harry's every move. "You continue to surprise, Evans. I look forward to learning more about your... background."

Harry slumped against the dormitory wall, his heart still racing from the duel. So much for keeping a low profile. One week - he hadn't even lasted one week before drawing Riddle's full attention.

His fingers traced the spot on his throat where Riddle's wand had pressed. The perfect mask had slipped, revealing the monster underneath. But Harry had exposed himself too. The Patronus alone would have marked him as unusually powerful, but combined with his fighting style...

He'd practically announced himself as a threat.

The memory of Riddle's cold eyes studying him sent a chill down his spine. The future Dark Lord wouldn't dismiss him as just another transfer student now. Every move Harry made would be scrutinized, every word analyzed for hidden meaning.

"Bloody brilliant job staying under the radar," he muttered, yanking off his ruined tie. His carefully constructed cover story wouldn't hold up under serious investigation. Riddle was too clever, too suspicious of anything that threatened his carefully maintained image of perfection.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor made Harry tense. But it was just a group of first-years heading to the common room. Still, he'd have to watch his back now. Riddle's followers were everywhere, eager to curry favor with their leader.

Harry pressed his forehead against the cool stone wall. One glimpse of that familiar smirk - that same expression from the graveyard - had shattered his self-control. Now the careful observer had become the observed. Every instinct screamed at Harry to run, to abandon the mission before Riddle discovered the truth. But he couldn't.

Harry slid down the wall until he sat on the floor, rubbing his temples. Even with the added scrutiny, this was his only chance to study young Voldemort up close. To understand how Tom Riddle became the monster who murdered his parents.

And it wasn't like he had a choice anyway. The mysterious force that pulled him through time hadn't come with instructions for returning home. No Time-Turner, no spell, no ritual he could reverse.

He was stuck here, for better or worse. Might as well make the most of it.

Chapter Text

The castle halls echoed with emptiness as most students departed for Christmas break. Harry welcomed the quiet - fewer people meant fewer chances to slip up around Riddle. The whispers still hadn't died down about their duel at the Slug Club. Every time Harry passed a group of students, conversation dropped to hushed murmurs.

He'd caught fragments here and there: "...almost beat Riddle..." and "...never seen anyone match him like that..." The gossip painted a target on his back. Riddle's perfect mask hadn't cracked again, but the cold calculation in those dark eyes whenever they passed in the halls said enough.

The library had become Harry's sanctuary over the past weeks. Madam Peters, unlike her future counterpart Madam Pince, paid little attention to students as long as they maintained silence and proper book handling. The towering shelves created a maze of knowledge where Harry could disappear for hours.

He traced his fingers along leather-bound spines, scanning titles in the Magical Theory section. 'Temporal Mechanics and Their Applications.' 'A Complete History of Time-Turner Development.' 'The Grandfather Paradox: A Practical Guide to Avoiding Self-Erasure.'

The stack of books grew higher as Harry claimed a secluded desk tucked between Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Dust motes danced in the afternoon light streaming through tall windows. The familiar scent of parchment and ink wrapped around him like a comfort blanket.

"Time travel through ritual magic requires precise astronomical alignment..." Harry rubbed his eyes. The tiny text blurred together after hours of reading. "...consideration must be given to temporal displacement versus spatial..."

He flipped another page, shoulders slumping. Nothing useful yet. Most texts focused on short-term time travel or theoretical discussions of paradoxes. None addressed traveling decades into the future.

The winter sun cast long shadows through the windows. Harry's neck ached from hunching over books. He shifted positions, propping his chin on his hand as he started another chapter.

"...the dangers of extended temporal displacement..." The words swam before his eyes. His eyelids grew heavy. Just a short rest, then back to research...

The library fell silent save for the rustle of pages turning somewhere in the distance. Harry's breathing deepened as his head drooped forward. The book made a decent pillow, ancient leather soft against his cheek. In his hidden alcove, surrounded by towering shelves, no one noticed as he drifted off.

Students came and went. Footsteps passed nearby without pausing. Even Madam Peters, making her evening rounds, missed the sleeping figure in the shadows between sections. The library slowly emptied as dinner approached, leaving Harry undisturbed in his makeshift sanctuary.

A sharp chill pulled Harry from his slumber. The library had grown pitch black except for pale moonlight filtering through frosted windows. His neck cracked as he lifted his head from the book, disoriented.

"Lumos." The spell illuminated his watch - 11:45 PM. Way past curfew. His heart jumped.

Harry gathered his things, casting nervous glances into the darkness between shelves. The library felt different at night, the looming bookcases creating menacing shadows. His footsteps echoed too loud in the silence.

The corridor outside stretched empty and dark. Harry kept his wandlight dim, hugging the walls as he crept toward the dungeons. Each suit of armor seemed to watch his progress. The portraits muttered disapprovingly.

A flash of movement ahead made him freeze. Another wandlight approached around the corner. Harry's grip tightened on his wand, but there was nowhere to hide.

Tom Riddle emerged into view, prefect badge gleaming. His eyes narrowed at Harry.

"Out after curfew, Evans? How... disappointing."

Harry's shoulders tensed. "I fell asleep in the library. Lost track of time studying."

"The library closed hours ago." Riddle's voice carried an edge of suspicion.

"I know. I was in the back corner by Ancient Runes. Madam Peters must have missed me during her rounds."

Riddle studied him, wandlight casting sharp shadows across his features. Harry met his gaze steadily, letting him see the truth of the words.

"I see." Riddle's expression remained neutral. "Even so, being out of bounds at this hour typically means detention."

Harry's jaw clenched. Of course Riddle would use this chance to assert authority.

"What were you studying so intently?" Riddle stepped closer, his wandlight casting across the scattered papers in Harry's arms.

"Just some advanced magical theory." Harry shifted the books to hide their titles. "What does that have to do with being out after curfew?"

"Curious, isn't it? A transfer student, already well-versed in complex dueling, spending hours researching obscure magical concepts." Riddle's voice dropped lower. "Almost as if you're searching for something specific."

The corridor felt smaller suddenly. Harry backed up a step, but his shoulder blades met cold stone. Riddle matched his movement, closing the distance until barely a foot separated them. The wandlight between them cast strange shadows across Riddle's face, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones.

"I like to study. Is that a crime now?" Harry's heart hammered against his ribs. Something in Riddle's intense focus made his skin prickle with awareness.

"No crime." Riddle's eyes flickered down to the books Harry clutched. "But secrets have a way of revealing themselves, given time."

Riddle's dark eyes locked onto Harry's. The intensity of his gaze hit like a physical force. Harry felt the familiar probe against his mental shields - subtle, precise, nothing like Snape's brutal attacks during Occlumency lessons. But something strange happened. The probe slid off his defenses like water off glass, finding no purchase.

Confusion flickered across Riddle's face, there and gone in an instant. His brow furrowed slightly - the first crack in his perfect mask Harry had seen since their duel.

Harry's mouth went dry. He knew he should look away, break the connection, but found himself trapped in that penetrating stare. The silence stretched between them.

"Do you often do this?" Harry's voice came out steadier than he expected. "Stare down fellow students in dark corridors?"

The corner of Riddle's mouth twitched. He took a measured step back, breaking the eye contact at last. Harry sucked in a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I always discover what I want to know, Evans." Riddle's perfect smile bloomed across his face, transforming his features from cold calculation to warm charm. "It's only a matter of time."

The sudden shift made Harry's stomach twist. That smile - the same one he'd seen charm countless professors and students. Up close, Harry could see why it worked so well. The way it softened Riddle's sharp features, brought warmth to those dark eyes, made him appear approachable and genuine.

Harry hated how effective it was. Hated even more that some part of him wanted to believe it too.

"Is everything alright here?"

Dumbledore's voice cut through the tension. He stood at the end of the corridor, midnight blue robes catching the moonlight. His eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles as he observed the scene.

"Professor." Riddle stepped back smoothly, smile never faltering. "I found Evans out after curfew. He fell asleep in the library, it seems."

"Ah, the pursuit of knowledge can indeed make us lose track of time." Dumbledore's gaze swept between them. "Perhaps this once we can overlook the transgression. I'm sure Mr. Evans has learned his lesson about watching the clock more carefully."

"Of course, Professor." Riddle's voice carried perfect respect, but Harry caught the flash of annoyance in his eyes. "I was just explaining the importance of following rules to Evans."

"How fortunate we have such dedicated prefects." Dumbledore's tone remained light, but something in his stance suggested he wouldn't be moving along until they did. "Though perhaps this discussion would be better continued during daylight hours."

"Yes, Professor." That charming smile again as Riddle inclined his head. He turned to Harry. "We'll talk more later, Evans."

The words carried a promise that made Harry's skin crawl. But watching Riddle walk away, his movements fluid and graceful, Harry understood how he'd fooled everyone. That perfect mask, that devastating smile - they made you want to trust him, want to be near him.

It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.

*

The Slytherin common room's green-tinted light cast shadows across the leather chairs where Harry sat reading. A burst of laughter broke his concentration. Avery and Lestrange lounged by the fireplace, engaged in what appeared to be a heated game of Wizard's Chess.

"Check." Avery's queen smashed Lestrange's bishop. "You're getting sloppy."

"Shut it." Lestrange scowled at the board. "Evans, fancy a trip to Hogsmeade? We're heading down after lunch."

Harry looked up from his book, surprised at the invitation. Most Slytherins kept their distance, especially after the duel with Riddle.

"Heard you've barely left the castle since term started," Avery said, not looking up from the chess board. "Even outcasts need fresh air sometimes."

"I'm not an outcast." Harry closed his book. "Just busy."

"Right, buried in the library." Lestrange rolled his eyes. "Come on, Evans. Even Riddle takes breaks sometimes."

The mention of Riddle made Harry hesitate. "He's not going, is he?"

"Nah, prefect duties." Avery captured another of Lestrange's pieces. "Just us and Mulciber, if he ever gets out of bed."

Harry considered the offer. He had been cooped up, and a break from research might help clear his head. Plus, watching Riddle's future Death Eaters might provide useful information.

"Fine." Harry stood, stretching. "When are we leaving?"

"After lunch," Lestrange said. "Meet by the entrance hall at one."

"And bring money," Avery added. "We're stopping at Honeydukes. Lestrange here owes me a pile of Chocolate Frogs after I destroy him at chess."

"You haven't won yet." Lestrange moved his knight. "Check."

Harry watched their banter, an odd feeling in his chest. It was strange seeing these names - names that would become synonymous with terror - acting like normal teenagers. Playing chess, planning trips to buy sweets.

"I'll be there," Harry said, gathering his things. He needed air, needed to think. And maybe watching these future Death Eaters would help him understand how they went from this to serving Voldemort.

The Great Hall buzzed with pre-Hogsmeade excitement as Harry picked at his shepherd's pie. His hand brushed against the small pouch of galleons in his pocket - a "scholarship fund" Dumbledore had arranged after learning of Harry's situation. The old wizard hadn't asked many questions, just nodded knowingly and made the arrangements through the school governors.

"Ready, Evans?" Lestrange stood from the Slytherin table, brushing crumbs from his robes.

Harry nodded, rising to join them. Avery was already heading for the entrance hall, his tall frame easy to spot above the crowd of students.

"Mulciber's not coming?" Harry fell into step beside Lestrange.

"Still sleeping off last night's Firewhisky." Lestrange smirked. "His loss."

They joined the queue of students waiting for Filch to check their permission slips. The caretaker's predecessor, an ancient wizard named Pringle, squinted at each signature with suspicious eyes.

"Permission slip?" Pringle held out a gnarled hand to Harry.

Harry produced the form Dippet had signed, another piece of paperwork smoothed over by Dumbledore's influence. The old caretaker studied it longer than necessary before waving them through.

Snow crunched under their boots as they started down the path to Hogsmeade. The winter air bit at Harry's cheeks, but it felt good after weeks trapped in the castle. Other students rushed past, eager to reach the village's warmth.

"First stop Honeydukes," Avery declared, pulling his scarf tighter. "Then Three Broomsticks for butterbeers."

The bell above Honeydukes' door chimed as they entered. Warm air thick with sugar and chocolate enveloped them. Harry's glasses fogged up from the temperature change.

"Over here." Avery headed straight for the chocolate section. "They've got those new filled truffles everyone's talking about."

Harry wandered the aisles, taking in displays that would still be there fifty years later. Some sweets he didn't recognize - presumably discontinued before his time. He selected a few Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's beans, keeping one eye on Lestrange and Avery as they loaded up on treats.

The Three Broomsticks was packed when they arrived. Students crowded around tables, warming up with butterbeers and hot chocolate. They found a booth in the back corner.

"First round's on me." Lestrange headed to the bar.

Harry settled into the worn leather seat. Just one drink, he told himself. He needed to stay sharp around Riddle's friends.

Lestrange returned balancing three glasses of amber liquid that definitely wasn't butterbeer.

"Firewhisky?" Harry eyed the drinks.

"Course." Avery grabbed a glass. "Can't let Mulciber have all the fun."

One drink turned into two, then three. The Firewhisky burned less with each sip. Harry found himself relaxing, laughing at Avery's impression of Professor Slughorn.

"'My dear boy!'" Avery puffed out his chest. "'Simply marvelous potion work! You simply must attend my next gathering!'"

Four drinks in, Harry's head buzzed pleasantly. The room felt warmer, conversations blending together into comfortable background noise. He'd lost count of how many times they'd ordered another round.

"Well, this is unexpected."

Harry's stomach dropped at that familiar voice. Tom Riddle stood beside their table, prefect badge gleaming.

"Thought you had duties." Avery's words slurred slightly.

"Finished early." Riddle's eyes fixed on Harry, who struggled to focus. "Evans seems to be enjoying himself."

"Sit!" Lestrange pushed over, making room. "Have a drink!"

Something like amusement flickered across Riddle's face. He slid into the booth, uncomfortably close to Harry.

"Didn't take you for a drinker, Evans." Riddle's voice carried that same calculated warmth from the corridor. Up close, the alcohol making his head spin, Harry found it harder to resist.

"M'full of surprises." Harry's tongue felt heavy. He shouldn't have had that last Firewhisky. Or the three before it.

"Indeed you are." Riddle's smile held an edge that Harry's fuzzy brain couldn't quite interpret. "Indeed you are."

"So, Evans." Riddle's voice cut through the pleasant haze in Harry's mind. "Tell me more about your private tutoring. Must have been quite... thorough, given your dueling skills."

Harry's grip tightened on his glass. "Nothing special. Just basics."

"Basics?" Riddle raised an eyebrow. "That shield charm you used was far beyond standard curriculum."

"My godfather taught me that." The words slipped out before Harry could stop them. He blinked, horrified at his loose tongue.

"Godfather?" Riddle leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against Harry's. "You never mentioned a godfather before."

Heat crept up Harry's neck. "Did- didn't I? He's dead now anyway."

"How unfortunate." Riddle's voice dripped false sympathy. "Was he an Auror? Your defensive spells suggest law enforcement training."

"Something like that." Harry tried to shift away, but the booth's wall blocked his escape. The room tilted slightly.

"You know what I find fascinating?" Riddle twirled his own untouched glass. "Your reaction times. Almost as if you've had real combat experience."

Cedric's lifeless eyes flashed through his mind.

"Excuse me." Harry stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his drink. "Need some air."

He stumbled toward the door, ignoring Avery's drunken protests. The cold hit him like a slap as he stepped outside. Snow crunched under his unsteady feet.

"Leaving so soon?"

Harry jumped. Riddle had followed, moving with irritating grace despite the icy ground.

"Not feeling well." Harry started walking, or trying to. The world wouldn't stay properly aligned.

"Let me help you back to the castle." Riddle caught his arm as Harry swayed. "We wouldn't want our new star duelist falling into a snowbank."

"M'fine." Harry tried to pull away, but Riddle's grip remained firm. "Don't need help."

"Your tutors taught you well, Evans." Riddle's voice came too close to his ear. "But they clearly missed some crucial lessons in subtlety."

"Lemme go." Harry's words slurred despite his best efforts. "Just wanna sleep."

"Of course." That perfect smile again, sharp as a knife. "But first, tell me - where exactly did you learn to resist Legilimency so effectively?"

Harry's blood ran cold. He wrenched his arm free, nearly losing his balance.

"Don't know what you're talking about." He backed away, fumbling for his wand. "Going back now."

"Evans-"

Harry turned and ran, or attempted to. His legs tangled beneath him as he tried to escape. The world tilted sharply, snow and sky blending together. His foot caught on something - a root or stone hidden beneath the white blanket - and he pitched forward.

The ground rushed up to meet him. He threw out his hands but they sank uselessly into the deep snow. Cold shocked through his clothes as he face-planted into the drift. Powdery ice filled his mouth and nose.

Laughter echoed behind him - not Riddle's calculated chuckle, but the genuine sound of Avery and Lestrange stumbling out of the Three Broomsticks to witness his graceless fall.

"Bloody hell, Evans!" Avery wheezed between laughs. "That was spectacular!"

Harry tried to push himself up, but his arms wobbled traitorously. The Firewhisky had thoroughly destroyed his coordination. He managed to roll onto his back, blinking up at the grey winter sky as snowflakes landed on his glasses.

"Need a hand?" Riddle's voice carried that same false concern, but Harry's foggy brain couldn't summon the proper anger. The cold was seeping through his robes, making him shiver.

Harry's teeth chattered as he lay in the snow, his clothes soaked through. The cold had cleared some of the alcohol haze, leaving him with a bone-deep weariness. Lying there in the snow, exposed and drunk, Harry felt a wave of vulnerability wash over him. His wand hand trembled - not just from cold, but from the crushing weight of being alone. He wished Ron was here to crack a joke and help him up. Wished Hermione could scold him for drinking too much while casting a drying charm on his robes. But they weren't here. Wouldn't be born for decades. The thought hit him harder than the Firewhisky, leaving him hollow inside.

"I'm c-cold." The words came out small. His voice cracked slightly at the end.

Avery and Lestrange's laughter continued in the background, but Tom's expression shifted. He studied Harry with an intensity that didn't match the situation - as if Harry was a particularly complex puzzle he couldn't quite solve. The usual calculation in his dark eyes gave way to something closer to genuine curiosity.

Tom took a step forward, head tilted slightly. The laughter behind them faded as he blocked Harry's view of the others.

"Get up, Evans." His voice was quieter than usual, almost gentle. He extended his hand.

Harry stared at the offered help, confused by this unexpected shift. After a long moment, he reached up and grabbed Tom's hand. The other boy's grip was warm and firm as he pulled Harry to his feet.

"You shouldn't allow yourself to be seen like this." Tom's voice dropped lower, meant only for Harry's ears. He cast a quick drying charm over Harry's soaked robes. "Weakness invites... attention."

Harry swayed slightly, steadied by Tom's grip on his arm. "Why do you care?"

The question hung in the air between them. Tom's expression flickered - surprise, then something unreadable passed across his features before the mask slipped back into place.

"You're in my house, Evans. Your behavior reflects on all of us." But there was an uncertainty in his tone that Harry had never heard before.

The walk back to Hogwarts stretched longer than Harry remembered. His feet dragged through the snow as Tom kept a firm grip on his elbow, steering him around ice patches and hidden dips in the path. Avery and Lestrange trailed behind, their drunken singing echoing across the grounds.

"Quiet." Tom's command cut through their off-key rendition of a Weird Sisters ballad. "Unless you want detention from Pringle."

The singing stopped, replaced by exaggerated whispers and stifled snickers. Harry focused on putting one foot in front of the other, the cold air helping to clear his head somewhat. His stomach lurched with each step.

They reached the castle entrance where Pringle squinted at their flushed faces and unsteady gaits. Tom stepped forward smoothly.

"Late Prefect rounds," he explained, flashing his badge. "Found these three getting into mischief in Hogsmeade."

Pringle grunted but waved them through. The warmth of the entrance hall hit Harry like a wall, making his head spin again. He stumbled on the first step toward the dungeons.

"For Merlin's sake." Tom's grip tightened as he half-carried Harry down the stone steps. "Avery, Lestrange - straight to your dormitory."

"Yes, mother," Avery mumbled, but they broke off toward the Slytherin common room entrance.

The torchlit corridor swam before Harry's eyes. His legs gave out completely just as they reached the blank stone wall concealing the common room entrance.

"Basilisk," Tom spoke the password, practically dragging Harry through the opening. The familiar green glow of the common room made Harry's stomach roll.

"Gonna be sick." Harry lurched forward, hand pressed to his mouth.

"Not here." Tom grabbed his arm, steering him toward the boys' bathroom. "Move."

They barely made it through the door before Harry collapsed in front of the nearest toilet. His stomach heaved violently as he emptied its contents. The cold porcelain pressed against his forehead, offering minimal relief.

"Fascinating." Tom's voice echoed off the stone walls. "Even drunk and ill, your mental shields remain intact."

Harry retched again, unable to respond. His glasses slipped down his nose, threatening to fall into the toilet bowl.

"Most people's defenses crumble under the influence." Tom moved closer, his shoes clicking on the tile floor. "Yet yours... they've merely thinned. Like worn fabric rather than shattered glass."

"Stop." Harry spat bile, trying to catch his breath. "Not now."

"When better?" Tom's hand landed on Harry's shoulder, keeping him in place. "You're in no condition to run."

Another wave of nausea hit. Harry gripped the toilet bowl harder, knuckles white. His head pounded with each heartbeat.

"Where did you learn Occlumency, Evans?" Tom's fingers dug into Harry's shoulder. "Who taught you to guard your mind so thoroughly?"

"Please." Harry's voice cracked. "Just let me be sick in peace."

"Peace is earned through honesty." Tom crouched beside him, voice dropping lower. "Tell me what you're hiding."

Harry tried to push him away but missed, his coordination still compromised. His stomach lurched again.

"Nothing to tell." He wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. "Just leave me alone."

"Your lies insult us both." Tom's grip tightened painfully. "I felt your barriers the moment we dueled. No self-taught wizard has defenses like that."

Harry slumped against the toilet, exhausted. His head spun from more than just alcohol now.

"Who are you really, Harry Evans?" Tom's whisper carried a dangerous edge. "What are you doing at Hogwarts?"

"M'just a student." Harry's words slurred. "Like everyone else."

"No." Tom's other hand gripped Harry's jaw, forcing him to meet those dark eyes. "You're nothing like everyone else."

Harry tried to look away but couldn't break Tom's hold. His scar prickled uncomfortably.

"You're going to tell me everything." Tom's thumb pressed into Harry's cheek. "Starting with your name. I've researched every magical family in Britain. The name appears nowhere in the records."

Harry's stomach churned again. He twisted away from Tom's grasp, retching into the toilet.

"Could be... Muggleborn," Harry gasped between heaves.

"I checked the Muggleborn registry too." Tom's voice carried an edge of frustration. "No Evans family has produced a magical child in the last century."

Harry wiped his mouth with his sleeve, trying to steady his breathing. The room wouldn't stop spinning.

"My mother..." Harry's alcohol-addled brain scrambled for a cover story. "She married a Muggle named Evans."

"What was her maiden name?"

"Don't... don't remember." Harry pressed his forehead against the cool porcelain. "Never knew her."

"How convenient." Tom's fingers drummed against the tile floor. "Every detail about your past seems to lead to a dead end, Evans. Or should I even call you that?"

"S'my name." Harry squeezed his eyes shut, willing the nausea to pass. "Only name I've got."

"We have all night." Tom's voice held no sympathy. "And you're not leaving until I get answers."

Harry slumped back against the bathroom wall, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. The cold stone helped ground him somewhat, but the room still spun. "Was this your plan all along? Get the new kid drunk and interrogate him in the bathroom?"

"I didn't force those drinks into your hand." Tom's voice carried a hint of amusement. "Your poor choices provided an... opportunity."

"Right." Harry pressed his palms against the cold floor tiles. "Do all new students get this special treatment? Or am I just lucky?"

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Only the ones who lie."

"Right." Harry let out a harsh laugh, immediately regretting it as his head throbbed. "Because you're so honest. Saint Tom Riddle, perfect prefect, model student."

Something dangerous flashed across Tom's face. "Careful, Evans."

"Or what?" The alcohol loosened Harry's tongue, eroding his usual caution. "You'll report me to Dippet? Maybe I should report you. Tell him how you're threatening students."

"No one would believe you." Tom's voice carried absolute certainty. "My word against yours."

"Dumbledore would." Harry's head lolled back against the wall. "He already knows what you're really like."

Tom went very still. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Knows you're not what you pretend." The words tumbled out before Harry could stop them. "All polite on the outside. But inside... inside you're something else."

"You don't know anything about me." Tom's wand appeared in his hand.

Harry knew he should stop talking. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to shut up, but the Firewhisky had stripped away years of carefully built restraint. All he could see was the face of the person who'd destroyed everything he loved.

"What's wrong, Riddle?" Harry's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Did I hit a nerve?"

Tom's wand pressed under Harry's chin. "You're testing my patience."

"Good." Harry met those dark eyes, defiant despite the room spinning. "Must be hard, keeping up that perfect mask all the time. Never letting anyone see what's really underneath."

"Last warning, Evans."

"Or maybe there's nothing under there at all." Harry let out a hollow laugh. "Just emptiness. Do you even feel anything? Or is it all just... pretend?"

Tom's free hand shot out, gripping Harry's throat. "You think you understand me?"

"I understand more than you know." Harry's voice came out rough under the pressure. "Fooling everyone with his charm and perfect manners. But you can't fool me."

"Crucio," Tom hissed.

The spell hit Harry's shoulder but fizzled out almost immediately. Tom's eyes widened fractionally - the first genuine surprise Harry had seen on his face.

"Can't feel it if you don't mean it." Harry's words slurred, but his eyes stayed locked on Tom's. "That's the thing about Unforgivables. You have to really want it. Really feel it."

Tom's grip tightened. "I could kill you right now."

"Do it then." Harry's voice came out raw, challenging. "Show me what's really under that perfect mask."

Tom's wand pressed harder against Harry's throat, his pupils dilated in the dim bathroom light. Something electric crackled in the air between them, making Harry's skin prickle.

"You want to die, Evans?" Tom's face moved closer, his breath hot against Harry's cheek.

"No." Harry swallowed, feeling the wand bob against his Adam's apple. "But you want to kill me. So do it."

Tom's fingers flexed around Harry's throat, not quite squeezing. His dark eyes searched Harry's face, looking for something neither of them could name. The bathroom air grew thick, heavy with unspoken tension.

"What are you?" Tom's voice dropped to barely a whisper. His thumb traced an unconscious pattern on Harry's neck.

Harry's breath hitched. The room spun for reasons that had nothing to do with Firewhisky. Tom's proximity sent waves of heat through his alcohol-numbed body.

"I'm..." Harry's words failed as Tom's face drew even closer, those dark eyes boring into his own. His scar burned, but the pain felt different - not sharp, but electric. Alive.

Tom's wand hand trembled slightly. The pressure against Harry's throat eased, but Tom didn't pull away. Something shifted in his expression - confusion mixed with an intensity that made Harry's stomach flip.

"You're different." Tom's words ghosted across Harry's lips. "You're... not afraid."

"No." Harry's voice came out hoarse. "I'm not."

They stayed frozen like that, breath mingling in the space between them. Neither moved closer, neither pulled away. The bathroom torches flickered, casting dancing shadows across Tom's features. Harry's heart hammered against his ribs.

Tom jerked back suddenly, releasing Harry's throat. His wand disappeared into his robes with practiced smoothness. The mask slipped back into place, but his hands shook slightly as he straightened his prefect badge.

"Get yourself cleaned up." His voice came out rougher than usual. He took several steps backward, putting distance between them. "You're a disgrace to Slytherin house like this."

Harry slumped further against the wall, his neck tingling where Tom's fingers had been. The bathroom felt colder without Tom's proximity.

Tom turned sharply on his heel, his usually perfect posture rigid with tension. His footsteps echoed off the stone walls as he strode to the door. He paused at the threshold, one hand on the frame.

For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else. His head turned slightly, profile sharp in the torchlight. But then his shoulders stiffened and he pushed through the door without looking back.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Harry alone with the sound of dripping pipes and his own ragged breathing.

Chapter Text

Harry paced the empty Slytherin common room, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The Christmas decorations sparkled mockingly in the dim light from the underwater windows. Two days. Two days of ducking into alcoves, taking alternate routes, and pretending to be asleep whenever Tom entered their dormitory.

His fingers traced the spot on his neck where Tom's touch still burned in his memory. This had gone too far. Way too far.

"Careful there, dear." The portrait of Elizabeth Burke clicked her tongue. "You'll wear a hole in that lovely carpet."

Harry ignored her, dropping into an armchair by the dying fire. The previous evening's conversation with Dumbledore replayed in his mind:

"I suspected, of course." Dumbledore had peered at him over those half-moon spectacles. "The way you appeared so suddenly, your knowledge of the castle..."

"Then you understand why I need to get back." Harry had leaned forward in his chair. "I can't stay here. It's too dangerous."

"Because of young Mr. Riddle?"

Harry's head had snapped up. "What do you-"

"I observe, Mr. Evans." Dumbledore's eyes had lost their usual twinkle. "I've noticed your... interactions."

"Then you know what he becomes. What he'll do." Harry's voice had cracked. "I could tell you everything. We could stop it before-"

"No." Dumbledore's tone had been gentle but firm. "The future must unfold as it will. Knowledge of what's to come... that's a dangerous thing, Harry. Even the smallest change could have catastrophic consequences."

"But-"

"We'll find a way to send you home." Dumbledore had stood, signaling the end of the conversation. "In the meantime, I suggest you keep your distance from Mr. Riddle. For both your sakes."

Back in the present, Harry rubbed his temples. Keep his distance. Right. Because that had worked so well these past weeks.

The common room's fire sputtered, casting dancing shadows across Harry's face. His stomach churned at the memory of that night - the burning whiskey, the snow, Tom's steady arm around his waist. The bathroom confrontation played on repeat in his mind: Tom's fingers on his throat, those dark eyes boring into him, searching for weaknesses.

Harry slumped deeper into his chair. Every day here was another chance to slip up, another risk of changing something vital. He'd already shown too much. Tom's curiosity was a dangerous thing, and Harry had painted a target on his back.

The grandfather clock in the corner struck midnight, its chimes echoing through the empty common room. Christmas Eve had arrived. Harry closed his eyes, memories washing over him. Last Christmas, Hermione had knitted them all horrendous sweaters - even worse than Mrs. Weasley's usual fare. Ron had laughed so hard he'd sprayed hot chocolate across the Gryffindor common room. The three of them had stayed up late, trading chocolate frogs and plotting their next adventure.

Harry's throat tightened. He pulled his knees to his chest, suddenly feeling very small in the oversized armchair. The Slytherin common room, with its green-tinged light and serpentine decorations, felt alien. Wrong.

"Happy Christmas, mate," he whispered to the empty room, imagining Ron's freckled face and Hermione's bushy hair. Would they even know he was missing? Or had the time-turner accident changed everything? Maybe in their timeline, he'd never existed at all.

The weight of fifty years stretched between him and home like an endless void. Fifty years of choices and changes, of lives lived and lost. Fifty years before his friends would even be born.

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. Harry watched them dance and fade, each one like a memory slipping away. The smell of Mrs. Weasley's mince pies, the warmth of the Burrow's kitchen, the sound of Fred and George's latest explosion - all of it felt like a dream now.

"I just want to go home," Harry breathed, his words barely audible over the crackling fire. The portrait of Elizabeth Burke had dozed off, her soft snores joining the quiet symphony of Christmas Eve in the dungeons.

Tomorrow, the other Slytherins would exchange their expensive gifts and formal pleasantries. There would be no lumpy sweaters, no homemade fudge, no badly wrapped packages with Ron's messy handwriting. Just another day of pretending, of watching his words, of avoiding Tom's calculating gaze.

Harry pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw stars. Some Christmas this would be.

*

Harry perched on the window ledge of the Astronomy Tower's highest observation deck, one leg dangling over the edge. The stone beneath him had absorbed the winter chill, seeping through his robes. Below, pinpricks of light dotted the grounds where students gathered for New Year's celebrations. Avoiding the Slytherin common room's festivities hadn't been difficult - he'd slipped away during dinner, using every secret passage he remembered from the Marauder's Map. The sound of laughter and music drifted up from the courtyard, muffled by distance and stone.

His breath fogged the glass. Harry traced an idle pattern, remembering last year's celebration at Grimmauld Place. Sirius had smuggled in bottles of champagne, and the twins had set off indoor fireworks that chased Kreacher around the house. Even Mrs. Weasley's scolding hadn't dampened their spirits.

A burst of green sparks illuminated the night sky. Someone in the crowd below cheered. Harry pulled his knees closer to his chest. He'd managed to dodge most social interactions since Christmas, eating quickly at meals and buried in books during free periods. The solitude had seemed like a good idea at first - safer, smarter. But now, watching the celebrations below, the emptiness of the tower pressed against his ears like cotton wool. No Ron complaining about dress robes. No Hermione lecturing about the historical significance of magical New Year traditions. Just silence and stars and the bitter December wind.

Harry's fingers found the spot where his lightning scar should be - would be? - and traced the smooth skin there. Strange, how something could be both in his past and future at once. Like him, caught between times, belonging nowhere.

More fireworks bloomed against the dark sky, red and gold this time. Harry checked his watch - another fifteen minutes until midnight. Fifteen minutes until 1943 arrived, pulling him one year closer to home.

The door to the tower creaked. Harry's hand shot to his wand, but he kept his gaze fixed on the grounds below.

Tom's footsteps echoed across the stone floor, measured and unhurried. He came to a stop several feet from Harry's perch, close enough for Harry to catch the scent of parchment and cedar that seemed to follow him.

"The party not to your taste, Evans?" Tom's voice carried the faintest hint of amusement. "Or have you been avoiding more than just the festivities?"

Harry's jaw tightened. He traced another pattern on the foggy glass.

"Don't tell me you've suddenly become scared of me." Tom stepped closer, his reflection appearing in the window beside Harry's. "After that impressive display in the bathroom?"

"Not everyone's world revolves around you, Riddle." Harry kept his tone light, casual. "Sometimes people just want to be alone."

"Ah, but you've elevated avoidance to an art form these past days." Tom leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I've seen house elves less skilled at disappearing."

"If you're here to-"

"Don't worry." Tom raised a hand. "I'm not here to interrogate you today."

Harry turned his head just enough to study Tom's face. The other boy looked almost relaxed, his usual sharp edges softened by the dim light. His Slytherin tie hung loose around his neck, top button undone - a rare break in his perfect composure.

"Then why are you here?" Harry asked.

Tom moved to the window, his reflection merging with the darkness beyond. "Perhaps I wanted to escape the tedium below. Slughorn's parties become rather predictable after five years."

"Right. And you just happened to know where I was."

"You're not as mysterious as you think, Evans." Tom's lips curved. "The Astronomy Tower is where all the troubled souls flee. Though most don't tempt fate by dangling quite so precariously."

Harry shifted his leg back inside, suddenly aware of the drop below. "I wasn't-"

"No?" Tom pulled something from his pocket - a small flask that caught the starlight. "Firewhisky. Far better than whatever swill they're serving downstairs."

Harry eyed the flask with suspicion. "Last time I drank didn't end well."

"You seemed to enjoy yourself. Until the snow incident." Tom uncorked the flask and took a measured sip. "Besides, it's traditional. New Year's Eve and all that."

Harry snorted. "Right. Because you'd never slip something into a drink." He gestured at the flask. "Could be Veritaserum. Or worse."

"Your paranoia is showing, Evans." Tom swirled the contents, moonlight catching the liquid's amber glow. "If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn't be so obvious. And I certainly wouldn't drink from it first."

"Unless you took the antidote beforehand." Harry's fingers drummed against the stone ledge. "Or maybe it's keyed to affect only me. There are ways."

Tom's eyebrows rose. "You've given this quite a bit of thought. Should I be concerned about my own drinks?"

"Just speaking from experience." Harry caught himself, realizing he'd said too much. "I mean-"

"Experience?" Tom lowered the flask, interest sharpening his features. "Now that's intriguing. Who tried to poison you, Evans?"

"No one." Harry turned back to the window. Below, students had started gathering in circles, preparing for the countdown. "Forget I said anything."

"Impossible. You keep dropping these fascinating little breadcrumbs." Tom settled against the ledge, too close for comfort. "A proven duelist, accomplished Occlumens, and now apparently well-versed in poisons. Your education must have been quite... comprehensive."

"Drop it, Riddle."

Tom swirled the flask again, the liquid catching moonlight. "You know what fascinates me most about you, Evans? Your contradictions. One moment you're the perfect pureblood heir - manners, etiquette, dueling form straight from the old families. The next, you're tackling opponents like a common Muggle."

"Maybe I just don't fit in your neat little boxes." Harry tracked another burst of fireworks, green and silver sparks raining down.

"No one's that complicated without reason." Tom took another sip. "Take your accent, for instance. Pure London street most times, but occasionally you slip into something more refined. Almost as if you're playing a part."

Harry's fingers tightened on his wand. "You're reading too much into things."

"Am I?" Tom's voice dropped lower. "Or perhaps you're not reading enough into why I'm really here."

"Five minutes!" Someone shouted from below. The crowd's excitement swelled, echoing off the castle walls.

"If you're trying to intimidate me-"

"Intimidate?" Tom laughed, the sound sharp and genuine. "Evans, if I wanted to intimidate you, we wouldn't be having this civilized conversation. No, I'm here because you're the first interesting puzzle I've encountered in years."

Harry turned to face him fully. "I'm not a puzzle for you to solve."

"Everything's a puzzle." Tom's eyes gleamed in the darkness. "The world, magic, people - all systems waiting to be understood and mastered. You're just... more complex than most."

"Three minutes!"

"And what happens when you solve your puzzles?" Harry asked. "Do they lose their appeal? Become boring?"

Something flickered across Tom's face - surprise, maybe, or recognition. He studied Harry with renewed intensity. "You speak as if you know me."

"I know your type." Harry forced his shoulders to relax, fighting the urge to step back. "Everything's a game. Everyone's a piece to be moved around the board."

"Two minutes!"

Tom set the flask down with deliberate care. "And what role do you imagine I've assigned you?"

"Does it matter? I'm not playing."

"But you already are." Tom stepped closer, closing the space between them. "The moment you arrived with your mysterious past and convenient cover story, you became part of the game. The only question is whether you'll learn the rules or keep stumbling blindly forward."

"One minute!"

Harry met Tom's gaze, refusing to back down. "Maybe I'll make my own rules."

"Thirty seconds!"

Tom's smile sharpened. "Now that would be interesting."

The countdown below reached fever pitch. Harry could feel the magic building in the air, centuries of New Year traditions lending power to the moment. Tom's eyes never left his face, searching for something Harry couldn't name.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

"Last chance for that drink, Evans." Tom retrieved the flask, holding it out like an offering. Or a challenge.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

Harry stared at the flask, remembering Dumbledore's warning about changing the future. About getting too close.

"Four! Three!"

But he was already too close, wasn't he? Standing here with Tom Riddle as one year bled into the next, the space between them charged with unspoken questions.

"Two! One!"

The sky erupted in light and sound. Cheers echoed across the grounds as midnight struck, marking the arrival of 1943. Harry reached for the flask.

Harry took the flask, his fingers brushing against Tom's. The liquid burned down his throat, warming him from inside despite the winter chill. He handed it back, watching Tom's lips close around the same spot Harry's had touched.

The fireworks painted shadows across Tom's face - now red, now gold, now green. His dark eyes reflected the explosions like distant stars, and Harry found himself studying the curve of his jaw, the way his hair fell just so across his forehead.

A memory surfaced - the diary from second year, young Tom Riddle stepping out of its pages. Harry had thought then how handsome the boy was, before learning what lurked beneath that perfect facade. Now here he stood, that same boy, somehow both more and less real than the memory had been.

"What are you thinking about?" Tom asked, tilting his head. "You look... troubled."

Harry took another swig from the flask, buying time. How could he explain that he was thinking about this same boy unleashing a basilisk on the school? That in just a few months, these halls would echo with screams, and Myrtle would die in a bathroom? The Tom before him, with his loose tie and offered drinks, seemed worlds away from that monster.

"Just... thinking about what this year might bring." Harry watched another firework burst overhead. "Everything feels uncertain."

"Change isn't always bad." Tom moved closer, until their shoulders almost touched. "Sometimes uncertainty leads to... interesting possibilities."

Harry's breath caught. The firewhisky hummed in his veins, making everything soft around the edges. Tom's presence beside him felt like standing too close to a flame - dangerous, but impossible to move away from.

"You're doing it again," Harry said.

"Doing what?"

"That thing. Where you try to be..." Harry waved his hand vaguely. "Charming. Magnetic. Whatever this is."

Tom's laugh was low, genuine. "And is it working?"

"No," Harry said, but the word came out weaker than he intended. He pushed away from the window ledge, putting distance between himself and Tom. "It's not working."

The last of the fireworks faded, leaving them in near darkness. Harry could still feel Tom's eyes on him, searching, assessing. The warmth from the Firewhisky twisted in his stomach, making his thoughts blur at the edges.

"Your mouth says no," Tom's voice carried across the space between them, "but the rest of you tells a different story."

Harry's hand found the wall, steadying himself. A few weeks. He'd only been here a few weeks, and already he felt himself slipping. Getting pulled into Tom's orbit like so many others before him. The thought sent ice through his veins, cutting through the alcohol's haze. His fingers traced the wall's rough stone, anchoring himself in reality. This wasn't some mysterious student with a dark past. This was Lord Voldemort. The same hands that had offered him Firewhisky would one day cast the curse that murdered his parents. That smooth voice would command armies of Death Eaters, would speak the words that tore families apart.

Harry's throat tightened, phantom pressure from their bathroom encounter ghosting across his skin. The same person who had tried to force his way into Harry's mind just recently now stood offering drinks and conversation like they were friends.

Harry pushed away from the wall, his head clearing. "I should go."

"It's still early," Tom said, but Harry was already moving toward the door.

He couldn't play this game. Couldn't pretend this was normal. Every second he spent here felt like a betrayal of everyone Voldemort would destroy - his parents, Cedric, countless others whose names he'd never know. This wasn't just Tom Riddle, charming Slytherin prefect. This was the beginning of Lord Voldemort, and Harry couldn't let himself forget that. Not for a moment.

Harry reached the tower door, his steps unsteady from the Firewhisky. The handle felt cold against his palm, grounding him back to reality.

"Evans," Tom called after him. "Happy New Year."

Harry didn't turn around. He pulled the door open and stepped through, letting it swing shut behind him. The stone stairs stretched below, dark and empty. He descended quickly, putting as much distance between himself and the Astronomy Tower as possible.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall buzzed with post-holiday chatter. Harry stabbed at his eggs, half-listening to Avery's animated retelling of his family's New Year's party. The familiar noise wrapped around him like a blanket - after weeks of near-empty halls, the castle had come alive again.

"Mother insisted on inviting the Rosiers," Avery said, spreading jam on his toast. "Complete disaster. Their eldest son got drunk and tried to duel my cousin over some witch they both fancied."

Lestrange snorted into his pumpkin juice. "Who won?"

"Neither. They both missed and set the curtains on fire instead."

Harry found himself smiling despite himself. The conversation felt... normal. After spending the holidays wrapped in his own dark thoughts, the simple act of sitting with others lifted a weight he hadn't realized he'd been carrying.

"Evans, you've been quiet." Lucretia Black slid onto the bench across from him. "Did the holiday ghosts get your tongue?"

"Just tired," Harry said, reaching for more coffee. "Still adjusting to the schedule."

"Aren't we all?" She pulled a piece of parchment from her bag. "Speaking of schedules, study group's starting up again tonight. Library at seven."

Harry's fingers traced the rim of his coffee cup. The thought of spending more time around other students - around Tom - made his stomach clench. But complete withdrawal would only draw more attention.

"I don't know if-"

"You're coming." Lucretia's quill scratched Harry's name onto her list before he could finish. "We need someone to balance out Riddle's monopoly on discussions."

Avery nodded. "She's right. Most of us just sit there nodding while he lectures."

"I've seen how you handle yourself in class," Lucretia said, her grey eyes studying Harry's face with an intensity that reminded him uncomfortably of Sirius. "You've got interesting perspectives. Different from what we usually hear."

Harry recognized the careful probe in her words. The Blacks had always been clever - and dangerous when they wanted information.

"Plus," she added, "spending all your time alone isn't exactly helping those rumors about your mysterious past, is it?"

She had a point. Harry had been isolating himself, eating at odd hours and avoiding common spaces. It wasn't sustainable - not if he wanted to maintain his cover as a normal transfer student.

"Fine," Harry said, forcing a small smile. "Seven o'clock."

Lucretia beamed. "Excellent. We're reviewing Golpalott's Third Law. Merlin knows I need help with that one."

The morning post arrived in a flutter of wings. Harry watched the owls circle overhead, delivering letters and packages to eager students. No mail for him, of course. But the familiar routine helped ground him in the present moment.

"Did you hear about the new Defense curriculum?" Avery asked between bites. "Merrythought's adding practical dueling sessions."

Harry's eyes flickered involuntarily toward the far end of the table where Tom sat surrounded by his usual followers. Tom caught his gaze for a brief moment before Harry looked away.

"Sounds interesting," Harry said carefully, focusing on his plate.

He could do this. Participate in classes, study with others, maintain surface-level friendships. But never forget why he was here, or who these people would become. Never let his guard down completely.

The bell rang, signaling the start of classes. Harry gathered his books, falling into step with the other Slytherins as they headed toward the dungeons for Potions. The corridors filled with students, their voices echoing off stone walls that had stood for centuries before and would stand for centuries after.

Just another student, Harry reminded himself. That's all he needed to be. Nothing more, nothing less. He could manage that until he found his way home.

The Potions classroom's familiar scent of herbs and chemicals filled Harry's nostrils as he settled at his workbench. Professor Slughorn's voice droned on about the properties of Strengthening Solutions, but Harry's mind drifted to his last meeting in Dumbledore's office.

"Time magic is delicate, Mr. Evans." Dumbledore had peered at him over those half-moon spectacles. "We cannot rush this process."

Harry crushed his scarab beetles with more force than necessary, powder scattering across his workstation.

"Months?" The word had stuck in his throat like a bitter potion.

"If not longer." Dumbledore's gentle tone had only made it worse. "The Department of Mysteries is researching similar cases, but each instance of temporal displacement is unique. We must be patient."

A wisp of purple smoke rose from Harry's cauldron, snapping him back to the present. He quickly adjusted the flame, stirring counterclockwise to correct his mistake.

"Careful there, Evans." Slughorn passed by his station. "Salamander blood requires a delicate touch."

Patient. The word echoed in Harry's head as he measured out the next ingredient. Dumbledore had made it sound so simple, as if Harry was merely waiting for a delayed train rather than stranded fifty years in the past.

"The timeline must remain intact," Dumbledore had insisted, his blue eyes unusually serious. "Every day you spend here carries risk. The less you interact, the better."

Harry's hands stilled over his cauldron as the memory of that conversation continued to play out.

"Wouldn't it be safer if I left Hogwarts entirely?" Harry had leaned forward in his chair, desperate. "I could hide somewhere in Muggle London until you find a way to send me back."

"And risk exposure in an unfamiliar time?" Dumbledore had shaken his head. "No, Harry. Hogwarts remains the safest place for you. Here, we can monitor your situation and protect you from those who might take... unfortunate interest in your circumstances."

"But being around them every day-" Harry's voice had cracked. "Knowing what they'll become..."

"Is precisely why you must stay." Dumbledore's fingers had drummed against his desk. "Your disappearance now would raise questions we cannot answer. Questions that might lead certain individuals to investigate matters better left unexplored."

The unspoken name had hung between them: Tom Riddle.

"Tom Riddle is already probing for more information." Harry's hands had clenched into fists. "He won't stop until he finds out more."

"And yet you've given him nothing concrete to pursue." Dumbledore's blue eyes held Harry's gaze. "That is what matters. Let him watch. Let him wonder. But give him no proof, no confirmation of his suspicions."

"Until when?" Harry had demanded. "How long can I keep this up?"

A sharp crack jolted Harry back to the present - his stirring rod had snapped in his grip. Fragments of wood scattered across the workbench.

"Reparo." Harry whispered, watching the pieces knit back together. His potion had turned an alarming shade of orange instead of the desired purple.

"Time's up!" Slughorn called out. "Fill your vials and bring them forward."

Harry bottled his ruined attempt, knowing it would earn a poor mark. Around him, other students chatted as they cleaned their stations. The familiar rhythm of scrubbing cauldrons and sorting ingredients helped steady his racing thoughts.

"Rough morning?" Lucretia asked as she passed his bench. "Your potion looked fine until the end."

"Lost focus for a minute." Harry vanished the remaining contents of his cauldron. "Nothing serious."

"Well, buck up for tonight's study session." She tapped his workbench with her wand. "Can't have you daydreaming through Golpalott's Law."

Harry nodded, gathering his books. The memory of Dumbledore's office faded as he focused on the solid stone walls around him, the weight of his bag against his shoulder, the shuffle of students heading to their next class.

*

The library's evening shadows stretched across ancient wooden tables as Harry made his way to the Slytherin study group. Lucretia had claimed their usual spot near the Potions section, books and parchment already spread across the surface.

"Evans, over here." She waved him over. "We're just getting started."

Avery and Lestrange slouched in their chairs while Mulciber flipped through his notes. A few other sixth-years huddled around the table, quills poised over fresh parchment.

"Golpalott's Third Law," Lucretia announced, tapping her textbook. "The antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each separate component."

"In English?" Avery groaned.

"It means you can't just mix individual antidotes together," Harry explained, settling into an empty chair. "You need to find the catalyzing agent that binds them."

Heads turned toward him. Harry kept his eyes on his own textbook, cursing his habit of showing off knowledge he shouldn't have yet.

"Exactly." Lucretia said. "Now, the tricky part is identifying the binding element..."

The scratch of quills filled the air as they worked through practice problems. Harry found himself relaxing into the familiar routine of study groups, remembering similar sessions with Ron and Hermione. The ache in his chest lessened slightly.

"Anyone understand this bit about reactive ingredients?" Mulciber asked, frowning at his parchment.

"Some components cancel each other out," Harry said. "You have to account for-"

The sound of footsteps made him pause. Tom Riddle appeared between the bookshelves, a stack of books floating behind him.

"Mind if I join?" Tom's voice carried just the right note of polite inquiry. "I've been working on the same assignment."

Before anyone could respond, he pulled up a chair. The floating books arranged themselves neatly on the table.

"We were just discussing reactive ingredients," Lucretia said, shifting to make room.

"Fascinating subject." Tom's dark eyes found Harry's. "Please, Evans, continue your explanation."

Harry's fingers tightened around his quill. "As I was saying, certain ingredients react with each other. You need to account for those interactions when calculating the final antidote."

"Indeed." Tom opened his own textbook. "Though some theorists argue Golpalott overlooked certain edge cases involving magical catalysts."

"That's beyond the scope of our assignment," Harry said, keeping his voice neutral.

"Knowledge shouldn't be limited by assignment parameters." Tom's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Wouldn't you agree?"

The other students watched their exchange like a tennis match. Lucretia cleared her throat.

"Perhaps we should focus on the practical applications first?" She pointed to a diagram. "The exam will cover standard poison combinations."

"Of course." Tom leaned back in his chair. "Though I find theoretical discussions quite... illuminating."

Harry bent over his parchment, pretending to check his calculations. The scratch of quills resumed, but tension hummed beneath the surface. Every few minutes, he felt Tom's gaze sweep over him.

"This example here," Avery said, tapping his book. "When mixing wolfsbane with dittany-"

"The silver content neutralizes the healing properties," Harry and Tom said simultaneously.

Their eyes met across the table. Tom's lip curled slightly.

"Great minds think alike," he said softly.

Harry looked away first, focusing on helping Mulciber with his notes. The library's shadows deepened as evening wore on, candlelight flickering across ancient tomes and fresh parchment.

The study session dragged on as stars appeared in the library's high windows. Harry's neck ached from bending over his parchment, deliberately avoiding Tom's calculated glances.

"I think that covers the main points," Lucretia said, rolling up her completed essay. "Anyone need to review anything else?"

Avery stretched, joints popping. "My brain's full. Can't absorb another word about poison antidotes."

"We should head back before curfew anyway." Lestrange gathered his books. "Coming, Evans?"

Harry shook his head, gesturing to his half-finished notes. "Need to finish this section. I'll catch up."

The others packed up, chairs scraping against stone floors. Harry kept writing, hoping Tom would leave with them. But as footsteps faded toward the library entrance, a shadow remained across his parchment.

"Fascinating how quickly you've adapted to our curriculum," Tom said, closing his book with precise movements. "Almost as if you've studied it before."

"Some concepts are universal." Harry continued writing without looking up. "Poison is poison, no matter where you learn about it."

"Indeed." Tom's finger traced the edge of the table. "Though your practical knowledge seems... extensive for someone who claims to be self-taught."

Harry's quill paused mid-sentence. "Not self-taught. Private tutored."

He kept his voice level, remembering Dumbledore's warning about maintaining his cover story. The lie felt heavy on his tongue, but he forced himself to continue organizing his notes with steady hands.

"Ah, right." Tom's fingers drummed once against the wooden table. "Must have slipped my mind."

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft rustle of parchment and the distant sound of Madam Peters reshelving books. Harry focused on the neat rows of his handwriting, refusing to engage further.

A clock chimed somewhere in the castle depths, its echo reaching them through the library's towering shelves. Neither boy moved.

"Curfew," Tom said softly. "We should head back to the common room."

Harry gathered his materials with precise movements, tucking them into his bag. "Go ahead. I'll finish up here."

"And risk another encounter with Pringle?" Tom's voice carried an edge of amusement. "I insist on escorting you. As prefect, it's my duty."

Harry's jaw clenched. Of course Tom would use his authority as an excuse to corner him. The library's shadows seemed to deepen around them as Harry extinguished his reading lamp.

They walked in silence through the darkened corridors, their footsteps echoing off stone walls. Harry kept a careful distance between them, aware of every movement Tom made.

At the entrance to the dungeons, Tom paused. "You never finished explaining your theory about magical catalysts."

"Nothing to explain." Harry started down the stairs. "Like I said, it's beyond the scope of our assignment."

"You seem to know quite a lot about things beyond the scope of our assignments." Tom fell into step beside him. "Defensive magic, advanced potions, Occlumency..."

Harry's hand tightened on the strap of his bag. "I read a lot."

"So do I." Tom's voice dropped lower. "Yet I find myself... fascinated by the gaps in your knowledge. Advanced spellwork, but confusion over basic magical theory. Perfect defensive techniques, yet stumbling through simple transfiguration."

They reached the blank stone wall concealing the Slytherin entrance. Harry muttered the password, eager to escape this conversation.

"Almost as if," Tom continued as the wall slid open, "you learned everything out of order. Or perhaps... out of time?"

Harry stepped through the entrance without responding, his heart pounding against his ribs. He needed to get away from Tom's probing questions before he slipped up.

The Slytherin common room glowed with its usual greenish light, empty except for a few students finishing homework by the fire. Harry headed straight for the dormitory stairs, but Tom's voice stopped him.

"It's rather rude to walk away from a conversation, Evans."

Harry turned, keeping his expression neutral. "It's late. I'm tired."

"Tired of pretending?" Tom stepped closer, his tall frame blocking the path to the stairs. "It must be exhausting, maintaining all those careful lies."

"The only thing exhausting me is your constant interrogation." Harry met Tom's dark gaze steadily. "I've answered your questions. Multiple times."

"You've deflected my questions." Tom's voice remained soft, but steel ran beneath the words. "There's a difference."

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending sparks dancing across the stone floor. The remaining students gathered their books and retreated to their dormitories, leaving Harry alone with Tom in the shadowy common room.

"What do you want from me, Riddle?"

"The truth." Tom circled around Harry like a predator stalking prey. "You arrive with a flimsy cover story, display remarkable magical ability, and resist my attempts to read your mind. You're hiding something significant."

"Everyone has secrets." Harry tracked Tom's movement without turning his head. "You of all people should understand that."

Tom's footsteps whispered against the stone floor as he moved closer to Harry. The common room's green-tinged light cast strange shadows across his aristocratic features, making his dark eyes appear almost black.

"You're right." Tom's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I do understand secrets. I understand the weight of them, the constant vigilance required to keep them hidden."

Another step closer. Harry fought the urge to back away, standing his ground as Tom entered his personal space. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.

"But I also understand the toll they take." Tom tilted his head slightly, studying Harry's face from mere inches away. "The isolation. The constant calculation of every word, every gesture."

Harry could smell Tom's cologne now, a subtle mix of sandalwood and something darker. His heart hammered against his ribs as Tom leaned in further, close enough that Harry could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"It must be lonely," Tom murmured, "carrying such heavy secrets all alone."

The firelight flickered across Tom's face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and casting deep shadows beneath his eyes. Harry's fingers twitched toward his wand, but he kept his hands still at his sides.

"You don't have to bear them alone," Tom continued, his breath ghosting across Harry's cheek. "I could help you, if you'd let me."

A sharp crack echoed through the common room. Harry jerked back as a house-elf materialized between them, its tennis ball-sized eyes blinking up at them.

"Begging pardons, young masters." The elf bowed low, ears flopping. "Dippy is cleaning fireplaces now."

Tom stepped away from Harry, his expression shifting from intense focus to cool detachment in an instant. The charged atmosphere dissipated as the elf shuffled toward the hearth, levitating cleaning supplies behind it.

"We should retire for the night." Tom's voice returned to its normal volume, all trace of intimacy gone. "Early classes tomorrow."

The house-elf hummed tunelessly as it swept ash from the grate, seemingly oblivious to the tension it had interrupted. Harry seized the opportunity to put distance between himself and Tom, backing toward the dormitory stairs.

"Goodnight then." Harry turned away, his pulse still racing.

"Pleasant dreams, Evans." Tom's words followed him up the stairs. "We'll continue our discussion another time."

Chapter Text

The library hummed with anxious whispers as students crammed for midterms. Stacks of books teetered on every table, and the air smelled of dusty parchment and desperation.

"I'm dead. Absolutely dead." Avery slumped over his Potions textbook. "Why didn't I study during break?"

Harry glanced up from his own notes. "You were too busy drinking Firewhisky and playing Exploding Snap."

"Don't remind me." Avery dragged his hands down his face. "Help me with these antidote properties? You're brilliant at Potions."

"That's debatable." Harry shifted his chair closer anyway, pointing to Avery's messy diagrams. "Here, you've mixed up the effects of bezoar and unicorn horn."

Avery leaned in, his shoulder brushing Harry's as he squinted at the parchment. "Show me the difference?"

As Harry explained, he noticed Avery's increased proximity lately - always sitting next to him at meals, partnering in classes, seeking him out in the common room. The attention felt calculated, especially given Tom's recent interrogations.

A stack of books crashed onto their table, making them both jump. Lestrange dropped into the chair across from them, rubbing his temples.

"Sorry, my brain's turned to mush. What are you two working on?"

"Antidotes." Harry pushed his notes toward the center. "Want to join?"

"Merlin, yes. Save me from this torment."

Harry found himself relaxing as they worked together. Avery's terrible jokes and Lestrange's dramatic sighs made the studying almost enjoyable. It reminded him of late nights in the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Hermione - a pang shot through his chest at the thought.

But he was here now, trapped in 1943 until who knew when. And these boys, despite their future allegiances, were just students like him. Avery's genuine excitement when he finally understood a concept, Lestrange's quiet determination to improve his grades - they were so different from the Death Eaters they'd become.

"Evans, you're a lifesaver." Avery clapped him on the back. "Join us for lunch? Kitchen elves always sneak me extra treacle tart."

"Sure." Harry gathered his books, surprised by how much he meant it. "Thanks for asking."

"'Course. What are friends for?"

Friends. The word settled warm in Harry's chest. Maybe he didn't have to be completely alone while stuck in the past. As long as he stayed cautious around Tom, having allies in Slytherin could make this exile more bearable.

The three of them claimed a spot at the Slytherin table, plates piled high with shepherd's pie. Harry reached for the pumpkin juice when Avery nudged his arm.

"Speaking of friends, noticed Lucretia Black can't take her eyes off you lately."

Harry choked on his drink. "What?"

"Come off it." Lestrange smirked. "She's been finding every excuse to sit next to you in the common room."

"We're just study partners." Harry wiped his mouth with a napkin, hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Study partners?" Avery waggled his eyebrows. "Is that what they call it now? Because I saw her fixing your collar before Potions yesterday."

"My tie was crooked-"

"And she just had to straighten it herself?" Lestrange's grin widened. "Rather than, oh I don't know, telling you about it?"

Harry stabbed at his pie. "You're reading too much into things."

"Am I?" Avery leaned forward. "Then why does she always save you a seat at Slug Club meetings?"

"And volunteer to partner with you in Charms?" Lestrange added.

"And talk about you constantly to her friends?"

"I heard her tell Walburga that you have the most striking green eyes she's ever seen."

Harry dropped his fork. "She said what?"

"Ha! Got your attention now, didn't we?" Avery looked triumphant. "Face it, Evans. The most eligible witch in Slytherin has set her sights on you."

"Don't be ridiculous." Harry pushed his plate away, appetite gone. "She's a Black. They don't associate with unknowns like me."

"Maybe that's part of the appeal." Lestrange lowered his voice. "The mysterious transfer student with impressive magic and questionable background. Rather romantic, don't you think?"

Harry pushed back from the table, appetite completely gone. "Look, Lucretia's nice and all, but I'm not interested in dating anyone right now."

"Are you mad?" Avery gaped at him. "She's gorgeous, brilliant, and from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families."

"And I'm a nobody with no family connections or inheritance." Harry gathered his books. "Even if I wanted to court her - which I don't - it wouldn't be proper."

"You're too hard on yourself, Evans." Lestrange pushed his plate aside. "Your magic alone proves you're not some nobody."

"Drop it." Harry's knuckles whitened around his books. "I need to finish that Transfiguration essay before-"

A hush fell over their section of the table. Tom Riddle slid onto the bench across from them, his prefect badge gleaming.

"Before what, Evans?" Tom's dark eyes fixed on Harry. "Surely you've completed the assignment. You're always so... diligent in Dumbledore's class."

Harry's jaw clenched. "Just adding final touches."

"How conscientious." Tom reached for an apple, his movements precise. "Though I noticed you struggled with the practical portion yesterday. Perhaps you'd benefit from additional instruction?"

"I managed fine."

"Did you?" Tom's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Your wand movement seemed... unfamiliar. Almost as if you learned a different technique somewhere else."

Avery and Lestrange exchanged glances, suddenly very interested in their plates.

"Everyone has their own style." Harry stood, refusing to let Tom bait him into another confrontation. "If you'll excuse me."

"Of course." Tom took a deliberate bite of his apple. "Though do remember - as prefect, I'm always available to assist fellow Slytherins with their... academic difficulties."

"I'll keep that in mind." Harry turned away, his heart pounding. Every interaction with Tom felt like walking through a minefield, never knowing which step would trigger an explosion.

"Oh, and Evans?" Tom's voice carried across the table. "Do give my regards to Lucretia. She seemed quite disappointed when you declined her invitation to yesterday's study session."

Harry didn't respond, forcing himself to walk normally toward the exit despite the crawling sensation between his shoulder blades where he knew Tom's gaze followed.

*

Crystal goblets clinked as students mingled in Slughorn's office. The usual crowd lounged on velvet chairs and cushioned footstools, their voices a constant murmur beneath the crackling fireplace.

Harry sank deeper into his armchair, wishing he could disappear into the upholstery. Lucretia perched on the chair's arm beside him, her perfume a subtle mix of jasmine and vanilla.

"Try these, Harry." She offered him a plate of crystallized pineapple, the candied chunks glittering like amber jewels in the firelight. "Professor Slughorn just received them from his contact in the Caribbean. They're supposed to be enchanted to capture the exact moment of perfect ripeness - much better than the ones you'd find in Honeydukes."

"Thanks." Harry took one to be polite, though his stomach churned. Her knee brushed against his arm as she shifted position.

"You missed a fascinating discussion last meeting." Lucretia's dark curls fell forward as she leaned closer. "Tom gave quite the speech about advanced shield charms."

"Did he?" Harry's fingers tightened around his goblet of elderflower wine.

"Mmhm." She adjusted the silver clip in her hair. "Though personally, I found your demonstration of the Patronus Charm far more impressive."

Across the room, Tom held court among a cluster of admirers. His perfect posture and practiced smile reminded Harry of a cobra preparing to strike.

"The Patronus was just luck." Harry tried to edge away, but the chair's arm prevented escape.

"Nonsense." Lucretia's hand touched his shoulder. "You're far too modest, Harry. Your magical ability is remarkable."

"Evans." Slughorn's booming voice cut through the chatter. "Come, my boy, join our discussion about defensive magic applications!"

Harry stood quickly, nearly knocking over his drink. "Excuse me."

"Of course." Lucretia's fingers trailed down his arm as he moved past. "Save me a seat at breakfast tomorrow?"

"Er, right." Harry hurried toward Slughorn's group, feeling Tom's calculating gaze follow his movement.

The evening stretched endlessly as Harry navigated forced small talk and dodged Lucretia's attempts to regain her position at his side. When Slughorn finally dismissed them, Harry bolted for the door, not waiting to see if anyone followed.

Harry's footsteps echoed through the empty corridor as he left Slughorn's office. The stone walls seemed to close in, amplifying each sound until-

"Leaving so soon, Evans?"

Harry spun around. Tom emerged from the shadows, his prefect badge catching the torchlight.

"I have homework." Harry turned to leave, but Tom stepped into his path.

"Interesting display back there." Tom's voice carried an edge. "Lucretia Black practically draped across your chair."

"That's none of your business, Riddle."

"Everything in Slytherin house is my business." Tom moved closer, his height forcing Harry to look up. "Though I must say, you seemed rather... uncomfortable with her advances."

"I'm not interested in dating."

"No?" Tom's eyes flickered over Harry's face. "Strange. Most would consider Lucretia quite the prize. Beautiful, wealthy, impeccable bloodline-"

"Then why don't you court her?" Harry snapped.

Tom's lips curved into a calculated smile. "I have more important priorities than romance. My focus remains on academic excellence and leadership responsibilities."

He adjusted his sleeve with practiced precision. "Besides, the Noble House of Black has certain... expectations for potential suitors. My unknown heritage would hardly meet their standards."

"Right." Harry's eyes narrowed at Tom's carefully constructed humility. The same heritage Tom would deny with violence and murder.

"Though perhaps that's why you resist Lucretia's attention?" Tom tilted his head. "A shared understanding of our... humble circumstances?"

"I told you, I'm not interested in dating anyone." Harry tried to step around him.

Tom shifted to block his path again. "Of course. Focusing on your studies is admirable. Though one might wonder why a transfer student in his sixth year shows such dedication to temporary arrangements."

"Maybe I just want good marks." Harry met Tom's gaze steadily, refusing to back down.

"Indeed." Tom straightened his prefect badge. "Well, I should complete my patrol rounds. Do remember what I said about offering assistance with Transfiguration. Your wandwork could use... refinement."

Harry rolled his eyes, the tension in his shoulders finally breaking. "Your concern for my academics is touching, Riddle, but I think I can manage without private lessons from Slytherin's golden boy."

"Such hostility." Tom's perfect composure slipped for just a moment, revealing a flash of genuine irritation. "Here I am, extending an olive branch, and you respond with sarcasm."

"Maybe because your 'olive branches' always come with strings attached." Harry crossed his arms. "Or should I say, snakes?"

"Crude wordplay, Evans. I expected better from someone who claims such proficiency in defensive magic." Tom's fingers traced the edge of his wand holster - a gesture Harry had learned to watch for in their future encounters.

"I don't claim anything. Unlike some people, I don't need to constantly prove myself."

"No?" Tom's hand stilled. "Yet you seem remarkably eager to demonstrate your abilities whenever challenged. The Patronus Charm, your dueling reflexes, those peculiar shield variations..."

"Right, because you never show off in class." Harry leaned against the cold stone wall. "I must have imagined all those 'spontaneous demonstrations' Slughorn keeps asking you to perform."

A muscle twitched in Tom's jaw - the smallest crack in his perfect mask. It shouldn't have been satisfying, but Harry couldn't help feeling a spark of triumph at finally getting under Tom's skin.

Tom's eyes darkened. "You know, Evans, in all my years at Hogwarts, I've rarely encountered someone quite so... insolent."

"Maybe you need more people willing to call out your act."

Footsteps and voices echoed down the corridor. A group of students from Slughorn's gathering rounded the corner, their laughter bouncing off the stone walls.

"Evening, Tom!" Avery waved as he passed. "Evans."

Lucretia lingered behind the others, her gaze darting between Tom and Harry. "Is everything alright?"

"Perfectly fine." Tom's pleasant mask snapped back into place. "Just discussing academic matters with Evans."

"At this hour?" Lestrange raised an eyebrow.

"Prefect duties." Tom's smile didn't waver. "Ensuring everyone returns to the common room safely."

The group hesitated, but Tom's presence commanded movement. They filtered past, shoes clicking against stone, whispered conversations fading into the darkness.

Lucretia touched Harry's arm as she passed. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Wait,” Harry said. “I’ll walk with you." He pushed away from the wall, eager for an excuse to escape Tom's interrogation. "We're headed to the same place anyway."

Lucretia's face brightened. "How thoughtful."

"Evans." Tom's voice carried a warning edge. "We weren't finished."

"Actually, we were." Harry fell into step beside Lucretia, deliberately turning his back on Tom. "Whatever academic concerns you have can wait until morning."

Lucretia slipped her hand into the crook of Harry's elbow - a proper escort position that still made him tense. Her fingers were warm through his sleeve.

"Did you enjoy Professor Slughorn's gathering?" She matched his pace perfectly, her shoes clicking softly against stone.

"It was... interesting." Harry kept his eyes forward, though he could feel Tom's gaze burning into his back.

"You seemed distracted." Her perfume drifted between them again. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable earlier."

"No, not at all." The lie felt heavy on his tongue. "Just tired from studying."

They turned down the corridor leading to the dungeons, the temperature dropping with each step. Lucretia moved closer, her shoulder brushing his.

"Perhaps we could study together tomorrow? The library's quite peaceful on Sunday mornings."

"Er..." Harry scrambled for an excuse that wouldn't offend. "I actually promised Avery I'd help him with Potions."

"Oh." Her grip on his arm loosened slightly. "Another time, then?"

The disappointment in her voice made guilt twist in Harry's stomach. She was being kind, and he kept pushing her away.

"Maybe during the week?" He offered, trying to soften the rejection. "When I'm caught up on assignments."

Lucretia's smile returned, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course. Your dedication to academics is admirable."

They reached the blank stone wall concealing the Slytherin common room entrance. Harry withdrew his arm from her grip as naturally as possible.

"Serpens nobilis," Lucretia spoke the password, and the wall slid open.

The common room was half-full, students scattered across leather chairs and study tables. Green light filtered through the lake windows, casting rippling shadows across the stone floor.

"Thank you for escorting me." Lucretia smoothed her robes. "Though I suspect Tom would have ensured my safe return regardless."

Harry glanced back toward the entrance, but Tom hadn't followed them. "Right. Well, goodnight then."

"Goodnight, Harry." She hesitated, then added softly, "Do let me know when you're free to study."

She turned toward the girls' dormitory stairs, her dark curls swaying with each step. Several other students watched her departure before turning curious looks toward Harry.

Harry ignored the stares and claimed an empty chair by the fire, pulling out his Transfiguration textbook. The flames crackled, casting dancing shadows across the pages as he tried to focus on the words. The common room slowly emptied as students drifted toward their dormitories. Harry stared at the same paragraph he'd been reading for the past hour, the words blurring together.

A house-elf appeared with a soft pop, gathering empty cups and straightening cushions. The creature's movements were nearly silent, practiced from years of late-night cleaning.

Harry closed his book with a sigh. His mind kept replaying the evening - Lucretia's persistent attention, Tom's calculated provocations, the constant dance of avoiding both while maintaining his cover story. Every interaction felt like another strand in a web he hadn't meant to weave.

The fire had burned low, orange embers casting a dim glow across the empty common room. Harry gathered his things, muscles stiff from sitting too long.

In the dormitory, his roommates' steady breathing filled the darkness. Harry changed quietly and slipped into bed, drawing the green curtains closed.

The lake water cast shifting patterns through the window, a hypnotic rhythm that usually helped him sleep. Tonight, it only reminded him of another time, another dormitory, where red curtains and Gryffindor snores had meant safety and belonging.

Harry turned away from the window, pulled his blanket higher, and forced his eyes closed. Tomorrow was another day of pretending to be someone he wasn't, in a time he didn't belong.

*

Professor Merrythought surveyed the assembled students with sharp eyes. "Today's practical exam will test your defensive capabilities in group combat scenarios. Form teams of three."

The Defense classroom had been cleared of desks, leaving an open space marked with chalk lines. Students clustered together, forming alliances based on house and ability.

"Evans." Avery grabbed Harry's sleeve. "Partner with us."

Lestrange stood beside Avery, wand already drawn. Harry nodded, grateful to avoid being paired with either Lucretia or Tom.

"Each team will face a series of enchanted training dummies." Merrythought gestured to three humanoid figures standing motionless against the far wall. "The dummies will attack with increasing difficulty. Your goal is to defend yourselves and your teammates while disabling the threats. You will be graded on technique, coordination, and effectiveness."

Tom's team - with Nott and Rosier - went first. They moved with practiced precision, shields overlapping as they advanced in a tight triangle formation. Tom's spells crackled with barely contained power, violet and crimson streaks that left scorch marks on the training dummies, while his partners provided covering fire from either side. Nott specialized in quick, surgical strikes, while Rosier's broader defensive charms helped maintain their unified front. It was clear they'd worked together before, their movements flowing like a well-rehearsed dance.

"Show-offs," Avery muttered as the dummies fell.

"Next group!" Merrythought called.

Harry's team took position. The dummies activated, their blank faces eerily smooth as they raised wooden arms.

"Protego!" Harry's shield deflected the first volley of spells.

Avery attacked from the left while Lestrange circled right. Harry maintained the shield, giving his teammates time to maneuver.

A dummy broke through, firing rapid stunning spells. Harry rolled, coming up beside Avery.

"Cover me!" Avery shouted.

Harry cast a wide-area shield charm while Avery launched a barrage of hexes. Lestrange's Reducto caught a dummy in the chest, splintering its wooden frame.

The remaining dummies increased their attack speed. Multi-colored spells filled the air.

"Duck!" Harry pulled Avery down as green sparks flew overhead.

Lestrange's shield faltered under sustained fire, crackling with blue sparks as spell after spell hammered against it. Harry sent a powerful Bombarda at the dummy's feet, forcing it back in a shower of stone fragments and dust. The training construct stumbled, its wooden joints creaking as it struggled to maintain balance.

"Together!" Harry called. "On three!"

They synchronized their spells - Harry's Expelliarmus, Avery's Incarcerous, and Lestrange's Stupefy. The combined assault overwhelmed the dummy's defenses.

The final dummy charged, firing spells in an erratic pattern. Harry's shield charm absorbed two hits before shattering.

Avery stumbled, caught by a glancing hex. Lestrange moved to cover him while Harry drew the dummy's attention.

"Now!" Harry dropped flat.

Lestrange and Avery's spells crossed above him in brilliant arcs of red and white, catching the dummy in a devastating crossfire. It toppled backward with a loud creak, limbs frozen and joints locked in an awkward pose as wisps of magical energy crackled across its wooden surface.

"Time!" Merrythought called. "Well coordinated, all of you. Particularly good shield work, Evans."

Harry helped Avery up, noting Tom's calculating stare from across the room. The other students whispered, comparing techniques and scores.

"Next group, take position!"

Harry's team moved aside as Lucretia's group stepped forward. The practical continued, but Harry's thoughts drifted to Tom's earlier display of power. Even in practice, Tom's magic carried an intensity that set him apart - a reminder of what he would become.

"Excellent wandwork today." Avery clapped Harry's shoulder, his usual haughty demeanor softened by genuine admiration. "We should practice together more often. Your shield charm was particularly impressive - even Merrythought noticed."

"Yeah," Harry managed a smile, pushing away dark memories of future battles. "We should."

"Speaking of practice..." Avery adjusted his robes as they filed out of the Defense classroom. "A few of us meet in the dungeons on Thursday nights. Private dueling club, you could say."

Harry paused in the corridor, other students streaming past. "Is that allowed?"

"Not exactly." Avery lowered his voice. "But Slughorn turns a blind eye. Claims ignorance if anyone asks. We use the old potions storage room - plenty of space once you clear the shelves."

"Who else comes?" Harry kept his tone neutral, though his muscles tensed.

"Lestrange, obviously. Nott, when he's not buried in Ancient Runes. Rosier drops in sometimes." Avery glanced around before continuing. "Riddle started it last term. He knows more curses than half the seventh years."

Of course Tom would be involved. Harry's fingers brushed his wand pocket. "Sounds risky."

"That's half the fun." Avery grinned. "No professors watching, no holding back. Best way to learn real defense."

"Or real attacks," Harry muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Harry shifted his bag. "I'll think about it."

"Come on, Evans. You're good - better than good. Today proved that." Avery fell into step beside him. "Besides, don't you want to see what Riddle can really do?"

That was exactly what worried Harry. He'd seen enough of Tom's capabilities in the future.

"The room's warded," Avery continued. "Silencing charms, cushioning spells on the walls. We heal any serious injuries before leaving - though that's rare."

They reached the main staircase. Students rushed past, heading to lunch.

"Thursday at eight," Avery said. "Just come watch if you want. No pressure to participate first time."

Harry gripped the stone banister. Part of him wanted to refuse outright - maintaining distance from Tom was safer. But another part itched to understand his future nemesis better, to glimpse the transformation from talented student to dark lord.

"I'll consider it," Harry said finally. "But no promises."

"Fair enough." Avery started down the stairs. "Though between us? Riddle specifically mentioned wanting you there."

Harry's chest tightened. "Did he say why?"

"Just that you showed promise." Avery shrugged. "High praise from him, trust me."

"Right." Harry forced his expression neutral. "Thanks for the invite."

"Think it over." Avery gave a casual wave. "Oh, and Evans? Don't mention this to anyone else. Especially not Lucretia - she'd tell the whole house by dinner."

Harry watched Avery disappear into the crowd below. Tom wanted him at these secret dueling sessions. Was it genuine interest in Harry's abilities? Or another attempt to probe Harry's background?

A group of Ravenclaws pushed past, jolting Harry from his thoughts. He needed to eat before afternoon classes started. The invitation - and Tom's motives - could wait.

Chapter Text

Pink and red hearts floated beneath the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, bobbing gently between the usual floating candles. House elves had outdone themselves with heart-shaped pastries and rose-tinted porridge for breakfast, topped with swirls of cream and sprinkled with tiny candy hearts that sparkled like dewdrops in the morning light.

Harry stabbed his spoon into his bowl, breaking the perfect heart shape. Around him, owls swooped through the hall delivering cards and small packages wrapped in gaudy paper.

"Look what Augustus sent!" Lucretia squealed, waving a glittering card that sprayed pink sparkles across the table. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Charming," Abraxas drawled, brushing sparkles off his pristine robes. "Though perhaps keep your romantic effusions contained? Some of us are trying to eat."

A small cluster of fifth-year girls burst into giggles as they passed, shooting furtive glances at Tom Riddle. He ignored them completely, focused on his morning paper.

"Planning to send any valentines, Evans?" Avery smirked from across the table.

"Hadn't thought about it." Harry pushed his bowl away, appetite gone. The whole spectacle reminded him painfully of Cho Chang and that disastrous Madam Puddifoot's date.

"Really?" Lucretia's eyes sparkled. "No special someone caught your eye?"

"Leave him be," Lestrange cut in. "Not everyone's obsessed with this ridiculous holiday."

More owls arrived, dropping cards and small packages. A particularly large barn owl landed in front of a Hufflepuff girl, who shrieked with delight at her delivery.

"Hogsmeade trip this weekend," Avery noted. "Last chance to buy cards or gifts."

"Or love potions," Abraxas added with a knowing look at the giggling girls still hovering near their table. "Saw quite a few students sneaking into that new shop - what's it called?"

"Madame Amour's Love Emporium." Lucretia rolled her eyes. "Tacky place, all pink and frilly. Though their chocolate-covered strawberries are divine."

Tom finally looked up from his paper, expression cold. "Love potions are forbidden at Hogwarts."

"Since when do you care about rules, Riddle?" Avery challenged with a grin.

"I care about idiots drugging their classmates." Tom's voice carried an edge that made several students shift uncomfortably. "It won't be tolerated."

Harry watched the exchange with interest. Even now, Tom wielded authority among his peers - though his motivations remained unclear. Was it genuine concern for students' safety? Or simply maintaining control?

"Speaking of Hogsmeade," Lucretia turned to Harry, "would you like to-"

"Library," Harry blurted, standing abruptly. "Need to finish that Potions essay."

He grabbed his bag and fled before she could finish her invitation, ignoring Avery's snicker. The corridor outside offered blessed relief from the Valentine's atmosphere, though paper hearts still decorated the walls.

Two second-year girls huddled near a suit of armor, whispering and clutching cards. They scattered as Harry approached, reminding him uncomfortably of Ginny's Valentine poem in his own second year.

The library proved no safer. Madam Peters had decorated even this sanctuary with floating hearts, though these at least stayed silent and sparkle-free. Harry claimed a table far from the entrance, hoping to avoid any more Valentine's discussions.

He'd barely opened his Potions text when footsteps approached. Looking up, he found Tom Riddle standing over his table.

"Mind if I join you?" Tom asked, though he was already setting down his books. "The common room's become unbearable with all the Valentine's preparations."

Harry gestured vaguely at the empty chairs, unsure how to respond. Tom settled across from him, arranging his materials with precise movements.

They worked in silence for several minutes before Tom spoke again. "You seemed eager to escape breakfast."

"Not a fan of Valentine's Day," Harry muttered, keeping his eyes on his essay.

"Nor am I." Tom's quill scratched steadily across his parchment. "Though I admit, it provides interesting insights into human nature. The desperation for connection, the willingness to embrace delusion..."

"Some people just enjoy expressing affection," Harry countered, remembering his parents' love that had saved his life. "There's nothing delusional about that."

"Perhaps." Tom's dark eyes fixed on Harry. "Though manufactured sentiment holds little value. Like those enchanted cards - pretty illusions hiding emptiness."

Harry met his gaze. "Better empty cards than empty promises."

Something flickered across Tom's face - surprise? Interest? - before his expression smoothed. They stared at each other across the table, the air growing thick with unspoken tension.

A group of students entered the library, chattering about Valentine's plans. The moment broke.

"Indeed," Tom said softly, returning to his work. But Harry noticed Tom's eyes flick toward him several times as they continued studying, calculating and intense.

The scratch of quills and rustle of pages filled the silence between them. Sunlight streamed through the high library windows, catching dust motes that danced in the air. Harry focused on his Potions essay, though the words kept blurring together.

"You haven't attended our dueling practice," Tom said without looking up from his work. His voice remained casual, but Harry detected the underlying edge.

"Been busy." Harry dipped his quill in fresh ink, pretending to concentrate on his parchment.

"Too busy to improve your skills?" Tom set down his quill. "After that impressive display in Defense class, I'd have thought you'd jump at the chance to practice."

Harry set down his quill. "If you want me there so badly, why not ask me yourself instead of sending Avery?"

Tom's fingers stilled on his parchment. The library's silence pressed around them, broken only by distant whispers and shuffling papers.

"I assumed you'd prefer an invitation from a friend." Tom's voice carried practiced neutrality. "You seem... uncomfortable in my presence."

"And yet here you are, sitting at my table."

"Here I am." Tom leaned back, studying Harry with those dark eyes. "Perhaps I tired of working through intermediaries."

"Didn't think the great Tom Riddle needed intermediaries for anything." Harry matched his casual tone, though his shoulders tensed. "Everyone else seems to jump at your command."

"Not everyone." Tom's lips curved slightly. "You've proven remarkably resistant to following the expected patterns."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"On the contrary." Tom traced a finger along the edge of his textbook. "It's... refreshing."

The library's usual peaceful atmosphere felt charged with electricity. Harry's fingers tightened around his quill as he processed Tom's words.

"Refreshing?" Harry kept his voice low. "Most people would call it suspicious."

"Most people lack imagination." Tom closed his book, giving Harry his full attention. "They accept what they're told, follow prescribed paths. You challenge assumptions."

"Maybe I just don't like being told what to do."

Tom's lips curved into a genuine smile - not his usual calculated display meant to charm professors or impress peers. This smile transformed his features, softening the sharp angles of his face and reaching his dark eyes. For a brief moment, he looked like any other teenage boy.

Harry's breath caught. He'd never seen this expression on Tom's face before - either in this time or in memories from the Pensieve. The sight stirred something uncomfortable in his chest.

"No," Tom said, still smiling. "You certainly don't. That's precisely what makes you interesting, Harry Evans."

The way Tom said his assumed name carried a hint of... something. Not quite mockery, but as if he savored a private joke. His smile remained, warm and disarming, completely at odds with everything Harry knew about him.

Harry forced himself to look away from Tom's unsettling smile, gathering his scattered thoughts. The library suddenly felt too warm, too close.

"The dueling club meets tonight," Tom said, his voice low and persuasive. "Come see for yourself what we're working on. No obligations, just observation."

"And if I say no?" Harry challenged, though his resolve wavered.

"Then you say no." Tom shrugged elegantly. "Though I think you'll find it more engaging than spending another evening avoiding Lucretia's advances."

Harry couldn't stop the tiniest of laughs escaping at Tom's comment. The sound surprised them both - Harry's hand flew to his mouth while Tom's eyebrows rose slightly.

"So you do possess a sense of humor," Tom observed, his own expression brightening at Harry's unexpected reaction. "I was beginning to wonder."

"I laugh at plenty of things," Harry said, trying to regain his composure. "Just usually not around you."

"And why is that?" Tom leaned forward, elbows on the table. His proximity sent a jolt of warning through Harry's spine, but the lingering amusement made it harder to maintain his usual guarded distance.

"Because you're..." Harry gestured vaguely at Tom's perfect posture and immaculate appearance. "You know. You."

Another small laugh threatened to escape as Harry realized how ridiculous that sounded. Here he sat, sharing an almost normal moment with the future Dark Lord, discussing his laughing habits of all things.

Madam Peter's stern "Shhh!" cut through their conversation. Harry ducked his head, shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth at the absurdity of being shushed in the library while talking to Tom Riddle.

Tom gathered his books with fluid grace, still wearing that disarming smile. "So. Tonight?"

Harry's own smile faded as reality crashed back. This wasn't just another student asking him to join a study group. This was Tom Riddle - future Lord Voldemort - inviting him to a secret dueling club. Dumbledore's warnings echoed in his mind.

But hadn't he already broken those warnings? Here he sat, sharing almost-friendly conversation with Tom. And wouldn't it be more suspicious to keep refusing?

"Where and when?" Harry asked before he could talk himself out of it.

"Empty classroom in the dungeons, three corridors past Slughorn's office. Nine o'clock." Tom stood, adjusting his robes with precise movements. "Don't worry about prefects - I'll ensure you won't be stopped."

"Of course you will," Harry muttered. He could practically see Tom's web of influence extending through the castle.

"Problem?" Tom arched an eyebrow.

"No." Harry met his gaze steadily. "Just wondering how many school rules we'll be breaking."

"Rules exist to guide the masses," Tom said, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "For those with sufficient skill and discretion, they become... flexible."

"That's one way to put it."

Tom's smile turned knowing. "Nine o'clock, Evans. Don't be late."

He turned and strode away, leaving Harry alone with his scattered thoughts and half-finished Potions essay. The library's peaceful atmosphere returned, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling he'd just agreed to something far more significant than a simple dueling club meeting.

*

Harry slumped into one of the leather armchairs by the common room fireplace, his mind still reeling from the library encounter with Tom. The emerald-tinted light filtering through the lake windows cast shifting shadows across the stone walls.

"Evans!" Avery dropped into the chair opposite, his tie loosened and robes wrinkled from a day of classes. "Heard Riddle found you in the library."

Harry's fingers drummed against the chair's worn arm. "News travels fast."

"Everything about Riddle travels fast." Avery leaned forward, lowering his voice despite the empty common room. "So? You coming tonight?"

"He told you already?"

"Course he did. Wouldn't shut up about it during Ancient Runes." Avery's usual easy grin faltered. "Well, as much as Riddle ever 'won't shut up' about anything."

Harry snorted. He could picture Tom's version of excitement - probably a slightly raised eyebrow and one extra sentence beyond his usual clipped responses.

"Look," Avery said, "I know you've been dodging our little gatherings. But it's not what you might think. We actually learn useful stuff."

"Useful for what exactly?"

Avery shrugged, but his casual posture didn't quite match the intensity in his eyes. "Self-defense. Dueling techniques they don't teach in class. The kind of spells that might save your life someday."

"And Riddle just... teaches this out of the goodness of his heart?"

"He's got his reasons." Avery's gaze darted around the common room. "But he's brilliant at it, Evans. Even you have to admit that."

Harry's hand unconsciously moved to his wand pocket. "I already told him I'd come."

"Really?" Avery straightened, genuine surprise crossing his features. "Didn't expect you to agree so easily. What changed your mind?"

"Maybe I'm tired of saying no." Harry stared into the crackling fire. "Or maybe I'm just curious what all the fuss is about."

"You won't regret it." Avery stood, smoothing his rumpled robes. "Meet me here at quarter to nine? I'll show you the way."

Harry nodded, already wondering if he'd made a terrible mistake.

Avery paused halfway to the dormitory stairs. "Speaking of changes..." He spun back around, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Noticed you bolted from breakfast this morning. Right when a certain Black heiress was making her way to our table."

Harry groaned. "Not you too."

"Can't blame her, can you?" Avery dropped back into his chair. "Mysterious new student, top marks in Defense, and that whole brooding thing you've got going on-"

"I do not brood."

"Please. You spend half your time staring into space with that tortured expression." Avery's impression of Harry's supposedly brooding face involved an exaggerated frown and furrowed brows.

"I don't look like that." Harry chucked a decorative pillow at Avery's head.

Avery caught it with a Seeker's reflexes. "You absolutely do. Ask anyone." He tossed the pillow back. "Though I suppose it adds to your appeal. Lucretia's not the only one who's noticed."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Half the Ravenclaw girls whisper about you in the library. And don't think I haven't seen how Greengrass keeps finding excuses to partner with you in Herbology."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not interested in dating anyone."

"Because you're too busy brooding?"

"Because I-" Harry cut himself off. Because I'm from the future? Because any relationship would be a lie? Because I might disappear back to my own time without warning? "I've got other things on my mind."

Harry shifted in his chair, an uncomfortable thought niggling at his mind. "What about Riddle?"

"What about him?"

"Does he..." Harry struggled to phrase it casually. "Date? Or have admirers following him around?"

Avery barked out a laugh. "Oh, he's got admirers alright. Loads of them. Half the school's been swooning over him since fourth year." He settled deeper into his chair. "But Riddle? He barely notices. Or pretends not to, at least."

"Never seen him with anyone?"

"Nah. Though Lucretia's cousin Walburga tried her best last year. Followed him around for months, batting her eyelashes and dropping hints about summer parties at Black Manor." Avery's lips quirked. "Riddle just kept discussing Ancient Runes translations until she gave up."

Harry pictured the future Mrs. Black's portrait, her shrill voice screaming about blood traitors. The thought of her pursuing a teenage Tom Riddle was both disturbing and oddly amusing.

"Some say he's got a secret girlfriend at Beauxbatons." Avery lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Or that he's saving himself for some pureblood arranged marriage. But honestly?" He shrugged. "I think he just doesn't care about that stuff. Too focused on his studies and..." He waved his hand vaguely. "Whatever else Riddle focuses on."

Harry remembered the diary horcrux, the way sixteen-year-old Tom had manipulated Ginny's crush to his advantage. "Maybe he just uses people's interest when it suits him."

"Merlin, Evans, that's cold." Avery raised an eyebrow. "Though... not entirely wrong, I suppose. Riddle's always got some angle he's working." He studied Harry with renewed interest. "You're more observant than you let on."

"Just speaking from experience." Harry immediately regretted the words.

"Oh?" Avery leaned forward. "Got a history with manipulative wizards, do you?"

"Something like that." Harry stood abruptly, needing to end this conversation before he revealed too much. "I should get started on that Transfiguration essay."

"Right." Avery's tone suggested he didn't believe that for a second. "Well, don't forget - quarter to nine tonight."

Harry nodded and headed for the dormitory, his mind spinning. He'd known, intellectually, that Tom must have had admirers at Hogwarts. The diary horcrux's memory had shown how charismatic and handsome young Riddle could be. But hearing about actual students pursuing him, imagining Tom coolly deflecting their advances while plotting his rise to power...

It was another reminder of how human Tom still was, how many choices still lay before him. Would things have been different if he'd let someone get close? If he'd experienced real friendship or love instead of viewing relationships as tools for manipulation?

Harry shook his head, forcing the thoughts away. He couldn't afford to humanize Tom Riddle. Couldn't let himself forget what that handsome, brilliant student would become. Tonight's dueling club was already dangerous enough without Harry getting lost in what-ifs about Tom's capacity for human connection.

But as he pulled out his Transfiguration textbook, Harry couldn't quite shake the image of Tom systematically dismantling Walburga Black's advances with academic discussions. It was such a... Tom thing to do. Not cruel or violent, just coldly efficient at maintaining his distance while appearing perfectly polite.

"Focused on his studies," Harry muttered, remembering Avery's words. But he knew what that "whatever else" really meant - the Chamber of Secrets, gathering his first followers. While his classmates worried about dates and relationships, Tom Riddle was already planning his transformation into Lord Voldemort.

The dormitory door creaked open and Harry tensed, half-expecting to see Tom himself. But it was just Lestrange, clutching a stack of library books.

"Evans." Lestrange nodded as he passed. "Ready for tonight?"

"As I'll ever be."

"You should be honored, you know. Riddle doesn't invite just anyone."

Harry forced a tight smile, not trusting himself to respond. He opened his textbook to a random page, pretending to study while his thoughts continued to circle around Tom Riddle and all the complicated layers of his humanity - or lack thereof.

*

At quarter to nine, Harry descended the dormitory stairs into the Slytherin common room. The green-tinged light from the lake windows cast long shadows across the stone floor. Avery lounged in one of the high-backed chairs, his feet propped on an ottoman.

"Evans." Avery straightened up. "Right on time."

"Where exactly are we going?" Harry glanced around the empty common room.

"Fourth floor, east wing." Avery pulled his wand from his robes. "There's an old dueling chamber behind a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy's second cousin - hardly anyone knows it exists anymore."

Harry followed Avery through the dungeon corridors, their footsteps echoing off the damp stones. As they climbed the main staircase, Harry's hand stayed close to his wand pocket.

"Nervous?" Avery shot him a sideways glance.

"Just cautious."

"Smart." Avery nodded approvingly. "Though you don't need to worry about getting caught. We've got prefects in on it, and Riddle's got ways of keeping professors away."

"How many people usually attend?"

"Depends. Usually eight to ten. Inner circle only, if you know what I mean."

Harry knew exactly what he meant. These weren't just dueling practice sessions - they were early Death Eater meetings, before Tom had even created the name.

They reached the fourth floor, and Avery led them down a narrow corridor lined with dusty suits of armor. He stopped before a faded tapestry depicting wizards attempting to teach trolls ballet.

"Here we are." Avery tapped his wand in a complex pattern against the wall. "Ready?"

Harry took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "Ready."

The tapestry melted away, revealing a heavy wooden door. Avery pushed it open, and warm torchlight spilled into the corridor. Harry stepped through into a long chamber with vaulted ceilings and worn flagstones.

Eight students stood in a loose circle, their faces flickering in the torch glow. Lestrange and Rosier nodded at Harry. Mulciber leaned against a pillar, twirling his wand between his fingers. Two seventh-year students Harry didn't recognize stood near the back, whispering. Walburga Black's dark eyes narrowed at Harry's entrance.

Tom Riddle stood in the center, his prefect badge catching the light. His sleeves were rolled up, wand held loosely at his side.

"Evans." Tom's voice carried across the chamber. "Welcome."

Harry stepped forward, keeping his movements casual despite every instinct screaming danger. "Interesting location."

"The original dueling chamber, before they moved practices to the Great Hall." Tom gestured around them. "The wards are still intact - perfect for more... intensive training."

"And what exactly does this training involve?"

"Partner duels to start." Tom's lips curved. "Then we move to more creative applications of magic." Tom's gaze swept over Harry, measuring. "As promised, you're welcome to observe tonight. Or join in, if you prefer." He gestured to a row of wooden benches along the wall. "The choice is yours."

"How generous." Harry kept his tone neutral.

"I believe in letting people find their own level of... comfort." Tom turned to address the group. "Pair up. Standard rules - no permanent damage, shields only against harmful spells."

The others quickly formed pairs. Avery stepped toward Harry, but Tom raised his hand.

"Avery, with Mulciber. I want to see if you've improved your shield work."

Harry moved to the benches, settling against the cold stone wall. From this position, he could observe everyone without appearing too interested. The duelers spread out across the chamber floor.

"Begin," Tom called.

Spells crackled through the air. Most were basic dueling fare - Stunning Spells, Disarming Charms, Shield Charms. But Harry noticed darker undercurrents. Mulciber's spells had a sickly purple tinge. One of the seventh-years used a curse that made his opponent's arm twist unnaturally.

Tom prowled between the pairs, offering quiet corrections and demonstrations. His wandwork was precise, elegant - nothing like the wild, rage-filled casting Harry remembered from the graveyard. This Tom taught with patience, shaping his followers' magic like a sculptor with clay.

"Notice Evans," Tom's voice carried clearly as he passed near Harry's position, "how Rosier maintains his shield while casting. Efficient. Economic." His eyes met Harry's. "Sometimes observation teaches more than participation."

Harry kept his face blank, though his fingers tightened around his wand. He recognized Tom's game - making Harry's choice to watch seem like wisdom rather than caution. Classic manipulation, wrapping truth in subtle pressure.

But Harry had to admit, the display was educational. He could see how Tom had gathered his first followers - not through fear alone, but by offering knowledge, power, and belonging. The Tom Riddle of 1943 was far more dangerous than simple dark magic. He offered what lonely, ambitious teenagers craved most: purpose.

The dueling pairs switched partners, moving with practiced coordination. Walburga Black stepped toward Tom, her chin lifted expectantly, but he paired her with Rosier instead. Her disappointment flickered across her face before settling into a mask of indifference.

"Your form is slipping, Lestrange." Tom demonstrated a complex wand movement. "Like this - see how the wrist turns? The intent matters as much as the motion."

Harry tracked Tom's wandwork, recognizing elements of spells he'd learned in his own time. Some of the movements were unfamiliar - older variations, perhaps, or techniques lost to history. Despite himself, Harry leaned forward, studying the precise gestures.

"Interested, Evans?" Tom had materialized beside the bench, his presence sudden and close.

"Just comparing techniques." Harry kept his voice level. "Some of these variations aren't in the standard curriculum."

"Most worthwhile magic isn't." Tom settled onto the bench, leaving careful space between them. "The prescribed spells are... limited. Defensive magic especially requires innovation."

"Innovation can be dangerous."

"So can stagnation." Tom twirled his wand, pale yew catching the torchlight. "Magic is about pushing boundaries, finding new applications. The Ministry-approved curriculum barely scratches the surface."

"And you're teaching what lies beneath?"

"I'm teaching what works." Tom's eyes fixed on Harry. "These students want to excel beyond classroom exercises. They have potential. Ambition." His voice dropped lower. "Like you."

Harry's skin prickled. "You don't know anything about my ambitions."

"Don't I?" Tom's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You hide your abilities, yet excel when pushed. You avoid attention, yet command respect. You claim simple origins, yet your magic..." He gestured to where Avery and Mulciber traded spells. "You could outmatch any dueler here."

"Including you?"

Tom's smile widened a fraction. He rose from the bench in one fluid motion, adjusting his sleeve cuffs. "Theoretical comparisons are meaningless without context." He turned to face the dueling pairs. "Lestrange, your footwork is too rigid. Watch."

Tom demonstrated a sidestep-and-cast combination that made his robes ripple like smoke. The spell struck a practice dummy, leaving a precise scorch mark across its chest.

"Control comes from understanding the fundamentals." Tom addressed the group but his words aimed at Harry. "Raw power means nothing without proper application."

Harry recognized the deflection for what it was - Tom shifting the conversation away from direct competition while showcasing his expertise. Classic Riddle, never accepting a challenge he hadn't orchestrated himself.

"Mulciber, Avery - switch partners. Focus on non-verbal casting this round." Tom paced between the duelers, his attention seemingly absorbed in their practice. "The key is intent. Visualization. The wand movement should feel natural, like breathing."

But Harry caught the calculated glances Tom sent his way, measuring Harry's reactions. Each demonstration served double duty - instruction for the group and subtle display for Harry's benefit.

"Perhaps next session you'll join us properly, Evans." Tom paused near Harry's bench. "Unless you prefer to remain... theoretical."

The challenge hung in the air, wrapped in layers of courtesy. Tom had transformed Harry's question about their relative abilities into an invitation, neatly avoiding both answer and confrontation while maintaining control of the situation.

Harry shifted on the bench, leaning forward. "You mentioned creative applications earlier. What exactly did you mean by that?"

"Curious after all?" Tom's eyes gleamed in the torchlight. He gestured for the others to continue their dueling practice. "Standard spells can be... adapted. Modified. Combined in ways the textbooks never consider."

"Show me."

Tom drew his wand in a fluid motion. "Observe." He pointed at a practice dummy across the chamber. A jet of blue light struck it - not a stunning spell, but something that made the dummy's surface ripple like water. "A variation on the freezing charm, combined with elements of a liquefaction spell. Instead of merely stopping movement, it disrupts the target's ability to maintain solid form."

"That's not in any Defense textbook I've seen."

"Because I created it." Tom's voice held quiet pride. "The principles are simple enough - understanding how spells interact, their fundamental nature. Magic isn't rigid categories of charms and hexes. It's energy, intent, possibility."

Harry watched as Tom demonstrated another modification, turning a basic shield charm into something that seemed to absorb and redirect incoming spells.

"And you developed these yourself?"

"Through research, experimentation." Tom stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The library's restricted section holds countless references to theoretical magical principles. Most students never bother looking beyond assigned readings." His eyes locked onto Harry's. "But you're not most students, are you Evans?"

"I appreciate innovative magic," Harry said carefully. "When it's used responsibly."

"Try it." Tom gestured toward another practice dummy. "The freezing variation. The wand movement is similar to Glacius, but with a counter-clockwise spiral at the end."

Harry raised his wand, attempting to mimic Tom's earlier casting. The spell fizzled, producing only a weak frost coating on the dummy's surface.

"Your grip is too tight." Tom stepped behind Harry, his presence uncomfortably close. "Magic flows better with a relaxed hold - it needs to channel naturally through your arm." His fingers wrapped around Harry's wand hand, adjusting the position with practiced precision. The slight pressure made Harry's skin tingle. "Like this. Feel how the magic moves more freely now?"

Harry's breath caught at the contact. Tom's chest pressed against his back, guiding Harry's arm through the motion. His skin burned where Tom touched him, a mix of instinctive fear and something else he refused to name.

"Feel the rhythm of it." Tom's breath ghosted against Harry's ear. "Start with the standard freezing charm movement, then let it flow into the spiral." His hand guided Harry's through the pattern. "The intent matters - visualize the target's form becoming fluid, unstable."

Harry forced himself to focus on the spell rather than Tom's proximity. The wand movement felt more natural now, flowing instead of rigid.

"Again," Tom instructed, maintaining his hold, fingers steady against Harry's wrist. "This time, concentrate on the transition point between solid and liquid states. Picture the moment of change, when structure gives way to flow." His voice remained low and measured, almost hypnotic in its intensity.

Harry cast the spell. Blue light struck the dummy, its surface rippling like disturbed water before partially melting.

"Better." Tom's fingers lingered on Harry's wand hand. "Though your concentration wavered at the end." He stepped back, breaking contact. "The key is maintaining consistent intent throughout the casting."

Harry lowered his wand, fighting to keep his expression neutral despite his racing pulse. His skin still tingled where Tom had touched him.

"Interesting variation," Harry managed, proud his voice stayed steady. "Though I prefer straightforward spells in actual dueling."

"Sometimes the unexpected proves most effective." Tom's eyes gleamed. "But perhaps we should save practical demonstrations for another session."

Harry stepped back, creating distance between himself and Tom. The other students had stopped their dueling practice, their attention fixed on the interaction between Tom and Harry. Walburga Black’s eyes narrowed as she watched Harry, her lips pressing into a thin line of barely restrained disdain. She muttered something to Avery, who cast a quick glance at Harry, then back to Tom.

Tom’s gaze snapped toward the group of students, and for a moment, the air in the room seemed to still. The smile on his lips never wavered, but his voice carried an unmistakable edge. "Is there a problem?" His eyes swept across them like a hawk scanning its prey.

The students quickly averted their eyes, but remained motionless.

"I believe I assigned you dueling practices." Tom's tone stayed light, but carried unmistakable authority. "Unless you've all mastered non-verbal casting already?"

"Sorry, Riddle." Avery raised his wand, nudging Mulciber back into position. "Just haven't seen you demonstrate techniques personally in a while."

"Then consider this educational." Tom straightened his sleeve cuffs. "Though I suggest focusing on your own spellwork rather than others'. Lestrange, your shield charm still needs work."

The dueling pairs resumed their practice, though Harry noticed their attention remained divided, stealing glances between casting. Walburga made a show of aggressively targeting her practice dummy, her spells carrying more force than necessary.

"Back to work," Tom commanded, his voice brooking no argument. The scattered whispers ceased immediately as the students returned to their assigned drills with renewed focus.

The dueling practice continued for another hour, with Tom maintaining careful distance from Harry while instructing the others. Sweat gleamed on the students' foreheads as they traded increasingly complex spells.

"That's enough for tonight." Tom's voice cut through the chamber. "Practice those shield variations before next session. Dismissed."

Harry grabbed his bag, heading for the door before anyone could corner him. The stone corridors stretched dark and empty as he hurried toward the dungeons, his footsteps echoing off the walls.

"Evans, wait up!" Avery jogged to catch him at the bottom of the main staircase.

Harry kept walking. "Tired. Going to bed."

"Like hell you are." Avery matched his pace. "Not after that display back there."

They reached the Slytherin common room, finding it deserted except for a couple of fifth-years hunched over star charts. Harry made for the dormitory stairs, but Avery caught his arm.

"Come on, Evans. You can't just pretend that didn't happen."

Harry yanked his arm free. "Nothing happened."

"Nothing?" Avery barked a laugh. "Riddle never demonstrates spells personally. Never touches anyone during instruction. Yet there he was, practically wrapped around you."

"He was correcting my form." Harry pushed open the dormitory door. "That's all."

"That's all?" Avery followed him inside. "Evans, I've known Riddle for six years. He doesn't do physical contact. Ever."

Harry dropped onto his bed, yanking the curtains closed. Avery's hand caught them before they could shut.

"What game are you playing?" Avery's voice dropped lower. "Because whatever it is, you're in dangerous territory."

"No game." Harry glared at him. "I didn't ask for his attention."

"Nobody asks for Riddle's attention. They either earn it or avoid it." Avery perched on the edge of Harry's bed. "And you, Evans, you're doing neither. It's like you don't even realize-"

"Realize what?"

"How much power he has here. The influence. The connections." Avery leaned closer. "Riddle doesn't waste time on ordinary students. If he's showing interest in you..."

"Then what?"

"Then you're either very lucky or very cursed." Avery stood up. "Figure out which one before it's too late."

"There's nothing to figure out." Harry yanked his curtains closed. "I'm going to sleep."

"Sure you are." Avery's footsteps moved away. "Just remember - Riddle always has a reason for everything he does."

Harry lay back on his bed, staring at the canopy above. His hand still tingled where Tom had touched it, phantom pressure lingering on his skin. He could still feel the heat of Tom's chest against his back, hear the soft instruction whispered near his ear. Dangerous territory indeed. Not just because of who Tom would become, but because of how easily Harry had let him get that close. How natural it had felt, in that moment, to let Tom guide his movements.

Harry rolled onto his side, pulling his blanket tight around him. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Couldn't afford to forget who Tom Riddle really was, no matter how compelling his act of helpful instructor might be.

Sleep eluded him as Avery's words echoed in his mind. Riddle always has a reason for everything he does. The question was, what reason could Tom have for singling Harry out tonight? What game was he really playing?

The dormitory door creaked open as the other boys filtered in. Harry kept his curtains drawn, listening to them prepare for bed. Whispered conversations drifted through the room, but he couldn't make out the words.

His wand hand still burned with remembered contact. Harry clenched it into a fist, trying to dispel the sensation. He couldn't let Tom get under his skin like this. Couldn't let himself be drawn in by false intimacy and offered knowledge. But as Harry drifted toward uneasy sleep, he couldn't shake the memory of Tom's quiet voice or the precise way he'd guided Harry's movements. The careful control that made even dangerous magic seem elegant, refined. The way Tom had transformed a simple spell correction into something that felt intensely personal.

Harry forced his eyes shut, willing his mind to quiet. The stone walls of the Slytherin dormitory pressed close, filled with the steady breathing of his roommates. In the darkness, he traced his fingers over his wand, focusing on the familiar grain of holly wood rather than the lingering sensation of Tom's touch.

Tomorrow he'd skip breakfast, avoid the common room, find excuses to dodge future dueling club meetings. Distance was the only defense against Tom's carefully crafted pull. Harry had seen enough - the way Tom wielded knowledge like a weapon, how he wrapped control in the guise of instruction.

Sleep finally claimed him, dragging him under before his thoughts could spiral further. His last conscious awareness was of his wand hand slowly unclenching, tension draining away as exhaustion won out over unease.

Chapter Text

Harry trudged through the slush coating Hogsmeade's main street, dodging floating heart decorations that still lingered from Valentine's Day. Pink and red streamers drooped between buildings, soggy from melting snow.

"Mate, you look like you're heading to a funeral." Avery clapped him on the shoulder. "It's a Hogsmeade weekend, not a Death Day party."

"Just not feeling festive." Harry ducked under a low-hanging cherub that tried to shower him with glitter.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with dodging the common room all week, would it?"

Harry kicked at a patch of grey snow. "I've been studying."

"In the library. At breakfast. During free periods." Avery counted off on his fingers. "Anywhere Riddle isn't."

"Coincidence."

"Right." Avery steered them toward the Three Broomsticks. "And you suggested this pub crawl because you suddenly developed a taste for day drinking."

"Can't a bloke want a drink with friends?"

"Friends who conveniently have nothing to do with certain Slytherin prefects?"

Harry pushed through the pub door, warmth and noise washing over him. The place was packed with students escaping the February chill.

"Two Firewhiskies," Avery called to the bartender. "And stop avoiding the question, Evans."

"I'm not avoiding anything." Harry claimed a small table in the corner, positioning himself to watch the door. "Just needed a break from the castle."

"From the castle, or from Riddle's special attention at dueling club?"

Harry downed half his Firewhisky in one gulp. "Drop it, Avery."

"Fine, fine." Avery raised his hands in surrender. "But hiding in Hogsmeade won't solve whatever's got you spooked."

"I'm not spooked." Harry scanned the pub again. No sign of perfectly styled dark hair or piercing eyes. "Just tired of politics."

"Politics?" Avery snorted. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Harry ignored him, focusing on his drink instead. The whisky burned going down, but not enough to erase the memory of Tom's hands adjusting his grip on his wand, Tom's voice murmuring instructions against his ear.

"Speaking of politics." Harry traced the rim of his glass. "Your housemates haven't been subtle about where they stand."

"Noticed that, did you?" Avery winced. "Lestrange isn't known for his subtlety."

"Three shoulder checks yesterday alone." Harry rubbed his arm where a particularly vicious collision had left a bruise. "At least he's predictable about it - always the same corner by the Charms classroom."

"And Mulciber?"

"Knocked my books off the table in the library. Twice." Harry's jaw tightened. "Called me a 'presumptuous mudblood' when Madam Peters wasn't looking."

"Ah." Avery shifted uncomfortably. "That's... unfortunate."

"That's one word for it." Harry signaled for another round. "Funny how it started right after the dueling club meeting."

"They're just..." Avery paused, choosing his words carefully. "There's a certain way things work in Slytherin. A hierarchy."

"And I stepped out of line?"

"You drew notice that wasn't meant for you." Avery took the new beverages from the server. "Certain individuals consider that an affront." He patted Harry's shoulder. "It'll pass. Those two - Lestrange and Mulciber - they're just posturing. Maintaining their image."

"Appearances for who?"

"Who do you think?" Avery took a long sip. "Look, Tom has a... particular way of doing things. People get used to it. Then you come along, and suddenly the routine changes."

Harry pushed his glass away, the whisky suddenly tasting like ash. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Right, sorry." Avery cleared his throat. "Heard about Lucretia's latest victim? Poor Macmillan didn't know what hit him."

"What happened?"

"She cornered him after Herbology, going on about some ancient Black family tradition of courting during the spring equinox." Avery's eyes crinkled with amusement. "By the time she finished explaining the proper ritual arrangements, he looked ready to transfer to Durmstrang."

Harry let out a surprised laugh, tension draining from his shoulders. "She's persistent."

"That's putting it mildly. Remember when she tried to convince Professor Beery to teach love potions in Advanced Herbology?"

"No way."

"Oh yes. Said understanding the proper cultivation of passion flower and rose thorns was 'vital to maintaining pureblood traditions.'" Avery affected a high-pitched voice. "Poor Beery turned as red as his prized Screechsnaps."

"How'd that work out for her?"

"Three feet of parchment on the dangers of mixing romance and herbology." Avery grinned. "Plus detention helping Pringle clean the greenhouses without magic."

Harry relaxed into his chair, grateful for the shift in conversation. "Bet she loved that."

Avery signaled for fresh drinks. "Complained for weeks about dirt under her manicured nails."

The pub door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air. Lestrange and Rosier stomped snow from their boots, scanning the crowded room before spotting their housemates.

"Evans. Avery." Lestrange pulled up a chair, his aristocratic features arranged in careful neutrality. "Discussing anything interesting?"

"Just Lucretia's latest schemes." Avery shifted to make room for Rosier.

"Ah yes, the Black family's... particular approach to courtship." Lestrange's lips curved into a slight smirk. "Though some of us prefer more traditional paths to gaining influence."

Harry's fingers tightened around his glass. The comment wasn't outright hostile, but the implication was clear enough.

"Speaking of influence," Rosier leaned forward, "tonight's dueling session should be enlightening. Riddle mentioned demonstrating some advanced shield variations."

"Count me out." Harry set his glass down with a sharp click. "I won't be attending anymore."

Lestrange's eyebrows rose fractionally. "No? And here I thought you were enjoying the... personal instruction."

"Got better things to do." Harry stood, dropping coins on the table for his drinks. "Library needs my attention more than dueling practice."

"Shame." Lestrange examined his perfectly manicured nails. "Tom will be disappointed. He seemed quite invested in your progress."

"He'll survive." Harry shrugged into his cloak. "Later, Avery."

"Evans-" Avery started to rise.

"I'm fine. Just need some air."

Harry pushed through the crowd, ignoring Lestrange's calculating gaze following him to the door. The cold hit him like a slap, but it was better than staying to decode more subtle jabs and veiled warnings. He'd had enough Slytherin politics to last a lifetime - or two, considering his unique situation.

The bitter wind stung Harry's face as he exhaled, watching his breath cloud in the February air. His footsteps crunched in the half-melted snow as he wandered away from the Three Broomsticks. The castle loomed in the distance, but he couldn't face those stone walls yet - not with Tom's presence lurking in every shadow.

Honeydukes' bright display caught his eye, but the shop window teemed with couples sharing sweets. He turned instead toward Tomes and Scrolls, hoping to lose himself among dusty shelves.

A bell tinkled as he pushed open the door. The bookshop's warmth wrapped around him, carrying the familiar scent of parchment and leather bindings. Harry drifted toward the Defense section, running his fingers along cracked spines.

"But I've already read that one twice!" A high-pitched voice carried from the next aisle. "I need something more advanced if I want to improve my marks."

Harry peered through a gap in the shelves. A group of Ravenclaw girls huddled around a display of Charms texts. He recognized the speaker immediately - thick glasses, pigtails, and a petulant expression that would one day haunt a second-floor bathroom.

Myrtle Warren jabbed her finger at a book. "Professor Merrythought said my Shield Charm needs work. This one's supposed to cover advanced defensive theory."

"You're obsessing again," one of her companions sighed. "Your marks are fine."

"Fine isn't good enough!" Myrtle's voice rose shrilly. "Olive Hornby got an Outstanding on her last essay, and she barely studies at all!"

Harry's chest tightened. The ghost who'd haunted his second year stood before him, flesh and blood, consumed by schoolgirl worries. In a few months, she would be dead - murdered in that very bathroom where she spent so many hours crying. Harry's hand trembled on the bookshelf. The basilisk's yellow eyes, Tom Riddle's casual cruelty, a young girl's life snuffed out over a pure-blood agenda that hadn't even truly begun.

"Just because Olive's pretty doesn't mean she's smarter," Myrtle continued, clutching the book to her chest. "I'll show everyone. Top marks in Defense, that's what I need."

Her friends exchanged tired looks. They'd clearly heard this before.

"And then Tom Riddle will have to notice me." Myrtle's voice dropped to a whisper, but Harry caught it through the gap. "He helps students who excel, you know."

Harry's stomach lurched. He remembered her ghost's dreamy sighs about the "handsome prefect" who'd been so kind to her that last day. Even now, she was falling into Tom's carefully crafted web of charm and manipulation.

"Tom this, Tom that." One of the Ravenclaws rolled her eyes. "He's not going to suddenly fall in love with you just because you can cast a decent Shield Charm."

Myrtle's lower lip trembled. "You don't know that! He's different from other boys. He actually listens when people talk to him. He cares about helping students improve."

If only she knew what that "help" would cost her. Harry's fingers dug into the wooden shelf, splinters pricking his skin. The urge to step around the corner, to warn her somehow, clawed at his throat.

A tap on Harry's shoulder jolted him from his dark thoughts. He spun around, wand half-drawn before he could stop himself.

"Bit jumpy, Evans?" Avery stood with his hands raised in mock surrender. "Left your drink behind." He pressed a glass into Harry's hand. "Thought you might need it after that scene back there."

Harry glanced at the amber liquid, then back through the shelves where Myrtle and her friends still debated study habits. "Thanks, but I should probably-"

"Stay right here and finish that drink before heading back out into that mess?" Avery leaned against the bookshelf. "Lestrange is in rare form today. Best to let him work through it."

"Marking his territory, you mean."

"Something like that." Avery's eyes narrowed. "Though I notice you didn't mention the real reason you're avoiding the castle."

"Not this again."

"Yes, this again." Avery lowered his voice. "Look, whatever happened at dueling club-"

"Nothing happened."

"Right. Nothing happened, which is why you're hiding in a bookshop instead of practicing those shield variations Riddle was so eager to teach you."

Harry took a long sip of Firewhisky. "Why do you even care? Shouldn't you be backing up Lestrange and the others?"

"Contrary to popular belief, not all Slytherins march in lockstep." Avery settled against the bookshelf. "Some of us can think for ourselves."

"That's not what I've seen." Harry gestured vaguely toward the pub. "Your housemates seem pretty unified in their... opinions."

"About you?" Avery snorted. "They're not unified - they're scared."

"Scared?" Harry nearly choked on his drink. "Of what?"

"Change." Avery's usual playful demeanor fell away. "Look, I've known Tom since first year. Watched him build his little court piece by piece. It's always the same pattern - he picks someone useful, draws them in, adds them to his collection."

"And?"

"And then you showed up." Avery's eyes fixed on Harry. "Suddenly the pattern changed. No careful grooming, no gradual integration. He just... fixated. Started rearranging everything to get closer to you."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "That doesn't explain why you're being nice to me."

"Because I remember what it was like being the new piece in his game." Avery's voice dropped lower. "My father's on the Wizengamot. Perfect connection for Tom's future plans. He spent months cultivating my friendship, making me feel special, needed."

"What changed?"

"I figured out it wasn't really friendship he wanted." Avery's fingers drummed against his glass. "But by then, I was too caught up in his orbit to break away completely. So I adapted - kept enough distance to maintain some independence while staying useful enough to avoid his displeasure."

Avery swirled the remaining whisky in his glass. "There's another reason I've kept an eye on you."

"Which is?"

"You remind me of my brother." A shadow crossed Avery's face. "He had that same look you get sometimes - like he was carrying the weight of secrets that could crush him."

Harry's grip tightened on his glass. "What happened to him?"

"Got involved with Grindelwald's followers last year. Thought he could change things from the inside, maybe guide them toward less violent methods." Avery's voice turned bitter, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the walls. "Found him in our family's summer cottage. He was slumped in father's favorite armchair, wand still clutched in his hand. Looked almost peaceful, if you didn't notice the hex burns on the walls."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just..." Avery met Harry's eyes. "Whatever you're mixed up in, whatever secrets you're keeping - be careful. Tom doesn't take well to people who resist his influence."

"I can handle myself."

"That's what Marcus said too." Avery drained his glass. "Right up until he couldn't anymore."

Myrtle's voice carried through the shelves as she and her friends moved toward the front of the shop. "I just need to master these advanced spells. Then everyone will see-"

The bell chimed as they exited, Myrtle still clutching her new Defense book. Harry watched through the window as they headed up the snowy street, their dark robes billowing in the February wind. His throat constricted at the sight of those familiar pigtails bouncing with each step.

"Know her?" Avery followed Harry's gaze.

"No." Harry's voice came out rough. He cleared his throat. "Just... reminds me of someone."

"Warren? The Ravenclaw?" Avery raised an eyebrow. "Second year, isn't she?" Avery shook his head. "Honestly, they shouldn't allow them in Hogsmeade at all. Too young to be wandering around unsupervised."

"They're not allowed-" Harry caught himself mid-sentence, covering the slip with a cough. His mind raced to correct the error. In his time, third year was the minimum for Hogsmeade visits, but clearly the rules were different in 1943. "I mean, they're not allowed in certain shops. Like Zonko's Joke Shop."

"Still." Avery watched Myrtle and her friends disappear around a corner. "Second years barely know which end of their wand to hold. Remember Peters last week? Nearly took off McLaggen's eyebrows trying to levitate his quill."

Harry nodded absently.

"You're staring again." Avery stepped between Harry and the window. "And that's not your usual 'attracted to someone' stare. That's your 'carrying the weight of the world' stare."

"I don't have different types of stares."

"Oh, you absolutely do." Avery ticked them off on his fingers. "There's your 'Lucretia Black is approaching' panic stare, your 'Lestrange is being an arse' glare, and of course, your special 'Tom Riddle exists' look of conflicted terror."

"I don't look terrified around Riddle."

"No? What would you call that expression you get whenever he's within ten feet?"

Harry knocked back the rest of his whisky. "Healthy caution."

"Right." Avery glanced toward the window again. "So what's the story with Warren? And don't say 'nothing' - you look like you've seen a ghost."

The irony of that statement hit Harry like a physical blow. He pressed his palm against the cool glass, watching Myrtle disappear around a corner with her friends. Living, breathing, laughing - everything she'd soon lose because he couldn't warn her without destroying time itself.

"She just..." Harry's fingers curled against the window. "She reminds me of someone I knew. Someone I couldn't help."

"Ah." Avery's teasing tone softened. "Recent loss?"

"Something like that." Harry forced himself to step away from the window. "It was a long time ago, but seeing her..."

"Brings it all back?"

"Yeah."

"Like my brother." Avery's reflection appeared beside Harry's in the glass. "Some days I'll see someone with his walk, or hear a laugh that sounds just like his. Makes me wonder if I could have done something different, said something to change his mind."

"But you couldn't have known."

"Neither could you, I'd wager." Avery squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Whatever happened to your friend - it wasn't your fault."

But it would be, Harry thought. Standing here, knowing what awaited Myrtle Warren, doing nothing to stop it - how was that any different than casting the curse himself?

"She's going to die." The words slipped out before Harry could stop them.

"Warren?" Avery's grip tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"Not- I meant my friend." Harry shrugged off Avery's hand. "The one she reminds me of. She died too young, and I couldn't..." He swallowed hard. "I couldn't save her."

"Merlin, Evans." Avery studied Harry's face. "No wonder you looked like you'd seen a ghost. But Warren isn't your friend. You can't protect everyone who reminds you of people you've lost."

"I know." Harry pressed his forehead against the cold window. "Doesn't make it any easier to watch."

"Come on." Avery tugged Harry away from the window. "You need air that isn't clouded by dusty books and dark thoughts."

Harry followed him out of the shop, the bell's cheerful tinkle a stark contrast to the weight in his chest. Snow crunched under their boots as they walked toward the castle.

"Next Hogsmeade weekend," Avery said, "we're skipping the Three Broomsticks drama. There's this pub off the main road - The Hog's Head. Bit rough around the edges, but the regulars mind their own business."

"Sounds perfect." Harry managed a weak smile, grateful for the change in subject.

They crossed the school gates just as the sun dipped behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the grounds. The castle windows glowed warm and inviting, but Harry couldn't shake the chill that had nothing to do with the February air.

"Thanks," Harry said quietly. "For the drink. And the talk."

Avery clapped him on the shoulder. "That's what friends are for, Evans."

Chapter Text

Harry pushed his shepherd's pie around his plate, the familiar din of the Great Hall washing over him. After days of taking meals in the kitchens, Avery had practically dragged him here.

"The house-elves were starting to think you'd moved in." Avery shoveled potatoes into his mouth. "Can't have that - they might start charging rent."

"I like the quiet." Harry stabbed a carrot.

"Finally emerged from exile?" Lestrange dropped onto the bench across from Harry, his usual smirk back in place. "Thought you'd gone and transferred to Beauxbatons."

Harry shrugged. The past week of tension had apparently dissolved - Lestrange was acting like nothing had happened after Tom's special attention during dueling practice.

"Leave him be." Avery kicked Lestrange under the table. "Some of us prefer peace and quiet to your constant prattling."

Mulciber walked past, deliberately bumping Harry's shoulder hard enough to make him spill pumpkin juice. "Watch it, Evans."

"Real mature." Avery rolled his eyes as Mulciber stalked away.

"Don't mind him." Lestrange helped mop up the spill with his napkin. "He's just sore about being passed over for the advanced defensive spells Tom's been teaching."

The bench shifted as someone else sat down beside Harry.

"What a pleasant surprise to see you joining us, Evans." Tom's smooth voice made Harry's shoulders tense. "I was beginning to think you'd found some secret passage out of the castle."

"Just needed some space to study." Harry kept his eyes on his plate.

"And here I thought you were avoiding me specifically." Tom reached past Harry for the bread basket. "How disappointing that would have been."

Harry could feel Tom's attention on him like a physical weight. The casual way Tom had inserted himself into their group, as if his presence was the most natural thing in the world, made Harry's skin crawl.

Harry took a deep breath. He was tired of the constant tension, of analyzing every word and movement. Maybe for one meal he could just... exist.

"Pass the salt?" Harry turned to Tom, meeting his eyes directly for the first time in days.

Tom's eyebrows lifted slightly as he handed over the shaker. Their fingers brushed - Harry didn't flinch away.

"Thanks." Harry seasoned his food and took a proper bite. The shepherd's pie was actually quite good when he wasn't pushing it around his plate.

Lestrange leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Did you hear about Grindelwald's latest attack? Three Auror outposts in Bavaria completely destroyed."

Harry's fork paused halfway to his mouth. The casual way they discussed such violence made his stomach turn.

"Father says the Ministry's keeping the real numbers quiet." Lestrange's eyes gleamed with morbid fascination. "Dozens dead, maybe more."

"Careful," Tom's voice carried a warning edge. "These aren't matters for open discussion."

"Everyone knows already." Lestrange waved his hand dismissively. "My cousin's stationed in Berlin. Says Grindelwald's forces are stronger than ever - some kind of new dark magic they've never seen before."

"Your cousin should learn discretion." Tom's fingers drummed against the table. "Loose lips cost lives in times like these."

"It's not just Germany anymore." Avery pushed his plate away, appetite gone. "There's talk he's gathering supporters here in Britain. Underground meetings, recruitment drives in places like Knockturn Alley."

Harry watched Tom's reaction carefully. The future Dark Lord seemed more irritated by the gossip than interested in Grindelwald's methods.

"My father attended Durmstrang with some of Grindelwald's inner circle," Lestrange continued, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. "Says they've got this ritual that lets them share power between followers. Makes them nearly unstoppable in combat."

"Fascinating." Tom's tone suggested it was anything but. "Though I question the wisdom of relying on borrowed power rather than developing one's own abilities."

The conversation about Grindelwald continued around Harry, but his attention fixed on Tom's last words. The casual dismissal of shared power - it was pure Tom Riddle. Even now, years before becoming Voldemort, he believed only in his own strength.

"Power comes in many forms," Harry found himself saying. "Sometimes the strongest magic lies in working together."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "An interesting perspective from someone who prefers to study alone."

"Maybe I just choose my allies carefully." Harry met Tom's gaze.

"And what criteria do you use for such selections?" Tom shifted closer, his knee brushing Harry's under the table.

"Trust. Loyalty. Things that can't be forced or coerced."

"How... Gryffindor of you." Tom's lips curved into a mocking smile. "Though I suppose even the most solitary snake must occasionally rely on others."

"Like your little dueling club?" Harry's grip tightened on his goblet. "Seems rather cooperative for someone who preaches self-reliance."

"I merely provide guidance to those worthy of receiving it." Tom's voice dropped lower. "Teaching is not the same as depending on others' strength."

"Right. Because Tom Riddle never needs anyone else." Harry's jaw clenched. "Must be lonely up there on your pedestal."

"I prefer to think of it as selective." Tom leaned in closer. "Quality over quantity, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry jerked back, his elbow catching his goblet. Pumpkin juice splashed across the table, soaking into Tom's pristine white shirt and green tie.

"Oh sorry," Harry said, not sounding sorry at all. "How clumsy of me."

The Great Hall seemed to go quiet around them as other students noticed what had happened. Tom sat perfectly still, drops of juice running down his chin.

"No harm done." Tom's smile didn't reach his eyes as he drew his wand. "Though perhaps we should work on your coordination during our next practice session."

With a quick charm, Tom vanished the spilled juice - though Harry noticed he left a faint orange stain on his collar.

Tom dabbed his napkin at the remaining juice stain, his movements precise and controlled. "Speaking of practice sessions, you've missed our last two meetings."

Harry pushed his plate away. "Not missed. Chose not to attend."

"The others have made remarkable progress." Tom kept his voice low, mindful of the curious glances from nearby students. "It would be... unfortunate if you fell behind."

"I went to one meeting. That was enough." Harry matched Tom's quiet tone. "And nothing you say will change my mind about going back."

"Speaking of falling behind..." Avery's voice cut through the tension. "Has anyone seen Lucretia today? She missed Charms this morning."

"Dragon pox," Lestrange supplied, clearly relieved for the change in subject. "Nasty case too - her whole face turned green yesterday during dinner."

"The practical applications are invaluable," Tom continued as if Avery and Lestrange hadn't spoken. His fingers traced the rim of his water goblet. "Especially given the current climate."

"I said no." Harry's knuckles whitened around his fork. "Find someone else to mentor."

"Come now, Evans." Tom's smile remained pleasant, but his eyes hardened. "Surely you see the benefits of-"

"Hey, did you lot hear about the new racing broom Cleansweep's releasing?" Avery's voice rose slightly. "Supposed to be faster than-"

"I think I've made myself clear." Harry stood abruptly. "Thanks for dinner, Avery."

Tom's hand shot out, catching Harry's wrist. "We're not finished discussing this."

Harry yanked his arm free. "Yes, we are."

He strode away from the Slytherin table, leaving his half-eaten dinner behind. Tom watched him go, his expression unreadable as he carefully realigned his silverware.

*

Harry lay on his bed, trying to focus on his Charms textbook when the dormitory door creaked open. Avery slipped inside, glancing over his shoulder before shutting the door.

"You've really done it now." Avery perched on the edge of his own bed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Done what?" Harry didn't look up from his book.

"That stunt at dinner? With the pumpkin juice?" Avery lowered his voice. "Tom's been in a right state since you left."

Harry's fingers tightened on the book's pages. "Not my problem."

"It is when he takes it out on the rest of us." Avery's voice cracked slightly. "Made Mulciber practice shield charms for an hour straight. Kept hitting him with increasingly nasty hexes until he couldn't stand."

Harry sat up, finally meeting Avery's gaze. Dark circles ringed the other boy's eyes.

"Then there's Rosier - Tom caught him laughing about your little juice incident." Avery rubbed his temples. "Let's just say Rosier won't be laughing at anything for a while."

"I didn't ask him to-"

"Doesn't matter what you asked." Avery cut him off. "You embarrassed him in front of the whole school. Tom Riddle doesn't forget things like that."

"So what, I'm supposed to just do whatever he wants?" Harry's voice rose. "Join his little practice sessions and pretend I don't see what he's really doing?"

"I'm saying be careful." Avery stood, pacing the small space between their beds. "Tom's... different with you. Focused. But that attention can turn ugly fast."

"Speaking from experience?"

Avery stopped pacing. "Just... watch yourself, Evans. Tom's not used to being refused. Or challenged. Or whatever game you're playing with him."

Harry swung his legs off the bed. "I'm not playing any game."

"Really?" Avery's laugh held no humor. "The way you push back, challenge him in front of everyone? You're either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."

"Maybe I just see him for what he really is."

"And what's that exactly?" Avery's eyes narrowed. "Because from where I'm standing, you waltz in here with your mysterious background and suddenly think you know everything about everyone."

"I know enough." Harry stood, facing Avery directly. "I've seen what people like him can do."

"People like him?" Avery stepped closer. "You mean brilliant? Talented? Actually trying to teach us something useful while the professors feed us watered-down theory?"

"That's not-"

"No, you don't get it." Avery jabbed a finger at Harry's chest. "You've been here what, a few months? Some of us have known Tom for years. He's helped us, protected us-"

"Protected you?" Harry knocked Avery's hand away. "Is that what you call what happened to Rosier tonight?"

"You don't understand anything." Avery's face flushed red. "Must be nice up there on your moral high ground, judging everyone else. Some of us don't have that luxury."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it." Avery grabbed his bag from his bed. "Stay away from Tom if you want, but don't drag the rest of us into your little rebellion."

Avery stormed out of the dormitory, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoed in the sudden silence, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

*

The next three days passed in a blur of isolation. Harry's usual seat in Charms remained empty on both sides, his former partners finding spots across the room. Even Avery, who'd occasionally shot him apologetic glances, kept his distance. Whispers followed Harry through the corridors. "...thinks he's too good for..." "...should know his place..." The words slithered around corners, dying whenever he turned to face their source.

During meals, the space around Harry at the Slytherin table remained conspicuously empty. His housemates performed an intricate dance of avoiding eye contact while ensuring no one accidentally sat near him. Only the house-elves' consistent portions prevented his plate from being mysteriously empty. In Transfiguration, Harry's demonstration of a particularly complex spell earned him only cold stares. No one volunteered to partner with him for practice. Even Dumbledore's concerned gaze couldn't pierce the wall of silence that had descended around him.

The common room became a study in strategic exits. Students packed up their books when he entered, conversations dying mid-sentence. The armchair by the fire - his preferred spot - now sat pointedly occupied whenever he appeared.

Tom Riddle, for his part, acted as if Harry didn't exist. He held court among his followers, leading study sessions and discussions that pointedly excluded Harry's corner of the room. The obvious shunning carried more weight than any direct confrontation could have achieved.

Lestrange and Rosier now flanked Tom like twin shadows, their previous friendly banter with Harry replaced by calculated indifference. The message was clear - crossing Tom Riddle meant losing not just an ally, but every social connection in Slytherin house. He found himself missing Ron and Hermione with an intensity that physically ached. He'd faced isolation before, but never this complete orchestrated freeze-out. Even during the Triwizard Tournament, he'd had some supporters. Here, in 1943, he was truly alone.

Harry slid onto his usual bench in the Potions classroom, the empty space next to him a stark reminder of his current status. Slughorn bustled around the front of the room, arranging ingredients for today's lesson.

"Gather 'round, gather 'round!" Slughorn clapped his hands. "Today we'll be attempting the Draught of Peace - a particularly finicky potion that requires precise timing and careful attention. You'll need to work in pairs to properly monitor the shifting colors and consistency."

Students immediately began pairing up. Chairs scraped against stone as everyone shuffled to sit with their chosen partners. Harry remained motionless at his table, watching the familiar dance of partnership selection play out around him.

"Everyone paired up?" Slughorn's gaze swept the room, landing on Harry. "Mr. Evans, you'll need a partner for this one. Perhaps Mr. Nott could-"

"I can manage alone, Professor." Harry kept his voice steady, ignoring the whispers that rippled through the classroom.

Slughorn's mustache twitched. "Now, my boy, this potion really does require two sets of eyes. The timing is quite crucial-"

"I've brewed it before." Harry pulled his textbook from his bag. "Successfully. I'll be fine on my own."

"Well..." Slughorn hesitated, glancing around the room. Several students quickly looked away, suddenly very interested in their cauldrons. "If you're certain..."

"I am." Harry began setting up his workspace, methodically arranging his ingredients.

"Very well then." Slughorn cleared his throat. "The instructions are on page 363. Remember, precision is key!"

Harry measured his powdered moonstone carefully, trying to ignore the sideways glances from his classmates. The silver powder scattered across his scales like stardust. His hands shook slightly as he added it to his cauldron.

The base liquid turned a promising shade of blue. Harry stirred counterclockwise, counting under his breath. One, two, three... His thoughts drifted to the empty seats beside him, to the whispers that followed him through corridors.

A drop of syrup of hellebore splashed outside his cauldron. Harry blinked, realizing he'd lost count of his stirs. Was it seven or eight? The potion's surface rippled unnaturally.

"Careful with the temperature there, Mr. Evans," Slughorn called from across the room.

Harry adjusted his flame, but his mind wandered again. Tom's calculated indifference, Avery's warning, the way everyone scattered when he entered a room... The pounding in his head matched his stirring rhythm. His potion shifted from blue to an angry purple. That wasn't right. Harry squinted at his textbook, the words swimming before his eyes. The next ingredient - what was it? His fingers fumbled with a vial of crushed porcupine quills.

A hissing sound drew his attention back to his cauldron. The surface bubbled violently, purple foam rising toward the rim. Harry reached for his wand, but it was too late. The potion erupted with a deafening bang. Purple sludge sprayed across Harry's face and robes. Several nearby students screamed as the caustic mixture rained down on their workstations.

"Merlin's beard!" Slughorn rushed over, vanishing the worst of the mess with a wave of his wand. "Everyone back! Mr. Evans, are you-"

Harry stood frozen, purple goo dripping from his hair, his failed potion eating small holes through his textbook.

"Scourgify!" Slughorn cast several cleaning charms in quick succession. "Everyone alright? No burns?"

Harry wiped purple residue from his glasses, his cheeks burning hotter than any potion splash. Scattered laughter echoed from the Slytherin side of the room.

"Perhaps you should have accepted a partner after all, Mr. Evans." Slughorn vanished the ruined contents of Harry's cauldron. "Pride can be a dangerous thing in potion-making."

More snickers from his classmates. Harry caught Tom Riddle watching him with an expression of calculated interest, like a scientist observing a failed experiment.

"Mr. Evans, perhaps you should join Mr. Riddle's group for the remainder of class." Slughorn gestured toward Tom's immaculate workstation. "They seem to have achieved the perfect silvery vapor-"

"No." Harry's hands clenched at his sides. "I'll start over."

"This isn't a request, my boy." Slughorn's usually jovial tone hardened. "I cannot allow you to waste more ingredients on another solo attempt."

"Then I'll take zero marks for today." Harry began packing his supplies.

"Stubbornness will not serve you well in this classroom." Slughorn's face reddened. "I am your professor, and you will do as instructed."

"You can't force me to work with someone I don't want to work with." Harry's voice rose. "That's not part of your job."

"My job is to ensure you learn proper potion-making!" Slughorn slammed his hand on Harry's desk. "And right now, you're demonstrating exactly why working alone is not an option."

"Better alone than with-" Harry caught himself, glancing at Tom's table.

"Than with what, Mr. Evans?" Slughorn's mustache quivered with anger. "Our top student? Someone who could actually help you succeed?"

"I don't need his kind of help." Harry shouldered his bag.

"Detention, Mr. Evans." Slughorn's voice cut through the silent classroom. "And twenty points from Slytherin for your blatant disrespect."

"Fine." Harry headed for the door. "Better than being forced to partner with-"

"Get back to your seat this instant!" Slughorn's face turned purple. "Or it will be fifty points and a week of detentions!"

Harry paused at the door, looking back at his purple-stained workstation, at Tom's perfectly controlled expression, at Slughorn's trembling mustache.

"Make it a month." Harry yanked the door open. "I'm still not working with him."

The door slammed behind him, leaving a shocked silence in his wake.

Harry stalked through the dungeons, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls like angry drumbeats. Purple potion residue still clung to his robes, leaving a faint trail behind him that glistened in the dim torchlight. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, knuckles white with tension as he fumed over the incident. He turned a corner sharply, too caught up in his anger to watch where he was going, and collided with something solid.

"Mr. Evans." Professor Dumbledore steadied himself, adjusting his auburn beard. "I believe you should be in Potions at this hour."

"Not anymore." Harry tried to step around him.

"And why is that?" Dumbledore's blue eyes fixed on the purple stains. "Has there been an accident?"

"You could say that." Harry's jaw clenched. "Slughorn tried to force me to work with Riddle."

"Ah." Dumbledore studied him over his half-moon spectacles. "And you chose to leave rather than comply."

"I won't work with him." Harry wiped at a purple stain on his sleeve. "I don't care how many detentions Slughorn gives me."

"I've noticed you've been rather..." Dumbledore paused, choosing his words carefully, "isolated these past few days. The other Slytherins seem to be giving you a wide berth."

"That's what happens when you cross their precious leader." Harry's bitter laugh echoed off the dungeon walls.

"Social dynamics in Slytherin house can be... complex." Dumbledore's eyes held a knowing look. "Perhaps more so than you initially realized."

"Complex isn't the word I'd use." Harry ran a hand through his hair, dislodging dried bits of failed potion. "They're like a pack of wolves. Step out of line and they turn on you. But I won't be another one of his followers." Harry wiped ineffectively at a purple spot on his sleeve. 

"While I admire your conviction, Harry, sometimes the wisest course isn't the most obvious one." Dumbledore pulled out his wand and vanished the remaining potion stains. "Fighting every battle head-on isn't always the best strategy."

"What else am I supposed to do?" Harry's voice cracked. "Just let him win? Watch him collect more people who don't see what he really is?” Harry's voice dropped to barely a whisper. “I know what he'll become. What he'll do to people who trust him. Who follow him."

Dumbledore's expression remained carefully neutral. "The future is not set in stone, Mr. Evans."

"But some things are." Harry ran a hand through his hair, dislodging dried purple flakes. "When you told me to keep my distance, to let things happen naturally - I thought I could do it. Just focus on finding a way home and ignore everything else."

"And now?"

"Now I see them all falling into his trap." Harry gestured back toward the Potions classroom. "Avery, Lestrange, even that first-year who fetches Tom's books in the library. They think he's brilliant, protective, their friend." Harry's fist clenched at his side. "You told me not to interfere, but how can I just watch? Knowing what I know?"

"The burden of knowledge is indeed heavy." Dumbledore's blue eyes held a hint of sadness. "But attempting to alter events could lead to consequences far worse than-"

"Worse?" Harry cut himself off, remembering he couldn't reveal too much. "Sorry, Professor. I know you don't want details about... things that haven't happened yet. But standing by while he builds his little following..."

Harry trailed off, leaning against the cold stone wall. "I thought distance would be easier. That I could treat this like some academic exercise - observe but don't engage. But these are real people, making choices that will-" He swallowed hard. "I'm not sure I can be as detached as you asked me to be."

"Sometimes," Dumbledore said softly, "the best way to resist influence is to appear to accept it."

Harry pushed off the wall, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Think, Harry. Tom Riddle thrives on opposition - on the challenge of breaking down resistance. Your current strategy of outright defiance only draws his focus more intensely."

"So I'm supposed to pretend to go along with him?" Harry's stomach turned at the thought.

"Consider this - which reveals more: a locked door, or one left seemingly unguarded?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Tom's curiosity about you stems partly from your obvious resistance. If you appeared more... amenable to his overtures, that fascination might naturally wane."

"You want me to join his study groups? Let him think he's winning me over?"

"Sometimes the best defense is to appear defenseless." Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles. "Though I caution you - such a path requires exceptional control over one's emotions and reactions."

"Like Occlumency." Harry remembered his mental shields, constantly maintained around Tom.

"Precisely." Dumbledore glanced down the corridor. "Though perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere more private. These walls have a tendency to carry conversations to unexpected ears."

They walked to Dumbledore's office in silence, Harry's mind racing with possibilities. The idea of pretending to lower his guard around Tom made his skin crawl. Yet he couldn't deny the logic - Tom's interest had only intensified with each show of resistance.

"Tea?" Dumbledore conjured two steaming cups as they settled into his office.

"Thanks." Harry wrapped his hands around the warm cup, breathing in the familiar scent of Earl Grey. "But how can I convince him I'm suddenly changing my mind? After that scene in Potions..."

"The most convincing lies often contain elements of truth." Dumbledore stirred his tea thoughtfully. "Your isolation in Slytherin house provides a natural motivation for reconsidering your stance."

Harry stared into his cup. "You mean let him think I'm getting desperate enough to accept his... friendship?"

"Tom Riddle understands power and ambition." Dumbledore's blue eyes met Harry's. "He would find it perfectly reasonable for someone to set aside personal reservations in pursuit of those goals."

"But won't he be suspicious if I suddenly start agreeing with him?"

"Indeed he would." Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Which is why any apparent change of heart must be gradual, reluctant - and most importantly, appear to cost you something."

"What do you mean, cost me something?" Harry set his teacup down.

"Pride, Mr. Evans. Your current isolation stems largely from your refusal to accept Tom's influence. If you were to show signs of... wearing down under that pressure, it would seem natural to those watching."

"Like what happened in Potions." Harry's shoulders slumped. "Everyone saw me fail because I wouldn't work with a partner."

"Precisely. And now you face detention, lost house points, and likely increased hostility from your housemates." Dumbledore leaned forward. "Tom will expect that pressure to affect you eventually."

"So I let him think it's working." Harry traced the rim of his teacup. "That I'm starting to crack."

"Small concessions at first. Perhaps accepting his help with schoolwork, or attending one of his study sessions without obvious reluctance."

"And he'd believe that? After everything?"

"Tom Riddle has a particular weakness." Dumbledore's voice softened. "He expects others to break because he believes everyone, at their core, is as self-serving as he is. Show him what he expects to see, and he may look no deeper."

Harry considered this, remembering Tom's calculated manipulations, his careful gathering of followers. "He likes to think he can read people. Predict them."

"And therefore might be less likely to question behavior that fits his expectations." Dumbledore refilled their cups with a wave of his wand. "Though I must emphasize - such deception requires absolute control. One slip, one genuine reaction..."

"Would make things worse than they are now." Harry nodded grimly. "I understand."

Harry set down his teacup, the china clinking softly against its saucer. "Professor, have you made any progress on finding a way to send me back?"

Dumbledore's expression shifted, the previous intensity fading into something more subdued. "I've consulted several experts in temporal magic, though of course I couldn't reveal the specifics of your situation."

"And?" Harry leaned forward.

"The consensus is... complicated." Dumbledore stroked his auburn beard. "The destruction of multiple Time-Turners creating a convergence point of temporal energy - it's unprecedented. The magical theory behind it is largely theoretical."

"But there must be something." Harry's fingers tightened around the teacup. "Some way to reverse it."

"The amount of magical power required to breach a fifty-year gap would be extraordinary." Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles. "And attempting it without precise calculations could result in... well, best not to dwell on those possibilities."

"So you're saying it's hopeless?"

"Not hopeless, Harry. But it will take time. More time than I initially hoped." Dumbledore's blue eyes held a mix of sympathy and determination. "I have several promising leads in the Department of Mysteries' archived research, but accessing those files requires careful navigation of bureaucratic channels."

Harry slumped back in his chair. "How much longer?"

"I cannot say with certainty. Months, at minimum." Dumbledore's voice was gentle. "Which is why adapting to your current situation, however temporarily, remains crucial."

"I should get back." Harry stood, his legs stiff from sitting. "Think about what you said about... adapting."

"Indeed." Dumbledore rose as well. "Though perhaps take the long way back to your common room. Give yourself time to compose your thoughts before facing your housemates."

"Right." Harry reached for the door handle. "Thank you, Professor. For the tea and the... advice."

"Of course, Mr. Evans." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. "And do remember - sometimes the most effective shield is one that doesn't appear to be there at all."

Harry nodded and stepped into the corridor, closing the heavy wooden door behind him. The sound echoed through the empty hallway as he started his long walk back to the dungeons.

Chapter Text

Harry found Tom in his usual spot in the library - a secluded alcove near the Restricted Section. Afternoon sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting long shadows across the ancient wooden tables. Tom sat alone, surrounded by stacks of leather-bound books, his quill scratching across parchment.

Harry's footsteps echoed against stone floors as he approached. Tom didn't look up.

"Mind if I sit?" Harry kept his voice neutral, gesturing at the empty chair across from Tom.

Tom's quill paused mid-stroke. He turned a page in his book, still not meeting Harry's eyes. "The library has plenty of other tables."

"True." Harry pulled out the chair anyway and sat down. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"How unfortunate." Tom's tone remained cold as he continued writing. "I'm rather occupied at the moment."

Harry tapped his fingers against the wooden surface, struggling to contain his annoyance at Tom's dismissive attitude. His knuckles whitened slightly as he forced himself to keep his voice level and controlled. "Listen, regarding the incident in the Great Hall a few days ago."

Tom kept writing, the soft scraping of his pen against parchment his sole acknowledgment.

Harry clenched his teeth but continued speaking. "Plus the situation during today's Potions class-"

"Your spectacular failure to brew a simple Draught of Peace?" Tom's lips curved into a slight smirk. "Yes, most entertaining."

"I was thinking we could move past that." Harry forced the words out. "Start fresh."

Tom finally looked up, dark eyes studying Harry's face. "And why would I want that?"

"Because this situation isn't beneficial for either of us."

"On the contrary." Tom set down his quill. "I find your current predicament quite satisfactory. Your isolation demonstrates the consequences of defying me rather effectively."

Harry clenched his jaw. "Right. And I suppose you enjoy having someone actively working against you in your own house?"

"You vastly overestimate your importance, Evans." Tom returned to his book. "Your resistance is merely an inconvenience."

"Then why waste energy maintaining it?" Harry leaned forward. "We could at least be civil."

"Civil?" Tom's laugh held no warmth. "You made your position quite clear when you deliberately spilled pumpkin juice on my robes."

"That was..." Harry suppressed a grin at the memory. "Childish of me. I admit it."

"How gracious of you to acknowledge your petulance." Tom's fingers traced the edge of his book. "Though I suspect this sudden change of heart has an ulterior motive."

"Maybe I'm just tired of eating alone." Harry shrugged. "Or failing potions because no one will partner with me."

"Your academic struggles are hardly my concern."

"No?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Thought you'd want your house maintaining certain standards. What would Slughorn say if Slytherin's marks started slipping?"

Tom's expression flickered - the tiniest crack in his mask. "Using house pride to appeal to me? Rather transparent manipulation, Evans."

"Not manipulation. Practicality." Harry met Tom's gaze steadily. "We don't have to be friends. Just... professional."

"Professional," Tom tested the word. "And what exactly would this professionalism entail?"

"You call off the silent treatment. I stop actively antagonizing you." Harry gestured between them. "Basic civility, like you show everyone else."

"Everyone else hasn't deliberately provoked me." Tom's voice carried an edge of warning.

"True. But everyone else is boring." The words slipped out before Harry could stop them.

Tom's fingers stilled on the book's edge. The corner of his lip curved upward - not his usual calculated smirk, but something smaller, more genuine. "Boring." He rolled the word around like wine on his tongue. "Is that why you've been so... combative? Seeking entertainment?"

"Not exactly." Harry shifted in his seat. The unexpected glimpse of Tom's real smile threw him off balance. "But you have to admit, most people here just agree with whatever you say."

"And you find that tiresome?" Tom's smile lingered, transforming his features into something almost approachable.

"About as tiresome as you find it." Harry gestured at Tom's solitary study spot. "Why else hide away here instead of holding court in the common room?"

Tom's fingers traced an idle pattern on his parchment. "Perhaps I simply prefer quiet while working."

Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "So, do we have a deal? Basic civility, no more house-wide freeze-outs?"

"You still haven't explained what I gain from this arrangement." Tom closed his book, giving Harry his full attention. "Your isolation serves as an effective example to others. Why should I surrender that advantage?"

"Because I'm more useful as an ally than an enemy?"

"Ally?" Tom's eyebrows rose. "That's quite a leap from 'basic civility.'"

"Fine - not an ally." Harry waved his hand. "A neutral party. Someone who won't work against you, but won't blindly follow either."

"And that benefits me how exactly?" Tom's fingers traced the embossed cover of his book. "I have plenty of followers. What use is a neutral party?"

Harry leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Because I challenge you. Make you think. When's the last time anyone in Slytherin actually questioned your ideas instead of just nodding along?"

"Most people possess enough wisdom not to question me." Tom's eyes narrowed. "You seem to lack that particular instinct for self-preservation."

"Maybe. Or maybe you're bored too." Harry tapped the stack of advanced books beside Tom. "These aren't exactly light reading. You're looking for something more challenging than what classes offer. Someone who can keep up."

Tom's fingers stilled on the book cover. For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by distant whispers from other students.

"You presume much about my motivations, Evans." But Tom's tone held a note of curiosity rather than dismissal.

"Tell me I'm wrong then." Harry gestured at the empty chairs surrounding them. "Tell me you prefer spending time with people who never disagree with you, never push back, never make you defend your positions."

"And you believe you're qualified to provide this... intellectual stimulation?" Tom's voice dripped skepticism, but his dark eyes remained fixed on Harry's face.

"I think I've proven I can hold my own." Harry kept his voice steady. "The dueling club. Our debates in Slughorn's office. Even our... disagreements show I'm not afraid to challenge you."

"Yes, your reckless defiance has been well established." Tom traced the spine of his book. "Though I notice you've conveniently omitted our encounters regarding your peculiar mental shields."

Harry's stomach tightened. "That's not up for discussion."

"Isn't it?" Tom leaned forward slightly. "You offer transparency while maintaining your own secrets. Rather hypocritical, wouldn't you say?"

"Everyone has secrets." Harry met Tom's gaze. "Including you."

"Indeed." Tom's fingers stilled on the book. "Though most aren't quite so... obvious about protecting theirs."

"Look, do you want an academic rival or not?" Harry fought to keep frustration from his voice. "Someone who'll actually debate theory instead of just agreeing with everything?"

"Rival implies equality." Tom's lips curved into that familiar smirk. "You've shown talent, certainly. But let's not overstate your position."

"Fine. Whatever you want to call it." Harry spread his hands. "I'm offering a truce. Take it or leave it."

Tom studied Harry's face, dark eyes unreadable. He tapped his fingers against the book cover in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "Very well. A conditional truce."

"Conditional?" Harry's shoulders tensed.

"You'll resume attending my private dueling sessions." Tom's voice left no room for negotiation. "Every meeting."

"That wasn't part of the deal-"

"It is now." Tom leaned forward. "You claim to want intellectual discourse. The dueling club provides exactly that - practical application of modified spells, theoretical discussions of magical mechanics."

"Right." Harry crossed his arms. "Nothing to do with showing off your power to your followers."

"They benefit from the instruction." Tom's lips curved. "As did you, if I recall. Your form improved considerably during our... personal demonstration."

Heat crept up Harry's neck at the memory of Tom's hands adjusting his stance. "I can practice dueling fine on my own."

"Can you?" Tom raised an eyebrow. "And who exactly would you practice with? Given your current social standing in Slytherin."

"That's manipulation."

"That's reality." Tom closed his book with a soft thud. "You want civil interactions restored? Attend the meetings. All of them. No more avoiding them or leaving early."

Harry drummed his fingers on the table. "And if I refuse?"

"Then nothing changes." Tom gathered his materials with precise movements. "You continue your isolation, I continue demonstrating the consequences of defiance, and we both waste valuable time that could be spent on more... productive pursuits."

"You really won't budge on this?"

"Consider it a show of commitment to our new arrangement." Tom stood, tucking his books under his arm. "Tomorrow night, eight o'clock. The usual location."

Harry pressed his palms against the table. "Fine. But no more attempts to break into my mind."

"Agreed." Tom paused beside Harry's chair. "Though I do wonder what secrets are worth such fierce protection."

"Everyone has secrets," Harry repeated firmly.

"Indeed." Tom's hand brushed Harry's shoulder as he passed. "Until tomorrow then, Evans." He paused mid-stride and turned back. "One more condition."

Harry's shoulders tensed. "What now?"

"Your public defiance ends." Tom's voice dropped lower, meant for Harry's ears alone. "Disagreements, debates, challenges - save them for private settings. The dueling club. Study sessions. Not the Great Hall or classrooms."

"You want me to act like everyone else?" Harry's fingers curled against the wooden table. "Nod along and agree with everything you say?"

"I want you to show appropriate respect to your house leader." Tom moved closer, resting one hand on the back of Harry's chair. "Your previous behavior undermines my authority. That stops now."

Harry's jaw clenched. Every instinct screamed against submitting to Tom's authority, against playing into the future Dark Lord's power games. But Dumbledore's words echoed in his mind - about appearing to gradually accept Tom's influence rather than fighting it openly.

"Fine." Harry forced the word out. "No more public challenges."

"Say it properly." Tom's fingers tightened on Harry's chair. "I want to be certain we understand each other."

Harry's teeth ground together. "I'll show appropriate respect to my house leader. In public."

"Good." Tom straightened, satisfaction evident in his posture. "Then we have an agreement. You attend all dueling sessions, maintain proper public behavior, and in return..." He gestured expansively. "Social restoration. Access to study groups, meal companions, class partners."

"Wonderful." Harry couldn't quite keep the sarcasm from his voice. "Anything else?"

"Not at present." Tom adjusted his robes. "Though I reserve the right to modify our arrangement as needed."

"Of course you do." Harry pushed back his chair, gathering his own belongings. "Wouldn't want to lose any control."

"Careful, Evans." But Tom's warning held a trace of amusement. "Our new arrangement hasn't officially begun yet."

"Right." Harry stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Eight o'clock tomorrow. I'll be there."

"Indeed you will." Tom's dark eyes gleamed. "Welcome back to proper Slytherin society."

Chapter Text

Harry stared at the worn tapestry, its faded threads depicting Barnabes's second cousin attempting to teach trolls proper table etiquette. His fingers drummed against his wand pocket.

Eight o'clock approached. The corridor remained empty except for his echoing footsteps as he paced. Tom had kept his word - the change in Slytherin house had been immediate. At breakfast, Rosier had claimed the seat beside Harry. During Charms, Lestrange had asked to partner for practice.

But the casual conversations felt hollow, orchestrated. Like actors following a script written by their director.

Mulciber had sneered when Harry entered Potions, muttering something about "teacher's pet" under his breath. Harry had gripped his wand tight, remembering his promise about public behavior.

His chest tightened thinking of Avery's empty seat in Defense. His friend - former friend? - had switched places to sit with Nott instead. Harry hadn't tried approaching him yet, unsure what to say. Sorry for disrupting the careful hierarchy Avery had warned him about?

Harry inhaled deeply, squaring his shoulders. He'd faced worse than an evening of modified spells and Tom's intensity. When the clock chimed eight, he touched the tapestry’s edge, the fabric cool beneath his fingers. A deal was a deal. With a steady breath, he pushed the tapestry aside and stepped through.

The room hummed with hushed conversations that died as Harry entered. Candlelight flickered across stone walls, casting long shadows behind the gathered students. Walburga Black's dark eyes followed Harry's movement, her lips pressed into a thin line. Rosier and Mulciber stood near the back wall, wands already drawn. Their faces remained carefully neutral - a stark contrast to their open hostility days before. Lestrange lounged against a desk, pretending to examine his fingernails. Avery's shoulders tensed at Harry's entrance. He turned away, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the stone floor. The rejection stung more than Harry expected.

"Evans." Tom's footsteps echoed as he crossed the chamber. His school robes had been discarded, leaving him in a crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd changed your mind."

"A deal's a deal, Riddle." Harry kept his voice level, matching Tom's casual tone.

"Indeed." Tom's dark eyes searched Harry's face. "Though punctuality would be appreciated in the future."

A flicker of movement caught Harry's eye. Near one of the tall windows, a familiar silvery form drifted past - the Grey Lady, her translucent gown rippling in a nonexistent breeze. Their eyes met for a brief moment before she vanished through the wall. Harry's hand tightened around his wand, remembering another ghost who would soon haunt these halls. Myrtle's living face from the bookshop flashed through his mind.

"Now that we're all here..." Tom's voice carried effortlessly across the chamber. "Let's begin."

The group moved with practiced efficiency, arranging themselves in a loose semicircle. Harry found himself between Walburga and Rosier. Tom took his position at the center, every inch the commanding presence he cultivated. His wand appeared in his hand with fluid grace.

"Today we'll be working on variations of the Impediment Jinx." Tom's gaze swept the assembled students before landing on Harry. "Evans, step forward. You'll assist with the demonstration."

Harry stepped into the center, maintaining careful distance from Tom. The candlelight cast sharp shadows across Tom's cheekbones as he raised his wand in a formal dueling stance.

"The standard Impediment Jinx creates a temporary barrier between caster and target." Tom's voice carried the practiced tone of a seasoned instructor. "But with proper modification, we can alter its effects."

"Impedimenta," Tom cast, his wand movement crisp. The spell shot past Harry's left shoulder, striking the wall behind him. "A straightforward approach. But watch-"

Tom's wand twisted in a complex pattern. "Impedimenta Vectoris."

Harry's defensive shield rose instinctively, but the modified spell curved around it like smoke, striking his arm. A cold sensation spread through his muscles, leaving them heavy and unresponsive.

"The altered version allows for directed control." Tom circled Harry, his footsteps echoing. "Useful when your opponent expects a linear attack."

Harry fought against the creeping numbness, focusing on moving his fingers. The spell's grip felt different from a normal Impediment Jinx - more precise, targeted.

"Counter it, Evans." Tom's voice held a note of challenge.

Harry gritted his teeth, pushing magic through his numbed arm. The resistance felt like moving through thick syrup.

"Finite Incantatem," Harry managed, but the spell fizzled weakly.

"Wrong approach." Tom stepped closer, close enough that Harry caught the scent of parchment and ink. "The modified version requires a modified counter. Unless you'd prefer to remain partially paralyzed?"

The other students watched in silence, their faces flickering in the candlelight. Walburga's eyes narrowed with poorly concealed interest. Rosier smirked.

"Care to share the counter-spell?" Harry kept his voice steady despite the growing discomfort in his arm.

Tom's lips curved into a slight smile. "That depends. Are you ready to learn?"

Harry met Tom's gaze, refusing to look away despite the numbness creeping past his elbow. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Finite Vectoris." Tom's wand traced an intricate pattern. Warmth flooded back into Harry's arm, pins and needles prickling beneath his skin. "The standard counter fails because it doesn't account for the spell's directional properties."

Tom turned to address the group. "Partner up. Practice both versions. I expect clean execution by the end of tonight."

The students shuffled into pairs. Walburga stepped toward Tom, but he waved her away without looking. "I'll be working with Evans."

"Actually," Harry stepped back from Tom, "I'd like to partner with Avery."

The room's temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Walburga's eyebrows shot up, and Mulciber's wand hand froze mid-motion.

Tom's expression remained neutral, but his eyes hardened. "I don't recall that being part of our arrangement."

"You said I had to attend." Harry kept his voice level. "Not that I couldn't choose my partner."

Avery shifted uncomfortably, gaze darting between Harry and Tom. His shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller.

"I'd prefer not to, Evans." Avery's words came out barely above a whisper.

"See?" Tom's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Avery understands the proper order of things."

Harry's jaw clenched. The "proper order" - everything in its designated place, everyone following Tom's carefully orchestrated dance. "Fine." He turned back to Tom. "Shall we, then?"

"Eager to learn after all?" Tom raised his wand. "Remember - intent shapes the spell's direction. Watch my movement carefully."

Tom's wand traced another complex pattern. This time Harry tracked the subtle shifts in Tom's grip, the way magic gathered at the tip before release.

"Impedimenta Vectoris."

Harry sidestepped, but the spell curved sharply, catching his leg. The numbing sensation crept up his calf.

"Your footwork betrays your next move." Tom circled behind Harry. "A predictable target is an easy target."

The other students had stopped practicing to watch. Walburga's eyes gleamed with barely concealed interest. Even Avery had lifted his gaze from the floor.

"The counter-spell again?" Harry gritted out as the numbness reached his knee.

"When you ask properly." Tom's voice carried the barest hint of amusement.

Harry swallowed his pride, remembering Dumbledore's advice about appearing to accept Tom's influence. "Please show me the counter-spell, Riddle."

Tom's fingers brushed Harry's shoulder as he stepped closer. "Observe closely."

The counter-spell's wandwork mirrored the attack pattern in reverse. Harry committed each motion to memory, refusing to need Tom's assistance again.

Feeling returned to Harry's leg in a rush of pins and needles. He stumbled slightly, and Tom's hand steadied him with deceptive gentleness.

"Better." Tom stepped back, adjusting his stance. "Now you try."

The distance between them stretched to proper dueling length. Candlelight caught the sharp angles of Tom's face as he raised his wand in a defensive position.

Harry focused on replicating the complex wand movement Tom had demonstrated. His first attempt at "Impedimenta Vectoris" shot wide, curving through empty air as Tom shifted left with fluid grace.

"Sloppy execution." Tom's critique carried across the chamber. "The spell follows your wand's path. Control the arc."

Harry's second attempt spiraled toward Tom's chest, but a quick shield charm dispersed it into harmless sparks. Tom's defensive magic crackled with precise power.

"Still telegraphing your target." Tom lowered his shield. "Again."

Harry's eyes narrowed. He began the familiar wand movement, but at the last second changed direction, adding a subtle flick he'd learned in DA practice. The modified spell split into two streams, one curving high while the other swept low.

Tom's eyes widened a fraction as both streams converged. The spell caught him mid-dodge, numbing his wand arm from shoulder to fingertips.

Walburga gasped. Lestrange's practice duel with Mulciber forgotten as they stared. Even Avery looked up, surprise breaking through his careful mask of indifference.

"Need help with that counter-spell, Riddle?" Harry couldn't quite suppress his grin.

Tom stared at his immobilized arm, then back at Harry. For a moment, tension crackled between them like static before breaking. Tom's laugh started soft, barely more than an exhale, before growing into genuine amusement.

The unexpected sound of Tom's laughter drew even more shocked faces from the gathered students. Walburga's mouth hung open, her usual poise forgotten. Mulciber's wand slipped from his fingers, clattering on the stone floor.

"Clever modification, Evans." Tom's fingers twitched as feeling began returning to his arm. "Though not strictly following proper form."

"Perhaps proper form isn't always the most effective approach." Harry maintained his dueling stance.

"An interesting perspective." Tom flexed his recovered fingers. "Though structure exists for good reason."

"Structure can become predictable." Harry's wand traced another modified pattern. "Predictable targets are easy targets, right?"

This time Tom sidestepped both spell streams, his counter-attack whistling past Harry's ear. The modified Impediment Jinx crackled against the stone wall, leaving frost-like patterns across the surface.

"Structure provides foundation." Tom's next spell curved in a complex spiral. "Without it, power lacks focus."

Harry deflected the attack with a shield charm, feeling the impact reverberate through his arm. "Or maybe too much structure becomes its own weakness."

Their spells clashed mid-air, magical energy sparking between them. The watching students pressed back against the walls, giving their duel a wider berth.

"Enough demonstration." Tom lowered his wand, eyeing the students. "Continue with the basic variation first. Master the foundation before attempting modifications."

The group fell back into their previous pairs, though their attention kept drifting back to Harry and Tom. 

"Your creativity has merit." Tom's voice dropped lower as the others began practicing. "Though I question where you learned such variations."

"Maybe I'm just naturally talented." Harry matched Tom's quiet tone.

"Natural talent only goes so far." Tom stepped closer, pitching his voice for Harry's ears alone. "True mastery requires proper guidance."

"And you're offering to guide me?" Harry kept his expression neutral.

"I'm offering to help you reach your full potential." Tom's dark eyes held Harry's gaze. "Unless you prefer stumbling through half-formed modifications alone?"

Before Harry could respond, a yelp of pain drew their attention. Mulciber had caught Lestrange with a poorly aimed spell, leaving his entire left side paralyzed.

"We'll continue this discussion later." Tom moved to correct Mulciber's technique, leaving Harry to wonder exactly what he'd gotten himself into.

Harry leaned against the cool stone wall, watching Mulciber struggle with the counter-spell as Lestrange's paralyzed form swayed precariously. Tom's voice carried across the chamber, explaining the proper wand movement with practiced patience.

"Quite the show you put on." Walburga Black materialized beside Harry, her dark eyes calculating. "Though perhaps a bit... theatrical?"

"Just following instructions." Harry kept his attention on the practice duels.

"Oh please." Walburga's perfectly manicured nails drummed against her wand. "We both know what you were doing."

"Practicing spell modifications?"

"Playing with fire." Her voice dropped lower. "He doesn't appreciate being challenged publicly."

"Seemed to handle it fine to me."

"For now." Walburga's lips curved into a sharp smile. "But Tom has particular ways of dealing with those who draw too much attention."

Before Harry could respond, Tom's voice cut through their conversation. "Black, your partner appears to be waiting."

Walburga's smile tightened. She rejoined Rosier without another word, though her eyes kept darting between Harry and Tom.

Across the room, Avery and Nott practiced the basic variation, their movements careful and precise. Following proper form, proper structure. Everything in its designated place in Tom's carefully ordered world.

Harry's modified spell pattern tingled in his fingertips, a reminder that some magic refused to be contained by rigid rules. Like trying to bottle lightning or cage the wind.

Tom's gaze found Harry again as he corrected another student's technique. Something sparked in those dark eyes - interest, challenge, warning? Harry couldn't tell which worried him more.

The evening wore on as students practiced both spell variations. Sweat beaded on foreheads from concentration, and more than one person nursed numbed limbs from poorly blocked attacks.

"Enough for tonight." Tom's voice cut through the general murmur of spellwork. "Practice the counter-spell sequences before next session."

Students filed out in small groups, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. Harry pushed off from the wall, ready to follow, but Tom's voice stopped him.

"A moment, Evans."

Walburga lingered by the door, her pale fingers trailing along the stone archway as she watched them with unconcealed interest. Tom dismissed her with a sharp glance that brooked no argument, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. She left with obvious reluctance, her dark robes swishing around the corner as her footsteps faded into the shadows of the corridor.

"Your modification was interesting." Tom began collecting scattered cushions with precise wand movements. "Though potentially dangerous if executed poorly."

"Worried about student safety now?" Harry kept his distance, watching Tom methodically restore order to the chamber.

"I'm concerned with efficiency." Tom stacked the last cushion. "Uncontrolled power wastes potential."

"And you never waste anything, do you?"

"I appreciate resources that others overlook." Tom's wand disappeared into his robes. "Your talents are being squandered on basic classroom work."

"I manage fine in class."

"You deliberately underperform." Tom's eyes locked onto Harry's. "I've watched you hold back in every subject except Defense."

Harry's hand tightened around his wand. "Maybe I just prefer practical applications."

"Or maybe you're hiding something worth discovering." Tom stepped closer. "I could help you develop those talents properly."

"In exchange for what?"

"Consider it mutual benefit." Tom's smile held an edge of challenge. "You gain proper instruction, I gain an adequate training partner."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you continue wasting your potential." Tom shrugged elegantly. "Though I suspect you'll find that rather... unsatisfying."

Harry studied Tom's face in the flickering candlelight, searching for any hint of manipulation behind the carefully constructed mask. The shadows danced across those aristocratic features, making it difficult to read the true intent lurking in those dark, calculating eyes. Every instinct warned him that Tom Riddle never made an offer without layers of hidden purpose.

"And these private training sessions would be separate from the group meetings?"

"Naturally." Tom leaned against one of the stone pillars. "Your modified spellwork requires... special attention."

Harry ran his fingers through his messy hair, Dumbledore's warnings echoing in his mind. Getting closer to Tom Riddle was playing with fire. But hadn't Dumbledore also suggested appearing to accept Tom's influence?

"And you're just offering this out of academic interest?"

"I recognize valuable opportunities." Tom closed the distance between them. "Do you?"

Harry felt magic crackling in the air between them, like the charged atmosphere before a storm. Tom's presence seemed to fill the space, demanding acknowledgment.

"One session." Harry met Tom's gaze. "To see what you're offering."

"Tomorrow, then." Tom's smile held satisfaction. "After dinner."

Harry hesitated. "I can't tomorrow," he said, frowning. "I’ve got detention with Slughorn after dinner."

Tom’s smile didn’t falter. "Don’t worry about that," he said smoothly. "I’ll have a word with Slughorn. Meet me at the abandoned Charms classroom on the third floor." Tom stepped back. "Come prepared to work."

Harry watched Tom gather his books from beside the cushions. Each movement precise, controlled, deliberate. Even now, Tom maintained that careful façade of the perfect student.

"And Evans?" Tom paused at the doorway. "Do try to arrive on time."

*

The walk back to the Slytherin dormitory passed in a blur of stone corridors and flickering torchlight, Harry's mind churning with the implications of Tom's offer—private training sessions, special attention. Every word carried double meanings, carefully crafted traps hidden beneath smooth promises. As he moved through the cold, dimly lit corridor toward the entrance to the Slytherin common room, his footsteps echoed off the stone walls. His thoughts still buzzed with Tom’s words when voices drifted around the corner, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"...completely recovered now. Madam Abbott cleared her this morning."

"Thank Merlin. Dragon pox is nasty business."

"Lucretia said she'll be back in classes tomorrow. She's already asking about catching up on the Ancient Runes assignments..."

Hastening his steps, Harry slipped past the cluster of classmates without a glance. He crossed through the common area, barely registering the usual crowd absorbed in their discussions, then made his way to the stairwell leading to the male students' quarters.

The Slytherin dormitory door creaked open. Harry stepped inside, finding Avery alone on his bed, cross-legged in striped pajamas. His bare feet tucked underneath him as he hunched over a Transfiguration textbook, parchment scattered across the green bedspread. The other boy tensed when Harry approached, his quill pausing mid-sentence.

"Can we talk?" Harry perched on the edge of his own bed, facing Avery.

"Bit late for that, isn't it?" Avery didn't look up from his parchment.

"I should have listened when you warned me about Tom." Harry's voice dropped lower. "About challenging him."

Avery's quill scratched against the parchment for several long moments before he set it down. "You never struck me as stupid, Evans. Reckless maybe, but not stupid."

"I miss having someone to talk to honestly." Harry picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Someone who isn't playing Tom's games."

"We're all playing his games." Avery finally looked up, dark circles under his eyes. "Some of us just learned the rules earlier than others."

"I was wrong to dismiss your advice." Harry met Avery's tired gaze. "You were trying to help, and I acted like a prat."

A ghost of Avery's old smile flickered across his face. "First sensible thing you've said in days."

"Think we could start over?" Harry gestured at the textbook. "I'm rubbish at Transfiguration theory, could use some help."

Avery studied Harry for a long moment before shifting over to make room on his bed. His shoulders relaxed as Harry settled beside him on the bed. The Transfiguration textbook lay open between them, pages worn from countless study sessions.

"See, this part about molecular transformation?" Avery pointed to a diagram. "Slughorn never explains how it connects to advanced potion brewing."

"Wait, they're connected?" Harry leaned closer, squinting at the tiny print.

"'Course they are." Avery's voice carried a hint of his old enthusiasm. "Why d'you think we study both subjects at the same time? Here, look-"

He flipped to another page, their shoulders brushing as he traced the pattern with his finger. The familiar scent of parchment and ink filled the air, reminding Harry of late-night study sessions with Ron and Hermione.

"You actually understand all this?" Harry shook his head in amazement.

"Some of us pay attention in class instead of daydreaming." But Avery's teasing tone held no malice. "Or staring at the back of certain people's heads."

Harry felt his face heat up. "I don't-"

"Please." Avery nudged Harry's shoulder. "I've seen less obvious Nifflers hunting gold."

They shared a quiet laugh, the tension of recent weeks dissolving into something lighter. For a moment, Harry could almost forget about time travel and future Dark Lords.

"I missed this." Harry admitted softly. "Just... talking normally."

Avery's smile turned gentle. "Me too, Evans. Me too." He set the textbook aside and pulled Harry into a quick, awkward hug. The embrace lasted barely a second before Avery released him, clearing his throat and straightening his pajama collar.

Harry blinked in surprise. His mind struggled to process the unexpected show of affection. In his time, Slytherins maintained careful physical distance - all sharp edges and cold formality. The only contact he'd witnessed involved calculated displays of dominance or aggression.

But Avery's hug felt genuine. Clumsy and brief, but real. Like Ron's bone-crushing embraces after a Quidditch victory or Hermione's fierce hugs before facing danger.

"Don't look so shocked." Avery's ears had turned pink. "We're not all marble statues, you know."

"Sorry, I just..." Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. "Didn't expect..."

"What, Slytherins to have feelings?" Avery rolled his eyes. "Despite popular belief, we're not actually raised by ice dragons in frozen wastelands."

Harry laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Could've fooled me. Some of your housemates make ice dragons look cuddly."

"Fair point." Avery picked up his quill again. "Though I'd appreciate if you didn't mention this to anyone. Got a reputation to maintain and all that."

"Your secret's safe with me." Harry grinned. "Wouldn't want anyone thinking Slytherins actually care about each other."

"Precisely." Avery's answering smile held warmth. "Now, about this molecular transformation theory..."

Chapter Text

Morning light streamed through the Great Hall's windows as Harry spooned porridge into his bowl. Avery and Lestrange flanked him at the Slytherin table, their breakfast forgotten as they dramatically reenacted last week's Potions disaster, complete with exaggerated wand flourishes and mock explosions. A few younger students nearby stifled their giggles as Avery pretended to swoon from imaginary fumes, nearly knocking over his untouched pumpkin juice in the process.

"Make it a month!" Avery declared in a passable imitation of Harry's voice, throwing his arms wide. "I'm still not working with him!"

Lestrange clutched his sides, wheezing with laughter. "Your face when that potion exploded - priceless! Purple really suits you, Evans."

"Very funny." Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide his grin. "At least I provided some entertainment value while earning my detentions."

"Entertainment?" Avery wiped tears from his eyes. "Slughorn's mustache nearly flew off his face!"

"Good morning, boys." Lucretia slid onto the bench across from them, her usual vibrant presence somehow dimmed.

"Lucretia!" Lestrange brightened. "Fully recovered from the dragon pox?"

"Yes, I'm... better now." Lucretia's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She carefully arranged her napkin, hands trembling slightly. Dark circles shadowed her usually bright face, and her silver-trimmed robes hung a bit looser than before. She reached for the pumpkin juice, her movements deliberate and measured, as if conserving energy.

"Missed quite the excitement," Lestrange said between bites of eggs. "Evans here nearly blew up the dungeons."

"I heard." Lucretia's lips curved into a weak smile. "Walburga wouldn't stop talking about it in the hospital wing."

Harry pushed his porridge around. "Glad my misfortune provided entertainment during your recovery."

"Only a week in the hospital wing though," Avery noted, his fork pausing midway to his mouth. "That's remarkably quick for dragon pox. My cousin was laid up for nearly a month when she caught it last summer."

Lucretia's shoulders tensed. "Madam Abbott has... improved her treatment methods."

"Must have." Lestrange nodded. "My aunt said the spots usually take weeks to fade. You barely have any marks left."

"The new potion worked wonders." Lucretia smoothed her napkin again, knuckles white. "I was fortunate."

"Well, you missed some spectacular failures in Transfiguration." Harry changed the subject, noting her discomfort. "Avery tried turning his hedgehog into a pincushion. It kept running around shooting needles at everyone."

"That was not my fault!" Avery protested. "Someone jinxed it when I wasn't looking."

"Right." Lestrange smirked. "Blame mysterious saboteurs for your terrible wandwork."

"At least my hedgehog didn't explode like yours did," Avery shot back.

Lucretia's quiet laugh seemed to ease some of the tension from her shoulders. "I see some things never change, even when I'm away."

"Morning, everyone." Tom's smooth voice preceded his arrival. He settled next to Lucretia with fluid grace. "Ah, Lucretia. You're back. I hope you're feeling all better?"

Lucretia's fork clattered against her plate. "Much better, thank you." She shifted away from Tom, almost imperceptibly.

"We were just reliving Evans' finest moment." Avery grinned. "The Great Purple Explosion of '43."

"Indeed." Tom's lips curved upward. "Quite the spectacular display of... independence."

Harry noticed Lucretia staring fixedly at her plate, her food untouched. When Tom reached for the marmalade, she flinched.

"I should go." Lucretia gathered her things. "Need to catch up on missed work."

"But you've hardly eaten-" Harry started.

"Library calls." She hurried away, giving Tom's side of the table a wide berth.

"Poor thing still looks peaky." Lestrange shook his head. "Dragon pox can be nasty."

Harry watched Lucretia's retreating form. "Probably the after-effects," Harry muttered to himself.

"More tea, Evans?" Tom offered the pot, his smile pleasant. Perfect. Practiced. He leaned across the table, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I had an interesting chat with Professor Slughorn yesterday evening."

Harry's spoon froze halfway to his mouth. The porridge dripped back into his bowl. "Did you?" 

"About your detentions." Tom's dark eyes gleamed. "He agreed that having you scrub cauldrons would be a waste of your... talents."

Avery and Lestrange exchanged glances before becoming very interested in their breakfast.

"What do you mean?" Harry set down his spoon.

"As a prefect, I offered to supervise your detention periods." Tom's smile widened. "Every evening for the next month. Slughorn was quite pleased with the arrangement - said it would be an excellent opportunity for peer tutoring."

The piece of toast in Harry's hand crumbled. "Every evening?"

"Perfect timing, really. We can combine it with our private training sessions." Tom buttered his scone with precise movements. "Two purposes served at once. Quite efficient."

"But I only agreed to one session-"

"Plans change." Tom's voice remained light, but his eyes hardened. "Unless you'd prefer scrubbing cauldrons after all?"

Harry gripped his goblet tight enough to whiten his knuckles. "I have assignments to complete during detention. Slughorn gave me a list of essays and practical work to make up for that disaster last week."

"We can incorporate those into our sessions." Tom waved his hand dismissively. "I'm sure between spellwork practice, we can discuss the theoretical aspects of your assignments. I am, after all, meant to be tutoring you."

"Right." Harry's jaw clenched. "How... convenient."

"I thought so too." Tom dabbed his lips with a napkin. "Which reminds me - we'll need to change locations for our sessions. The Potions classroom would be more... appropriate, given the circumstances. Anyways, I should prepare for Ancient Runes." Tom rose smoothly from the table. "Evans, I'll see you this evening. Seven o'clock sharp in the Potions classroom."

Before Harry could object, Tom strode away, his robes billowing behind him.

"Thought you two were still at odds after that juice incident." Lestrange leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Now he's volunteering to supervise your detentions?"

"Makes no sense." Avery shook his head. 

"Maybe he just wants to help." Harry's weak explanation earned identical skeptical looks from both boys.

"When has he ever volunteered to supervise detentions?" Avery pushed his plate away. "He usually avoids anything that might interfere with his precious study schedule."

"Look, it's just detention." Harry pushed his bowl away. "Riddle probably volunteered to earn more prefect points or something."

"Right, because he needs more achievements to brag about." Lestrange rolled his eyes. "Head Boy position's practically got his name engraved already."

"Maybe he'll teach you how to properly stir a cauldron." Avery's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Since your last attempt redecorated half the classroom in purple."

"That was not my fault!" Harry protested. "The salamander scales were clearly mislabeled."

"Sure, blame the ingredients." Avery dodged as Harry aimed a playful punch at his shoulder. "Next you'll say the cauldron jumped into the flames on its own."

Harry laughed. "Better than your snoring through History of Magic."

"I do not snore!" Avery rubbed his arm in mock offense. "I merely... meditate deeply on Binns' lectures."

"Is that what you call it?" Lestrange chuckled. "Because those meditation sounds could wake the dead."

"Speaking of which..." Avery grinned at Harry. "Maybe Tom can teach you that silencing charm he uses during study sessions. Might come in handy next time you decide to redecorate with explosive potions."

This time Harry's punch connected properly, making Avery yelp.

"Ow! Violence against an innocent student! Where's a prefect when you need one?" Avery ducked behind Lestrange, laughing. "Oh wait, you'll have one all to yourself every evening now!"

"Shut up." Harry threw a napkin at Avery's head. "Or next time I'll make sure the purple potion lands on you instead of the walls."

The morning bell chimed through the Great Hall, signaling the start of classes.

"Come on." Avery grabbed his bag. "Transfiguration awaits, and you know how Dumbledore gets about tardiness."

Harry collected his things, deliberately taking his time. "Go ahead. I'll catch up."

"Your funeral." Lestrange shrugged, following Avery toward the exit.

Alone at the table, Harry closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. A whole month trapped with Tom Riddle. What a wonderful way to start the day.

*

The Potions classroom felt different at night. Shadows danced across stone walls as torches flickered, casting an amber glow over workbenches and cabinets. Harry arrived exactly at seven, finding Tom already there, perched on Slughorn's desk with an open book in his lap.

"Evans." Tom marked his page. "Punctual. Good."

Harry dropped his bag on a nearby desk. "Not like I had a choice."

"There's always a choice." Tom closed the book. "Though some are wiser than others."

"Right." Harry pulled out his half-finished Potions essay. "Should I start with the assignment on antidote properties, or-"

"Actually," Tom slid off the desk, "I thought we might talk first."

Harry's quill froze halfway to the inkwell. "Talk?"

"Is that so surprising?" Tom pulled up a chair, turning it backward before straddling it. "We rarely get the chance to converse without... interruptions."

"About what?" Harry kept his tone neutral, though his fingers tightened around the quill.

Tom traced a finger along the desk's worn edge. "That Patronus you conjured during our first duel. Quite impressive."

Harry's shoulders tensed. Of course Tom would bring that up. "It's just a spell."

"Just a spell?" Tom's eyes flickered in the torchlight. "One of the most complex defensive charms known to wizardkind. Even Merrythought struggles with it."

"You've tried it?"

"Many times." Tom's usual mask of confidence slipped, revealing a flash of frustration. "Never quite managed more than wisps. The theory is simple enough - focus on your happiest memory, channel the emotion through your wand. Yet something always... eludes me."

Harry studied Tom's face, catching glimpses of the boy who would become Voldemort wrestling with this fundamental limitation. The inability to produce a Patronus made perfect sense - Tom Riddle had likely never experienced the kind of pure joy the spell required.

"Maybe you're overthinking it," Harry said, choosing his words carefully. "It's not about the technical aspects. It's about feeling."

Tom's lip curled. "Feeling? How disappointingly... simple."

"Not everything powerful has to be complicated." Harry set his quill down. "Sometimes the strongest magic comes from the most basic human experiences."

"And what experience gives you such mastery over this spell?" Tom leaned forward, chair creaking.

Harry's mind flashed to his parents, to finding out he was a wizard, to Ron and Hermione. He pushed the memories away before they could overwhelm him. "That's personal."

"Everything about you is personal, Evans." Tom's voice carried an edge. He rose from the chair in one fluid motion. "Show me."

"What, now?" Harry's hand instinctively moved toward his wand.

"Yes, now." Tom stepped back, creating space between the desks. "Unless you've somehow forgotten how."

"I haven't forgotten." Harry stood slowly. "But this isn't exactly the place-"

"The classroom has adequate space." Tom gestured to the open area near Slughorn's desk. "And I've already warded the door against interruptions."

Harry gripped his wand, mind racing. Showing his Patronus again would only feed Tom's obsession with Harry's abilities. But refusing would undo the fragile truce they'd established.

"Come now, Evans." Tom's voice softened to an almost hypnotic tone. "Consider it a teaching moment. Help me understand what I'm missing."

Harry took position near the front of the room. "Fine. One demonstration."

"Excellent." Tom leaned against a workbench, eyes fixed on Harry's every movement.

Harry raised his wand, searching for a happy memory that wouldn't hurt too much. Not his parents, not Ron and Hermione. He settled on his first time flying a broom - the pure freedom of soaring through the air.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Silver light erupted from Harry's wand, coalescing into the familiar form of Prongs. The stag's hooves made no sound as it cantered around the classroom, illuminating dark corners with its ethereal glow.

Tom's carefully controlled expression cracked. His eyes widened, following the Patronus with unconcealed hunger. "Remarkable," he breathed. "The detail, the stability..."

The stag circled back to Harry before dissolving into wisps of silver light. Harry lowered his wand, watching Tom's reaction carefully.

"A stag," Tom mused, pushing off from the workbench. "Interesting choice."

"It's not a choice." Harry tucked his wand away. "The form chooses the wizard." He studied Tom's face, wondering what form would emerge if Tom ever managed the spell. A snake seemed too obvious - though it would match his Parseltongue ability. Maybe something predatory like a lion or falcon? Or something more surprising that revealed hidden depths to Tom's character.

Tom circled Harry slowly. "And what does it say about you, I wonder, that your soul manifests as such a proud creature?"

"Nothing that matters." Harry turned to keep Tom in view. "Are we done with the demonstration?"

"Not quite." Tom drew his wand. "I want to try again. Show me exactly how you channel the emotion."

"It doesn't work like that. You can't just copy someone else's technique."

"Then guide me." Tom positioned himself where Harry had stood. "What memory do you use?"

Harry's jaw clenched. "That's private."

"Always so guarded." Tom's fingers drummed against his wand. "How do you expect me to learn if you won't share the essential components?"

"Maybe some things aren't meant to be shared." Harry crossed his arms. "Or learned."

Tom's eyes flashed. "Everything can be learned, Evans. Everything can be mastered."

"Not this." Harry shook his head. "The Patronus charm requires something you can't force or fake."

"And what might that be?"

"Love." The word hung in the air between them. "Pure, unconditional love."

Tom's expression hardened. "Sentiment. Weakness."

"That's exactly why you can't cast it." Harry met Tom's gaze. "You see love as a flaw to exploit, not a source of strength."

"You sound like Dumbledore." Tom spat the name like poison.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustration mounting. "Maybe Dumbledore's right about some things."

Tom's nostrils flared. "Do enlighten me."

"Look at yourself. Everything's about power and control. When's the last time you actually enjoyed something?" Harry gestured at the classroom around them. "And I don't mean mastering a new spell or manipulating someone."

Tom's shoulders stiffened. "I enjoy plenty of things." His tone carried a hint of defensiveness that seemed to surprise even him.

"Like what?" Harry stepped closer, ignoring the warning signals in his brain. "When's the last time you laughed? Really laughed, not that fake chuckle you do in Slughorn's meetings."

Tom's fingers tightened around his wand. "I fail to see how this relates to the Patronus charm."

"It relates to everything." Harry pressed on, wondering if he'd lost his mind. "Maybe if you loosened up a bit, tried being nice to people - actual friendship, not just using them - you might experience some real joy."

"This is absurd." Tom turned away, but Harry caught the flicker of uncertainty in his expression.

"Is it? You're brilliant, everyone knows that. But you're missing out on the best parts of life because you're so focused on being perfect and powerful all the time."

Tom whirled back. "And what would you suggest? Skip through meadows? Hold hands and sing songs?"

"Come to Hogsmeade with me and Avery this weekend." The words tumbled out before Harry could stop them. His inner voice screamed at the insanity of inviting the future Dark Lord for butterbeers.

Tom stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Well, he'd already jumped off this cliff. Might as well enjoy the fall. "We're going Saturday. Come with us."

"And why would I waste my time with such frivolity?"

"Because I'm wasting my time here with these sessions." Harry gestured between them. "Seems only fair to return the favor."

Tom's eyebrows rose. "You consider our sessions a waste?"

"No, but they're not exactly my idea of fun." Harry leaned against a desk. "Look, one afternoon. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I can think of several scenarios." Tom's tone was dry, but Harry detected a hint of curiosity beneath the disdain.

"Three Broomsticks. No politics, no dueling practice, no manipulation. Just... normal stuff."

"Normal." Tom tested the word like it was in a foreign language.

"Yeah, you know - talking, drinking butterbeer, complaining about homework. Things regular people do."

"I am not regular people, Evans."

"Trust me, I know." Harry suppressed a shiver at just how true that statement was. "But maybe that's your problem. How can you understand power over people if you never actually experience being around them as equals?"

Tom tilted his head, considering. Harry recognized the calculating look - Tom was weighing potential advantages against his natural aversion to socializing.

"One afternoon," Harry repeated. "Think of it as research if you want. Studying normal human behavior up close."

"You're suggesting I conduct a social experiment?"

"If that helps you justify it, sure." Harry shrugged. "Though most people just call it hanging out."

Tom paced a few steps, his shoes clicking against the stone floor. "And this would satisfy your notion of reciprocity for our training sessions?"

"Part of it, yeah." Harry watched Tom's internal debate play across his carefully controlled features.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Probably not." Harry allowed himself a small smile. "I can be pretty stubborn when I want to be."

"So I've noticed." Tom stopped pacing. "Very well. One afternoon. But if this proves to be a waste of time-"

"Then you can go back to being your usual charming self." Harry pushed off from the desk. "Saturday at four. Meet us in the entrance hall."

Tom's lips pressed into a thin line. "This is completely ridiculous."

"Maybe. But at least it'll be interesting." 

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Enough of this nonsense. Your essay on antidote properties?"

"Right." Harry pulled his half-finished parchment from his bag. "Though I still don't understand why powdered bezoar reacts differently with-"

"Your handwriting is atrocious." Tom snatched the essay, eyes scanning the messy scrawl. "Were you writing this during an earthquake?"

"It's perfectly readable." Harry tried to grab it back, but Tom held it out of reach.

"'The primary components interface with...' Interface? Really, Evans?" Tom's lip curled. "This isn't a Muggle mechanics manual."

"Fine, what would you suggest?"

"'Interact' or 'combine' would suffice." Tom produced a red-inked quill from his robes. "And your paragraph structure is giving me a headache."

"Hey!" Harry watched in horror as Tom began marking up his essay. "I didn't ask for editing."

"Clearly, you should have." Tom's quill slashed through another sentence. "What possessed you to put your conclusion in the middle of your supporting evidence?"

"I was going to fix that-"

"And your spelling." Tom tsked. "I assume 'ingredents' was meant to be 'ingredients'?"

Harry slumped in his chair. "Are you done destroying my self-esteem?"

"Hardly." Tom's quill paused. "Though I suppose watching you squirm has provided some entertainment value. Perhaps Saturday won't be a complete waste after all."

"Glad my academic suffering amuses you."

"Start over." Tom handed back the thoroughly marked parchment. "And this time, try writing as though you actually attended a proper wizarding primary school."

"Yes, Professor Riddle," Harry muttered, pulling out a fresh sheet.

"I heard that." Tom's mouth twitched. "Two feet on proper essay structure after you finish this one."

"You can't assign me extra work!"

"Watch me." Tom settled back at Slughorn's desk, opening his book. "And do try to make your letters face the same direction this time."

Chapter Text

Harry checked his watch for the third time. "Maybe he won't show."

"Of course he'll show." Avery paced the entrance hall, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. "Tom Riddle doesn't break commitments. Though I still can't believe you invited him."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Harry leaned against a pillar.

"Nothing involving Tom is ever a good idea." Avery stopped pacing. "There goes our relaxing afternoon."

"He's not that bad-" Harry caught himself. "I mean, maybe he'll surprise us."

"Right. And maybe McGonagall will start teaching in a circus costume." Avery kicked at an invisible spot on the floor. "He'll spend the whole time watching us like we're specimens in a jar."

Lestrange's arrival interrupted Harry's response. "What's this about specimens?"

"Evans invited Tom to Hogsmeade," Avery said.

"You what?" Lestrange's eyes widened. "Have you lost your mind?"

"It's just drinks at the Three Broomsticks." Harry straightened his robes. "Not a blood ritual."

"Might as well be." Lestrange shook his head. "Tom doesn't do casual. Everything's a test with him."

"Maybe that's because no one gives him the chance to be normal," Harry said. His own words rang hollow in his ears. The memory of yesterday's detention surfaced - Tom's cold precision as he demonstrated curse variations, his calculating stare when Harry failed to replicate them perfectly.

"Your form is imprecise." Tom's voice had cut through the dungeon air. "Again."

Harry had lowered his wand, rolling his shoulder. "About Hogsmeade-"

"You're attempting to rescind the invitation." Tom hadn't even looked up from his notes.

"Just thinking maybe you'd prefer a quieter afternoon. Library research or-"

"If you didn't want me to accept, you shouldn't have extended the offer." Tom's quill had scratched against parchment. "I find it curious how quickly you backtrack."

"It's not backtracking, it's-"

"Like you said, Evans, consider it a social experiment." Tom had finally met his eyes. "Unless you're concerned about what I might observe?"

Harry shifted against the pillar now, stomach churning. The evening before hadn't gone any better.

"Look, Three Broomsticks gets packed on weekends," Harry had tried. "Noisy. Chaotic."

"Are you attempting to protect me from crowds?" Tom's smile hadn't reached his eyes. "How thoughtful."

"That's not what I-"

"I accepted your invitation, Evans. I intend to honor it." Tom had stepped closer. "Unless there's something specific you're trying to hide?"

Harry rubbed his temples, the memory making his head ache. Who was he kidding? Tom didn't do normal. Everything was calculation, every interaction a chess move. Even now, Harry could picture Tom analyzing their reactions, filing away every nervous tick and sidelong glance for future reference.

"Earth to Evans?" Avery waved a hand in front of Harry's face. "You went somewhere else for a minute there."

"Just thinking about how spectacularly bad this idea was," Harry muttered. "Look, just... try to act natural." Harry checked his watch again. "Treat him like anyone else."

"Natural." Lestrange's laugh held no humor. "Sure. I'll just pretend the most powerful student in Hogwarts isn't analyzing my every move."

"This is going to be a disaster." Avery slumped against the wall. "We could still run for it. Claim food poisoning."

"No one's running anywhere." Harry spotted movement at the top of the stairs. "Here he comes."

Tom descended with his usual measured grace, each step deliberate. His dark robes were impeccable as always, but he'd left off his prefect badge - a small concession to informality that Harry hadn't expected.

"Right on time," Harry said, ignoring Avery's muttered "unfortunately" behind him.

"Punctuality is a virtue." Tom's gaze swept over their small group. "I see we have an addition."

"Hope you don't mind," Lestrange said, though his tone suggested he didn't particularly care if Tom minded or not.

"The more the merrier." Tom's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Shall we?"

They filed out into the crisp February air. Harry fell into step beside Tom, leaving Avery and Lestrange to trail behind, whispering furiously to each other.

"They're terrified of you, you know," Harry said quietly.

"As they should be."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Wasn't it?" Tom's expression remained neutral. "Fear is a perfectly reasonable response to power."

"Is that what you want? To spend your whole life surrounded by people who are afraid to look you in the eye?"

"Better than being surrounded by fools who mistake familiarity for equality."

Harry bit back his instinctive response. This wasn't the time for another philosophical debate. "Just... try to relax. For one afternoon."

"I am perfectly relaxed."

"Sure you are." Harry glanced back at Avery and Lestrange, who looked about as comfortable as first-years facing a dragon. "That's why everyone's acting like they're walking to their execution."

Tom's lips twitched. "Perhaps I should have brought flowers to put them at ease."

"Was that... a joke?"

"Merely an observation." But there was something almost playful in Tom's tone that made Harry wonder if the afternoon might not be a complete disaster after all.

Behind them, Avery's whispered "We're all going to die" carried on the wind.

The path to Hogsmeade stretched before them, muddy from melting snow and early spring rains. Dead leaves from the previous autumn crunched under their boots, releasing a damp, earthy smell into the air.

Harry matched Tom's measured stride while Avery and Lestrange hung back several paces. A crow called from somewhere in the bare trees, the sound sharp against the heavy quiet. Tom's footsteps barely made a sound on the path, each step precise and controlled even through the mud.

Avery cleared his throat once, then thought better of whatever he'd planned to say.

A group of Hufflepuff students passed them going the opposite direction, their cheerful chatter dying as they noticed Tom. They hurried past with ducked heads and quickened steps.

Harry fought the urge to fill the silence with meaningless conversation. He'd spent enough time around Tom now to recognize when the other boy was deep in thought. The slight furrow between Tom's brows, the way his fingers occasionally twitched toward his wand - Tom was studying something, though whether it was their group dynamic or the village ahead, Harry couldn't tell.

The wet gravel crunched under their feet as they approached Hogsmeade's main street. Shop signs creaked in the March breeze, and the sound of voices and laughter drifted from the Three Broomsticks' open door.

The Three Broomsticks buzzed with weekend energy. Students packed the tables, their voices a constant roar that filled every corner of the pub.

"Bit different from the library, isn't it?" Harry navigated through the crowd toward an empty table in the back. A third-year bumped into Tom's shoulder without apologizing, too focused on carrying a tray of drinks to notice who she'd hit.

Tom's jaw tightened. "Indeed."

"Over here!" Avery claimed four seats near the fireplace, already looking more relaxed in the casual atmosphere. "I'll get the first round."

"Butterbeers all around?" Lestrange sprawled in his chair, feet stretched out.

"Something stronger for me." Harry pulled off his cloak. "Firewhisky."

"Make it two." Avery disappeared into the crowd.

Tom sat stiffly, his perfect posture at odds with the pub's worn wooden chairs and scratched tables. A burst of laughter from nearby students made him flinch slightly.

"Relax." Harry leaned back in his chair. "No one's watching you here. No one cares if you let your guard down for five minutes."

As if to prove his point, a paper airplane zoomed past Tom's head, narrowly missing his ear before crash-landing in someone's drink. The resulting splash of butterbeer drew cheers from a nearby table.

"This is what you consider entertainment?" Tom brushed an invisible speck from his sleeve.

"This is what we consider normal." Lestrange had produced a deck of Exploding Snap cards. "Want in?"

Tom opened his mouth, likely to refuse, but Harry cut him off. "Come on, Riddle. One game won't kill you."

"Your faith in magical playing cards is touching." But Tom's shoulders loosened slightly as Avery returned with their drinks.

"To normal afternoons," Harry raised his glass, meeting Tom's eyes. The firewhisky burned his throat.

"Speaking of entertainment." Lestrange shuffled the cards with practiced ease. "Next week's your birthday, isn't it, Avery?"

"Don't remind me." Avery took another swig of Firewhisky. "Father's already sent three letters about 'appropriate celebration protocols' for a pureblood heir."

"Let me guess - formal dinner, dancing, political connections?" Harry dealt himself into the game.

"Worse. He's invited half the Ministry." Avery's cards sparked dangerously as he slapped them down. "Mother's ordered new dress robes in 'complementary family colors' whatever that means."

"Sounds ghastly." Lestrange dodged a small explosion. "Remember last year when your grandmother insisted on that traditional blessing ceremony?"

"Three hours of ancient Celtic chanting." Avery shuddered. "My ears rang for days."

Tom's fingers traced the rim of his untouched glass. "The Avery family traditions date back to the founding of-"

"Please don't start." Avery laid down another card. "I've had enough lectures about noble heritage to last several lifetimes."

"I'd rather spend it here, honestly." Avery gestured at the pub's chaos. "No formal robes, no political schmoozing, just-" His cards erupted in a shower of sparks, singeing his eyebrows. "Bloody hell!"

Harry couldn't help laughing at Avery's sooty face. Even Tom's lips twitched slightly.

"Real friends and real fun?" Harry suggested, dealing a new hand.

"Exactly." Avery wiped his face with his sleeve. "But try explaining that to Father. 'An Avery heir must maintain certain standards.'"

Avery's impression of his father's stern voice made Harry snort Firewhisky through his nose.

"Here." Avery leaned close, dabbing at Harry's chin with a napkin, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Can't have you dripping everywhere like some first-year who's never tasted Firewhisky before. Father would have a fit about proper drinking etiquette too, I imagine." His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary before he wadded up the napkin and tossed it onto the sticky table.

A sharp crack split the air. Harry jumped, turning to find Tom's glass had developed a hairline fracture. Dark liquid seeped across the wooden table.

"How clumsy of me." Tom's voice could have frozen the fireplace. He vanished the spilled drink with a precise flick of his wand. "Perhaps we should order another round."

"I'll go." Avery started to stand, but Tom was already rising.

"Allow me." Tom's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I insist."

Lestrange waited until Tom disappeared into the crowd before leaning forward. "What was that all about?"

"No idea." Harry kept his eyes on his cards, ignoring the uneasy twist in his stomach. The crack of Tom's glass still echoed in his ears.

"Right." Lestrange dealt another round.

"Just drop it." Avery laid down a card that sparked dangerously. "Better for everyone's health that way."

They fell into an awkward silence, broken only by the snap and crackle of their cards. The pub's noise swelled around them - laughing students, clinking glasses, the scrape of chairs against wooden floors.

Harry focused on the game, pretending not to notice when Tom returned several minutes later with fresh drinks. The tension at their table could have been cut with a knife, but no one acknowledged it.

"Your turn, Evans." Avery nudged Harry's foot under the table.

Harry placed his card, watching small sparks dance across the worn tabletop. "Right. Sorry."

The game continued in tense silence until Avery excused himself to get more drinks. Lestrange followed, leaving Harry alone with Tom.

"You're not enjoying yourself," Harry said, gathering the scattered cards.

"On the contrary." Tom's fingers drummed against his glass. "I find this anthropological study fascinating. The ritualistic consumption of alcohol, the deliberate lowering of social barriers..."

"You sound like you're writing a research paper." Harry shuffled the deck. "Haven't you ever just... had fun?"

"I derive satisfaction from more intellectual pursuits."

"Right. Because Merlin forbid the great Tom Riddle crack a smile." Harry dealt two hands. "Go on then. Tell me what's so fascinating about watching drunk teenagers play exploding cards."

"Well." Tom picked up his cards with delicate precision. "There's the obvious social hierarchy dynamics. Notice how the Ravenclaw group by the window keeps glancing at the Hufflepuff table? Classic territorial behavior. And the way that fifth-year Gryffindor is attempting to impress his companion with increasingly elaborate wand movements - primitive courtship ritual if I've ever seen one."

Harry snorted. "You make us sound like a bunch of animals in a zoo."

"The comparison isn't entirely inaccurate." Tom's eyes gleamed. "Take our own table. Avery's constant need for validation through physical contact. Lestrange's territorial posturing. Your..." Tom paused, studying Harry over his cards. "Fascinating habit of running your fingers through your hair when you're uncomfortable."

Harry quickly dropped his hand from his head. "I do not-"

"Three times in the last five minutes." Tom's lips curved slightly. "Four now."

"You're impossible." But Harry found himself fighting a smile.

"I merely observe what others miss." Tom laid down a card with perfect timing, just as Harry reached for his own. The resulting explosion sent Harry's cards flying.

"You did that on purpose!" Harry accused, wiping soot from his face.

"Did I?" Tom's innocent expression was ruined by the slight quirk of his mouth. "How uncharacteristically playful of me."

Harry couldn't help it - he laughed. The sound seemed to surprise them both.

"There." Tom looked entirely too pleased with himself. "Perhaps I'm not completely incapable of... fun."

*

The walk back to Hogwarts proved more challenging than the journey down. Harry's feet didn't quite go where he wanted them to, and he kept stumbling on the uneven path. Avery wasn't doing much better, singing fragments of what sounded like an old wizarding drinking song.

"Careful." Tom steadied Harry with a firm grip on his elbow when he nearly pitched forward. "I'd rather not explain to Madam Abbott why three of her students required healing for broken ankles."

"M'fine." Harry pulled away, overcorrected, and nearly walked into a tree. "Just the ground's all... wobbly."

Lestrange snorted, weaving slightly himself. "The ground's perfectly still, Evans. You're the one who can't walk straight."

"Says the man who just tried to have a conversation with a fence post," Avery called from behind them.

"I thought it was a person!"

"Evans!" Avery stumbled forward, wrapping his arm around Harry's shoulders. His breath smelled strongly of Firewhisky. "You're my best mate, you know that? Best mate I've had since... since forever."

Harry staggered under the added weight. "You're drunk, Avery."

"Maybe." Avery squeezed Harry tighter. "But I mean it. You don't care about all that pureblood rubbish. You just... you just get it."

Harry caught Tom's sharp glance from the corner of his eye. The other boy's expression had gone carefully blank.

"And you!" Avery pointed unsteadily at Tom with his free hand, still hanging off Harry. "You're not so bad when you're not being all... you know." He made a vague gesture that nearly threw them both off balance.

"Fascinating." Tom's voice could have frozen the lake. "Perhaps you should focus on walking rather than declarations of eternal friendship."

"See?" Avery stage-whispered in Harry's ear. "That's what I mean. Always so..." He trailed off, apparently losing his train of thought.

Harry felt Tom's magic crackle in the air, sharp and cold like static before a storm. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

"Avery." Lestrange's voice held a warning. "Maybe give Evans some space, yeah?"

Avery's arm slipped from Harry's shoulders. "Right. Sorry." He stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Think I need to... sit down for a minute."

"We're almost at the castle." Lestrange grabbed Avery's arm, steadying him. "Just keep walking."

The path ahead twisted through bare trees, their branches casting strange shadows in the fading light. Harry concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the way the ground seemed to tilt beneath him.

Tom walked beside him in silence, his presence a constant reminder of... something important that Harry's alcohol-muddled brain couldn't quite grasp.

"Evans." Tom's voice cut through Harry's fuzzy thoughts. "Your wand is about to fall out of your pocket."

Harry fumbled for his wand, nearly dropping it. Tom's fingers brushed his as he helped Harry secure it.

"Thanks." Harry blinked, trying to focus on Tom's face. "You're being... nice."

"I'm being practical. Losing your wand while intoxicated would be exceptionally foolish."

"Still." Harry gestured vaguely. "You didn't have to come today. Or help. Or... anything."

Behind them, Avery started humming again, interrupted by occasional hiccups. Lestrange cursed as he narrowly prevented Avery from falling.

The castle loomed ahead, its windows glowing warm against the darkening sky. Harry's feet caught on the stone steps leading to the entrance hall.

"Almost there." Lestrange grunted, still supporting a singing Avery. "Just need to get everyone to bed before-"

"Bathroom first." Avery interrupted his own song. "Gonna be sick."

"Fine, fine." Lestrange adjusted his grip. "Closest one's down that corridor-"

"No!" Harry grabbed Avery's other arm, pulling him away from the direction Lestrange pointed. "Not... not that one. Different bathroom."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "The Slytherin bathrooms are closest, Evans."

"Don't care." Harry shook his head, immediately regretting the motion as the world spun. "Not letting you get me alone in a bathroom again, Riddle."

Lestrange frowned. "What?"

"Nothing." Harry stumbled forward, dragging Avery with him. "Just... different bathroom. Second floor's good."

"Again?" Avery lifted his head, blinking owlishly. "When were you two in a-"

"Shut up, Avery." Harry cut him off. "S'not important. Just... different bathroom."

Tom's face had gone completely still, but his eyes burned into the side of Harry's head. The temperature in the corridor seemed to drop several degrees.

"I have no idea what Evans is talking about." Tom's voice was silk over steel. "Perhaps the Firewhisky has affected his memory."

"Right." Lestrange looked between them, confusion clear on his face. "Second floor it is, then."

They half-carried Avery up the stairs, Harry determinedly not looking at Tom. His drunk brain had apparently decided now was a great time to remember that night months ago - Tom's fingers gripping his jaw, demanding answers Harry couldn't give. He wasn't making that mistake again.

They made it to the second-floor bathroom just as Avery's face turned a concerning shade of green. Lestrange pushed open the door, still supporting most of Avery's weight.

"Almost there, mate. Just hold on-"

Avery lurched forward, pulling free from their grip. He stumbled, dropped to his knees, and promptly emptied his stomach - all over Lestrange's expensive dragonhide boots.

"For fuck's sake!" Lestrange jumped back, but not fast enough. "These cost fifty Galleons!"

"Sorry." Avery wiped his mouth with his sleeve, still swaying on his knees. "Didn't mean to..."

Harry leaned against the wall, fighting his own wave of nausea as the smell hit him. "Could've been worse. Could've been Tom's shoes."

"How fortunate for me." Tom stood in the doorway, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "Though perhaps next time, Evans, we could skip the drinking altogether."

"Wasn't that bad." Avery attempted to stand, failed, and slumped back down. "Just need a minute."

"Right." Lestrange vanished the mess from his shoes with a sharp flick of his wand. "Because you're clearly handling your liquor so well."

"M'fine." Avery's head drooped. "Just... resting my eyes."

"Don't let him fall asleep here." Tom's voice held an edge of command. "Get him back to the dormitory before a prefect finds us."

"You're a prefect," Harry pointed out, sliding down the wall until he sat on the floor. His head spun less when he wasn't standing. "Could just take points from us right now if you wanted."

"Could take points from yourself too." Avery lifted his head, grinning. "Prefect taking points from a prefect. That'd be funny."

"Up you get." Lestrange hauled Avery to his feet. "Before you fall asleep on the bathroom floor."

They stumbled their way down to the dungeons, Avery humming tunelessly between them while Harry focused on keeping his own feet moving in the right direction. The corridors twisted and turned, stone walls blurring together in the torchlight.

At the entrance to the dungeon stairs, Tom paused. "I have rounds to complete. Try not to wake the entire house getting him to bed."

"Wait." Harry reached out, catching Tom's sleeve before he could leave. The wool felt soft under his fingers. "Thanks. For coming today. It was... nice. Seeing you actually enjoy yourself."

Tom glanced down at Harry's hand, still gripping his robes. "I wouldn't say I enjoyed myself."

"Liar." Harry grinned. "You smiled. Twice. I counted."

"The Firewhisky has clearly addled your perception." But Tom's voice held an odd note Harry couldn't quite identify.

"Maybe." Harry released Tom's sleeve. "Still. Thanks."

Tom studied him for a long moment, dark eyes unreadable in the dim light. "Get some sleep, Evans. You'll regret those drinks in the morning."

He turned and disappeared up the stairs, footsteps echoing against stone until they faded entirely.

"Come on, lightweight." Lestrange adjusted his grip on Avery. "Let's get you to bed before you start composing poetry about Riddle's smile too."

"Shut up," Harry muttered, but followed them down to the common room, Tom's lingering presence still warm against his fingertips.

They stumbled through the Slytherin common room, nearly knocking over an antique vase as Avery's feet tangled with a rug.

"Left." Lestrange grunted, steering them toward the dormitory stairs. "No, your other left, Evans."

"Everything's spinning." Harry tightened his grip on Avery's arm. "How're there so many stairs?"

They half-carried, half-dragged Avery up to their room. His humming had turned to soft snores against Lestrange's shoulder.

"On three." Lestrange shifted his weight. "One, two-"

They heaved Avery onto his bed. He bounced once, rolled over, and buried his face in his pillow without waking.

"Should probably take his shoes off." Harry fumbled with the laces, fingers clumsy. "Don't want mud everywhere."

Lestrange helped pull off Avery's boots, dropping them beside the bed. "There. He can deal with his robes himself when he wakes up."

Harry grabbed Avery's feet, swinging them fully onto the mattress while Lestrange tugged a blanket over him. Avery muttered something unintelligible and curled into a ball.

"Right." Lestrange stepped back, swaying slightly himself. "That's sorted then."

Harry collapsed onto his own bed, not bothering to remove his shoes. The room spun lazily around him as he stared at the stone ceiling.

"Night," Lestrange mumbled, already pulling his curtains closed.

Harry fumbled for his wand, managing to cast a silencing charm around his bed after two attempts. The sounds of the dormitory faded, leaving him alone with his thoughts. His fingers still tingled where they'd touched Tom's sleeve. The memory of Tom's almost-smile floated behind his closed eyelids - not the cold, calculated expression he usually wore, but something warmer. More real. He rolled onto his side, guilt twisting in his stomach. He shouldn't notice these things. Shouldn't care about the way Tom's eyes had lit up during their card game, or how his laugh had sounded genuine for once. This was Voldemort. Would be Voldemort. The man who murdered his parents, who'd destroy countless lives. But tonight, he'd just been Tom. A boy learning to play Exploding Snap, studying people like puzzles he couldn't quite solve.

Harry pressed his face into his pillow, willing sleep to come before his drunk mind could wander further down that dangerous path. Tomorrow, he'd remember who Tom really was.

Chapter Text

Harry's head throbbed with each pulse of his heartbeat. He cracked one eye open, immediately regretting it as sunlight stabbed through the dormitory window. A groan escaped his lips as he rolled away from the offensive brightness.

"Morning, sunshine." Avery's voice croaked from the next bed over.

"Shut up." Harry pulled his pillow over his head. His mouth tasted like something had died in it.

"Both of you shut up," Lestrange growled from behind his curtains.

Harry fumbled for his wand under his blankets, casting a tempus charm. Past ten already. Thank Merlin it was Sunday - he'd have been late for every class. His stomach lurched as he sat up. The room tilted sideways before settling into focus. Avery lay face-down on his bed, still fully dressed from yesterday.

"Never drinking again," Avery mumbled into his pillow.

"You said that last time." Harry swung his legs over the side of his bed, discovering he'd slept in his shoes. His robes were wrinkled beyond salvation.

"Meant it this time." Avery lifted his head slightly, face pale. "Did I really try to teach Riddle how to play Exploding Snap?"

"Yep." Harry massaged his temples. Fragments of the previous night floated back - cards exploding, Tom's surprised laugh, the walk back to the castle.

"Kill me now." Avery dropped his face back into his pillow. "Just use the killing curse. Be merciful." He groaned again and rolled off his bed, landing with a thud on the floor."Floor's nice and cool”. With a grunt, he peeled himself off the floor, swaying as he found his feet. "Need a shower." After taking off his robes, he fumbled with his shirt buttons, fingers clumsy from the hangover. "Can't face breakfast looking like this."

Harry rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on anything but his churning stomach. "Might join you in a bit. Need to remember how to be human first."

"Fair warning - I used your soap last week. Ran out of mine." Avery gave up on the buttons halfway down and pulled the shirt over his head, getting tangled in the sleeves. He cursed and spun in a circle before freeing himself.

"That's why it disappeared so fast." Harry said as he watched Avery hop on one foot while wrestling with his sock. "Thought I was going mental."

"Buy you more next Hogsmeade trip." Avery's belt hit the floor with a clank. He rummaged through his trunk for a towel, sending clothes flying everywhere. "Where's my - ah." He emerged victorious with a frayed green towel.

Lestrange's curtains rustled. "If you lot don't shut up, I'm hexing both of you."

Avery stumbled toward the bathroom door, towel draped over his shoulder. His foot caught on his discarded belt, sending him lurching sideways. He crashed onto Harry's bed, narrowly missing Harry's legs.

"Merlin's saggy -" Avery's face planted into Harry's blankets. "Room needs to stop spinning."

"Get off." Harry shoved at Avery's shoulder. "You're crushing my feet."

"Can't move." Avery's voice came muffled through the bedding. "This is my home now."

"You're getting your hangover sweat all over my sheets."

"They needed washing anyway." Avery rolled onto his back, taking half the blankets with him. His hair stuck up in every direction.

"Move before I hex you." Harry yanked his blanket back.

"Empty threats." Avery closed his eyes. "You love me too much."

A pillow sailed across the room and smacked Avery in the face. Lestrange's voice growled from behind his curtains. "Either shut up or take it to the common room."

"Violence." Avery clutched the pillow to his chest. "In my fragile state."

"I'll show you fragile." Lestrange's wand appeared through a gap in his curtains.

"Fine, fine." Avery pushed himself up on his elbows. "I know when I'm not wanted." He swung his legs off Harry's bed and stood, swaying slightly. "Shower. Right. That was the plan."

Harry shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he listened to Avery's off-key humming drift through the bathroom door.

Fifteen minutes later, steam billowed from the bathroom as Avery emerged, his hair dripping onto his fresh white shirt. "Right, I'm starving. Up you get, you lazy gits."

"Go away," Harry pulled his blanket over his head.

"It's Sunday," Lestrange's muffled voice came from behind his curtains.

"Perfect day for breakfast." Avery's footsteps padded across the stone floor. "Come on, Evans. Food will help."

"Touch me and die." Harry curled tighter into his cocoon of blankets.

"Such hostility." The edge of Harry's mattress dipped as Avery sat. "Last chance to get up willingly."

Harry ignored him, burrowing deeper into his pillow.

"Have it your way then." Avery grabbed Harry's ankle through the blanket and yanked.

"Get off!" Harry kicked out, but Avery dodged, laughing as he pulled harder.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty." Avery gave another tug, dragging Harry halfway down the bed.

Harry flailed, tangled in his sheets. "I swear to Merlin-"

Harry landed on the floor with a thud, sheets twisted around his legs. "I hate you."

"Love you too." Avery tossed a clean uniform at Harry's head. "Now shower. You smell like a pub floor."

Harry untangled himself from his bedding and stumbled to his feet, catching himself on his bedpost. The room tilted for a moment before settling. He snatched his towel from where it hung at the foot of his bed and shuffled toward the bathroom.

The hot water helped clear his head, washing away the worst of his hangover. He scrubbed his face, trying to remember exactly how many drinks he'd had last night. The memory of Tom's surprised laugh echoed in his mind again.

Back in the dormitory, Harry found Avery sprawled in an armchair, flipping through a Quidditch magazine while waiting. Harry's stomach growled as he buttoned his shirt.

"Finally." Avery tossed the magazine aside. "Thought you'd drowned in there."

Lestrange's snores rumbled from behind his curtains as Harry and Avery crept out of the dormitory. The stone steps leading up to the common room felt colder than usual under Harry's feet, each step echoing in the quiet Sunday morning.

In the common room, a few younger students hunched over their books near the carved fireplace, while a seventh-year prefect dozed in a high-backed chair, a forgotten essay sliding off her lap.

As Harry and Avery crossed the room toward the exit, a familiar voice cut through their hungover haze.

"Good morning." Tom sat in one of the corner armchairs, a leather-bound book open in his lap. His uniform looked crisp and pristine, not a wrinkle in sight.

Harry's stomach did an uncomfortable flip that had nothing to do with his hangover. "Morning."

"Sleep well?" Tom's lips curved into the ghost of a smile.

Avery shifted his weight, suddenly finding the stone floor fascinating. "Er, yeah. Great."

"I must say, your enthusiasm for Exploding Snap was... unexpected." Tom closed his book, keeping one finger between the pages to mark his place.

"About that-" Avery's face flushed pink. "Sorry if I was... pushy."

"No need to apologize." Tom's dark eyes flickered to Harry. "It was... educational."

Harry cleared his throat. "We were just heading to breakfast."

Tom glanced at the ornate clock mounted above the fireplace. "More like Sunday brunch at this hour." He slipped a silk bookmark between the pages of his book and set it aside. "I might as well join you."

"Right." Avery rocked back on his heels. "Food. Yes."

Tom rose from his chair with fluid grace, adjusting his already-perfect sleeve cuffs. "Shall we?"

The walk to the Great Hall stretched longer than usual, each step echoing off the stone walls. Portraits whispered as they passed, their frames creaking. Harry kept his eyes fixed ahead, trying to ignore how Tom fell into step beside him while Avery trailed slightly behind.

The Great Hall buzzed with lazy Sunday conversation. Most students had already finished breakfast, but platters of sandwiches and soup had appeared for the late risers. The enchanted ceiling showed patches of blue sky between fluffy white clouds.

"Evans." Tom's voice cut through Harry's thoughts as they approached the Slytherin table. "You seem rather quiet this morning."

"Headache," Harry muttered, sliding onto the bench.

"Curious." Tom settled across from him, reaching for a pitcher of pumpkin juice. "I recall you having quite a lot to say last night."

Harry reached for a sandwich, his stomach settling enough to attempt food. "Planning to spend another Sunday with your nose in a book?"

Tom's fingers traced the rim of his goblet. "There's a particular research project that requires my attention."

"You've been at it for weeks." Harry took a small bite, testing if his stomach would rebel. "Must be fascinating reading."

"Ancient magical architecture." Tom's eyes gleamed with intensity. "Hogwarts holds many secrets in its foundations. The original builders left... interesting traces of their work."

"Sounds thrilling." Harry kept his voice neutral, though his heart rate picked up. He knew exactly what Tom was hunting through those dusty architecture books.

"More than you might imagine." Tom selected an apple from a silver bowl, turning it in his long fingers. "The castle's magic runs deeper than most realize. Layer upon layer of spells, some forgotten by time itself."

Avery stifled a yawn. "Rather you than me, mate. Can't imagine spending weekends reading about old stones."

"That's because you lack vision." Tom's tone carried a sharp edge despite his pleasant expression. "The secrets of our predecessors hold immense value."

"If you say so." Harry forced himself to take another bite of sandwich. "Though fresh air might do you good occasionally."

Tom's dark eyes fixed on Harry. "Perhaps. Though some pursuits are worth sacrificing a few sunny afternoons."

The intensity of Tom's gaze made Harry's skin prickle. He knew that look - had seen it before when Tom was on the verge of discovering something important. 

Avery stretched dramatically, his uniform sleeve riding up. "Well then, guess it's just me and Evans hitting the grounds for some fresh air." He draped an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Fancy a walk by the lake? Weather's not half bad today."

Harry felt Tom's gaze sharpen at the casual contact. The apple in Tom's hand stopped its slow rotation.

"Could do with some air myself." Harry leaned slightly into Avery's friendly embrace, ignoring how Tom's knuckles whitened around the fruit.

"Brilliant." Avery grinned.

Tom set the apple down with precise control. "Perhaps I could spare an hour or two after all." His voice carried a careful neutrality that made Harry's neck prickle. "A break from research might prove... refreshing."

"Oh." Avery's arm tensed slightly on Harry's shoulders. "Right. Well, more the merrier, eh?"

Harry glanced between Tom and Avery, feeling the strange tension but unable to pinpoint its source. "Yeah, sure. Why not?" He shrugged, dislodging Avery's arm as he reached for his pumpkin juice.

"Excellent." Tom's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Though perhaps we should wait until you've both fully recovered from last night's... activities."

"I'm fine." Harry rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to decode the undercurrent flowing Tom and Avery. "Just needed food."

Avery cleared his throat. "Actually, might skip the walk myself. Just remembered that Transfiguration essay due tomorrow."

"Since when do you care about homework?" Harry frowned at his friend's sudden change of heart.

"Since Dumbledore threatened detention last time I handed something in late." Avery stood, his movements jerky. "You two go ahead though."

Tom's expression remained pleasant, but something predatory lurked beneath the surface. "How responsible of you, Avery."

Harry watched Avery retreat from the Great Hall, confusion clouding his thoughts. He turned back to Tom. "What was that about?"

"Perhaps he simply knows when to make a tactical withdrawal." Tom's long fingers drummed once against the table before going still.

"From what?" Harry reached for another sandwich, genuinely puzzled by the exchange.

Tom's laugh held no warmth. "Your obliviousness can be quite remarkable, Evans."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing of consequence." Tom rose smoothly from his seat. "Shall we take that walk?"

Harry and Tom walked along the edge of the Black Lake, their shoes crunching on the gravel path. A crisp breeze rippled across the water's surface, carrying the scent of pine from the Forbidden Forest.

"You never struck me as the outdoor type," Harry said, kicking a loose stone into the water.

"There's quite a lot you don't know about me." Tom's steps were measured, deliberate. His hands clasped behind his back as he walked.

"Like your sudden interest in architecture?"

"We all have our passions." Tom paused to watch a group of first-years tossing bread to the giant squid. "Though I notice you deflect questions about your own interests rather skillfully."

Harry kicked another stone, watching it skip across the lake's surface. "I like Defense Against the Dark Arts. Flying too, when I get the chance." He kept his voice casual, careful not to reveal too much. "Used to play Seeker before... before coming here."

"Quidditch." Tom's lip curled slightly. "A rather pedestrian pursuit."

"There's nothing pedestrian about diving hundreds of feet through the air after a tiny golden ball." Harry felt a familiar surge of defensiveness. "Takes skill, reflexes, strategy."

"And what else?" Tom's dark eyes studied Harry's profile. "Surely your interests extend beyond sports and defensive magic."

Harry shrugged, thinking of the DA meetings, of teaching others to protect themselves. "I enjoy helping people learn. Seeing them succeed when they thought they couldn't." He smiled slightly, remembering Neville mastering the Disarming Charm. "Nothing beats watching someone cast a spell perfectly for the first time."

"How... altruistic." Tom's tone carried a hint of mockery.

"Not everything's about power or personal gain." Harry stopped walking, turning to face Tom. "Sometimes it's just about doing what's right."

"And who decides what's right?" Tom stepped closer, his height advantage forcing Harry to look up slightly. "Your moral compass seems rather... fixed."

"Better than having none at all." The words slipped out before Harry could stop them.

Tom's eyes narrowed, but his lips curved into an amused smile. "There's that Gryffindor streak showing again. Strange, how the Sorting Hat put you in Slytherin."

Harry forced a laugh. "Maybe the Hat's getting senile in its old age. Should've seen its face when it couldn't decide where to put me."

"The Hat doesn't have a face." Tom's lips twitched.

"Shows what you know. It's got quite the expressive brim when it wants to." Harry mimed an exaggerated frown with his hands. "Goes all droopy like this."

Tom shook his head, but Harry caught the ghost of genuine amusement in his eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"Part of my charm." Harry grinned, then sobered. "Though sometimes I wonder if it made a mistake."

"The Hat never makes mistakes." Tom's voice dropped lower. "Perhaps you simply don't understand your own nature as well as you think."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but pain suddenly lanced through his skull. He stumbled, pressing his palm against his forehead. The world tilted sideways as his knees buckled. His vision blurred, replaced by flashing colors and spinning darkness. The pain felt like molten metal being poured through his skull, worse than any headache he'd ever experienced.

"Evans?" Tom's voice sounded distant, underwater.

Harry felt hands grip his shoulders as he swayed. The ground seemed to shift beneath his feet, reality bending and warping around him. For a split second, he saw double - the lake both frozen and flowing, trees bare and full of leaves, snow and grass overlapping.

"I can't-" Harry choked out, his stomach lurching as time seemed to flutter around him like pages in a book being rapidly flipped. The pressure in his head built until he thought his skull would crack.

His legs gave out completely. Tom's grip tightened, lowering him to the ground instead of letting him fall. The grass felt both warm and frost-covered against his palms.

"What's happening?" Tom's voice had lost its usual controlled tone.

Harry couldn't answer. His teeth chattered as hot and cold sensations washed over him in waves. The pain crescendoed, and for a terrifying moment, he felt himself starting to fade - like his very existence was becoming unstable. His vision tunneled, darkness creeping in at the edges. Through the haze of pain, he caught glimpses of Tom's face above him - the careful mask of indifference cracking to reveal something raw underneath.

"Evans!" Tom's fingers dug into Harry's shoulders. "Look at me."

Harry tried to focus on Tom's face, but it kept splitting and doubling. The pressure in his skull built until he could barely think.

"I need to get you to the hospital wing." Tom's voice carried an unfamiliar edge of urgency. His normally perfect composure slipped further as Harry sagged against him.

"No..." Harry managed to gasp. "It'll pass... just need..."

"Don't be stubborn. Something's wrong. Your skin's like ice."

Harry felt Tom's hand press against his forehead. The touch seemed to make the pain spike higher. He could barely hear over the rushing in his ears.

"Evans? Harry?" The use of his first name caught Harry's fading attention. Tom's dark eyes showed genuine alarm now.

"Sorry..." Harry whispered as the darkness closed in. The last thing he saw was Tom's face, twisted with an emotion that looked almost like fear.

Then everything went black.

Chapter Text

Harry's head throbbed as consciousness slowly returned. The familiar antiseptic smell of the hospital wing filled his nostrils as he blinked against the harsh morning light streaming through tall windows. White curtains surrounded his bed, creating a private alcove that felt both comforting and confining.

He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but his arms trembled with weakness. The events by the lake felt hazy - Tom's face swimming in and out of focus, that terrible sensation of reality bending around him, the bone-deep cold that had nothing to do with the weather.

The starched sheets crinkled as he shifted position. His mouth felt dry, and his limbs ached like he'd played a particularly brutal Quidditch match. The hospital wing's silence pressed against his ears, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock somewhere beyond the curtains.

Footsteps approached - the quick, purposeful stride of someone used to navigating between hospital beds. The curtain rustled as Madam Abbott appeared, her grey hair escaping its usual neat bun. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, as if she'd been up most of the night.

"Finally awake, Mr. Evans." She moved to his bedside, wand already drawn for diagnostic spells. "You gave us quite a scare yesterday."

Harry's eyes wandered to his bedside table while Madam Abbott's wand traced complicated patterns over his body. Several items were clustered there - a box of Honeydukes chocolates, what looked like a get-well card propped against a vase of flowers, and a small package wrapped in green and silver paper that he recognized as Avery's usual style.

The package had a note attached in Avery's messy scrawl: "Try not to die before I can pay you back for that soap. -A" 

A weak smile tugged at Harry's lips. Trust Avery to make light of the situation. 

"Your friends have been quite persistent about visiting," Madam Abbott commented as she completed another diagnostic wave. "Though I had to send young Mr. Avery away three times yesterday. He kept trying to sneak in after hours."

"Mr. Lestrange stopped by as well," Madam Abbott continued, adjusting Harry's pillows with practiced efficiency. "Left those chocolates. Though I suspect he nicked them from the kitchens, given how similar they look to our dessert selection."

Harry's smile widened slightly. That explained the familiar gold wrapping - he'd seen those same chocolates at dinner last week.

"And Mr. Riddle, of course." Madam Abbott's voice took on a different tone - somewhere between approval and concern. "He's the one who brought you in yesterday. Carried you all the way from the lake himself, refusing to use a levitation charm. Said something about magical interference potentially making your condition worse."

Harry's chest tightened at the image of Tom carrying him through the castle. He could picture Tom's usual perfect composure cracking, those dark eyes showing genuine alarm as Harry collapsed.

"He stayed quite late," Madam Abbott added, checking Harry's temperature with the back of her hand. "Had to practically order him to return to his dormitory. Most unlike him - he's usually so proper about following rules."

Harry stared at the ceiling, processing this information. Tom had stayed? The same Tom who viewed most people as beneath his notice, who carefully maintained emotional distance from everyone around him?

"Said he wanted to monitor your condition personally." Madam Abbott straightened Harry's blankets. "Something about being responsible since you were in his care when it happened. Very dedicated to his prefect duties, that one."

Of course - Tom would need to maintain his perfect prefect image. It made sense he'd stay to avoid any suggestion of negligence. That had to be it. The alternative - that Tom had actually been worried - made Harry's head spin worse than whatever had happened by the lake.

"Though he did return this morning before breakfast," Madam Abbott continued. "Just to check your status, he said. Left rather quickly when he saw you were still unconscious."

Harry closed his eyes, trying to sort through his jumbled thoughts. Tom's face from yesterday kept swimming into focus - that raw emotion breaking through his careful mask as Harry started to fade.

"So what happened to me?" Harry asked, his voice rough from disuse. He shifted against the pillows, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Madam Abbott's expression turned serious as she checked his pulse. "We're not entirely certain. Your magical core showed signs of severe instability - almost as if it was trying to exist in multiple states at once. Professor Dumbledore spent several hours examining you yesterday."

"Multiple states?" Harry's stomach clenched. He remembered that terrible sensation of reality bending around him, of seeing the lake both frozen and flowing.

"Like temporal echoes, he called it." Madam Abbott adjusted a potion bottle on his bedside table. "Though I've never seen anything quite like it in all my years of healing. Your temperature kept fluctuating between freezing cold and burning hot, and the diagnostic spells showed the strangest readings."

Harry swallowed hard. "But I'm stable now?"

"For the moment." She pressed a glass of water into his hands. "Professor Dumbledore managed to stabilize your condition, though he seemed quite concerned about the underlying cause. He'll want to speak with you once you're feeling a bit stronger."

Harry sipped the water slowly, his mind racing. Had his time displacement finally caught up with him? Was his presence here becoming unstable? The thought sent ice through his veins.

"Rest for now," Madam Abbott said firmly. "No visitors until I'm certain you're recovered. And absolutely no magic until Professor Dumbledore clears you."

"How long until I'm cleared?" Harry asked, setting the water glass back on his bedside table. The thought of being confined to the hospital wing made his skin itch.

"At least a few days of observation," Madam Abbott said, her tone brooking no argument. "We need to ensure there won't be any more episodes. Professor Dumbledore was quite specific about monitoring your magical stability."

Harry slumped against his pillows. "But classes-"

"Your professors have been informed. Mr. Riddle offered to bring you any assignments you miss." Madam Abbott straightened the potion bottles lined up beside his bed. "Though no practical work until we understand what triggered this."

Harry sighed heavily, sinking deeper into the hospital wing mattress. He watched Madam Abbott disappear behind the white curtain. She returned moments later, a small vial of purple liquid in her hand. The draught's pearlescent surface caught the afternoon light streaming through the hospital wing windows.

"Here you are." She measured out a precise dose into a small crystal cup. "This should help you rest properly."

Harry took the cup, studying the swirling liquid. The potion smelled faintly of lavender and something darker - perhaps valerian root. His limbs already felt heavy with exhaustion, but his mind kept racing with questions about what had happened by the lake.

"All of it," Madam Abbott instructed, watching as Harry lifted the cup to his lips.

The draught tasted better than he expected - sweet with an undertone of herbs. Warmth spread through his chest as he swallowed, and his eyelids immediately grew heavy.

"Good." Madam Abbott took the empty cup, helping Harry settle back against his pillows. "Let the potion do its work."

Harry's thoughts began to blur around the edges as the sleeping draught took hold. The hospital wing's stark white walls softened, and the afternoon sunlight seemed to wrap around him like a warm blanket. 

His last conscious awareness was of Madam Abbott drawing the curtains closed, blocking out the bright light. Then darkness claimed him, pulling him down into dreamless sleep.

A soft scraping noise pulled Harry from his slumber some time later. The light filtering through the windows had changed - late afternoon, by the golden quality. He blinked groggily as a familiar figure slipped through a gap in the curtains.

"Avery?" Harry's voice came out rough with sleep.

"Shh!" Avery pressed a finger to his lips, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "Abbott's got ears like a bat. Had to wait until she went to dinner."

"You shouldn't be here." But Harry couldn't help smiling as Avery perched on the edge of his bed.

"Like that's ever stopped me before." Avery grinned, though concern showed in his eyes as he studied Harry's face. "You look awful, by the way."

"Thanks." Harry pushed himself up against his pillows. "Always know how to cheer a bloke up."

"That's what friends are for." Avery's usual playful tone carried an undercurrent of worry. "Scared the hell out of us yesterday, you know. One minute you're fine, next thing we hear Riddle's carrying you through the castle like some swooning damsel."

Harry shifted uncomfortably under Avery's intense gaze. "I wasn't swooning. Just... had a moment."

"A moment?" Avery moved closer, his hand coming to rest near Harry's on the blanket. "You collapsed. Tom said you were burning up one second, freezing the next."

"Sorry I'll miss your birthday," Harry said, eager to change the subject away from his collapse. "Stuck in here for at least a few days, Abbott's orders."

"Don't worry about it." Avery waved his hand dismissively. "I'm heading home tomorrow anyway. Father insists on the traditional family celebration." He rolled his eyes. "Have to endure three days of ancient rituals and political schmoozing with half the Ministry."

"Sounds thrilling." Harry managed a weak smile. 

"I'll be back by the weekend." Avery straightened his robes. "Father only needs me there for the main ceremonies. Said I could return to school after that, thank Merlin."

"Lucky you." Harry shifted against his pillows. "I should be out of here by that time."

"Save me some of those chocolates Lestrange brought." Avery nodded toward the bedside table. "Least you can do since you're missing all the birthday excitement."

Harry then reached for the small package wrapped in green and silver paper that Avery had left. 

"Oh, you don't have to-" Avery's cheeks flushed pink as Harry began unwrapping the paper. "I mean, you should rest first maybe..."

Inside the package, Harry found a small envelope alongside what looked like a delicate silver bracelet with protective runes etched into its surface. He opened the letter first, unfolding the parchment to reveal more of Avery's messy handwriting:

Been meaning to give you this for a while. It's a protection charm bracelet - belonged to my brother Marcus. He always said it brought him luck, kept him safe. After what happened yesterday... well, thought you could use some extra protection.

Also, was wondering if you'd like to go to Hogsmeade next weekend? Just us this time - no Lestrange, no crowd at Three Broomsticks. There's this quiet little tea shop I know, bit off the main street. Thought we could talk properly without everyone else around.

Don't feel pressured or anything. Just... think about it?

Harry looked up from the note to find Avery studying his hands intently, a faint blush still coloring his cheeks.

"The bracelet's really nice," Harry said softly, running his fingers over the delicate silver work. "But I can't take something that belonged to Marcus-"

"He'd want you to have it." Avery's voice was unusually serious. "Besides, you're hopeless at keeping yourself out of trouble. Someone's got to look after you."

"About Hogsmeade..." Harry started.

"Like I said, no pressure." Avery stood quickly, straightening his robes. "Just thought it might be nice to spend some time... you know. Away from everything."

"Of course I'll go!" Harry said excitedly, sitting up straighter in his hospital bed. "It's a date."

Avery's face lit up, his previous nervousness melting into a bright smile. "Really? You mean it?"

"Yeah, definitely." Harry grinned, still turning the silver bracelet over in his hands. "Been ages since we've had proper time to hang out, just the two of us. Plus, I owe you for all those study sessions you helped me with."

Avery's cheeks flushed darker as he stepped closer to Harry's bed. "I know the perfect spot. It’s really cozy, private tables, great pastries..."

"Sounds brilliant." Harry slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, admiring how the runes caught the afternoon light. "Much better than squeezing into the Three Broomsticks with half the school."

Avery's fingers brushed against Harry's arm as he helped adjust the bracelet's clasp. "I'll make sure everything's perfect," he said softly, his touch lingering longer than necessary.

"You're the best, you know that?" Harry beamed up at his friend, completely missing the way Avery's breath caught at their proximity. "Can't wait to get out of this hospital wing and have a proper afternoon out."

Avery's heart soared at Harry's enthusiasm. "Next Saturday then," he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the joy bubbling in his chest. "It's a proper date."

"A proper date," Harry agreed cheerfully, still entirely oblivious to the romantic implications of their conversation. He yawned and stretched, the movement making the silver bracelet glint. "Just what I need after being stuck in here."

Footsteps echoed from somewhere beyond the curtains, making both boys tense. The sound of Madam Abbott's voice drifted closer, speaking to what sounded like another student.

"I should go." Avery stood quickly, smoothing his robes. "Abbott will have my head if she catches me in here.”

"Thanks again, Avery. For everything - the bracelet, being such a good friend." Harry smiled warmly, adjusting the silver band on his wrist.

Avery shifted his weight, taking a deep breath. "Listen, Harry... I really like you. A lot."

"Aw, I really like you too!" Harry grinned, completely missing the intensity in Avery's eyes. “Don't know what I'd do without you."

Avery's face lit up, his cheeks flushing pink. "Right then," he said, practically glowing with happiness. "I'll let you rest. See you Saturday?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Harry gave another cheerful wave as Avery slipped back through the curtains, his steps light and bouncy with joy.

Through the gap in the curtains, Harry caught a glimpse of Avery's face - he looked like he'd just won a hundred Galleons, beaming as he snuck past Madam Abbott's office.

Harry settled back against his pillows, absently touching the silver bracelet Avery had given him. The runes felt warm against his skin now, pulsing gently with protective magic. The afternoon light was fading fast, casting long shadows through the hospital wing windows.

His friend had seemed unusually excited about their planned Hogsmeade trip. Maybe he was just glad Harry was feeling better.

The curtain rustled again, and Harry tensed, expecting Madam Abbott's stern face. Instead, Professor Dumbledore stepped through, his auburn beard catching the last rays of sunlight.

"Ah, Mr. Evans. I see you're awake." Dumbledore conjured a comfortable armchair beside Harry's bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, I think." Harry shifted to face his professor. "Though no one will tell me exactly what happened."

"That's partly because we're not entirely certain ourselves." Dumbledore's blue eyes held none of their usual twinkle. "What do you remember from yesterday?"

Harry frowned, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. "I was by the lake with... with Riddle. Everything started spinning. It felt like..." He paused, searching for words to describe the bizarre sensation. "Like reality was coming apart around me."

"As I feared." Dumbledore leaned forward, his expression grave. "Your temporal displacement appears to be causing some... instability."

Harry's stomach dropped. "What does that mean exactly?"

"It means, my boy, that we may have less time than I initially thought to find a way to send you home."

Harry's fingers tightened around the silver bracelet on his wrist. "How much time?"

"It's difficult to say precisely." Dumbledore stroked his auburn beard. "The temporal echoes you experienced suggest your presence here is becoming increasingly unstable. Like a stone skipping across water - each bounce creates ripples, disturbances in the natural flow of time."

"Could it happen again?" Harry remembered the terrifying sensation of reality bending around him.

"Almost certainly." Dumbledore's blue eyes held deep concern. "And each episode may be more severe than the last. Your magical core is trying to exist in two times at once - an impossible strain that no wizard was meant to endure."

"But you can fix it, right?" Harry hated how young his voice sounded. "Find a way to send me back?"

"I'm pursuing several promising leads." Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles. "The Department of Mysteries has granted me limited access to their temporal research archives. However, the process of legally obtaining such sensitive information takes time - time we may no longer have."

"What happens if we run out of time?" Harry asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Best not to dwell on such possibilities." Dumbledore rose from his conjured chair, which vanished with a soft pop. "For now, you must rest. No magic until we better understand these temporal fluctuations. And Harry?" His expression turned grave. "Be very careful about who you trust with information about your... condition. The fewer people who know the truth, the better."

As Dumbledore turned to leave, his eyes caught the silver glint around Harry's wrist. "Ah, that's quite a lovely piece of jewelry. A gift, I presume?"

"Yeah, from Avery," Harry smiled, touching the bracelet. "He brought it earlier - said it has protective runes and everything.”

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with subtle amusement. "Indeed. Such... thoughtful presents often carry deeper meaning than mere friendship."

"Well, he is one of my best mates here," Harry said, completely missing the professor's meaning as he examined one of the runes. 

"Ah, youth," Dumbledore murmured, his mustache twitching slightly. "Sometimes the most obvious things are the hardest to see." He paused at the curtain. "Do be careful with matters of the heart, Mr. Evans. They can be just as delicate as temporal magic."

"Course, Professor," Harry nodded absently, still focused on the bracelet's intricate patterns. "Though I don't see what hearts have to do with Avery giving me a get-well present."

Dumbledore merely smiled and slipped through the curtains, leaving Harry to puzzle over his cryptic words.

* 

The hospital wing lay quiet in the evening shadows when Tom slipped through the curtains surrounding Harry's bed. His footsteps made no sound on the stone floor as he approached.

"I know you're awake, Evans." Tom's voice was barely above a whisper.

Harry opened his eyes, finding Tom's tall figure silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the curtains. "How'd you know?"

"Your breathing changed when I entered." Tom settled into the chair beside Harry's bed with fluid grace. "And you have a tendency to fidget when pretending to sleep."

"Keeping track of my sleeping habits now?" Harry pushed himself up against his pillows, fighting a wave of dizziness.

Tom's hand shot out to steady him, fingers wrapping around Harry's arm. The touch sent an unexpected jolt through Harry's skin. "Careful. Madam Abbott said you're still unstable."

"I'm fine." But Harry didn't pull away from Tom's grip. "Just tired."

Tom's dark eyes flickered to the silver bracelet glinting on Harry's wrist, lingering for just a moment before returning to Harry's face. His expression remained carefully neutral, though his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly where they still gripped Harry's arm. "You were burning with fever yesterday." Tom's voice held an odd note Harry couldn't quite identify. "Then cold as ice. I've never seen anything like it."

"Probably just magical exhaustion or something." Harry tried to keep his tone light despite the lingering fear in his gut.

"No. This was different. Your magic felt... wrong. Like it was trying to tear itself apart."

Harry swallowed hard, remembering that terrible sensation of reality bending around him. Tom's dark eyes studied his face in the dim light, searching for something.

"What aren't you telling me, Evans?"

Harry's fingers twisted in the hospital wing blankets. "Nothing to tell. Just got dizzy by the lake."

"Don't lie to me." Tom's voice carried an edge of frustration. "I felt your magic fluctuating. It was like..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Like you were fading in and out of existence."

"Maybe you imagined it." Harry tried to pull his arm from Tom's grip, but found himself too weak to break free.

"I know what I felt." Tom leaned closer, his face catching the last rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains. "And Dumbledore's reaction was... telling. He seemed unsurprised by your condition, merely concerned."

"Madam Abbott mentioned you stayed," Harry said quickly, desperate to change the subject. "Said you wouldn't leave until late."

Tom's hand dropped from Harry's arm, his posture stiffening slightly. "As a prefect, it was my responsibility to ensure your proper care."

"Right. Your prefect duties." Harry's lips curved into a weak smile. "Nothing to do with actually being worried."

"Don't be absurd." But Tom wouldn't quite meet Harry's eyes. "Someone needed to provide accurate details about the incident to the staff."

"For hours?" Harry pressed, noting how Tom's fingers drummed once against the arm of his chair - a rare sign of discomfort. "Abbott said she practically had to force you to leave."

"The situation required careful monitoring." Tom's voice remained steady, but Harry caught the slightest tension in his jaw. "Given the unusual nature of your... episode."

"Could have just left a report with Abbott." Harry shifted against his pillows, watching Tom's carefully controlled expression. "Instead of sitting here half the night."

"Perhaps I simply wanted answers." Tom's dark eyes finally met Harry's. "Though you seem determined not to provide them."

"Or maybe you were actually concerned," Harry said softly. "It's allowed, you know. Caring about someone else's wellbeing."

Tom's shoulders tensed further. "You presume too much, Evans."

"Do I?" Harry leaned forward slightly. "Because Abbott also mentioned you came back this morning. Before breakfast."

A muscle twitched in Tom's cheek. "Merely checking if you'd regained consciousness."

"Course." Harry couldn't quite suppress his smile. "Very prefect-like of you. Wouldn't want anyone thinking the great Tom Riddle actually worried about someone else."

Tom's expression hardened, his mask of indifference sliding back into place. "You should rest. Madam Abbott will have my head if she finds me keeping you awake."

"Avoiding the topic?" Harry settled back against his pillows, exhaustion creeping through his limbs despite his amusement at Tom's discomfort.

"There is no topic to avoid." Tom stood with fluid grace, adjusting his already-perfect sleeve cuffs. "Your imagination is running wild from the potions Abbott's been giving you."

"If you say so." Harry's eyes grew heavy, but he managed a final smirk. "Though next time you want to check on someone, you don't need an excuse. Just admit you care."

"Goodnight, Evans." Tom's voice carried a warning edge, though something softer lurked beneath.

"Night, Riddle." Harry let his eyes close, sleep pulling at him. "Thanks for staying yesterday."

He heard Tom's soft footsteps pause at the curtain. There might have been a whispered response, but Harry was already drifting off, too tired to catch the words.

Chapter Text

Sunlight filtered through the hospital wing windows as Harry flipped through his Transfiguration textbook. It was Friday morning, his fourth day confined to the starched sheets and rigid routine under Madam Abbott’s watchful care.

Tom's visits had become strangely regular—always timed with precision, either between classes or during the evening study period. He'd bring assignments Harry had missed and spend exactly forty-five minutes going over the material before leaving, his movements almost mechanical. But Harry couldn’t help but notice how Tom’s gaze would linger on his face each time, as though checking for signs of another episode.

"Your color’s better," Tom had remarked the previous evening, his eyes not quite meeting Harry’s as he pretended to focus on a Potions essay. "Though Abbott should adjust your strengthening solution dosage."

Harry tried not to read too much into Tom's attention. The future Dark Lord was probably just gathering information, studying Harry’s affliction. Still, there was something almost... human in the way Tom’s shoulders would relax, just slightly, whenever he found Harry alert and coherent.

The steady flow of visitors helped break the monotony of his bedrest. Lestrange, for instance, dropped by most afternoons, usually with gossip from the Slytherin common room or complaints about Mulciber’s latest failed attempt at non-verbal spells. His visits felt more natural than Tom’s precisely timed appearances—more like something a friend might do.

Harry glanced up from his textbook as Dumbledore approached, his auburn beard catching the light in the morning sun.

"Good news, Mr. Evans," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. "Madam Abbott believes you're well enough to be released this afternoon, after one final examination."

"Really?" Harry sat up straighter, marking his place in the textbook. "No more potions?"

"The strengthening solutions appear to have done their work." Dumbledore settled into the visitor's chair beside the bed. "Though we'll need to monitor you carefully for any recurring symptoms."

"What about..." Harry glanced around to ensure they were alone. "The time thing? Could it happen again?"

"That remains uncertain." Dumbledore's expression grew more serious. "These temporal disruptions are unpredictable. The Department of Mysteries is still researching similar cases, but for now, we can only watch and wait."

"Great." Harry slumped back against his pillows. "So I could just... start fading again at any moment?"

"The strengthening potions seem to have stabilized your condition." Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles. "But yes, we must remain vigilant. Any unusual sensations - dizziness, double vision, temperature fluctuations - should be reported immediately."

"And classes?" Harry asked. "Can I go back to normal activities?"

"Provided this afternoon's examination shows no concerns," Dumbledore said, rising from his chair and smoothing his robes. "Madam Abbott will perform the final tests after lunch. If all goes well, you'll be free to return to your dormitory by dinner."

Dumbledore's footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor as he walked away, his vibrant robes swishing with each measured step. The morning sunlight caught his auburn hair, casting a brief golden halo before he disappeared through the hospital wing's heavy wooden doors.

For a moment, Harry sat in silence, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. He turned back to his textbook, but the words blurred together, no longer holding his attention. The faint rustle of Madam Abbott bustling around in the far corner of the room was the only sound, her presence a quiet, steady hum in the background.

Almost exactly two hours later, precise footsteps echoed across the stone floor. Harry didn't need to look up to know who approached - Tom's measured stride was unmistakable.

"Evans." Tom settled into the recently vacated visitor's chair, his posture perfect as always. "I see you're catching up on the Transfiguration reading."

"Trying to." Harry marked his page. "Though it's hard to focus when someone keeps bringing more assignments every day."

"Would you prefer to fall behind?" Tom's lips curved slightly. "I could always stop delivering your homework."

"Heaven forbid I miss a single essay." Harry's tone was dry. "What would the professors think?"

"They'd think you were taking advantage of your medical condition to slack off." Tom pulled a rolled parchment from his robes. "Speaking of which, Professor Slughorn expects this analysis of the role of magical metals in potion-making by Monday."

"Another one?" Harry groaned. "I just finished the last essay he sent."

"Perhaps if you hadn't missed an entire week of classes by collapsing dramatically by the lake..." Tom's attempt at levity didn't quite mask the sharp look he gave Harry.

"Actually," Harry said, fiddling with the edge of his blanket, "Madam Abbott's releasing me this afternoon. After one final check."

Tom's quill paused mid-motion. "Is she now?"

"Dumbledore just told me. As long as the examination goes well, I'll be back in the dormitory by dinner."

"Excellent." Tom's smile held a calculating edge. "Then we can resume your detention sessions on Monday evening. You've missed quite a few."

Harry's stomach dropped. "Wait, what? I just spent a week in the hospital wing!"

"And now you're recovered." Tom tucked the Potions essay into Harry's growing stack of assignments. "Unless you'd prefer to explain to Professor Slughorn why you feel entitled to skip the remainder of your punishment?"

"That's not fair-"

"Life rarely is." Tom's voice carried an air of finality. "Seven o'clock Monday evening, Potions classroom. Don't be late."

Harry slumped against his pillows, knowing he'd lost this battle before it began. "Fine. But I still think this is ridiculous."

"Your opinion on the matter is noted." Tom stood, adjusting his perfectly straight tie. "Though entirely irrelevant to the situation."

"I'll see you in the common room later then," Tom said, his hand resting briefly on the back of the visitor's chair. "Try not to have any more dramatic episodes between now and dinner."

After Tom's footsteps faded, Madam Abbott bustled over with her wand and a collection of potions bottles.

"Right then, Mr. Evans. Let's get these final tests done so we can have you out of my hospital wing." She waved her wand in a complex pattern over Harry's chest. "Any dizziness or temperature fluctuations since this morning?"

"No, ma'am." Harry sat still as different colored lights emanated from her wand.

"Good, good." She uncorked a pale blue potion. "One last strengthening solution, then we'll check your reflexes. Any plans for the weekend? Nothing too strenuous, I hope?"

"Just meeting Avery in Hogsmeade tomorrow," Harry said before downing the potion. It tasted like mint and something metallic. "He wants to show me some new shop that opened near Honeydukes."

"Hmm." Abbott's lips pressed together. "Well, keep the visit brief. No Firewhisky or other spirits - they'll interact badly with the strengthening potions still in your system. And at the first sign of any unusual symptoms-"

"Come straight back to you," Harry finished. "I know."

"I mean it, Mr. Evans." She tested his reflexes with small sparks from her wand. "No heroics or stubborn delays if you start feeling off."

"Well, everything seems to be in order," Madam Abbott said, tucking her wand away. "Your vitals are stable, and the strengthening potions have done their work." Madam Abbott held up her hand as Harry started to rise. "One moment, Mr. Evans. Just need you to sign the release form before you go." She turned and walked briskly toward her office, her white apron swishing with each step. The click of her sensible heels echoed off the stone walls as she disappeared through the doorway.

Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed, eager to escape the hospital wing's confines. Just as he gathered his books, the infirmary door creaked open.

Lucretia Black stepped inside, her usually perfect posture slightly rigid. Her dark eyes met Harry's briefly before darting away.

"Hi Lucretia," Harry said, straightening his robes. "Everything alright?"

"Fine." Her voice came out clipped. "Just need to see Madam Abbott."

"Want to chat for a bit?" Harry gestured to the now-empty bed. "I've been stuck here all week - wouldn't mind the company before heading back to the common room."

"No, that's okay." Lucretia's fingers twisted in her sleeve. "I'll just wait for Madam Abbott to finish up with you."

She moved to sit on a distant bed, her back straight as a board, gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

"Here you go, Mr. Evans." Abbott held out a piece of parchment and quill. "Standard procedure - confirming you understand the post-treatment instructions and restrictions."

Harry scanned the form, noting the warnings about alcohol and strenuous activity. His eyes flickered to where Lucretia sat, shoulders tense, still avoiding his gaze.

"Madam Abbott," Harry lowered his voice as he signed. "Is Lucretia still having trouble from the dragon pox? She seems... different."

Abbott's expression tightened. "Patient confidentiality, Mr. Evans. I cannot discuss other students' medical conditions."

"Right, sorry." Harry handed back the form. "It's just - I know she was in here for dragon pox and-"

"Miss Black never had dragon pox, Mr. Evans." Abbott's voice carried a sharp edge. "And that's all I can say on the matter." She glanced at Lucretia, something like concern crossing her features before her professional mask slipped back into place. "Now then," Abbott tucked the signed form into a folder. "Remember what I said about the potions interactions. I also suggest you go straight to your own bed and rest for the remainder of today. And no wandering off alone."

Harry nodded, gathering his remaining books. "Thanks for everything, Madam Abbott."

As he reached the doorway, he paused and glanced back. Lucretia still sat perched on the distant bed, her dark hair falling forward to hide her face. Her fingers continued twisting anxiously in her sleeve. The morning sunlight streaming through the windows made her look smaller somehow, more fragile than he remembered.

A twinge of concern pulled at his chest as he watched her for a moment longer before stepping through the doorway.

*

The familiar green-tinged light of the Slytherin common room washed over Harry as he stepped through the stone entrance. After days of stark white hospital walls, the dark leather chairs and ornate tapestries felt wonderfully normal.

"Evans!" Rosier looked up from his Charms homework. "Finally escaped Abbott's clutches?"

"About time," Nott added from his spot by the fire. "Place isn't the same without your terrible chess strategies."

A few other Slytherins nodded in his direction, offering quiet "welcome backs" as Harry crossed the common room. Even Walburga Black glanced up from her Ancient Runes translation to give him a slight nod of acknowledgment.

"Good to see you vertical again," Mulciber called from a corner table stacked with books. "Though I have to say, collapsing in front of Riddle was quite dramatic, even for you."

Harry ignored the comment, his feet already carrying him toward the dormitory stairs. After a week of hospital wing restrictions and Abbott's hovering, his bed beckoned like a siren song. The stone steps felt cool and familiar under his shoes as he descended to the boys' quarters.

The dormitory door creaked open, revealing the familiar sight of green-draped four-posters and his own trunk at the foot of his bed. Harry dropped his books on his bedside table, not bothering to unpack them properly. The mattress welcomed him as he sank down, infinitely more comfortable than the hospital wing's narrow cots.

Harry drew his curtains closed with a flick of his wand, shutting out the dim dungeon light. The familiar green fabric cocooned him in darkness as he kicked off his shoes and stretched out on top of his blankets. His muscles relaxed into the mattress, tension draining from his shoulders. The quiet darkness wrapped around him like a warm blanket. No more of Abbott's constant fussing or the hospital wing's antiseptic smell. Just blessed silence and his own comfortable bed. His eyes grew heavy as exhaustion caught up with him.

*

Harry jolted awake as something heavy landed on his bed, making the mattress bounce. He fumbled for his wand, curtains flying open to reveal Avery's grinning face.

"Miss me?" Avery sprawled across Harry's legs, still wearing his traveling cloak.

"You're back early." Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking sleep from his eyes. "Thought you weren't due until Saturday."

"Couldn't stand another minute of Mother's fussing." Avery rolled onto his back, taking up most of Harry's bed. "If I had to sit through one more lecture about proper pure-blood etiquette..."

"Poor baby." Lestrange leaned against Harry's bedpost, smirking. "Such hardship, having your family dote on you for your birthday."

"You try spending three days being paraded around like a prize Crup." Avery kicked off his shoes, making himself comfortable. "Father invited half the Ministry. Had to shake hands with so many officials my arm nearly fell off."

"Get off my bed," Harry grumbled. "You're crushing my feet."

"But you're so comfy." Avery snuggled deeper into Harry's mattress. "Much better than those stiff formal chairs at home."

"How was the party?" Lestrange asked, dodging as Harry threw a pillow at Avery's head.

"Dreadful. Mother invited the Greengrass sisters. Had to dance with both of them while our parents discussed 'future arrangements.'"

"Future arrangements?" Harry snorted. "Already planning the wedding?"

"Don't even joke about that." Avery shuddered dramatically. "I'd rather kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt."

"Could be worse," Lestrange said. "Could've been the Black sisters."

"Don't remind me." Avery finally sat up, freeing Harry's legs.

"At least you got presents," Harry said, finally managing to sit up properly. "Anything good?"

"Mostly boring stuff. Books about family history, formal robes, that sort of thing." Avery flopped back down, his head landing in Harry's lap. "Though Father did get me a new racing broom."

"Get your fat head off me." Harry tried to shove Avery away, but the other boy just grinned and made himself more comfortable.

"But you're such a good pillow." Avery batted his eyelashes dramatically. "And I'm exhausted from all that proper pure-blood posturing."

Lestrange snorted. "You're impossible."

"You love me anyway." Avery reached up and poked Harry's cheek. "Evans does too, don't you?"

"I'm seriously reconsidering that." Harry tried to maintain a stern expression but couldn't quite manage it as Avery pulled an exaggerated pout.

"You wound me deeply." Avery clutched his chest. "After I rushed back early just to see your grumpy face."

"Thought you came back to escape your mother's fussing?"

"That too." Avery twisted to look up at Harry. "But mostly I missed your charming personality and delightful morning grumpiness."

"If you don't get off me, you'll see exactly how grumpy I can be." Harry threatened, though there was no real heat in his voice.

"Promises, promises." Avery winked, making Lestrange groan.

"You two are giving me a headache," Lestrange said, but his fond smile betrayed his amusement.

Avery finally rolled off Harry's lap, but before standing, he leaned in close - his breath warm against Harry's ear. "Looking forward to tomorrow," he whispered, low enough that Lestrange couldn't hear. His eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Harry felt his cheeks warm at the intimate proximity. Before he could respond, Avery had already bounced up from the bed, stretching dramatically.

"Well, we should let you rest," Lestrange said, checking his watch. "Abbott will have our heads if you end up back in the hospital wing from exhaustion."

"He's right." Avery straightened his rumpled robes. "Get some sleep. You still look a bit peaky."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Harry said dryly, but he couldn't suppress a yawn.

The two boys headed for the door, Avery pausing to throw one last grin over his shoulder before following Lestrange out. The dormitory door clicked shut behind them, leaving Harry alone in the peaceful quiet.

Chapter Text

Saturday came in sunny and clear. Harry pulled on his usual weekend clothes - a simple jumper and worn jeans. He ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, not bothering with any special effort. When he reached the entrance hall, he found Avery already waiting. Harry paused, surprised by his friend's appearance. Avery wore crisp dark robes that looked freshly pressed, his hair carefully styled instead of its usual casual sweep. A hint of cologne drifted through the air.

"You're looking fancy," Harry said, raising an eyebrow. 

Avery's cheeks tinged pink. "Just felt like making an effort." He smoothed invisible wrinkles from his sleeve. "Nothing wrong with dressing up sometimes."

"Suppose not." Harry grinned. "Though you might be a bit overdressed for tea and pastries."

"Better overdressed than underdressed," Avery said, but his fingers fidgeted with his collar. "Ready to go?"

They stepped out into the spring sunshine, their shoes crunching on the gravel path leading to Hogsmeade. Birds chirped in the budding trees, and a warm breeze carried the scent of fresh grass.

"So where exactly is this perfect spot?" Harry asked as they walked.

"It's a bit hidden," Avery said, walking closer to Harry than strictly necessary. "Down one of the side streets. You'll love it, trust me."

Harry noticed Avery kept glancing at him as they walked, an almost nervous energy in his movements. His usually confident friend seemed oddly tense, though Harry couldn't figure out why.

"You really didn't have to dress up just for tea," Harry said, trying to put him at ease. "Though the robes do look nice."

Avery's smile brightened. "You think so?"

"Course. Very posh." Harry bumped Avery's shoulder playfully. "Making the rest of us look shabby in comparison."

Avery led them down a narrow cobblestone street off Hogsmeade's main avenue. Quaint shops lined both sides, their windows displaying everything from enchanted teapots to exotic plants. The street grew quieter as they walked, the bustle of weekend shoppers fading behind them.

"Just up here," Avery said, gesturing to a small café tucked between an antique bookshop and a magical instrument repair store. A wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, painted with delicate roses that seemed to bloom and fade as they watched.

"Rose & Thorn," Harry read. "Never noticed this place before."

"Most people don't." Avery held the door open. "That's what makes it special."

Inside, the café was warm and intimate. Small round tables draped with cream-colored cloths dotted the space, each set with fine china and floating candles. The walls were painted a soft gold, and enchanted roses climbed wooden trellises in the corners. The cozy interior reminded Harry of Madam Puddifoot's tea shop - though that wouldn't exist for several more decades. The same romantic atmosphere hung in the air, with intimate tables and floating candles creating a distinctly couple-oriented ambiance. 

A witch in elegant mauve robes approached them, her silver hair swept up in an elaborate knot. "Welcome to Rose & Thorn. Table for two?"

"Yes, please." Avery's voice carried an undertone of nervousness. "By the window, if possible?"

She led them to a table bathed in sunlight from a stained glass window. The light cast rainbow patterns across the white tablecloth. Harry settled into his chair while Avery fidgeted with his napkin.

"The rosehip tea is our specialty," the witch said, presenting them with small gilded menus. "And our pastry chef just finished a fresh batch of lavender scones."

"Sounds perfect," Harry said, noticing how Avery kept smoothing his already-perfect robes. "You alright? You seem a bit... twitchy."

"Fine!" Avery's voice came out higher than usual. "Just... want everything to be nice, that's all."

"So," Harry stirred his tea, watching the liquid swirl. "Going to tell me why you're dressed like you're meeting the Minister of Magic?"

"Can't a wizard make an effort?" Avery adjusted his collar again. "Though speaking of the Minister, did you hear about his latest scandal? Apparently got caught trying to transfigure his bald spot into hair."

Harry snorted into his cup. "How'd that work out?"

"Ended up with a patch of grass instead." Avery's shoulders relaxed as he fell into the familiar rhythm of gossip. "Had to wear his hat to all official functions for a week."

"Better than that time Slughorn tried to charm his mustache darker," Harry said. "Remember how it kept changing colors during class?"

"Merlin, yes!" Avery laughed. "Went from brown to purple to that awful chartreuse shade. Though not as bad as when Lestrange tried to impress that Ravenclaw girl by showing off his 'advanced' transfiguration."

"The rabbit incident?" Harry grinned. "Poor thing ended up half-teacup, hopping around squeaking like a kettle."

"Still makes that whistling noise when he gets excited." Avery wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

Their laughter faded into comfortable silence as they sipped their tea. Sunlight caught the floating candles, making them sparkle like stars despite the daylight. The scent of fresh pastries drifted from the kitchen.

"These scones are amazing," Harry said, breaking off a piece of his lavender-infused treat. "How'd you find this place?"

"Mother used to bring me here when I was little." Avery traced the pattern on his teacup with one finger. "Before Hogwarts, whenever we'd visit Hogsmeade for shopping. She'd let me have an extra biscuit if I promised not to tell Father about our detour."

Harry watched a rose unfurl its petals on the nearby trellis. "Must've been nice, having those memories."

"It was." Avery's expression softened. "Though it's different now, sharing it with..." He trailed off, cheeks flushing pink again.

The witch returned with a fresh pot of tea, her silver hair catching the rainbow light from the window. "More rosehip blend?"

"Please." Avery held out his cup, his hand trembling slightly. A few drops splashed onto the tablecloth.

"Careful there." Harry handed him a napkin. "You're still jumpy. Sure you're alright?"

"Never better." Avery's smile looked forced.

Harry finished the last bite of his scone, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. The café had grown quieter as the afternoon wore on, most patrons finishing their tea and departing.

"This was really nice," Harry said, watching another enchanted rose bloom on the trellis. "Though I feel a bit underdressed compared to your fancy robes."

Avery waved off his concern. "You look perfect- I mean, you look fine. As you are." He cleared his throat, fiddling with his teacup. "Having a good time?"

"Yeah, actually." Harry smiled. "Better than being cooped up in the castle all day. What else is there to do around here? I've mostly just seen the main street shops."

Avery's face lit up at Harry's interest in spending more time together. "There's this brilliant music shop just down the way. Magical instruments, rare recordings, that sort of thing. They've got these enchanted gramophones that make the music sound like a live performance."

"Sounds interesting." Harry leaned forward. "Never really explored wizard music much."

"Really?" Avery's earlier nervousness seemed to melt away as he talked about something he loved. "Oh, you have to hear some of the classic wizarding bands. The Weird Sisters are amazing - not the current ones, the original group from the 1920s. They pioneered mixing magical sounds with traditional instruments."

"Show me?" Harry suggested. "After we finish here?"

"You want to?" Avery's smile widened. "I mean, yes! Absolutely. I know all the best recordings to start with."

Avery paid for their tea despite Harry's protests, insisting it was his treat since he'd chosen the location. They stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine, the café's bell tinkling behind them.

"Music shop's this way." Avery led them down another winding side street. His earlier nervousness seemed forgotten as he chatted enthusiastically about different magical composers and bands.

"The shop owner's a bit eccentric," Avery warned as they approached a narrow storefront. "But he knows everything about magical music history. Once spent three hours explaining the evolution of self-playing violins to me."

The shop window displayed an array of instruments - some familiar, others completely foreign to Harry. A silver flute floated in midair, playing a soft melody that they could hear even through the glass. Next to it, what looked like a cross between a harp and a grandfather clock chimed in harmony.

"After you." Avery held the door, the gesture oddly formal compared to his now-relaxed demeanor.

Inside, the shop was larger than it appeared from the street. Shelves stretched toward the ceiling, packed with records, instruments, and musical devices Harry had never seen before. A gramophone in the corner played what sounded like an entire orchestra, though no musicians were visible.

"This is brilliant," Harry said, watching a set of drums that played themselves in perfect rhythm.

"Wait till you hear the classical stuff." Avery's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

Avery pulled Harry through the cramped aisles, pointing out different magical instruments with infectious enthusiasm. His earlier stiffness had completely melted away, replaced by his usual playful energy.

"Oh, you have to hear this one!" Avery grabbed Harry's arm, dragging him toward an ornate gramophone. He selected a record from a nearby shelf, handling it with careful reverence before placing it on the player. "Close your eyes."

Harry complied, fighting back a grin at his friend's excitement. Music filled the air - not just sound, but something that seemed to dance across his skin like summer wind.

"Can you feel it?" Avery whispered. "The enchantments weave the music into physical sensation. Like being inside the song itself."

Harry opened his eyes to find Avery watching his reaction intently, practically bouncing on his toes. "That's incredible."

"Right?" Avery beamed. "Here, try this one next." He switched records with practiced ease. "It's a duet between a phoenix and a magical violin. The phoenix actually burst into flame during the recording - you can hear the moment it happens if you listen carefully."

They spent the next hour exploring different recordings, Avery providing animated commentary about each piece's history and significance. He gestured wildly while explaining how one composer had enchanted an entire orchestra to play underwater for merpeople, nearly knocking over a display of enchanted triangles.

"Sorry!" Avery caught the instruments before they could fall, laughing as they chimed indignantly. "Got a bit carried away there."

"You think?" Harry teased, helping him straighten the display. "Good thing these weren't those exploding cymbals you mentioned earlier."

"That was one time!" Avery protested, but his eyes crinkled with mirth. "And my eyebrows grew back eventually."

They wandered deeper into the shop, discovering a section where visitors could test various instruments. Avery immediately grabbed what looked like a cross between a lute and a peacock, its strings glowing faintly.

"Watch this," he said, strumming a few experimental chords. The instrument responded by shooting small fireworks from its decorative tail feathers, making them both jump and then dissolve into laughter.

The afternoon light had shifted to golden when they finally emerged from the music shop, their ears still ringing pleasantly from testing various magical instruments. The street had grown quieter, most shoppers already headed back toward the castle.

"That was amazing," Harry said, still grinning from their musical adventures. "Though I think we scared that poor shop owner when the bagpipes started chasing us."

"How was I supposed to know they were territorial?" Avery laughed, running a hand through his now-disheveled hair. His earlier formal demeanor had completely disappeared, replaced by the comfortable friendship they usually shared. "At least they didn't catch us."

They walked slowly down the cobblestone street. The setting sun painted the shop windows in warm colors, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of early spring flowers.

Avery glanced at Harry, a hint of his earlier nervousness returning. "So... are you having fun? With all this, I mean?"

"Having a blast," Harry said honestly, bumping Avery's shoulder with his own. "Best afternoon I've had in ages. Though next time, maybe warn me before handing me self-playing cymbals."

Avery slowed his pace, letting their shoulders brush as they walked. The street had emptied now, most students already headed back to the castle. Golden sunlight caught in Harry's messy hair, making Avery's breath catch.

"We should probably head back soon," Harry said, though he made no move to quicken his steps.

"Yeah," Avery agreed, his voice light. He walked beside Harry, his fingers twitching near his side—just close enough for Harry to feel the warmth between them.

Harry smiled at him, that crooked grin that made Avery's heart skip. "Thanks for showing me all this. The tea shop, the music... it's been brilliant."

"Any time." Avery's voice came out rougher than intended. He kept his eyes forward, but Harry noticed the way he glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

"We should definitely do this again," Harry said, smiling warmly at his friend. "Maybe explore some other hidden spots in Hogsmeade you know about?"

Avery's heart skipped at the suggestion. The way Harry looked in the golden evening light, his green eyes bright with enthusiasm, made Avery's breath catch. "Yeah?" he asked softly. "You'd want to?"

"Course!" Harry nudged him playfully. "You're brilliant company. And clearly know all the best places." He ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, making it stick up even more. "Honestly, this has been the most fun I've had since coming to Hogwarts."

Avery stepped closer, their shoulders brushing. The nearly empty street felt intimate in the fading light. "You mean that?"

"Absolutely." Harry turned to face him, still wearing that adorably oblivious smile.

Avery's fingers trembled slightly at his side. The way Harry was looking at him, so open and sincere...

"You're special to me," Harry continued, completely unaware of the effect his words were having. "Best friend I could ask for."

Avery swallowed hard, gathering his courage. Harry was so close now, close enough that Avery could count his eyelashes in the golden light. The moment felt perfect - just the two of them, surrounded by the warm glow of sunset, Harry's eyes sparkling as he smiled that devastating smile.

"Harry," Avery whispered, leaning in slightly. His heart pounded so hard he was sure Harry must hear it. He closed the final distance between them, pressing his lips softly against Harry's.

The world seemed to stop spinning for a moment as Harry's brain struggled to process what was happening. His thoughts were racing in a dozen different directions at once. Suddenly, all of Avery's strange behavior made perfect sense - the formal robes, the romantic tea shop, the nervous glances and lingering touches. This hadn't just been a friendly outing; it had been a date. Panic fluttered in Harry's chest. Was this even allowed in the 1940s? He'd never read anything about wizard attitudes toward same-sex relationships in this era. The magical world sometimes differed from Muggle society in unexpected ways, but this...

The kiss itself was gentle, almost hesitant. Avery's lips moved softly against his own, one hand coming up to barely brush Harry's cheek. There was a sweetness to it that Harry hadn't expected, mixed with the lingering taste of lavender scones and tea. Something fluttered in his stomach - not entirely unpleasant, but overwhelming in its implications.

The kiss ended softly, Avery pulling back just enough to study Harry's face. His cheeks were flushed pink, eyes bright with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

Harry's lips still tingled where Avery's had pressed against them. "I..." His mouth felt dry. He looked at Avery's beaming face, those familiar brown eyes filled with such pure joy and hope. His friend practically glowed in the golden evening light, happiness radiating from every feature.

"That was... nice," Harry managed, forcing a small smile. His mind screamed at him that this wasn't fair to either of them, but he couldn't bring himself to shatter this moment. Not when Avery looked at him like he'd just handed him the world.

"Yeah?" Avery's smile grew impossibly brighter. His fingers intertwined with Harry's, warm and steady. "I've wanted to do that for ages."

Harry squeezed Avery's hand, guilt churning in his stomach even as he returned the gesture. He needed time to think, to sort through the chaos in his head. But right now, with Avery practically vibrating with happiness beside him, he couldn't form the words to explain his confusion.

"We should head back," Harry said softly, keeping his tone gentle. "Before curfew."

"Yeah, we should," Avery agreed softly, releasing Harry's hand. They fell into step beside each other as they walked back toward the castle.

The streets of Hogsmeade had emptied, shops closing their doors for the evening. Their footsteps echoed against the cobblestones, neither breaking the comfortable silence that settled between them. A group of seventh-years passed them going the opposite direction, and both boys shifted slightly further apart.

Harry kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead, his mind replaying the kiss over and over. The gentle press of Avery's lips, the warmth of his hand, the look of pure joy on his face afterward. His stomach twisted with guilt - he shouldn't have let it happen, shouldn't have encouraged whatever this was. Beside him, Avery walked with his hands in his pockets, a small smile playing at his lips as he seemed lost in his own thoughts. His usual energetic chatter was absent, replaced by contemplative silence.

They passed through the castle gates, nodding politely to the prefect on duty. Their shadows stretched long across the grounds as the sun sank lower behind the mountains.

Other students dotted the path back to the castle, so they maintained their careful distance. No lingering looks, just two friends walking back from Hogsmeade like any other Saturday evening. If anyone noticed the slight flush still coloring Avery's cheeks or the way Harry's fingers kept twitching toward his lips, they didn't mention it.

*

Harry's footsteps echoed off the stone walls as he wandered the empty corridors. The castle felt different at night - shadows deeper, portraits whispering as he passed, suits of armor creaking in the darkness. He couldn't face the Slytherin dormitory, not with Avery's soft snores reminding him of what had occurred earlier today. 

"Out after curfew, Evans?"

Harry spun around to find Tom leaning against a pillar, his prefect badge catching the moonlight streaming through a high window.

"Couldn't sleep," Harry muttered, running a hand through his already messy hair.

"I haven't seen you around today." Tom's voice carried a hint of... something. Not quite accusation, but close.

Harry shifted his weight, suddenly very aware of being alone with Tom in the dark corridor. The events of the afternoon felt like a secret burning in his chest - one more thing he needed to hide from those calculating dark eyes.

"Just needed some space," Harry said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "To think."

Tom stepped closer, his shoes clicking softly against stone. "Thinking about what, exactly?"

"Just... stuff." Harry leaned against the cold wall, grateful for its solid presence at his back. "Actually, maybe you could help me understand something."

Tom's eyebrows rose slightly. "How intriguing. The ever-independent Evans seeking my assistance?"

"It's about wizarding culture." Harry chose his words carefully. "Being raised away from all this, there's still so much I don't know about how things work here."

"Such as?"

Harry's fingers traced patterns on the rough stone behind him. "I was wondering... how does the magical world view... relationships between wizards? Like, two wizards together?"

Tom's expression shifted from mild interest to sharp focus. "Ah. You're asking about same-sex relationships."

"Yeah." Harry kept his voice casual. "In the Muggle world it's... well, it's complicated. But I've never read anything about how wizards handle it."

"The magical community is generally more... progressive in such matters." Tom studied Harry's face in the dim light. "Magic recognizes compatible cores regardless of gender. Some of the most powerful bonding rituals in history were performed between same-sex couples."

"So it's... accepted?"

"Within reason." Tom's lips curved slightly. "The older families still expect heirs, of course. But private relationships are rarely questioned, particularly at our age."

Harry exhaled slowly. "That's... good to know."

"Indeed." Tom's dark eyes glittered with interest. "Any particular reason for your curiosity?"

"Just trying to understand." Harry pushed off from the wall, needing to move. "Everything's so different here compared to where I grew up."

Tom stepped into his path, blocking his retreat. "Your reaction suggests personal experience rather than academic curiosity."

"It's late." Harry tried to sidestep around him. "I should get back to the dormitory."

"Running away, Evans?" Tom's voice carried that dangerous edge of interest.

"I'm not running." Harry met Tom's gaze steadily, though his heart hammered against his ribs. "Just tired."

"Interesting day in Hogsmeade?" Tom asked casually - too casually. His dark eyes never left Harry's face.

Harry's stomach dropped. Had Tom seen something? "It was fine. Normal Saturday stuff."

"Really?" Tom stepped closer, invading Harry's space. "Because I noticed Avery returned looking rather... pleased with himself."

"That's none of your business." Harry's fingers curled into fists at his sides.

"Everything that happens in Slytherin house is my business." Tom's voice dropped lower. "Especially when it involves my... associates."

"Avery's not your property." Harry lifted his chin defiantly. "Neither am I."

Tom's eyes flashed in the darkness. "No, you're not my property. But you are playing a dangerous game, Evans."

"I'm not playing any game." Harry tried to step back, but the wall blocked his retreat. "What happens between me and Avery is private."

"Privacy is an illusion in these halls." Tom's voice carried a hint of warning. "Especially for those who catch my attention."

"Is that what this is about?" Harry's anger flared. "You can't stand the idea of someone having relationships you don't control?"

"Control?" Tom's laugh held no warmth. "You think this is about control?"

"Isn't it always with you?"

Tom moved closer, his presence filling Harry's senses. The scent of parchment and cedar wood wrapped around him, making his head spin. "You understand so little, Evans."

"Then explain it to me." Harry forced himself to hold Tom's intense gaze. "Why do you care who Avery spends time with?"

"Perhaps I'm more interested in who you spend time with." Tom's fingers brushed Harry's sleeve, so light he might have imagined it. "After all, you remain quite the mystery."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as Tom's fingers lingered on his sleeve. The corridor felt smaller suddenly, the shadows pressing closer around them.

"I'm not a mystery to be solved," Harry said, hating how his voice wavered slightly. "And whatever you think is happening with Avery-"

"What I think?" Tom's lips curved into a dangerous smile. "I don't need to think anything, Evans. The evidence speaks for itself."

"What evidence?"

"The way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching." Tom's fingers trailed up Harry's arm, barely touching. "How he finds every excuse to be near you, to touch you. Rather obvious, really."

Harry tried to suppress a shiver at Tom's touch. "Stop analyzing everything. Not everyone has hidden motives like you do."

"Don't they?" Tom leaned closer, his breath ghosting across Harry's cheek. "Then tell me, what were your motives today? Leading him on, letting him think-"

"I didn't lead anyone on," Harry protested, though guilt churned in his stomach.

"No?" Tom's hand moved to Harry's collar, adjusting it with deliberate care. "Then why are you here in the dark with me instead of celebrating your romantic afternoon?"

Harry's skin burned where Tom's fingers brushed his neck. "I needed air. Space to think."

"Think about what?" Tom's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "About how his kiss felt? Or about why you couldn't return his feelings?"

Harry jerked away from Tom's touch. "How did you-"

"I told you, Evans." Tom's smile held triumph. "Nothing happens in these halls without my knowledge."

Harry's heart raced as he processed Tom's words. The corridor suddenly felt too small, too intimate.

"You were watching us?" Harry's voice came out rough. "Following me around Hogsmeade?"

"I have my sources." Tom's fingers returned to Harry's collar, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. "Though I must say, your reaction to his advances was... fascinating."

"Stop." Harry knocked Tom's hand away. "You don't get to analyze this like one of your experiments."

"But that's exactly what it is, isn't it?" Tom's dark eyes glittered in the moonlight streaming through the high windows. "Poor Avery, pouring his heart out, while you stand there wondering how to let him down gently."

"You don't know anything about my feelings."

"Don't I?" Tom stepped closer, backing Harry against the cold stone wall.

Harry's fingers pressed against the rough stone behind him, seeking something solid to ground himself. "Why do you care? What possible interest could my love life have for the great Tom Riddle?"

"Perhaps I simply dislike seeing my followers distracted by... futile pursuits." Tom's voice dropped lower, intimate in the darkness. "Or perhaps there's another reason entirely."

Harry's breath caught as Tom leaned closer, close enough that Harry could feel the warmth radiating from his body. The scent of parchment and cedar wood filled his senses again, making his head spin.

"What other reason?" Harry managed to whisper, though his voice shook slightly.

Tom's fingers traced Harry's jaw, feather-light but deliberate. "I think you know exactly what I mean, Evans."

Harry's heart thundered against his ribs as Tom's fingers lingered on his jaw. The moonlight streaming through the high windows cast shadows across Tom's aristocratic features, making his dark eyes appear almost black.

"I don't know what you mean," Harry whispered.

Tom's thumb brushed across Harry's lower lip, the touch light as a feather. "No? For someone so perceptive about others' motivations, you can be remarkably blind to what's right in front of you."

Harry's breath hitched at the intimate gesture. The stone wall pressed cold against his back. Tom's proximity made it hard to think clearly - the warmth of his body, the lingering scent of parchment and cedar, the intensity in those dark eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry's voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

"Because you fascinate me." Tom's fingers trailed down Harry's neck, coming to rest at his collar. "Your contradictions, your secrets, the way you resist everything I offer while drawing closer at the same time."

Harry swallowed hard, feeling Tom's fingers move with the motion. "I'm not drawing closer to anything."

"No?" Tom's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Then why are you still here, Evans? Why haven't you pushed me away?"

The question hung in the air between them. Harry opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. His skin tingled where Tom touched him, sending sparks of electricity down his spine.

Tom leaned closer, his breath warm against Harry’s cheek. "Your silence speaks volumes."

Harry’s thoughts scrambled. This was wrong—so wrong. His mind screamed at him to move, to push Tom away, to remember who this was—what he would become. But his body betrayed him. He remained frozen, pressed against the cold stone wall as Tom’s thumb brushed his jawline again. A shiver ran down his spine, but it had nothing to do with fear.

This is Tom Riddle. Future Dark Lord. Murderer. Monster. The mantra rang in his head, but it felt distant, hollow, compared to the heat of Tom’s body just inches away.

"Your pulse is racing," Tom murmured, his fingers finding the place where Harry’s heartbeat thundered beneath his skin. "Afraid, Harry?"

Harry wanted to say yes. Wanted to claim fear as the cause of his racing heart, his shaky breath. But the lie stuck in his throat as Tom’s other hand came to rest beside his head, trapping him further. He’d just escaped one impossible situation with Avery, only to stumble into something more dangerous, more forbidden. His brain felt foggy, disoriented, unable to focus on anything but Tom’s touch as his fingers trailed down Harry’s neck.

Tom’s grip tightened just slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to assert control. His other hand slid from the wall to cup Harry’s face, thumb brushing his cheekbone with a tenderness that made Harry’s stomach twist.

"So different from Avery’s hesitant touch, isn’t it?" Tom’s voice dropped to a silky whisper. "His fumbling attempts at romance, his desperate need for approval."

Harry’s breath caught as Tom leaned closer, his body towering over him. Avery’s shy approach in Hogsmeade felt like a lifetime ago. Tom moved with deliberate purpose—every gesture, every touch, calculated to provoke a response.

"I—" Harry tried to speak, but the words died in his throat as Tom’s thumb traced his lower lip again, this time with more insistence.

"Shh," Tom interrupted, his gaze darkening as he studied Harry’s face. "No more running, Evans. No more pretending."

The cold stone pressed painfully into Harry’s back, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from Tom. His heart hammered in his chest, the rapid pulse under Tom’s fingers betraying his confusion.

Tom leaned down, his lips hovering just above Harry’s. His breath was warm and intimate, and Harry could feel the weight of Tom’s presence—pure control, every inch of him confident and assured. No trace of the nervous energy Avery had displayed earlier.

"Tell me to stop," Tom murmured, lips brushing Harry’s as he spoke. "Tell me this isn’t what you’ve been running from all along."

Harry's breaths came quick. This was madness. Complete madness. He hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t wanted Tom’s dangerous proximity, or the way those elegant fingers traced patterns on his skin. He should move. He should push Tom away. But instead, he stood there, frozen. Why wasn’t he moving? Why did it feel like some kind of bizarre dream? The logical part of his brain screamed at him to escape, to flee before things went further. But with each brush of Tom’s fingers down his neck, that voice grew fainter. His skin felt hypersensitive, every touch sending sparks through his nerves.

Tom’s dark eyes locked onto Harry’s, intense and unrelenting. The mask of indifference had slipped, exposing something raw—something hungry beneath. Without warning, Tom closed the distance between them, capturing Harry’s lips in a kiss that was worlds apart from Avery’s hesitant touch. Where Avery had been tentative, Tom was commanding—his kiss calculated, purposeful. His hand tightened on Harry’s jaw, anchoring him in place as he deepened the kiss.

Harry’s mind went blank, consumed by the intensity. Avery’s kiss had been sweet, almost innocent. This was something else entirely. Tom kissed like he did everything else—controlled, precise, and utterly possessive. His lips moved with practiced skill, drawing out responses Harry didn’t even know he could give.

Avery’s kiss had left Harry room to think, to pull away. Tom’s kiss, however, left him no space—only the intensity of his presence, marking him in a way he wouldn’t forget. One hand tangled in Harry’s hair, the other gripping his jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone as he kissed him harder. Where Avery had trembled with nerves, Tom radiated control. His body pressed into Harry’s, making the cold stone feel even more distant, as if Harry were nothing but an extension of Tom’s will. There was no gentleness—Tom kissed like he owned the world.

Tom pulled back abruptly, stepping away with fluid grace. He studied Harry for a moment, taking in his flushed cheeks and swollen lips, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Something to think about, Evans," he said, voice still calm, controlled—as if nothing had changed. He straightened his collar with meticulous care.

Harry remained frozen against the wall, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. His lips still tingled from Tom’s kiss, his skin still burned where Tom had touched him.

Without another word, Tom turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor until they faded into the distance. Harry remained where he was, still pressed against the stone, his mind reeling. He slid to the floor, head leaning back against the wall. What had just happened? Why had Tom kissed him? Why hadn’t he pushed him away? And most troubling of all—why had it felt so different from Avery’s kiss? Why had it felt so... real?

Harry closed his eyes, trying to make sense of everything. Nothing made sense anymore. Not Avery’s confession, not Tom’s possessive display. And certainly not his own reactions to either of them. He let his head fall back against the stone, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. Every certainty he’d held about maintaining distance from Tom Riddle had just crumbled into dust.

Chapter Text

Harry's footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, each sound amplifying his racing thoughts. Portraits whispered as he passed, but he barely registered their curious gazes. His fingers traced along the rough stone walls, seeking something solid to ground himself.

Two kisses. Two completely different experiences. 

"Bloody hell," he muttered, running a hand through his already messy hair. How was he supposed to face Avery at breakfast? The memory of that shy, hopeful smile in Hogsmeade twisted something in his chest. And Tom...

Harry's steps faltered as phantom sensations of Tom's demanding kiss flickered across his lips. He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to block out the memory.

"Hermione would know what to do." His whispered words disappeared into the darkness. She'd have that look - half exasperation, half sympathy - before launching into a detailed analysis of the situation. Ron would probably just stare at him in horror before suggesting they go play Quidditch until the problem went away.

His feet carried him through the castle without conscious direction. Past empty classrooms and silent suits of armor, up staircases that shifted beneath him, until he found himself standing before the familiar stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office.

Harry stared at the grotesque statue, its shadows dancing in the moonlight streaming through nearby windows. Dumbledore might offer some clarity. Or at least give him that knowing twinkle that somehow made problems seem less insurmountable.

The gargoyle watched him impassively as Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot. It was the middle of the night. Dumbledore was surely asleep. And what would he even say? 'Sorry to wake you, Professor, but I've gotten myself into a mess and I don't know what to do'?

Harry's knuckles rapped against the heavy wooden door. Silence answered. He knocked again, harder this time, not caring about proper etiquette or appropriate hours.

"Professor Dumbledore!" His voice cracked with desperation. "Please, I need to speak with you!"

More silence. Harry slumped against the door frame, his forehead pressing against the cool wood. A shuffling sound from within made him straighten.

"Who's there?" Dumbledore's voice carried through the door, alert despite the late hour.

"Harry Evans, sir. I'm sorry, I know it's late, but-"

The door creaked open. Dumbledore stood in midnight blue robes decorated with silver stars, his auburn hair slightly mussed from sleep.

"Mr. Evans? What brings you to my office at this hour?"

"I need to go back." Harry's words tumbled out in a rush. "To my own time. Right now. Tonight. I can't stay here anymore."

Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes studied him over half-moon spectacles. "Come in." He stepped aside, gesturing Harry into the circular office.

"Please," Harry continued as the door closed behind them. "There must be some way. Books on time travel, experimental spells, anything. I don't care how dangerous it might be."

"Sit down, Mr. Evans." Dumbledore conjured a squashy armchair.

"I don't want to sit. I want to go home." Harry paced instead, his shoes clicking against the stone floor. "Everything's wrong here. I'm changing things I shouldn't change. Getting involved with people I should stay away from. I need to leave before-" He cut himself off, running shaking hands through his hair.

"Before what?" Dumbledore's voice remained gentle, but his eyes sharpened with interest.

"I just need to go back." Harry's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Please help me."

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a tea service materialized on his desk. The china clinked softly as he poured two cups, adding a splash of milk to one before offering it to Harry.

"Sit. Drink." His tone brooked no argument.

Harry's legs finally gave out, and he collapsed into the armchair. The teacup rattled in its saucer as his hands shook.

"I kissed Avery today. Or he kissed me. In Hogsmeade." The words spilled out before he could stop them. "And then Tom... Riddle... he..." Harry took a gulp of tea, scalding his tongue. "He kissed me too. Tonight. In the corridor."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly, but he remained silent, sipping his own tea.

"I didn't ask for any of this!" Harry's voice cracked. "Avery was just being nice, showing me around the village. And then we were at Rose & Thorn's, and it was actually kind of sweet, and then he..." He set the teacup down before he could drop it. "But Tom followed us. Or had someone follow us. And he cornered me after curfew and just... I didn't mean for any of this to happen!"

"These things rarely go according to plan," Dumbledore murmured.

"I don't have a plan! That's the problem!" Harry slumped further into the chair. "Avery's my friend. Was my friend. And Tom is... he's..." He couldn't finish the sentence. How could he explain that the boy who'd pressed him against the corridor wall would become the monster who murdered his parents?

"Neither of them asked. They just did it. And now everything's complicated and wrong and I can't..." Harry's voice trailed off as he stared into his teacup, wishing it held answers instead of just Earl Grey.

Dumbledore set his teacup down with a gentle clink. "Time is a curious thing, Mr. Evans. Like a river, it flows in ways we cannot always predict."

"I don't need metaphors." Harry pressed his palms against his eyes. "I need solutions."

"And what solution would you propose? Erasing these moments as if they never happened?"

"Yes! No..." Harry dropped his hands to his lap. "I don't know. But I can't stay here, getting tangled up in... this. Whatever this is."

"Yet here you are." Dumbledore's blue eyes held no judgment, only calm observation. "Making connections, forming bonds - whether you intended to or not."

"That's exactly the problem!" Harry stood again, unable to stay still. "I'm not supposed to be here, making friends or... or anything else. I need to focus on finding a way back."

"And have you considered that perhaps these connections are part of your journey here?"

Harry froze mid-pace. "What do you mean?"

"Magic works in mysterious ways, Mr. Evans. Your arrival in this time may serve purposes beyond your understanding." Dumbledore refilled his teacup. "Including the relationships you form."

"But I can't..." Harry's voice caught. "Tom Riddle of all people..."

"Ah." Dumbledore's expression shifted slightly. "Now we come to the heart of the matter."

Harry sank back into his chair, suddenly exhausted. "It's wrong. All of it. Avery's sweet and funny and actually cares about me. And Tom is..." He ran a hand through his hair. "Tom is dangerous. I know what he becomes. What he's capable of."

"Yet you're drawn to him nonetheless."

"I'm not drawn to-" Harry cut himself off, remembering the intensity in Tom's dark eyes, the way his own magic had sparked at their touch. "It doesn't matter. I can't let myself feel anything for either of them. I don't belong here. And you told me yourself - when I first arrived here - that I needed to keep my distance." Harry leaned forward in his chair. "You specifically warned me about getting close to anyone, especially Tom. Said it could have catastrophic consequences for the timeline."

Dumbledore's fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Indeed I did."

"So why aren't you telling me that now? Why aren't you warning me away from both of them?"

"Because, Mr. Evans, I've observed something rather interesting these past months." Dumbledore's eyes held that familiar knowing gleam. "Despite your best efforts to remain isolated, you've managed to affect those around you in ways I did not anticipate."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about!" Harry pushed back from his chair. "I'm changing things. Important things. The way Avery looks at me, the way Tom..." He swallowed hard. "This isn't what's supposed to happen."

"And yet it has happened." Dumbledore's voice remained maddeningly calm. "My earlier warnings were based on theoretical concerns. But theory must sometimes bow to reality."

"Reality?" Harry barked out a harsh laugh. "The reality is that I'm mucking up the entire timeline! Everything I do here could change the future - my future. People could die, or never be born, or..." He raked his hands through his hair. "You told me to stay away from Tom. You were right then, and you're right now. I can't let myself forget what he becomes."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, the candlelight casting shadows across his face. "Tell me, Mr. Evans, in your observations of young Mr. Riddle these past months - have you noticed any changes in his behavior?"

Harry opened his mouth to deny it, then hesitated. Tom's mask had slipped more frequently lately. That flash of genuine concern during Harry's temporal episode by the lake. The way his careful control fractured when he'd seen Harry with Avery.

"He's... different sometimes. When he thinks no one's watching." Harry's fingers traced the rim of his teacup. "But that doesn't mean anything. He's manipulative. Always has been."

"And yet you affect him in ways others do not." Dumbledore's eyes held that piercing quality Harry remembered from his own time. "I've watched him these past years, seen how he influences those around him while remaining untouched himself. Until you arrived."

"That's not-" Harry started to protest.

"He seeks you out, despite your resistance. Shows flashes of genuine emotion in your presence." Dumbledore raised a hand to forestall Harry's objection. "I'm not suggesting you trust him. Merely observing that your presence here has created... ripples."

"Ripples that could destroy everything." Harry's hands clenched in his lap. "I know what he becomes, Professor. The things he'll do. The people he'll hurt."

"Perhaps." Dumbledore refilled Harry's teacup with a wave of his wand. "Or perhaps that future is not as fixed as you believe."

Harry stared into the swirling liquid, watching steam rise in delicate spirals. "You don't understand. I can't risk changing things. Not with him. Not with anyone."

"Yet you already have." Dumbledore's voice remained gentle. "Every interaction, every conversation, every moment spent here affects the tapestry of time. You cannot exist in this period without leaving traces."

Harry slumped further into his chair. "So what am I supposed to do? Just... let this happen? Let myself get closer to them knowing it could destroy everything?"

"I cannot tell you what path to take, Mr. Evans." Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles. "But perhaps the question isn't whether you should form connections here, but rather what kind of influence those connections might have."

"You mean with Tom." Harry's fingers tightened around his teacup. "You think I could change him somehow."

"I think," Dumbledore said carefully, "that you've already begun to."

"That's impossible. He's already..." Harry trailed off, remembering Tom's face in the corridor - that flash of raw emotion before he'd kissed him. So different from his usual calculated control.

"Is it?" Dumbledore's eyes held that familiar twinkle. "You've seen sides of him few others have witnessed. And young Mr. Avery has shown remarkable growth since befriending you."

"Avery." Harry's chest tightened at the name. "He deserves better than this mess I've created."

"Perhaps you underestimate his resilience." Dumbledore set his empty teacup aside. "And your own importance in shaping events here."

Harry slumped further into the armchair, his tea gone cold and forgotten. "I don't know what to say to either of them." His voice cracked. "To Avery, who's been nothing but kind to me. Or to Tom, who..." He shook his head. "I just want to go home."

The silence stretched between them as Harry stared at his hands. "I miss Ron and Hermione. My friends who actually know me - the real me. Not this made-up person I'm pretending to be." His throat tightened. "In my time, I know who I am. What I'm fighting for. Here, everything's confused. Even my magic feels wrong here sometimes." Harry's fingers traced the familiar shape of his wand. "Like it knows I don't belong. I should be studying for O.W.L.s with my friends, planning DA meetings, not..." He swallowed hard. "Not getting tangled up in all this. I keep thinking about the common room in Gryffindor Tower. The squashy armchairs by the fire. The way the morning sun comes through those tall windows." His voice grew softer. "Even the smell of it - like wood smoke and old books and home."

Dumbledore remained silent as Harry continued, "Every morning I wake up in the Slytherin dungeons, and for a moment I forget where - when - I am. Then it all comes crashing back." He pressed his palms against his eyes. "And now I've made everything worse by letting myself get close to people here. People who should just be names in history books to me. I don't want to hurt Avery. And I can't let myself feel anything for Tom. I just..." Harry's hands dropped to his lap, his head thrown backward as he stared at the ceiling. 

Dumbledore sighed, rising from behind his desk. "I'm afraid, Mr. Evans, that I cannot offer you the solution you seek."

"But there must be something!" Harry leaned forward. "Books, research, experimental magic - anything!"

"Time magic remains one of the most mysterious and dangerous branches of study." Dumbledore walked to one of his many whirring silver instruments. "Even with decades of research, we've barely scratched the surface of its complexities."

"Then let me help research. I'll do whatever it takes." Harry stood, desperation creeping into his voice. "There has to be a way back."

"The magic that brought you here was unprecedented - an accident involving forces we don't fully understand." Dumbledore's fingers traced the edge of a delicate silver device. "Creating a deliberate method to return you would require knowledge far beyond our current capabilities."

Harry's shoulders slumped. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Evans." Dumbledore said. "I cannot offer false hope of an immediate solution."

"Right." Harry's voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Thanks anyway, Professor."

"Mr. Evans." Dumbledore's voice stopped him as he reached for the door handle. "Be careful with both young Mr. Riddle and Mr. Avery. Matters of the heart are complicated enough without the added weight of temporal displacement."

Harry nodded without turning around, then slipped out into the dark corridor. The stone walls seemed to press closer as he made his way back toward the dungeons, his footsteps echoing in the empty halls.

Chapter Text

Harry stared at the green canopy above his bed, watching shadows shift across the fabric as morning light filtered through the lake windows. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. Every time he'd started to drift off, his mind had replayed the corridor scene with Tom, then jumped to Avery's hurt expression in Hogsmeade.

He pulled his blanket tighter, creating a cocoon against the morning chill. Voices drifted through his closed curtains as his dormmates began stirring. Lestrange's distinctive drawl complained about early classes while Mulciber's heavy footsteps thumped toward the bathroom.

"Harry?" Avery's voice came from nearby. "You awake?"

Harry held perfectly still, keeping his breathing even. After a moment, he heard Avery's soft sigh and retreating footsteps.

More voices joined the morning bustle - people gathering books, arguing over missing ties, planning breakfast. Harry remained motionless behind his curtains, letting the sounds wash over him without engaging.

His stomach growled, reminding him he'd skipped dinner last night. The thought of facing everyone in the Great Hall made his chest tight. He'd stay here instead, hidden behind his bed curtains until the dormitory emptied.

"Going to breakfast?" Rosier called out to someone.

"Save me a seat," Mulciber responded. "Need to finish this Potions essay."

Harry closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he waited for them all to leave. The voices and footsteps gradually faded until only silence remained.

He still didn't move. The quiet felt safer than facing what waited beyond his curtains. Harry gazed at the fabric overhead and extended his arm upward. The metallic band from Avery glinted on his wrist. Avery really was wonderful - generous and dependable to his core. If only he hadn't developed romantic feelings for Harry, throwing their relationship off balance. Their friendship had been flawless before.

The situation with Tom was another matter entirely. Harry couldn't deny the charged atmosphere that had existed between them from day one. Yet he never imagined those sparks would ignite into such chaos.

Harry exhaled heavily. Perhaps he could remain in bed for the day's duration. It was, after all, Sunday. Nevertheless, tomorrow would usher in the same concerns. So, he stretched and propped himself up in bed. With another profound breath, he drew back the curtains and stepped out, slowly heading toward the bathroom.

Harry let the hot water cascade over his shoulders, steam filling the bathroom. He'd been standing under the spray for at least twenty minutes, using up all the hot water his dormmates had left. His fingers had pruned, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

Finally, the cooling temperature forced him out. He wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped condensation from the mirror. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, matching the exhaustion that weighed on his limbs. He took his time drying off, methodically running the towel over each arm, each leg. His movements grew slower as he pulled on his most comfortable weekend clothes - worn jeans and a soft grey sweater that had seen better days. The familiar fabric offered small comfort as he dragged a comb through his messy hair.

Harry padded back into the dormitory, his damp hair dripping onto his collar. A rustling sound from Lestrange's bed caught his attention - apparently not everyone had left for breakfast after all.

"That you, Harry?" Lestrange's sleep-roughened voice emerged from behind his curtains.

"Yeah." Harry dropped his towel in the laundry basket, watching it vanish to the house elves' domain.

"Time's it?" Lestrange's hand appeared through a gap in his curtains, groping blindly for his wand.

"Past ten." Harry settled onto his own bed, pulling his knees up to his chest.

Lestrange groaned. "Too early for a Sunday." His curtains parted slightly, revealing his disheveled dark hair and bleary eyes. "You look like shit."

"Thanks." Harry picked at a loose thread on his sweater.

"Rough night?" Lestrange propped himself up on one elbow, studying Harry's face. "Avery mentioned your date went well."

Harry's head snapped up. "He told you?"

"Course he did." Lestrange yawned, scratching his chest through his rumpled pajamas. "Practically floated into the common room yesterday, grinning like an idiot. Wouldn't shut up about it."

Harry's stomach dropped. Great. Just great. If Avery had told Lestrange, who else knew? His fingers twisted the loose thread on his sweater harder.

"Did he... did he tell anyone else?" Harry tried to keep his voice casual.

Lestrange shrugged, running a hand through his messy hair. "Dunno. I was in the common room when he came back. He sat with me and Rosier for a bit, couldn't stop smiling."

Rosier. So that made at least two people. Harry pressed his forehead against his knees. The last thing he needed was the whole house gossiping about his love life.

"You okay?" Lestrange's bed creaked as he sat up properly. "You look like someone died."

"I'm fine." Harry's voice came out muffled against his legs. "Just... I didn't want it getting around."

"Bit late for that, mate." Lestrange yawned again. "Avery's not exactly subtle when he's happy about something."

Harry groaned. He should have known better. Avery wore his heart on his sleeve - of course he'd want to share his excitement with friends. But now the whole situation felt even more overwhelming.

"Don't suppose you'd believe me if I said I was the only one he told?" Lestrange asked.

Harry lifted his head just enough to give Lestrange a flat look.

"Yeah, didn't think so." Lestrange stretched. "If it helps, he only mentioned the tea shop and the music store. Kept the details private."

It didn't help. Harry's chest felt tight as he imagined walking into the Great Hall, facing knowing looks from his housemates. He should have insisted they keep the date secret, should have talked to Avery right after. Now it was too late.

Harry sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his tangled emotions. He couldn't hide in the dormitory forever. Sooner or later, he'd have to face the consequences of yesterday's events.

"I'm going down to breakfast," he said, pushing himself off the bed.

Lestrange nodded, already burrowing back under his blankets. "Bring me a muffin?"

Harry didn't respond, already heading for the door. He walked slowly through the common room, his feet dragging on the stone floor. A few younger students sat by the fire, but most had already left for the Great Hall.

The corridor outside felt colder than usual, or maybe it was just Harry's dread making him shiver. He took the stairs one at a time, his stomach twisting tighter with each step. By the time he reached the entrance hall, his palms were sweaty and his heart raced.

He paused outside the Great Hall, taking a deep breath. He could hear the chatter of students inside, the clink of silverware on plates. Steeling himself, he stepped through the doorway.

The Slytherin table stretched before him. His eyes found Avery first, sitting near the middle of the table. Avery looked up, catching Harry's gaze. A brilliant smile spread across his face, his eyes lighting up.

Harry's heart sank. He couldn't face that smile, not now. Not when he knew it would falter the moment he told Avery the truth.

His eyes slid further down the table, and there was Tom. Those dark eyes fixed on Harry, unreadable as always. Tom didn't smile, didn't wave, just watched Harry with an intensity that made his skin prickle.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't do this. Couldn't sit between them, pretending everything was normal. Pretending he hadn't kissed them both, hadn't spent the night tossing and turning over his confused feelings.

He spun on his heel, nearly colliding with a group of Hufflepuffs entering the hall. Ignoring their surprised looks, he pushed past them, hurrying back into the entrance hall.

His footsteps echoed on the flagstones as he walked quickly, not sure where he was going but knowing he needed to get away. Away from Avery's hopeful smile, away from Tom's penetrating gaze.

He found himself climbing the marble staircase, his legs carrying him up and up, away from the Great Hall and the painful confrontations that awaited him there.

He didn't stop until he reached the seventh floor, his breath coming in short gasps. The corridor stretched empty before him, silent save for the occasional rustle of a tapestry in a draft.

Harry leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. His heart still raced, though from exertion or emotion, he couldn't tell. He tilted his head back, letting it thunk softly against the stone.

He couldn't avoid them forever. Eventually, he'd have to face Avery, have to explain that yesterday had been a mistake. That he cared for him deeply, but only as a friend. The thought made his chest ache.

And Tom... Harry didn't even know where to begin with Tom. The memory of that kiss burned in his mind, the feel of Tom's lips on his, the way his body had responded. But it was wrong, so wrong. Tom was Voldemort, or would be. Harry couldn't let himself forget that, no matter how his traitorous heart raced at the thought of him.

He slid down the wall until he sat on the cold floor, knees pulled up to his chest. He needed a plan, needed to figure out his next move. But his thoughts spun in useless circles, chasing themselves round and round.

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Long enough for the shadows to shift as the sun climbed higher outside the windows. Long enough for the distant sound of students leaving breakfast to filter up from the lower floors.

Eventually, he hauled himself to his feet, his legs stiff from sitting still so long. He couldn't hide here all day. He had to face this, had to deal with the mess he'd made.

But not yet. Not until he'd sorted out his own feelings, until he knew what he wanted to say. He needed more time, needed space to think.

Harry's feet carried him to the Astronomy Tower almost without conscious thought. The spiral staircase creaked under his steps as he climbed. Cool morning air rushed down from above, carrying the scent of rain.

The tower platform stood empty, scattered star charts and telescopes pushed against the walls from the previous night's class. Harry walked to the stone parapet, his hands gripping the rough surface. His thoughts drifted as he stared out over the grounds, the wind ruffling his hair. He wondered what was happening back in his own time, with Voldemort returned and the wizarding world on the brink of war. Were Ron and Hermione safe? Had the Order managed to protect them? Guilt gnawed at him, knowing they could be facing untold dangers while he was stuck here, worrying about teenage drama like the kisses from Avery and Tom.

It felt selfish, dwelling on his own confused feelings when people he loved might be fighting for their lives. He should be there with them, standing by their side, not hiding in the past and getting tangled up in even more complicated situations. But what could he do? Dumbledore had no answers, no way to send him back. He was trapped here, forced to navigate this unfamiliar version of Hogwarts and the people in it. People who would go on to shape the future in ways he couldn't begin to imagine.

The creak of the tower door jolted him from his thoughts. Harry turned, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand, to find Tom Riddle stepping out onto the platform.

"I thought I might find you here," Tom said, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Harry's heart stuttered in his chest. He hadn't been alone with Tom since the kiss in the corridor. The memory of it rushed back, making his face heat.

"Just needed some air," Harry said, turning back to the parapet.

Tom walked over to stand beside him, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out over the grounds. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound the whistle of the wind around the tower.

"Do you remember the last time we were up here together?" Tom asked eventually, his voice quiet.

Harry glanced at him, surprised by the question. He thought back, trying to recall. They'd come up here a few times, usually late at night when the tower was deserted. But the last time...

"The last time we were here together was New Year's Eve," Harry said quietly, remembering the Firewhisky and fireworks.

"Yes." Tom moved closer to the parapet. "Though technically, it was both New Year's and my birthday."

Harry's head snapped toward him. "Your birthday?"

"December 31st." Tom's fingers traced patterns on the stone. "Not that I advertise the fact."

"I didn't know." Harry frowned, processing this new information. He'd never known Voldemort's birthday in his time. It seemed too... normal, too human, to think of Tom Riddle celebrating birthdays like anyone else.

"Few do." Tom's voice remained casual. "Slughorn always tries to combine his New Year's party with some birthday celebration. I prefer to avoid the fuss."

"That's why you came up here that night?" Harry asked. "To escape Slughorn's party?"

"Partly." Tom glanced at him. "Though finding you here was an... unexpected bonus."

Harry's stomach twisted at the memory - how close they'd stood, the warmth of the Firewhisky, the way Tom's eyes had reflected the fireworks. He pushed away from the parapet.

"I should go," Harry said, echoing his words from that night. "I have... things to do."

"Always running, Evans." Tom's voice followed him to the door. "One day you'll have to stop."

Harry paused at the door, his hand on the handle. Tom's words hit too close to home. He was running - from his feelings, from the consequences of his actions, from everything.

"What do you want from me?" Harry turned back to face Tom.

"That's a complicated question." Tom stepped away from the parapet. "What do you want, Evans?"

"I want..." Harry's voice trailed off. What did he want? To go home? To stay? To figure out these confusing feelings? To pretend none of this had happened?

"Yes?" Tom moved closer, his steps measured and deliberate.

"I want things to make sense again." Harry's shoulders slumped. "Everything's such a mess."

"Because of Avery?" Tom's voice held an edge.

"Not just..." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Everything. Being here, you..."

"Me?" Tom stopped a few feet away. "What about me?"

"You know what." Harry met his eyes. "That kiss... it shouldn't have happened."

"Yet it did." Tom's gaze was intense. "And you didn't pull away."

"You didn't leave me much choice," Harry said, stepping back until his shoulder blades hit the wooden door. "You just grabbed me and-"

"I didn't force you." Tom's eyes narrowed. "You wanted it”.

Heat rushed to Harry's face. “That doesn't make it right." Harry's hand found the door handle behind him. "You knew about Avery. You knew we'd just been on a date."

"And yet you responded." Tom took another step closer. "Rather enthusiastically, I might add."

"Stop." Harry held up his free hand. "Just stop. You can't just kiss people because you want to. It doesn't work like that."

"No?" Tom's lips curved into a cold smile. "Then tell me, Evans, how does it work? Should I have asked permission? Taken you on a proper date?"

"That's not-" Harry shook his head. "You're twisting everything around."

"Am I?" Tom moved closer still. "Or are you simply afraid to admit what you want?"

"What I want is for you to back off." Harry gripped the door handle tighter. "You can't just control everything and everyone around you."

"That's a lie and you know it." Tom's voice dropped lower.

Harry's pulse quickened. The door handle dug into his palm as he pressed back against the wood. "You don't know me."

"Don't I?" Tom stepped even closer. Harry could smell his cologne now, subtle and expensive. "I see how you watch me. How you tense whenever I enter a room. That's not fear, Harry."

The use of his first name made Harry's breath catch. Tom never called him Harry. It was always Evans, said with that careful distance he maintained with everyone.

"Tell me what you want." Tom's eyes searched his face. "Say it."

"I don't-" Harry's voice cracked. "I can't-"

"Can't? Or won't?" Tom reached up, his fingers brushing Harry's jaw. "Always so stubborn. Always fighting yourself."

Harry should pull away. Should push past Tom and run down those tower stairs. But his legs wouldn't move.

"Tell me." Tom's thumb traced Harry's lower lip. "What do you want, Harry?"

Harry's heart hammered against his ribs. Tom stood so close now that Harry could feel the heat radiating from his body. The morning air felt thick, heavy with tension.

"I want..." Harry swallowed hard. "I want you to stop playing games."

"This isn't a game." Tom's fingers slid into Harry's hair. "Say it. Tell me what you want."

Harry closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. But that only made him more aware of Tom's touch, of the way his own body responded to their proximity.

"Harry." Tom's voice held a note of command that made Harry's eyes snap open. "Tell me."

Harry felt a pull toward Tom that he couldn't explain. His heart raced as Tom's fingers remained tangled in his hair. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his body wouldn't move.

"I want..." Harry's voice came out barely above a whisper. "I want you."

The admission felt like it had been torn from deep inside him. A strange warmth spread through his chest, almost like the feeling of casting a powerful spell.

Tom's eyes darkened. "Was that so difficult to admit?"

"Yes." Harry's hands came up to grip Tom's robes, not sure if he meant to push him away or pull him closer. "It shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't want this."

"And yet you do." Tom's other hand settled on Harry's waist. "I can feel it. The way you respond to me, like there's something drawing us together."

Harry knew what Tom meant. He'd felt it since arriving in this time - a strange connection that made no sense. Sometimes he swore he could sense Tom's presence before seeing him, like a compass needle pointing north.

"I can't explain it," Harry said. His fingers tightened in Tom's robes. "But it scares me."

"Fear and desire often go hand in hand." Tom's thumb stroked along Harry's jaw. "Stop fighting it."

Harry's resistance crumbled. He surged forward, pressing his lips to Tom's. That strange warmth in his chest blazed brighter, and for a moment their magic seemed to resonate together, creating something both wonderful and terrible.

Tom kissed him back fiercely, backing Harry fully against the door. Harry gasped as Tom deepened the kiss, and that pull between them grew stronger, more insistent. It felt right and wrong all at once, like finding something he'd lost without knowing he was missing it.

When they finally broke apart, Harry was breathing hard. That unexplainable connection hummed between them, stronger than ever.

Harry's lips tingled from the kiss as he stared into Tom's dark eyes. His hands still gripped Tom's robes, keeping him close despite every logical part of his brain screaming to push him away.

"This changes nothing," Harry said, his voice shaky. "I still don't trust you."

"Trust takes time." Tom's fingers traced patterns on Harry's neck. "We have plenty of that."

"No, we don't." Harry let go of Tom's robes and stepped sideways, away from the door. "You don't understand. This can't happen again."

"Can't? Or shouldn't?" Tom watched him move away. "There's a difference."

"Both." Harry ran his hands through his hair. "And what about Avery?"

"Avery will understand." Tom's voice held an edge that made Harry's skin prickle. "He knows his place."

"His place?" Harry's voice hardened. 

"Everyone has their role to play." Tom straightened his robes where Harry had gripped them. "Some lead, others follow."

"And what about me? What do you want from me?"

"I thought that was obvious." Tom moved closer again. "I want you exactly as you are."

"Right. Because Tom Riddle always gets what he wants." Harry backed up a step. "Have you considered what I want?"

"You already told me what you want." Tom's eyes glinted. "Or have you forgotten your confession from a moment ago?"

"That's not-" Harry stumbled over his words. "Physical attraction isn't everything."

"No?" Tom closed the distance between them. "Then why are you looking at my lips right now?"

Harry jerked his gaze up, cursing internally. He had been staring at Tom's mouth, remembering how it felt against his own.

"You're impossible." Harry shook his head. "This is exactly what I mean. You're so..."

"So what?" Tom stepped even closer.

"Infuriating." Harry meant it to sound angry, but his voice came out breathless instead.

"And yet you still want me." Tom reached out, his fingers brushing Harry's cheek. "Despite your protests."

Harry knew he should pull away. Should put space between them. But Tom's touch sent sparks across his skin.

"I hate that you're right." Harry's resolve crumbled as he grabbed Tom's robes and pulled him into another kiss.

This kiss was different from the last - slower, deeper. Tom's hands came up to frame Harry's face as he backed Harry against the wall. Harry's fingers tangled in Tom's perfect hair, messing it up without care.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard. Tom's usually immaculate appearance was disheveled, his hair sticking up where Harry's hands had been.

"We need to talk about this," Harry said, still gripping Tom's robes. "Actually talk, not just..."

"Always so serious." Tom straightened but didn't step away completely. His fingers lingered on Harry's waist.

"Someone has to be." Harry took a deep breath. "What about Avery?"

"What about him?"

"He's your friend." Harry frowned. "And he kissed me first."

"A kiss doesn't create ownership." Tom's fingers tightened slightly on Harry's waist. "Unless you have deeper feelings for him?"

Harry thought about Avery's friendly smile, his easy laugh, how simple things felt with him. No complicated history or strange magical connections. Just normal teenage attraction.

"I like him," Harry admitted. "He's kind. Uncomplicated."

"And that's enough for you?" Tom's voice held a hint of mockery. "Simple affection and easy companionship?"

"Maybe it should be." Harry met Tom's eyes. "It would certainly be safer."

"Safe is boring." Tom leaned closer. "You don't want safe. You crave intensity."

"This isn't about what I crave." Harry pushed against Tom's chest more firmly. "It's about doing what's right."

"And what's right?" Tom stepped back slightly, giving Harry room to breathe. "Following some arbitrary moral code about who kissed who first?"

"It's not arbitrary." Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Avery trusts you. He looks up to you. And here you are, kissing someone he's interested in."

"His feelings are his responsibility, not mine." Tom's voice cooled. "I won't deny myself something I want just to spare his emotions."

"That's exactly the problem." Harry pushed off from the wall. "You don't care who gets hurt as long as you get what you want."

"And you care too much about everyone else's feelings." Tom caught Harry's wrist as he tried to walk past. "When will you allow yourself to want things without guilt?"

Harry stared at where Tom's fingers circled his wrist. The touch sent that familiar warmth through his arm, making his magic hum under his skin.

The ancient door to the tower creaked open, its hinges protesting with age. Harry yanked his wrist from Tom's grip and stepped back hastily, his heart hammering against his ribs, just as Avery appeared at the top of the worn stone stairs, his footsteps echoing in the sudden silence.

"Thought I'd find you up here." Avery's smile faltered as he took in the scene - Harry's flushed face, Tom's messed up hair, the tension in the air. His dark eyes darted between them, uncertainty creeping into his expression as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The awkward silence stretched, broken only by the whisper of wind through the tower's windows.

"Avery." Tom's voice was cool and controlled again. "What brings you to the astronomy tower?"

"I saw you heading up here." Avery's eyes darted between them. "Then figured Harry might be here too."

Harry's stomach dropped at the hurt creeping into Avery's expression. "It's not... we were just talking."

"Right." Avery's laugh held no humor. "Must have been some conversation to leave you both looking like that."

"This doesn't concern you," Tom said, straightening his robes.

"Doesn't concern me?" Avery's voice rose. "You knew I took Harry to Hogsmeade yesterday. You knew I fancy him."

"And?" Tom's eyebrows lifted slightly.

"And you just had to have him anyway?" Avery's hands clenched into fists. "Because you always have to get what you want?"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," Harry cut in. "I make my own choices."

"Do you?" Avery turned to him. "Or did he manipulate you like he does everyone else?"

"That's enough." Tom's voice went dangerously soft.

"No, it's not enough!" Avery stepped forward. "I'm tired of watching you take everything you want without caring who gets hurt. Some friend you are."

"I never claimed to be your friend." Tom's wand appeared in his hand. "Don't make me remind you of your place."

"Tom, don't." Harry moved between them. "Put the wand away."

"Listen to him, Tom." Avery's own wand was out now. "Wouldn't want to curse your new toy."

Harry spun toward Avery. "I'm not anyone's toy."

"Could have fooled me." Avery's voice cracked. "Did yesterday mean nothing? That kiss?"

"Of course it meant something." Harry ran his hands through his hair. "Everything's just... complicated."

"Complicated?" Avery laughed bitterly. "Seems pretty simple to me. You'd rather have him."

"That's not-"

"Save it." Avery backed toward the door.

"Avery, please." Harry stepped toward him.

"Don't." Avery held up his hand. "Just... don't."

He turned and fled down the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the stairwell.

Harry sagged against the wall, closing his eyes. "Happy now?" he asked Tom.

"Ecstatic," Tom replied dryly. "Though his timing could have been better."

"This isn't funny." Harry opened his eyes to glare at him. "He's hurt."

"He'll get over it."

"You really don't care, do you?"

"About his childish crush?" Tom tucked his wand away. "No, I don't."

Harry pushed off from the wall. "I need to go talk to him."

"Let him sulk." Tom caught Harry's arm. "He needs to learn he can't have everything he wants."

Harry tried to pull away from Tom's grip. "I mean it. I need to find him."

"Do you?" Tom's fingers trailed up Harry's arm, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. "Or is that just your guilt talking?"

"Stop." But Harry's voice lacked conviction as Tom's other hand settled on his waist again.

"Why fight what you want?" Tom stepped closer, backing Harry against the wall again. His touch sent sparks of heat through Harry's clothes.

"Because..." Harry's thoughts scattered as Tom's fingers brushed his neck. That strange pull between them grew stronger, making his magic hum under his skin.

"Because what?" Tom's voice dropped lower. His thumb traced Harry's jaw, and Harry felt his resistance crumbling.

"I shouldn't..." Harry's eyes drifted closed as Tom's fingers slid into his hair. The touch made him shiver.

"Shouldn't what?" Tom pressed closer, his body pinning Harry to the wall. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

Harry knew he should say it. Should push Tom away and go find Avery. But Tom's touch made his head spin, breaking down his resolve piece by piece.

"I can't..." Harry's hands came up to grip Tom's robes, not sure if he meant to push him away or pull him closer.

Tom's lips brushed Harry's ear. "Can't resist?"

Harry's will slipped further as Tom's other hand slid under his shirt, palm flat against his lower back. The skin-to-skin contact sent a jolt through him, making him gasp.

"Tom..." Harry's voice came out breathless. He couldn't think straight with Tom touching him like this.

"Yes?" Tom pulled back just enough to meet Harry's eyes. His dark gaze held an intensity that made Harry's knees weak.

Harry tried one last time to remember why this was wrong, why he should pull away and put distance between them. But Tom's hands were on him, setting every nerve ending alight, and that magical connection between them pulsed stronger than ever, thrumming like a living thing beneath his skin. His willpower crumbled and dissolved completely, leaving only the burning need for more contact, more of whatever this was between them.

Harry surged forward, closing the last inches between them. Their lips met in a desperate kiss that made his magic sing, sparks of electricity dancing beneath his skin where they touched. Tom's hands tightened in his hair and on his waist, pulling him impossibly closer as a low sound of satisfaction rumbled in his chest. The world narrowed down to just this - the heat of Tom's mouth against his, the firm pressure of fingers tangled in his messy hair, and the intoxicating sense of their magic intertwining, weaving together until Harry couldn't tell where his ended and Tom's began.

For a moment, Harry let himself forget everything else - his guilt over Avery, his fears about the future, the complicated mess they were creating. There was only Tom's mouth on his.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard. Tom's usually perfect hair was completely disheveled, his lips red from kissing. Harry knew he probably looked even more wrecked.

"We should go," Harry said, his voice rough. "Before someone else comes looking." He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it down. His heart still raced, and that strange connection between them hummed under his skin. He felt both drained and energized, like he'd been flying for hours.

Tom's usual mask slipped back into place, but not before Harry caught that flash of satisfaction in his dark eyes. The sight made Harry's stomach twist - he'd given Tom exactly what he wanted, hadn't he? Let himself be pulled in despite knowing better.

"Right." Tom straightened his robes with precise movements.

Harry pushed off from the wall on shaky legs. His mind felt fuzzy, unable to form clear thoughts. The guilt over Avery was there, but distant, like looking through foggy glass. Even his usual worries about changing the timeline seemed far away.

"Go ahead," Harry said. "I need a minute."

Tom turned and descended the spiral staircase without another word, his footsteps fading into silence. Harry leaned his head back against the cold stone wall, eyes closed.

Harry touched his lips, still warm from Tom's kisses. His legs felt weak as he slid down the wall to sit on the cold stone floor. The crisp breeze whispered through the tower windows, cooling his flushed skin. He stayed there until his racing heart settled, knowing things would never be simple again.

Chapter Text

The morning sun streaked through the Great Hall's windows as Professor Slughorn handed out permission slips for their field trip to St. Mungo's Hospital.

"A rare opportunity," he beamed, patting his round belly. "The Healers rarely allow student tours."

Harry glanced across the table where Avery sat with Mulciber, pointedly looking anywhere but at Harry. A week had passed since the situation on the Astronomy Tower, and Avery still wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Sign here, Mr. Evans." Slughorn thrust a parchment under Harry's nose.

As Harry scrawled his signature, something hit the back of his head. A paper airplane landed in his porridge, its wings still fluttering.

"April Fools!" Lestrange called from down the table. The airplane unfolded to reveal a crude drawing of Harry falling off his broom.

"Real mature." Harry dried the soggy paper with his wand and sent it zooming back, hitting Lestrange square in the forehead.

"Now, now, boys." Slughorn waggled his finger. "Save your energy for the tour."

Harry risked another glance at Avery, who was now gathering his books. Their eyes met briefly before Avery looked away, hurrying from the hall.

"Wait-" Harry stood, but a hand caught his sleeve.

"Let him be." Lucretia's voice was gentle. "He needs time."

Harry sat back down next to Lucretia, grateful she was speaking to him again. The past week, she'd slowly started joining him in the library or sitting nearby during meals. He'd missed her quiet company and clever observations, though he still couldn't figure out why she'd avoided him for so long before that.

"I know," Harry said, watching Avery's retreating back. "I just hate this.."

"Focus on the field trip instead." She pulled him up. "We need to get our cloaks - it's chilly outside."

The fifth years gathered in the entrance hall, their excited chatter echoing off the stone walls. Harry hung back from the group, watching Tom being his usual self among his followers. They hadn't spoken outside of detention all week - though their detention sessions had involved considerably less actual punishment and more...

Harry's cheeks heated at the memory of last night's "lines," which had quickly devolved into Tom pressing him against the classroom wall, his mouth hot and demanding...

"Earth to Evans." Lucretia waved her hand in front of his face. "Slughorn's taking attendance."

They filed out onto the grounds where three carriages waited. Harry climbed into the last one, hoping to avoid both Tom, but he smoothly slid in beside Harry before he could protest.

Lucretia paused at the carriage door, her hand hovering on the handle. "Oh, I'll just-" She gestured vaguely toward another carriage.

"Nonsense." Tom's voice carried that smooth authority that made people listen. "Join us, Lucretia."

She hesitated, glancing between Tom and Harry. Her fingers twisted the fabric of her cloak.

"Plenty of room," Harry said, trying to break the awkward moment. He shifted closer to the window, leaving space on the bench.

Rosier appeared behind Lucretia, his book bag slung over one shoulder. "This one still has seats?" He peered past her into the carriage.

"Perfect timing." Tom's smile didn't reach his eyes. "We were just getting settled."

Lucretia finally climbed in, perching on the edge of the seat across from Harry. Rosier followed, dropping onto the bench beside her with considerably less grace. His bag thumped against the floor.

The carriage lurched forward, wheels crunching on gravel. Harry stared out the window, hyper-aware of Tom's thigh pressed against his own in the cramped space. Lucretia pulled out her Healing textbook, hiding behind its pages.

"Looking forward to seeing the spell damage ward?" Rosier broke the silence. "Heard they've got a bloke who tried to transform himself into a dragon. Scales everywhere, breathing fire-"

"That's private patient information," Lucretia said without looking up from her book. "We're meant to be observing general healing practices, not gawking at specific cases."

"Still," Rosier grinned. "Bet it'll be more interesting than Slughorn's usual field trips. Remember the apothecary visit last year? Thought I'd die of boredom counting newt eyes."

The carriage hit a bump, making them all sway. Tom's hand landed on Harry's knee to steady himself. He didn't move it away.

Harry stared at Tom's hand still resting on his knee. He'd always figured Tom Riddle would be above such common displays - too proper, too controlled for casual contact. But lately, Tom seemed to find every excuse to touch him. A brush of shoulders in the hallway, fingers lingering when passing homework, and now this. The worst part was Harry couldn't decide how he felt about it. His instincts screamed to pull away, but his body betrayed him by leaning into the warmth.

He glanced at Lucretia and Rosier, wondering if they noticed. Lucretia kept her eyes fixed on her book, but her grip on the pages seemed too tight. Rosier chatted on about St. Mungo's, apparently oblivious.

The carriage rattled along the country road, each bump making Tom's hand shift slightly on Harry's knee. Through the window, Harry watched the Scottish highlands roll past, all purple heather and morning mist.

"Did you hear about the wizard who tried to apparate to America?" Rosier leaned forward, eyes bright. "Ended up splinched across three continents. They're still finding bits of him."

"That's horrible," Lucretia said, but her lips twitched.

"Speaking of splinching-" Rosier pulled something from his bag. A small rubber spider, enchanted to move. He whispered a spell and flicked it toward Tom.

The spider landed on Tom's shoulder, skittering up his neck. Tom went completely still.

Harry bit his lip, trying not to laugh as the spider crawled into Tom's perfectly styled hair. Tom's eye twitched.

"Remove it," Tom's voice was deadly quiet. "Now."

The spider did a little dance on top of Tom's head. Harry couldn't help it - he burst out laughing. The sight of Tom Riddle, future terror of the wizarding world, with a rubber spider doing a jig in his hair was too much.

Tom's eyes narrowed at Harry's laughter, but something shifted in his expression. "You think this is amusing?"

"Maybe a little," Harry managed between chuckles.

Tom's wand appeared in his hand. A quick flick, and suddenly Harry's robes turned bright pink with flashing silver stars.

"Hey!" Harry looked down at his now-sparkly uniform in horror.

"Now that," Tom's lips curved up slightly, "is amusing."

Rosier stared between them, mouth slightly open. The rubber spider forgotten, it continued its dance party in Tom's hair.

Harry tried to change his robes back, but Tom's spell held firm. "Pink really isn't my color."

"I disagree." Tom's eyes glinted. "It brings out your eyes."

Rosier made a choking sound that might have been suppressed laughter. Even Lucretia peered over her book, eyebrows raised.

The carriage hit another bump, making them all sway. Tom's hand tightened on Harry's knee, and Harry felt his face heat to match his robes.

Rosier watched this exchange with growing interest, his eyes darting between Tom's hand and Harry's pink-tinged cheeks. The rubber spider finally fell from Tom's hair, landing in his lap. Tom vanished it with a lazy flick of his wand.

"We're nearly there," Lucretia said quickly, breaking the strange tension. "Should be seeing London any minute now."

Tom finally lifted his hand from Harry's knee as the carriage approached London's outskirts. The absence of warmth left Harry feeling oddly bereft.

"Change them back," Harry gestured at his still-sparkling pink robes.

"Ask nicely." Tom's lips curved up at the corners, his dark eyes holding an unfamiliar glint of... was that amusement?

Harry blinked. Tom Riddle didn't do playful. Yet there he sat, looking entirely too pleased with himself as Harry's robes continued their disco-worthy light show.

"Please change my robes back?" Harry tried, thrown off by this unexpected side of Tom.

"That wasn't very convincing." Tom twirled his wand between his long fingers. "Try again."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm always serious."

Lucretia cleared her throat. "We're here."

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of a shabby-looking department store. Muggles hurried past without glancing at the dusty window displays featuring outdated mannequins.

"I can't go in looking like this." Harry gestured at his pink robes again.

"Then I suppose you'll have to convince me." Tom's eyes gleamed with challenge.

Rosier climbed out first, offering Lucretia his hand. She took it with a slight nod, her textbook clutched to her chest.

"Tom." Harry tried to sound stern but couldn't quite manage it. "The other students will see."

"That would be unfortunate." Tom stood, ducking to exit the carriage. He paused at the door, looking back at Harry. "Though pink does suit you remarkably well."

Harry followed him out, trying to hide behind Rosier as their classmates gathered on the sidewalk. A few Ravenclaws pointed and giggled.

"Everyone here?" Slughorn did a quick head count. "Excellent. Now remember, we're here to observe and learn, not disturb the patients. Follow me."

As they approached the hidden entrance to St. Mungo's, Tom fell into step beside Harry.

"Perhaps if you asked one more time..." Tom's voice dropped lower. "Very politely."

Harry stopped walking, turning to face him. "Tom Riddle, would you please, pretty please with sugar on top, change my robes back to normal?"

Tom's eyebrows rose at Harry's exaggerated sweet tone. For a moment, Harry thought he'd push it further, but then Tom's wand flicked almost casually.

Harry's robes returned to their proper color. He let out a relieved breath. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Tom's fingers brushed Harry's sleeve, straightening an invisible wrinkle. "Though I maintain pink was an improvement."

Before Harry could respond, Slughorn called them forward to enter St. Mungo's.

The group followed Slughorn through St. Mungo's pristine halls. Their shoes squeaked against the polished floors as they passed rooms filled with patients suffering from magical accidents.

"Here we have the Creature-Induced Injuries ward," their guide, a young Healer named Cole, gestured to a room where a wizard nursed a smoking dragon bite. "Though most of our interesting cases end up in Spell Damage."

Harry noticed Tom's attention sharpen at the mention of spell damage. His usual bored expression vanished, replaced by keen interest.

They climbed to the fourth floor, where the air felt heavier. Signs warned visitors to maintain silence. Through half-open doors, Harry glimpsed people lying still in beds, some with strange colors rippling across their skin or limbs twisted into unnatural shapes.

"This is where we treat victims of dark magic," Cole explained, lowering her voice. "Some of the most challenging cases end up here."

"Fascinating." Tom stepped closer to one of the doors. "How do you identify unknown curses?"

"Various detection spells," Cole seemed pleased by his interest. "Though sometimes we must work backward from the symptoms."

"And if the curse is entirely new?" Tom's eyes gleamed. "One nobody's encountered before?"

"That's where research comes in." Cole pulled out her wand, demonstrating a diagnostic charm. "We catalogue every new curse we discover."

Harry watched Tom absorb every detail, asking increasingly specific questions about curse detection and reversal. His focus reminded Harry uncomfortably of a predator studying its prey's weaknesses.

"What about curses that alter the mind?" Tom's voice remained casual, but Harry noticed his fingers twitching toward his wand pocket.

"Those are the trickiest." Cole led them past a room where a witch stared blankly at the ceiling, mumbling to herself. "Memory and personality changes are particularly difficult to reverse."

Tom nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And protection against such curses? Surely you've developed countermeasures."

"I think that's enough questions for now," Slughorn interrupted. "Let's move along to the potions storage."

But Tom lingered, studying the blank-eyed witch through her doorway. His hand brushed Harry's arm as the group moved on.

"Fascinating place, isn't it?" Tom's whisper carried an edge that made Harry's skin crawl. "So much to learn here."

Harry pulled away from Tom's touch, hurrying to catch up with the others. He didn't miss how Tom's eyes stayed fixed on the curse victims' ward, or how his hand kept straying to where Harry knew he kept his wand.

The rest of the tour passed in a blur, but Tom's intense interest in dark curses left Harry feeling cold despite the hospital's warm air.

The group moved through the potions storage area, with Slughorn enthusiastically pointing out rare ingredients. Harry kept his distance from Tom, falling into step beside Lucretia instead.

"Did you see the curse ward?" Lucretia whispered. "Horrible, what dark magic can do to people."

"Yeah." Harry glanced ahead where Tom walked with Rosier, still asking the guide questions. "Horrible."

Harry noticed Lucretia's hands trembling slightly as they passed another curse victim's room. She tucked them quickly into her pockets, but not before he caught how her fingers curled inward, like they were remembering an old pain.

"You okay?" Harry asked quietly.

"Fine." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Just... hospitals make me nervous. Bad memories."

"Want to wait outside?"

"No." She straightened her shoulders. "Some things you have to face." Her voice carried a weight that seemed too heavy for simple hospital anxiety.

Tom glanced back at them, and Lucretia's steps faltered for just a moment. She moved closer to Harry, putting him between herself and Tom.

"The potions wing is much more pleasant," she said, a bit too brightly. "Shall we catch up with the others?"

They hurried to rejoin the group, where Slughorn was explaining the hospital's system for brewing medical potions. Harry watched Lucretia gradually relax as they got further from the curse ward, though she kept glancing over her shoulder when she thought no one was looking.

Tom's questions about dark magic had shifted to healing potions now, but his eyes occasionally drifted back toward the fourth floor with an unsettling intensity that made Harry's stomach turn.

Harry sighed, watching Tom's intense focus as he questioned the healers. Who was he kidding? This would always be a side of Tom - this fascination with dark magic, with power, with causing harm. He couldn't pretend it didn't exist just because Tom sometimes showed a gentler side.

Though... maybe Tom's questions weren't entirely sinister. Understanding dark magic could help fight it too. And healers needed to know how curses worked to reverse them. That's what Tom had asked about, after all - detection and countermeasures.

Harry shook his head at his own thoughts. He was making excuses again. But then he remembered Tom's hand on his knee in the carriage, his playful teasing about the pink robes. That hadn't been an act - had it? The genuine amusement in Tom's eyes, the almost gentle way he'd fixed Harry's robes afterward...

"The brewing station processes over fifty different healing potions daily," the guide explained, leading them past rows of bubbling cauldrons.

Harry barely heard her. His eyes kept drifting to Tom, who now examined the ingredient storage with apparent fascination. Maybe people weren't all good or all bad. Maybe even Tom Riddle had different sides to him - the cruel and the kind, the dark and the light.

But then Tom asked another pointed question about curse damage, and Harry's stomach twisted. No matter how charming Tom could be, this darker side would always lurk beneath the surface. Harry couldn't let himself forget that.

The tour continued through the rest of the hospital's wings. Harry stayed close to Lucretia, trying to focus on Slughorn's enthusiastic commentary about healing potions instead of his confusing thoughts about Tom Riddle.

The tour wound down as Slughorn led them back through St. Mungo's lobby. Harry's feet ached from hours of walking the hospital's endless corridors. The afternoon sun slanted through the windows, making the polished floors gleam.

"Well, that was educational," Tom fell into step beside Harry as they headed for the exit. His earlier intensity had vanished, replaced by his usual demeanor. "Though the potions storage was rather basic. I expected more rare ingredients."

"Right." Harry kept his eyes forward, unsure how to reconcile this Tom with the one who'd been so fascinated by curse damage earlier.

"The carriages should be waiting outside," Tom continued "Would you like to share one back to Hogwarts? I've been meaning to discuss that Defense essay with you."

Harry glanced at him sideways. Tom smiled, looking for all the world like any other student excited about coursework. No trace remained of his keen interest in dark magic from earlier.

"I suppose," Harry said slowly. He couldn't quite match Tom's light tone, not with the memory of his questions about mind-altering curses still fresh.

"Excellent." Tom's hand brushed Harry's arm as they walked through the hidden entrance back onto the London street. "I had some fascinating thoughts about shield charm variations that I'd love your opinion on."

Harry nodded, letting Tom guide him toward one of the waiting carriages. He felt oddly off-balance, caught between wanting to pull away and being drawn in by Tom's genuine enthusiasm.

The carriage door closed behind them with a soft click. As they started moving, Tom launched into an animated discussion about defensive magic, his dark eyes bright with interest. Harry found himself responding despite his reservations, drawn into the conversation.

But underneath it all, Harry couldn't shake his unease. How could Tom switch so easily between studying dark curses and chatting about schoolwork? Which version was real? Or were they both genuine parts of who Tom was?

Harry watched Tom gesture enthusiastically about wand movements, his earlier coldness completely gone. He didn't know what to think anymore.

The carriage rattled over another bump. Tom's voice faded into background noise as Harry stared out the window, watching London's buildings blur past. His head hurt from trying to make sense of everything - Tom's fascination with dark magic, his casual charm, the way he could switch between the two so seamlessly.

Harry pressed his forehead against the cool glass. He was tired of analyzing every interaction, every subtle shift in Tom's behavior. For now, he just wanted to exist in this moment without thinking about what it all meant.

He closed his eyes, letting the carriage's gentle swaying lull him into emptiness. The afternoon sun warmed his face through the window. Tom's voice washed over him, requiring no response.

And just for a few minutes, Harry let his mind go quiet.

Chapter Text

Harry lay in his bed, fingers absently tracing the worn edges of the leather bracelet around his wrist. The dormitory was quiet except for Lestrange's soft snores. Through a gap in his bed curtains, moonlight cast a thin silver line across his blanket. His mind drifted to earlier that evening - his final detention with Tom in the empty Potions classroom. The memory was still fresh, making his stomach twist.

"I can't do this," Harry had said, stepping back from where Tom stood too close. "Whatever this is between us - it needs to stop."

"Of course." Tom's voice had been soft, reasonable. He'd moved forward, closing the distance Harry tried to create. "If that's what you want."

"I mean it." Harry's back had hit the edge of a desk. "No more games."

"No games." Tom's fingers had traced Harry's jaw.

"Then listen to me. I don't want-" Harry's words had cut off as Tom kissed him, gentle but insistent.

Harry had pushed him away. "Stop that. You can't just-"

"Can't what?" Tom's thumb had brushed Harry's lower lip. "Accept your wishes?"

"This isn't accepting anything!" Harry had tried to duck away, but Tom's other hand caught his hip.

"I agree completely." Another kiss, deeper this time. "No more complications."

"Tom-" Harry had managed before being silenced again.

Each time Harry tried to explain, to set boundaries, Tom had agreed with everything while completely ignoring Harry's actual words. It had been maddening - Tom's apparent reasonableness contrasting with his actions.

The memory of Tom's lips against his made Harry's skin heat even as his chest tightened with frustration. He rolled onto his side, pulling his blanket higher. The bracelet caught the moonlight, making the small runes etched into the band gleam.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his bed, his face burning as he remembered more details from earlier.

"Someone's excited," Tom had murmured against his neck, pressing closer.

Harry had tried to angle his hips away, mortified by his body's response. "Shut up."

"Nothing to be ashamed of." Tom's hand had slid down Harry's side, resting at his hip. "Perfectly natural reaction."

"This isn't funny." Harry's voice had cracked as Tom's thigh pressed between his legs.

"I'm not laughing." Tom's breath had been warm against Harry's ear. "Though you're rather adorable when flustered."

Harry had squirmed, trapped between the desk and Tom's body. His attempts to create space only made things worse as the friction sent sparks through his nerves.

"Stop calling me adorable." Harry's protest had come out breathier than intended.

"Would you prefer 'endearing'?" Tom's fingers had traced patterns on Harry's hip. "Or perhaps 'charming'?"

Harry groaned into his pillow now, embarrassment flooding back full force.

The worst part was how Tom had seemed genuinely delighted by Harry's reactions, like each gasp and shiver was a personal victory. His playful teasing had only made Harry's embarrassment worse.

Harry pulled his blanket over his head, trying to block out the memories. But he could still feel phantom touches, still hear Tom's amused whispers. Sleep would be a long time coming tonight.

Chapter Text

Harry stretched out under a large oak tree near the Black Lake, enjoying the mild April breeze. His Charms textbook lay forgotten beside him as he watched clouds drift across the blue sky. For the first time in weeks, his shoulders felt loose, relaxed.

Tom had barely glanced at him during breakfast, too absorbed in some ancient-looking book. The past few days had been the same - Tom hunched over dusty texts in the library.

"I'm close to something important," Tom had said yesterday during dinner, his eyes bright with that familiar intense focus.

Harry had just nodded, grateful that Tom's obsession with his research meant less attention on him. Whatever breakthrough Tom thought he was approaching, Harry was happy to let him chase it.

A group of third-years ran past, laughing as they chased each other with water-squirting charms. Their robes were already soaked, but they didn't seem to mind. The spring sun would dry them quickly enough.

Harry's own robes were spread beneath him like a makeshift blanket. His tie hung loose around his neck - no one around to enforce proper uniform standards on a Saturday.

A butterfly landed on his knee, wings slowly opening and closing. Harry watched it, appreciating how simple things could be when left alone. No drama, no complications. Just peace and quiet on a Saturday in April.

The butterfly took flight as voices drifted across the lawn. A group of Hufflepuffs walked past, their yellow-trimmed robes bright in the sunlight.

"Did you see the Prophet this morning?" A girl with long braids clutched the newspaper to her chest. "Three more villages attacked."

"My mum wrote saying we might not go to France this summer." Another girl shook her head. "Says Grindelwald's forces are everywhere now."

"They're saying he's got some new kind of magic." A boy with round glasses lowered his voice. "Dark stuff. Makes people disappear without a trace."

"My uncle works at the Ministry." The girl with braids sat on a nearby rock. "Says they found whole towns empty. Just... gone. No bodies, no signs of fighting. Everyone vanished."

Harry's muscles tensed as he listened. He remembered reading about this in History of Magic - entire communities disappearing during Grindelwald's rise to power. The textbooks never explained what happened to them.

"Dad thinks they're building an army." The boy glanced around nervously. "All those missing people - what if they're being controlled somehow?"

"Like the Imperius Curse?" The second girl wrapped her arms around herself.

"Worse, maybe." The boy pushed his glasses up. "The Prophet said they found strange marks carved into the ground where people vanished. Some kind of ritual magic."

Harry sat up, his peaceful mood broken. The Hufflepuffs continued their worried discussion, heads bent together over the newspaper.

Harry watched the Hufflepuffs huddle closer together, their worried whispers carrying across the grass. His hand drifted to his wand pocket - a habit he couldn't shake when talk turned to dark wizards and disappearing people.

"Evans."

Harry jumped. Tom stood behind him, school bag slung over one shoulder. His uniform looked crisp despite the warm day, not a wrinkle in sight.

"Thought you were in the library." Harry's fingers tightened around his wand.

"I was." Tom settled onto the grass beside Harry, maintaining proper posture even on the ground. "But something occurred to me while reading."

Harry shifted away slightly. "Another breakthrough?"

"Perhaps." Tom pulled a small leather notebook from his bag. "Though I find myself requiring a second opinion."

"I'm not much help with ancient runes or whatever you're studying."

"You underestimate yourself." Tom opened the notebook, revealing neat rows of his precise handwriting. "Your... unique perspective could prove valuable."

Harry sighed, sitting up straighter. The peaceful afternoon was already ruined by the Hufflepuffs' talk of disappearances. He might as well hear what Tom wanted.

"Fine. What's got you so excited?"

Tom flipped through his notebook pages. "I've been researching the castle's original construction. The founding families each contributed different magical elements to Hogwarts' foundations."

"Right." Harry leaned back on his hands. "Everyone knows that."

"But what's less known is how they anchored those elements." Tom's eyes lit up with that dangerous enthusiasm Harry had learned to be wary of. "Slytherin, in particular, used fascinating methods."

"Of course he did." Harry kept his voice neutral, though his stomach tightened.

"Look at this." Tom held out his notebook, pointing to a detailed sketch of what looked like floor plans. "The dungeons follow specific geometric patterns. Each intersection corresponds to magical focal points."

Harry glanced at the drawing. Lines crisscrossed the page, forming intricate shapes around familiar corridors and classrooms.

"And?" Harry prompted when Tom paused expectantly.

"And these patterns repeat throughout the castle." Tom traced one of the lines with his finger. "But they're strongest in the lower levels. Almost as if..."

"As if what?"

"As if they're reaching toward something deeper." Tom's voice dropped lower. "Something hidden beneath the foundations themselves."

Harry's mouth went dry. He knew exactly what Tom was looking for.

"Sounds like you've spent too much time in the library." Harry forced a laugh. "Fresh air's clearly overdue."

"You don't find it interesting?" Tom's eyes studied Harry's face. "The secrets our founders might have left behind?"

"Not really." Harry shrugged. "Ancient history's not my thing."

Tom's fingers traced another pattern in his notebook. "The castle holds more than just classrooms and corridors, Evans. Surely you've wondered what lies beneath the surface?"

"Not really." Harry watched a group of students heading toward the castle for lunch. "Some things are better left alone."

Tom's serious expression melted into a playful smirk. "Fine. Keep your skepticism." He closed his notebook with a snap. "Though I must say, your stubbornness is becoming quite predictable."

"Better predictable than obsessed with old buildings." Harry lay back on the grass, crossing his arms behind his head.

"Says the one who spent three hours practicing the same shield charm yesterday." Tom tucked his notebook away.

"Maybe I just like being prepared," Harry said, plucking at the grass beside him.

"For what?" Tom turned his head to look at Harry. "Planning to fight someone?"

"Never know when you might need to defend yourself."

"From what? Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain."

Harry snorted. "Right. There's always danger if you know where to look."

"You speak from experience?" Tom's eyes narrowed.

"Just saying nowhere's completely safe." Harry sat up, brushing grass from his robes. "Even Hogwarts."

"You're a strange one, Evans." Tom sat up too. "Every time I think I understand you, you say something unexpected."

"Guess you don't know me as well as you think."

"No," Tom said slowly. "I suppose I don't."

"Join the club." Harry looked out over the lake. "I don't know you either. Not really."

Tom was quiet for a long moment. The breeze rustled through the oak leaves above them. Finally, he spoke: "Tell me about yourself then."

"Why don't you go first?" Harry challenged.

"You're being difficult," Tom said, picking at an invisible piece of lint on his sleeve.

"Look who's talking." Harry turned to face him properly. "You're the one who never gives straight answers about anything."

"I answer plenty of questions."

"Yeah, with more questions." Harry rolled his eyes. "Or those fancy non-answers that sound deep but don't actually say anything."

Tom's lips twitched. "I have no idea what you mean."

"See? There you go again." Harry poked Tom's arm. "Being all... you."

"All me?" Tom raised an eyebrow, but his eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "Do explain."

"That!" Harry pointed at Tom's face. "That thing you do with your eyebrow when you're trying not to laugh."

"I don't try not to laugh." Tom's other eyebrow joined the first.

"You're doing it right now!" Harry couldn't help grinning. "Both eyebrows this time. Must be serious."

Tom's composed expression cracked slightly. "You're impossible."

"Says the most impossible person I know." Harry leaned back on his hands. "At least I'm honest about it."

"Are you?" Tom shifted closer. "Because I think you're just as guarded as I am."

"Maybe." Harry shrugged. "But at least I admit it."

"Fine." Tom's voice took on a considering tone. "What if we made a deal?"

"What kind of deal?"

"If I share something about myself..." Tom paused, watching Harry's reaction. "You'll share something about you."

Harry sat up straighter. "Something real? Not just surface stuff?"

"Yes, something real." Tom's expression turned serious. "But I'd rather show you than tell you."

Harry's guard went up instantly. "Show me what?"

"There's a place..." Tom hesitated, which caught Harry's attention. Tom Riddle never hesitated. "A place that will help you understand. About me."

"What kind of place?" Harry asked carefully.

"Meet me at the front gates at midnight." Tom stood, brushing grass from his perfectly pressed trousers. "I know a way past the wards."

Harry frowned. "You want to leave Hogwarts? In the middle of the night?"

"Scared, Evans?" That familiar mocking smile returned to Tom's face.

"No." Harry crossed his arms. "Just not stupid. Where exactly are you planning to take me?"

"You'll see," Tom said, his playful tone returning. He shouldered his bag and turned toward the castle.

"That's not an answer." Harry scrambled to his feet.

"It's the only one you're getting for now." Tom started walking, his steps measured and unhurried.

Harry jogged to catch up. "You can't just say cryptic stuff like that and walk away."

"I believe I just did." Tom's lips curved into that infuriating half-smile.

"At least tell me how far we're going." Harry fell into step beside him. "I'm not spending all night traipsing around Britain."

"It's not far." Tom glanced sideways at Harry. "Though your concern for curfew is touching."

"I'm not concerned about curfew." Harry kicked a loose stone. "I just don't fancy following you blindly into who knows where."

"And yet you're still walking with me." Tom's smile widened slightly.

Harry stopped walking. "You know what? Never mind. I'm not playing these games."

"No games, Evans." Tom turned to face him. "Just an opportunity to understand each other better. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yeah, through actual conversation. Not sneaking out at midnight for some mysterious field trip."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Tom stepped closer. "The brave Gryffindor spirit you try so hard to hide?"

"Don't." Harry's jaw tightened. "Don't try to manipulate me into this."

"Manipulate?" Tom's expression turned wounded, though his eyes stayed sharp. "I'm offering you what you asked for - honesty. Real answers."

"By being as vague as possible?"

"Some things need to be shown rather than told." Tom's voice softened. "Trust works both ways, Evans."

Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "That's not fair."

"Life rarely is." Tom started walking again. "Midnight. Front gates. Your choice whether to come or not."

Harry watched Tom's retreating back, cursing under his breath. His curiosity warred with his common sense. Whatever Tom wanted to show him, it had to be important for him to risk leaving school grounds.

"Fine!" Harry called after him. "But if this is some kind of trick..."

Tom turned, walking backwards for a few steps. "No tricks. Just truth."

"Yeah, right," Harry muttered as Tom disappeared into the castle. He looked up at the clear spring sky, wondering what he was getting himself into.

*

Harry pulled his cloak tighter against the night chill as he approached the front gates. Tom already stood there, a dark figure against the iron bars.

"You came." Tom's voice carried no surprise.

"Still think this is a bad idea." Harry glanced back at the castle. "Won't people notice we're gone?"

"I've taken care of that." Tom drew his wand. "Arranged for some carefully placed sleeping draughts. Our dormmates won't wake until morning."

Harry frowned. "You drugged them?"

"Just a mild dose. They'll wake feeling refreshed." Tom tapped the gate's lock. It clicked open without a sound. "And I've ensured the prefect patrol schedules keep this area clear tonight."

"Of course you have." Harry shook his head. "Where exactly are we going?"

Tom led them beyond the gates. "London."

"London?" Harry stared at him. "How?"

Tom raised his wand arm. A loud BANG split the quiet night. Harry jumped back as a violently purple triple-decker bus materialized in front of them.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," a young conductor in a purple uniform stepped out. "Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is-"

"Two to London." Tom cut him off, pressing some silver Sickles into the conductor's hand. "No questions asked."

The conductor counted the coins and nodded. "Right this way, gents."

Harry followed Tom onto the bus, looking around at the brass beds that lined the walls instead of seats. A few other passengers dozed on the upper levels.

"Hang on," the conductor warned as they sat on adjacent beds.

BANG. The bus leaped forward like a startled cat. Harry grabbed the bedpost with white knuckles as they shot through the Scottish countryside at impossible speeds, the brass bed sliding and rattling beneath him. Trees and houses jumped out of their way as if by magic, lampposts and mailboxes bending gracefully aside before snapping back into place. The countryside whipped past in a dizzying blur of greens and browns, making Harry's stomach lurch with every sharp turn.

"You could have warned me," Harry muttered, his knuckles white around the brass post.

"Where's the fun in that?" Tom looked completely unfazed by the wild ride.

Harry watched as Tom sat perfectly still despite the violent lurching of the bus. A faint shimmer around Tom's robes revealed why - he'd cast a sticking charm to keep himself in place.

"Show off," Harry grumbled, nearly falling off his bed as they took another sharp turn.

"You could always ask me to teach you the charm." Tom's lips curved into a small smile.

"I'll manage." Harry grabbed the bedpost tighter as they swerved around a truck.

The countryside flew past in a blur. Harry's stomach settled somewhat as he got used to the wild movement. He glanced at Tom, who was gazing out the window with an unreadable expression.

"Isn't it dangerous?" Harry kept his voice low. "Going to London right now?"

"The war, you mean?" Tom turned to face him. "The German bombs haven't hit the city in weeks."

"Not just the muggle war." Harry steadied himself as they took another turn. "Grindelwald's people are everywhere these days."

"Concerned for my safety, Evans?"

"Being realistic." Harry frowned. "The Prophet said his supporters were spotted in London last week."

"I know these streets." Tom's voice hardened slightly. "We'll be fine."

The bus screeched to a halt, sending Harry flying forward. He crashed into Tom's chest, his hands grabbing Tom's shoulders to steady himself.

"Careful there." Tom's arms wrapped around Harry's waist, holding him close. "Though I don't mind catching you."

Harry's face heated as he pushed away from Tom's embrace. "Git."

"Leaky Cauldron!" The conductor called out.

Two witches stumbled down from the upper level, looking green. The bus waited until they stepped onto the street before BANG - they were off again.

London's outskirts appeared through the windows, dark shapes against the night sky. Most windows were blacked out due to air raid precautions. The bus wove between buildings at impossible angles, squeezing through gaps that should have been too narrow.

"Almost there," Tom said as they entered a rougher part of the city. The buildings grew shabbier, bomb damage more evident.

The bus stopped with one final lurch. "Wool's District!" The conductor announced.

"Come on." Tom stood smoothly, his sticking charm dissolved.

Harry followed him off the bus onto a dark street. Broken windows and crumbling walls lined both sides. The bus vanished with another BANG, leaving them alone in the shadows.

Tom walked purposefully down the street, past boarded-up shops and piles of rubble. He stopped in front of a gray building with high walls. A metal gate creaked in the wind.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, but Tom just pushed open the gate and walked into the courtyard beyond.

Harry followed Tom through the courtyard, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The building loomed above them, its windows dark except for a single light on the ground floor.

"What is this place?" Harry asked again, taking in the institutional feel of the building.

"Wool's Orphanage." Tom's voice remained neutral, but his shoulders tensed. "Where I grew up."

Harry stopped walking. He hadn't known this about Tom - hadn't realized the future Dark Lord was an orphan like himself.

"You lived here?" Harry looked around with new eyes, noting the worn stone steps and patched windows.

Tom climbed the worn steps, his footsteps silent on the stone. Harry followed, watching Tom's back as they entered through a side door that opened without a key or spell.

The hallway inside smelled of cabbage and bleach. Their shoes squeaked against the polished floor as Tom led them past closed doors and empty common rooms. A clock ticked somewhere in the darkness.

"Mrs. Cole's office," Tom whispered, stopping at a door with frosted glass. Light spilled from underneath. "The matron. Always working late, counting pennies and writing reports."

Harry heard papers rustling inside, a chair scraping against the floor. Tom pulled him into an alcove as footsteps approached. They pressed against the wall as a tired-looking woman walked past, carrying a stack of folders. She didn't notice them in the shadows.

Once her footsteps faded, Tom moved again. Up a narrow staircase, along another dark hallway lined with identical doors. Each had a small brass number plate. Tom stopped at number 27.

"My room." Tom pushed the door open. "For eleven years."

The small room held a narrow bed, a wooden wardrobe, and a desk under the window. Everything looked clean but shabby - the blanket darned in several places, the desk's surface scratched from years of use.

Harry stepped inside, trying to imagine young Tom living here. No pictures on the walls. No toys or books visible. Nothing personal at all.

"Why did you bring me here?" Harry asked.

"You think you know me." Tom closed the door behind them. "You look at me and see what everyone else sees - the perfect prefect, the model student." His voice turned harsh. "But this is where I came from. This is what made me."

Harry touched the bed's metal frame. "Must have been lonely."

"I didn't need anyone." Tom moved to the window, looking out at the courtyard below. "I learned early that depending on others was weakness."

"Is that why you showed me? To prove how strong and independent you are?"

Tom turned, his eyes glinting in the darkness. "I showed you because you're the only one who might understand."

Harry stared at the sparse room, his mind racing. The bare walls and worn furniture painted a picture of Tom's childhood that he'd never considered before. This wasn't the polished Slytherin heir everyone knew at Hogwarts. This was where Tom had started - alone, unwanted, surrounded by muggles who couldn't understand him.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly. "For showing me this."

Tom's shoulders stiffened. He kept his back to Harry, still facing the window. "Don't mistake this for weakness."

"I don't." Harry took a step closer. "It explains some things though."

"Does it?" Tom's voice carried an edge. "And what exactly does it explain?"

Harry stepped closer to Tom, watching his rigid posture at the window. The moonlight cast shadows across Tom's face, making his expression hard to read.

"It explains why you work so hard to be perfect at school. Why you need to control everything." Harry gestured at the sparse room. "Growing up here, you couldn't control anything."

"You presume too much." Tom's fingers tightened on the windowsill.

"Am I wrong?" Harry moved to stand beside him. Below, the courtyard lay empty and dark. "I grew up unwanted too. Spent ten years sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs."

Tom's head snapped toward him. "What?"

"My aunt and uncle - they hated magic. Hated me." Harry kept his eyes on the courtyard. "Used to lock me in there when strange things happened. When I made things float or vanished glass without meaning to."

Tom turned fully to face Harry now, his eyes intense in the moonlight. "A cupboard?"

"Yeah." Harry shifted uncomfortably under Tom's scrutiny. "Not much bigger than a trunk really. Had spiders for company though."

"Your relatives were muggles?" Tom's voice held a dangerous edge.

Harry caught himself, realizing he was revealing too much. "I mean... yes. The people who took me in after my parents died were muggles."

"And they kept you in a cupboard?" Tom's voice was dangerously soft.

"It doesn't matter now." Harry stepped back from the window, trying to redirect the conversation. "That was a long time ago."

"You said you were privately tutored." Tom followed Harry's movement. "Yet you lived with muggles who hated magic?"

"I... had a magical guardian who taught me." Harry kept his voice steady, sticking to his cover story. "The muggles were just where I slept."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "You're hiding something."

"We all have secrets." Harry glanced at the door. "Maybe we should head back."

"Not yet." Tom blocked Harry's path to the door. "You know more about me now. It's only fair I learn more about you."

"Life wasn't great. That's all there is to say." Harry shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Like you said - it made me who I am."

"And who exactly are you, Harry Evans?" Tom stepped closer. "Sometimes I think I'm starting to understand you, then you say something that doesn't quite fit."

"I'm nobody special." Harry forced a laugh. "Just another orphan trying to figure things out."

"You're lying." Tom's voice remained soft, but his eyes hardened. "Not about being an orphan - that pain is real enough. But there's more you're not telling me."

Harry's heart raced. He'd said too much already. "We should go. It's late."

Tom stepped closer, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Please, Harry. We made a deal."

Harry's breath caught. In all their interactions, he'd never heard Tom Riddle say 'please' before. The word sounded strange coming from those lips.

Harry's shoulders slumped. They had made a deal - his honesty for Tom's. And Tom had just shown him something deeply personal.

"Fine." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "One question. Just one. And I'll answer truthfully."

Tom studied him in the moonlight streaming through the window. Harry braced himself, expecting questions about his past, his magical training, or his mysterious arrival at Hogwarts.

Tom stepped closer, his dark eyes fixed on Harry's face. "Why do you look at me like that?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Sometimes when you think I'm not watching - you look at me with such..." Tom paused, searching for the right word. "Fear? No, that's not quite right. Grief, perhaps. As if you're mourning something that hasn't happened yet."

Harry's mouth went dry. Of all the questions Tom could have asked, this wasn't one he'd prepared for.

"I..." Harry's voice cracked. He'd promised the truth. "Because sometimes I see two different people when I look at you. The person you are now, and... someone else. Someone you could become."

Tom's expression remained unreadable. "And this other version of me - that's what causes that look in your eyes?"

"That's more than one question," Harry said weakly.

Tom took another step closer, forcing Harry to back up against the window ledge. The cold glass pressed against Harry's back.

"You're doing it again." Tom's voice was barely above a whisper. "That look."

"We should go." Harry tried to slide sideways, but Tom's arm shot out, bracing against the wall beside Harry's head.

"Not until you explain." Tom leaned closer. "What do you see when you look at me like that?"

Harry's heart hammered in his chest. He could feel Tom's breath on his face, could see the moonlight reflecting in those dark eyes.

"I see..." Harry swallowed hard. "I see someone brilliant. Talented. Someone who could do incredible things."

"But?"

"But I also see someone who could become something terrible." The words tumbled out before Harry could stop them. "Someone who might choose power over everything else. Someone who could lose their humanity completely."

Tom went very still. For a long moment, the only sound was their breathing and the distant ticking of the orphanage clock.

"You think I could become a monster." It wasn't a question.

"I think you have a choice." Harry met Tom's gaze. "Everyone has choices."

"And what if I've already chosen?" Tom's free hand came up to brush Harry's cheek. "What if the path to power is the only one that makes sense?"

"Then why show me this place?" Harry gestured at the sparse room. "Why tell me about growing up here? Why..." He faltered as Tom's thumb traced his jawline.

"Perhaps I wanted you to understand." Tom's voice dropped lower. "Or perhaps I wanted to see if you'd run."

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

Tom's eyes searched Harry's face. "Yes. Despite everything, you're still here."

The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Harry could feel his resolve weakening under Tom's intense gaze.

The moonlight cast shadows across Tom's face as they both leaned in. Harry's heart thundered in his chest as their lips met. This kiss wasn't like the others - no force, no desperate need to dominate. Tom's lips moved against his with surprising gentleness.

Colors burst behind Harry's closed eyes - soft blues and golds swirling like watercolors. The familiar connection between them sparked, but different this time. Warmer. More open. Like a door slowly creaking wide.

Then the memories hit.

A small dark-haired boy sat alone in the corner of a playground, watching other children play. No one approached him. The loneliness felt sharp, tangible. Harry could taste it.

Flash of color - deep green now.

Tom, maybe seven years old, holding a small garden snake. The first time he realized he could understand it, speak to it. The joy and wonder of finally having someone to talk to.

Crimson streaks across Harry's vision.

A younger Mrs. Cole dragging Tom to church, insisting the devil needed to be prayed out of him. The shame and anger burning hot as other children whispered and pointed.

Purple sparks danced at the edges of Harry's mind.

The first time Tom made magic happen on purpose - floating a book down from a high shelf in the orphanage library. Pride and triumph mixing with bitter satisfaction.

Silver mist swirled.

The day Dumbledore came, proving Tom wasn't crazy, wasn't a freak. Magic was real. He was special. The validation he'd craved for so long.

Gold light pulsed.

Diagon Alley - seeing the magical world for the first time. The overwhelming sense of finally belonging somewhere.

The memories came faster now, fragments and feelings blending together. Harry heard echoes of children's taunts, felt the sting of rejection, tasted the fierce determination to prove everyone wrong. Through it all ran a desperate, aching need to be more than just another unwanted orphan.

The connection hummed between them, raw and open. Harry felt Tom's current emotions bleeding through - surprise, uncertainty, and something else. Something almost like fear at being so exposed.

Harry swayed on his feet as the memories faded, leaving spots of color dancing in his vision. His hands had somehow ended up gripping Tom's shoulders.

Harry stumbled back, breaking the kiss. His head spun from the rush of memories They stared at each other, both breathing hard.

"Your cupboard," Tom said finally, his voice rough. "I saw it. Felt how small it was."

Harry's stomach dropped. He hadn't meant to share those memories.

"And your cousin," Tom continued. "Hunting you with his friends. Making you run."

"Stop." Harry stepped back further, his shoulders hitting the cold window glass. His mind raced - how much had Tom seen?

Harry's back pressed against the cold window as he tried to sort through what had just happened. His head still spun from the rush of shared memories.

"We shouldn't have done that," Harry said, his voice shaking.

"Why not?" Tom hadn't moved back. "For the first time, I saw you clearly. The real you."

"You saw pieces." Harry's fingers gripped the windowsill behind him. "It doesn't mean anything."

"It means everything." Tom's eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. "We're the same, Harry. Both unwanted, both different. Both made stronger by what we endured."

"We're nothing alike." Harry shook his head. "The way we handled things, the choices we made-"

"The choices we're still making." Tom's hand came up to touch Harry's face.

Harry pulled away from Tom's touch, his heart still racing from the memory exchange. He needed space to think, to sort through what had just happened.

"What did you see of mine?" Tom asked.

"The orphanage. You as a kid, alone on the playground."

Tom's expression shifted slightly. "What else?"

"Mrs. Cole taking you to church. And when you first did magic on purpose - with the book." Harry watched Tom carefully. "Then Dumbledore visiting, and Diagon Alley."

"Interesting." Tom moved to lean against the desk. "The memories seemed... selective. Almost like they wanted to show us specific moments."

Harry nodded, relief flooding through him. Tom hadn't seen anything that would reveal the truth about his time travel. The memories had focused on their shared experiences - being orphans, feeling different.

"Did you mean for that to happen?" Harry asked. "The memory sharing?"

"No." Tom's fingers drummed once on the desk. "Though I've read about similar effects."

"Do you think it'll happen again?" Harry asked, still keeping his distance from Tom. "If we..." He gestured vaguely between them.

Tom straightened, his usual mask of control sliding back into place. "Perhaps we shouldn't test it."

"Yeah." Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Probably best not to."

"The memories were..." Tom paused, choosing his words carefully. "Unexpected. And not entirely welcome."

Harry understood. Tom Riddle sharing private memories, even unintentionally, went against everything he knew about the future Dark Lord. Control meant everything to him.

"Agreed." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Some things should stay private."

"Then we're in agreement." Tom's voice held a note of finality. "No more... physical contact. At least until we understand what causes this connection."

"Right." Harry pushed away from the window. "So we just... go back to normal?"

"Define normal." Tom's lips quirked slightly.

"You know what I mean." Harry moved toward the door. "No more kissing. No more sharing memories."

"For now." Tom's eyes followed Harry's movement. "Though I admit, I'm curious about the nature of this connection."

"Don't be." Harry reached for the door handle. "Some mysteries are better left unsolved."

Harry and Tom made their way down the orphanage's creaky stairs. Their footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as they headed for the front door. Harry noticed Tom's shoulders tense as they passed Mrs. Cole's office.

The night air felt cool on Harry's face as they stepped outside. The streets were empty and dark, with only a few scattered streetlights cutting through the gloom. Their shoes clicked against the cobblestones as they walked.

"That was... different," Harry said, breaking the silence.

"Indeed." Tom's voice stayed neutral. "Though I trust we can keep what happened between us."

"Who would I tell?" Harry kicked a loose stone. "Not exactly something I want to spread around."

They turned down a side street, moving away from the orphanage. Harry noticed how Tom's pace quickened once the building was out of sight.

"We'll need a quiet spot to summon the bus," Tom said. "There's a park two streets over."

Harry nodded, following Tom's lead through the winding streets. Neither spoke much, both lost in thoughts about what had happened in that small room.

"The memories," Harry said finally. "Did you know that could happen?"

"No." Tom's answer came quick and sharp. "I would not have allowed such exposure willingly."

"Even after all this time, I still don't understand why-" Harry's words cut off as a harsh wail pierced the night air. The sound rose and fell in waves, making his blood run cold.

Tom grabbed Harry's arm. "Air raid."

More sirens joined the first, their overlapping screams echoing off the buildings. Down the street, lights blinked out as people rushed to enforce the blackout.

Tom's fingers dug into Harry's arm as he pulled them toward a narrow alley. "This way."

"But you said there hadn't been a raid in weeks," Harry stumbled after him, heart pounding with each wail of the sirens.

"Plans change." Tom's voice was tight. His eyes scanned the buildings as they moved. "The Germans must have found a gap in the defenses."

A distant explosion lit up the sky. The ground trembled beneath their feet. Harry heard screams from nearby houses as people rushed to their shelters.

Another blast, closer this time. The sound of breaking glass filled the air as windows shattered. Tom yanked Harry behind a brick wall just as debris rained down on the spot where they'd been standing.

"The tube station's too far," Tom muttered, more to himself than Harry. His usual composed demeanor cracked as another explosion rocked the street. "We need somewhere closer."

They ran through the darkened streets, guided only by the occasional flashes of anti-aircraft fire above. Tom seemed to know every twist and turn, pulling Harry down side streets and through narrow passages.

The sound of airplane engines grew louder. Harry looked up to see dark shapes moving across the star-filled sky. His heart jumped into his throat as he spotted bombs falling like black teardrops.

"Down!" Tom shoved Harry into a doorway as the whistling sound of falling bombs filled the air. The explosion hit three buildings away, the force of it making Harry's teeth rattle.

When the dust settled, Tom pulled Harry up. "There's a shelter in the basement of the old factory. Two streets over."

They sprinted past burning buildings and crumbling walls. The air filled with smoke and the taste of burning wood. Harry's lungs burned as they ran.

A high-pitched whistle made them both freeze. Tom's eyes went wide. "Move!"

The bomb hit just as they dove behind a parked truck. The blast knocked them both off their feet. Harry's head cracked against the pavement. Through ringing ears, he heard Tom shouting something.

Hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up. Tom's face swam into focus, a cut above his eye dripping blood. His perfect composure was gone, replaced by raw urgency.

"Get up!" Tom hauled Harry to his feet. "We have to move. Now!"

The world turned sideways as another explosion rocked the street. Harry stumbled, his shoulder hitting brick. Through the smoke, he saw Tom running ahead, weaving between burning debris.

A wall of heat slammed into them as a nearby building collapsed. Harry's eyes watered from the smoke. His lungs burned with each breath.

"This way!" Tom's voice barely carried over the roar of flames and distant engines.

They rounded a corner into what used to be a shop. Glass crunched under their feet. The ceiling groaned above them.

"The shelter entrance is through the back-" Tom's words cut off as he glanced up. His eyes widened.

The silver bracelet against Harry's wrist suddenly burned hot against his skin. Harry followed Tom's gaze to see the ceiling breaking apart above them. A massive wooden beam, wrapped in flames, started to fall directly toward Harry's head.

Harry froze, his feet refusing to move as the burning wood plummeted down. Then something slammed into his side, shoving him hard. He hit the ground several feet away, rolling through broken glass and debris.

The crash came a split second later. Harry pushed himself up on scraped palms, turning to see what had happened.

His heart stopped.

Tom lay pinned beneath the burning beam, his normally perfect hair covered in ash and dust, strands matted against his forehead with sweat. Flames licked across his clothes, spreading quickly across the fabric. His face contorted in agony as he tried to push the heavy wood off his back, muscles straining visibly through his burning shirt. The wood creaked but didn't budge, and smoke began curling around his head in thick, choking tendrils.

Then Tom screamed.

The sound ripped through the burning shop, raw and primal, echoing off the crumbling walls and reverberating in Harry's bones. Nothing like Tom's usual controlled tones, nothing like his measured words and careful inflections. This was pure pain, stripped of all pretense.

The scream echoed off the walls, mixing with the crackle of flames. Tom thrashed under the beam, his movements growing weaker as smoke filled his lungs.

Harry stared in horror, his mind struggling to process what had happened. Tom had pushed him out of the way. Tom had saved him.

Tom's screams turned to choking coughs as the smoke thickened around them.

"No, no, no." Harry scrambled forward, choking on smoke. Heat blistered his hands as he grabbed the beam. "Hold on!"

Harry heaved at the beam, muscles straining. It barely moved.

"Please," Harry's voice cracked. This couldn't be happening. Not like this.

The fire spread faster. Harry could smell burning flesh now. Tom's face had gone ghost-white, his dark eyes wide with pain and something that looked like fear.

"Harry-" Tom's voice came out raw. His hand reached up, fingers curling into Harry's sleeve.

Another explosion outside made the walls shake. More debris rained down around them. Harry's mind raced - he couldn't let it end here. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

Tom's grip on Harry's sleeve weakened. His eyes started to close.

"Stay with me!" Harry's panic rose as Tom's breathing grew shallow. The flames were spreading, consuming everything. "Please, just stay with me."

The heat pressed in from all sides. Smoke filled Harry's lungs as he tried again to lift the beam. Tom had stopped moving.

Through the haze of tears and smoke, Harry saw Tom's lips moving. No sound came out. The flames reflected in his dark eyes, turning them blood red for just a moment.

Harry's heart stopped. He knew those eyes. Had seen them in nightmares. But now they were fading, closing, as the fire roared around them.

Harry's hands shook as he fumbled for his wand. The Ministry's rules about underage magic didn't matter anymore - not with Tom dying in front of him.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry's voice cracked from the smoke, but the spell lifted the burning beam. He shoved it aside, flames licking at his sleeves.

Tom lay motionless, his back a mess of burns and blood. His breathing came in short, weak gasps.

"Aguamenti!" Water sprayed from Harry's wand, dousing the flames on Tom's clothes. Steam hissed up around them.

The building groaned above them. Harry had to get them out before the whole place collapsed. He pointed his wand at Tom's still form.

"Levicorpus." Tom's body floated up, suspended by the spell. Harry guided him through the burning shop, ducking under falling debris.

The street outside was chaos. Fires burned everywhere, and the air raid sirens still wailed. Harry spotted a narrow alley across the road.

"Hold on," Harry muttered, though he wasn't sure Tom could hear him. He ran for the alley, Tom's floating body following behind.

Once they were away from the main street, Harry lowered Tom to the ground. The burns looked worse in the dim light. Tom's skin had turned an angry red where the flames had touched him.

Harry's hands trembled as he held his wand over the burns. He'd never learned proper healing spells - Madam Pomfrey always handled injuries at Hogwarts.

"Episkey," Harry tried, but the simple healing charm did nothing for burns this severe.

Tom's eyes fluttered open. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

"I don't know what to do," Harry's voice shook. "I don't know the right spells."

Harry's vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. His hands shook as he gripped his wand, watching Tom's chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. The burns looked awful - angry red and black patches spread across Tom's back where the beam had pinned him. Dark blisters were already forming along the edges of the worst burns, and the acrid smell of charred fabric and flesh made Harry's stomach turn. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, knowing he needed to do something - anything - to help, but feeling utterly helpless as Tom's labored breathing grew more ragged.

"Please," Harry whispered, his voice cracking. "Don't die. I can't let you die."

Tom's eyes fluttered, unfocused and glazed with pain. His fingers twitched against the ground, leaving trails in the dirt and ash.

Harry wiped roughly at his eyes, trying to clear his vision. The thought of Tom dying here, in this dark alley during an air raid, made his chest tight. This wasn't supposed to happen. Whatever Tom would become in the future, right now he was just a sixteen-year-old boy burning to death.

Harry's hands pressed against Tom's burns, trying to stop the bleeding. His thoughts raced, panic rising as Tom's breathing grew weaker.

"You can't die," Harry choked out. "You're Tom Riddle. You can't die from something as ordinary as fire."

Tom's eyes flickered open at his name, glazed with pain but focusing on Harry's face.

"You're supposed to become the most powerful wizard alive," Harry's voice cracked, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

Tom's eyes widened slightly, a flash of something crossing his face despite the pain. His lips moved, trying to form words, but only a weak cough came out.

Another explosion rocked the street behind them. Harry tightened his grip on Tom's shoulder, trying to focus on keeping him alive.

Harry pulled Tom closer as another bomb whistled overhead. The alley offered little protection, but moving Tom again could make his injuries worse. Smoke and dust filled the air, making it hard to breathe.

"Stay with me," Harry said, his voice hoarse. "Just stay awake."

Tom's skin felt cold under Harry's hands despite the burns. His breathing came in short, painful gasps. The burns across his back looked worse by the minute.

Harry's mind raced through every healing spell he'd ever heard mentioned. Nothing seemed useful for injuries this severe. He needed help - real medical help - but St. Mungo's was too far to apparate even if he knew how.

"The Knight Bus," Harry remembered suddenly. "We just need to get to the main road."

Tom's eyes opened slightly at Harry's voice, but there was no recognition in them. The pain seemed to have pushed him past coherent thought.

"This is going to hurt," Harry warned, though he wasn't sure Tom could hear him. He raised his wand, preparing to levitate Tom again.

A loud crack split the air - different from the bombs. Harry spun around, wand raised.

Dumbledore stood at the entrance to the alley, his auburn hair and beard reflecting the fires burning nearby. His blue eyes took in the scene quickly.

"Professor," Harry's voice cracked with relief. "He's hurt - the fire-"

Dumbledore moved forward, kneeling beside Tom's prone form. His wand moved in complex patterns as he muttered spells Harry didn't recognize.

"The burns are severe," Dumbledore said quietly. "But not beyond healing." He conjured a stretcher beneath Tom's body. "We must get him to St. Mungo's immediately."

"Can we apparate?" Harry asked, still gripping Tom's hand.

"Not with these injuries." Dumbledore touched Harry's shoulder. "Hold tight to the stretcher. We'll use a portkey."

Harry grabbed the edge of the floating stretcher. Dumbledore pulled an old pocket watch from his robes, tapping it with his wand.

The last thing Harry saw was another bomb lighting up the London sky before the portkey yanked them away from the burning city.

Chapter Text

They materialized in St. Mungo's emergency ward with a crack. Harry's knees buckled from the portkey travel, but he kept his grip on Tom's stretcher.

"Emergency burn victim!" Dumbledore's voice cut through the quiet hospital wing.

Healers in lime green robes rushed forward, their wands already moving in diagnostic patterns. Glowing runes appeared in the air above Tom's stretcher, pulsing with different colors.

The bright lights of the ward revealed the true horror of Tom's injuries. What had looked bad in the dark alley was catastrophic under the harsh hospital lighting. The beam had burned straight through Tom's robes into his flesh. Raw, blackened skin peeled away in layers where the fabric had melted. Blood and clear fluid seeped from the deepest burns across his shoulder blades.

Tom's body jerked as the healers cut away his ruined clothes. His fingers clawed at the stretcher, knuckles white with pain. A low, animal sound escaped his throat.

"Second and third degree burns across thirty percent of his back," one healer announced, her wand trailing blue light over Tom's injuries. "Severe tissue damage to the shoulder and spine."

"We need to move him to the burn unit," the head healer decided. "Prepare the specialty ward."

Another healer pressed a cloth soaked in purple liquid against the burns. Tom's whole body went rigid, a strangled scream tearing from his lips. His back arched off the stretcher as he tried to escape the pain.

"Hold him still!" The head healer ordered.

Harry moved to help hold Tom down, but a nurse pushed him back. "Let the healers work."

Tom's eyes flew open, unseeing and filled with agony. His chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead.

"Blood pressure dropping," a younger healer called out. "Heart rate erratic."

"Get me blood replenishing potion," the head healer barked. "And burn paste. The concentrated stuff from the restricted stores."

A nurse rushed off while two other healers continued working on Tom's burns. Their wands moved in complex patterns, siphoning away dead tissue and drawing out heat from the wounds. Each spell made Tom's body twitch and jerk on the stretcher.

The floating runes flashed warning patterns. Harry couldn't read the symbols, but their color changed from blue to red.

The head healer swore under her breath. 

Tom's body convulsed as they spread thick orange paste over his burns. His teeth clenched so hard Harry heard them grinding. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

"The spine is damaged," another healer reported. "Burns go deep into the muscle tissue."

Harry's stomach lurched as he caught glimpses of white bone through the worst burns. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air, making his eyes water. He watched helplessly as Tom thrashed against the healers' hands, pain overwhelming whatever consciousness remained.

"Stay with us," the head healer commanded, forcing a potion down Tom's throat. "Fight through it."

Tom gagged on the potion, his body spasming. A horrible keening sound escaped him - nothing like his usual controlled voice. His fingers scrabbled against the stretcher, leaving bloody streaks on the white sheets.

Harry pressed against the wall as more healers rushed in, their robes swishing past him. 

"Blood pressure still dropping," a healer called out. "Sixty over forty."

"He's not stabilizing." The head healer's wand moved faster. "Where's that blood replenisher?"

A young apprentice healer ran up with vials of dark red potion. Her hands shook as she tried to pour it into Tom's mouth. Most of it spilled down his chin.

"Useless!" The head healer snatched the vial. "Someone get her out of here."

Tom's breathing came in short, painful gasps. His skin had gone grey, lips taking on a blue tinge. The floating runes above his stretcher now flashed angry red, their symbols pulsing with urgency.

"Pressure's critical," someone shouted. "We're losing him!"

Harry's own heart pounded as he watched Tom's chest rise and fall in an uneven rhythm. The healers' voices blurred together in a panic of medical terms he didn't understand.

Then Tom's body went rigid. His back arched off the stretcher, muscles seizing violently as tremors wracked his frame. His jaw clenched tight, tendons standing out like cords in his neck as the spasms intensified. The metal rails of the stretcher rattled against the floor with the force of his convulsions.

"Cardiac arrest!" The head healer's voice cut through the chaos. "Start compressions!"

A burly healer stepped forward, placing his hands on Tom's chest. He pushed down in a steady rhythm while another healer counted.

"One, two, three, four..."

Tom's head lolled to the side, eyes rolled back. His fingers, which had been clutching the stretcher, went limp.

"No pulse," a healer announced. "Beginning emergency revival spells."

Blue light pulsed from their wands into Tom's chest. His body jerked with each spell but showed no signs of response.

"Again!" The head healer ordered. 

Harry flinched as Tom's body jolted again, the sound of the stretcher rails rattling filling the room. His throat closed up as he watched Tom's face grow paler.

"Come on, come on," the healer muttered, casting again and again. Tom's body jumped with each spell, but his chest remained still.

The head healer wiped sweat from her brow, still casting revival spells. "We need that burn unit ready the moment we stabilize him."

Harry watched Tom's lifeless face, his own hands shaking. The glowing runes continued their shrill warning as healers worked frantically around the stretcher.

"Trying a stronger revival charm," the head healer announced. She traced a complex pattern with her wand, golden light building at the tip. "Everyone back!"

The spell hit Tom's chest with enough force to lift his body off the stretcher. He crashed back down as electricity-like energy coursed through him. For a terrible moment, nothing happened.

Then Tom gasped, his body convulsing as his heart stuttered back to life. The monitors changed from angry red to cautious yellow.

"Pulse detected," a healer called out. "Weak but steady."

"Blood pressure rising," another added. "Fifty-five over thirty."

The head healer kept her wand trained on Tom's chest, monitoring each heartbeat. "Not good enough for transport. We need him stronger before moving him upstairs."

Tom's breathing came in shallow pants, his skin still ghostly pale. Fresh blood seeped from the burns where his convulsions had torn open healing tissue.

"More blood replenisher," the head healer ordered. "And pain potions - he's going into shock."

They poured potion after potion down Tom's throat. His body accepted them this time, though his face remained twisted in agony. The glowing runes slowly shifted from yellow to green as his vital signs improved.

"Pressure stabilizing," a healer reported. "Sixty-five over forty."

The healers lifted Tom's stretcher with synchronized wand movements. His body floated a few inches above the metal frame, preventing any pressure on the burns.

"Burn unit's ready," a nurse announced, holding open the double doors.

The head healer kept her wand trained on Tom's chest as they moved. "Careful around corners. Any jostling could reopen the wounds."

Harry watched them rush Tom down the stark white corridor. The stretcher disappeared through another set of doors marked "Specialized Treatment - Authorized Personnel Only."

Harry's legs finally gave out. He slid down the wall, his whole body shaking as the adrenaline crashed. The white hospital floor felt cold through his soot-stained clothes.

His hands hurt. He hadn't even noticed the burns until now - angry red patches where he'd grabbed the burning beam to push it off Tom. Blisters were already forming across his palms.

"You need treatment too." A nurse with kind eyes knelt beside him. She gently took his wrists, turning his hands over to examine the burns. "And I imagine you've inhaled quite a bit of smoke."

Harry tried to speak but coughed instead. His throat felt raw, each breath scratching like sandpaper.

"Go with her, Harry." Dumbledore's voice was soft but firm. "You need healing as well."

Harry wanted to protest, but another coughing fit doubled him over. The nurse helped him to his feet, steadying him when his legs wobbled.

"This way," she said, leading him toward a smaller treatment room. "We'll get those burns taken care of."

As the nurse guided him toward the smaller treatment room, Harry glanced back over his shoulder. Dumbledore stood where they'd left him, his expression calm, though his knuckles whitened around his wand. Harry’s stomach twisted at the unspoken worry in the older wizard’s eyes.

"Come along," the nurse urged softly, her hand steadying Harry as his legs threatened to buckle again.

With one last look, Harry turned away, letting the door close behind him as he followed her into the quiet room ahead.

Chapter Text

Harry's eyes drooped as he sank into the crisp hospital sheets. The pain potion dulled the burning in his bandaged hands to a distant throb. His throat felt less raw after the healing draught, though each breath still carried a slight wheeze.

The private room was so quiet, it felt like a soft blanket wrapped around him. The only sounds were the ticking of a clock and the occasional footsteps in the hallway. His mind kept returning to Tom's lifeless face, the way his body had jerked when the revival spells hit him.

Dumbledore's entrance made the door creak, and Harry's eyes widened at the sight of him.

"Professor." Harry pushed himself up against the pillows, ignoring the protest from his injured hands. "How is he? Is Tom-"

"Mr. Riddle is still in critical condition, but stable." Dumbledore conjured a squashy armchair beside the bed. "The healers are confident they can repair the burn damage, though it will take time."

Harry's shoulders sagged with relief. "He's going to make it?"

"Yes." Dumbledore's blue eyes lost their usual twinkle. "Though it will be several weeks before he can return to Hogwarts. The healers need to monitor his recovery closely."

The weight in Harry's chest eased. He slumped back against the pillows, the adrenaline finally draining from his system.

"And how are you feeling, Harry?" Dumbledore leaned forward, studying Harry's face. "The healers mentioned smoke inhalation and second-degree burns."

"I'll be fine." Harry flexed his bandaged hands. "The potions helped."

The question that had been nagging at him suddenly burst forth. "Sir, how did you find us? In London, during the raid?"

Dumbledore's expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. He adjusted his half-moon spectacles and sighed.

"I must confess something, Harry. After your incident at the lake, I placed a trace on you."

Harry's jaw clenched. "You've been tracking me?"

"A simple charm to alert me if you were in danger." Dumbledore's fingers traced the pattern on his chair's arm. "Given your... unique circumstances, I felt it prudent to take precautions."

Heat rose in Harry's face, not from the burns this time. "So you knew every time I left the castle?"

"No, the charm only activates in life-threatening situations. When the bombs started falling in London, it alerted me immediately." Dumbledore's voice softened. "I understand this may feel like a breach of trust-"

"That's exactly what it is." Harry's bandaged hands curled into fists despite the pain. "You could have told me."

"Perhaps I should have." Dumbledore met Harry's gaze. "But I feared you might take unnecessary risks if you knew someone was watching over you."

The words struck too close to memories of his own time - of all the times people had tried to protect him by keeping him in the dark. The familiar frustration bubbled up.

"I'm not a child who needs constant supervision."

"No, you're not." Dumbledore's blue eyes held a hint of sadness. "You're a young man caught in an impossible situation, carrying knowledge that could reshape our world. The trace wasn't meant to control you, Harry."

Harry opened his mouth to argue further, but the image of Tom's burned body flashed through his mind. If Dumbledore hadn't arrived when he did...

"I want to be angry about this." Harry picked at a loose thread on his bandage. "But Tom would probably be dead if you hadn't shown up."

"That doesn't make my actions right." Dumbledore's voice carried a gentle understanding that made Harry's chest tighten. "You deserve autonomy, especially given all you've endured."

Harry's shoulders slumped. The familiar mix of gratitude and resentment toward Dumbledore - so reminiscent of his own time - twisted in his gut.

"I just wish-" Harry paused, struggling to put his feelings into words. "Everything's so complicated here. I can't tell anyone the truth. I can't be honest about who I am. And now this thing with Tom..."

Dumbledore's gaze lingered, his eyebrows arching ever so slightly. "Yes, this 'thing' with Tom. Why exactly were you out in London with him in the first place?"

Heat crept up Harry's neck. He stared at his bandaged hands, buying time to organize his thoughts. "He wanted to show me something. The orphanage where he grew up."

"Wool's Orphanage?" Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Tom has never willingly shared that part of his life with anyone."

Harry swallowed hard. "That's what made it so..." He trailed off, unable to find the right word.

"Significant?" Dumbledore supplied. His voice carried a note of concern. "Tom Riddle does not open up without purpose, Harry."

"You think he had ulterior motives?" The question came out sharper than Harry intended.

"I think," Dumbledore chose his words carefully, "that Tom's interest in you has grown beyond mere curiosity. And that worries me."

Harry's stomach twisted. The memory of Tom's lips against his, the rush of shared memories, flashed through his mind.

"We-" Harry's voice cracked. "Something happened at the orphanage."

Dumbledore leaned forward, his blue eyes intense. "What exactly happened, Harry?"

The words stuck in Harry's throat. How could he explain the connection, the pull he felt toward Tom? How could he admit that for a moment, he'd seen past the monster Tom would become and glimpsed something else entirely?

"I can't." Harry's voice came out barely above a whisper. "Please don't ask me to explain it."

Dumbledore released a heavy sigh, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "I recall advising you to be more open with Tom. To satisfy his curiosity and perhaps diminish his fixation."

"You did." Harry shifted against the pillows. "But this is different."

"Indeed." Dumbledore's gaze drifted to the window, where morning light painted the hospital walls in pale gold. "If you're considering strengthening whatever connection has formed between you..."

Harry's heart jumped. "I didn't say-"

"You didn't need to." Dumbledore's eyes held no judgment, only a deep thoughtfulness. "The timeline has already shifted considerably from your presence here, Harry. Your interactions with Tom, with your classmates - they've created ripples we cannot fully comprehend."

Harry's hands trembled. The words he'd been holding back spilled out. "He saved my life, Professor. During the bombing."

His throat tightened around the confession. "When the building started coming down, I froze. Tom could have gotten clear, but he..." Harry's voice cracked. "He pushed me out of the way. That's how he got burned so badly."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, genuine surprise crossing his features. "He deliberately placed himself in harm's way to protect you?"

"Yes." Harry stared at his bandaged hands. "I keep replaying it in my head. The way he looked at me right before - there wasn't even hesitation. He just acted."

"The Tom I know would never endanger himself for another person." Dumbledore leaned forward, his blue eyes intent. "Yet he did. For you."

Harry twisted the edge of his blanket between his bandaged fingers. "I still can't believe it myself." His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper. "And it confuses me. Part of me wishes he hadn't."

Dumbledore remained silent, allowing Harry to gather his scattered thoughts.

"This only complicates things." Harry stared at the ceiling, unable to meet Dumbledore's penetrating gaze. "My image of Tom. Before all of this, it was easy to know what to think of him and how to feel around him. Now..." He swallowed hard. "It's complicated."

The morning light cast shadows across his hospital bed, dancing patterns that reminded him of the flames that had engulfed the building. The same flames Tom had shielded him from.

"It was easier when I could just hate him." The admission felt like glass in his throat. "When everything was black and white. Now there's all these... shades of grey."

Dumbledore hummed, a soft thoughtful sound. "I wish I could offer you guidance that would make this easier. But I fear my previous advice hasn't helped you in quite the way I hoped."

Harry's shoulders slumped. The weight of everything - the time travel, Tom, the bombing - pressed down on him. A yawn escaped before he could stifle it.

"When can I see him?" Harry blinked heavily, fighting against the exhaustion seeping into his bones.

"Patience, my boy." Dumbledore rose from his chair, which vanished with a wave of his wand. "I'll fetch you myself as soon as Tom is allowed visitors."

"Promise?" Harry's voice came out smaller than he intended, betraying how much the answer meant to him.

"You have my word." Dumbledore paused at the door. "Rest now. You've been through quite an ordeal yourself."

The door shut with a click, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts and the steady ticking of the clock.

Chapter Text

Harry’s feet hit the cold hospital floor before he’d fully made the decision to move. He couldn’t lie there any longer, not with the image of Tom’s burned back seared into his mind. Dumbledore told him that the healers said Tom was stable, but Harry needed to see that for himself.

The hospital gown pooled at his feet as he reached for the pile of clothes folded neatly on the chair in the corner of the room. His hands shook as he buttoned his shirt, the fabric stiff and unfamiliar against his healing burns.

The hallway outside his room was dimly lit, the soft hum of magical machinery filling the air. Harry moved quickly, his footsteps silent against the polished floor. He’d visited St. Mungo’s only a few weeks ago, so he knew the burn unit was on the third floor, in a quieter wing of the hospital.

He took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the ache in his legs. The door to the burn unit loomed ahead, its heavy wood marked with a sign that read Restricted Access. Harry hesitated for only a moment before pushing it open.

The air inside was cooler, tinged with the sharp scent of antiseptic and something faintly herbal. He moved down the row of private rooms, his heart pounding in his chest.

The first room held an elderly witch, her face wrapped in bandages that glowed with a faint blue light. Harry moved on. The second room was empty, its bed pristine and waiting.

His breath caught as he reached the third door. Through the small window, he spotted a figure lying motionless on the bed. Dark hair splayed across the pillow, but it wasn't Tom - just another patient sleeping peacefully.

Harry's fingers trailed along the wall as he walked, touching the cool stone to steady himself. The fourth room was dark, and the fifth held a young boy whose mother dozed in a chair beside him.

At the sixth door, Harry froze. Tom lay face-down on the bed, his back covered in a translucent membrane that shifted and rippled with healing magic. Tubes of various potions snaked from floating bottles to his arms, each one pulsing with different colored liquids.

Harry pressed his palm against the glass. Tom's face was turned away, but Harry could see the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His shoulders, usually held with such rigid control, were slack against the mattress.

A monitoring charm hung in the air above the bed, tracking Tom's vital signs in glowing green numbers. Harry's eyes fixed on the heartbeat count - steady, if slower than normal. The sight of each beat made his own heart clench.

He reached for the door handle, needing to get closer, to make sure Tom was really alive beneath all those healing spells. But before his fingers could touch the metal, footsteps echoed from around the corner.

Harry ducked into an alcove behind a large potted plant, his heart hammering against his ribs. The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by voices.

"The burns are responding well to the membrane treatment." A woman's voice, crisp and professional. "Better than expected, given the severity."

"His magical core is remarkably strong." The second voice belonged to an older man. Their shadows passed across the floor near Harry's hiding spot. "Most patients with that level of trauma show significant depletion."

"The cardiac episode concerns me." The healers paused outside Tom's room. Harry held his breath. "We need to monitor for arrhythmia."

"Agreed. Though his vitals have stabilized since we adjusted the blood replenishing potion." Paper rustled - someone checking charts. "The scarring should be minimal if we maintain the current treatment schedule."

"What about the nerve damage?"

"Too early to tell. The diagnostic spells show promising signs of regeneration in the affected areas." A quill scratched against parchment. "We'll know more once he regains consciousness."

"Speaking of which - any change in his sedation levels?"

"Starting to decrease naturally. He fought the sleeping draught earlier - tried to wake up despite it. Had to increase the dosage."

The woman clicked her tongue. "Stubborn patient. Though that fighting spirit might work in his favor."

"Indeed. Let's check his readings again in two hours. The membrane will need refreshing by then."

Their footsteps moved away, voices fading as they continued their rounds. Harry sagged against the wall, processing what he'd heard. Tom was healing, fighting the potions even while unconscious. Something tight in Harry's chest loosened slightly at this evidence of Tom's persistence.

The corridor fell silent again except for the distant hum of magical monitoring charms.

Harry hesitated a moment longer before entering the room, the door falling shut behind him. The air was heavy with the scent of healing potions and the faint hum of magic. He stepped closer to the bed, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. Tom lay still, his face turned slightly to the side, his features softened in unconsciousness. The translucent membrane covering his back shimmered faintly, the magic working to repair the damage.

As he stood at the edge of the bed, his hands clenched at his sides. He stared down at Tom, his chest tightening. "Are you awake?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. There was no response, just the steady rise and fall of Tom’s breathing.

He hesitated, then pulled a chair closer and sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "You’re a mess," he said, his voice rough. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling slightly. "You could’ve died back there. And for what? Me? I don’t get it."

Harry’s eyes flicked to the monitoring charm above the bed, the green numbers steady but slow. "You’re always so calculated, so in control. But this—this wasn’t calculated. You just... acted. And now you’re lying here, and I don’t know what to do with that."

He leaned back in the chair, his gaze fixed on Tom’s face. "You’re supposed to be the one who doesn’t care, who only looks out for himself. But you pushed me out of the way. You saved my life. And I don’t know how to reconcile that with everything else I know about you."

He leaned back in the chair, his gaze fixed on Tom’s face. The sharp angles of his cheekbones were softened in the dim light, his lips slightly parted as he breathed.

"You’re a puzzle," Harry said quietly. "And I don’t know if I’m supposed to solve you or just walk away. But I can’t do either right now, not while you’re like this." He reached out, his hand hovering over Tom’s. "You’d better wake up, because I’m not done trying to figure you out."

The faint rise and fall of Tom’s chest was the only movement in the room, the silence pressing in around them. Slowly, carefully, Harry reached out and took Tom’s hand in his own. It was warm, the skin smooth against his palm, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know why he did it—maybe because it felt like the only thing he could do, the only way to feel connected to the boy lying there, so still and vulnerable.

He sat there, holding Tom’s hand, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of it. The monitoring charm above the bed continued its steady hum, the green numbers flickering slightly. Harry’s mind raced, but he didn’t let go.

The door made a sound, and Harry stopped moving. A woman walked in, wearing healer robes and a severe expression. She stopped when she saw Harry, her eyes narrowing. “What are you doing in here? This is a restricted area. You shouldn’t be here.”

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but before he could say anything, her gaze dropped to their joined hands. Her expression softened, and she let out a small, understanding sigh. "Ah," she said, her voice gentler now. "Young love. I’ll give you two minutes with your boyfriend, but then you have to leave. He needs his rest."

Harry's face flushed, but he didn't correct her. He just nodded, his grip on Tom's hand tightening slightly despite the sting of pressure against his healing skin.

The healer's eyes lingered on Harry's bandaged hands for a moment as she noticed how carefully he held Tom's hand between his wrapped palms. "Be gentle with those burns," she added softly. "Both his and yours need time to heal properly."

She gave him a small smile before turning and leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Harry sat in the silence, the weight of the healer’s words lingering in the air. Young love. The phrase felt foreign, absurd even, but he didn’t let go of Tom’s hand. He couldn’t. Not yet.

His thumb brushed over the back of Tom’s hand again, almost without him noticing. He didn’t know what to say, what to think. The memory of the bombing played over and over in his head—the roar of the bomb, the heat of the flames, the way Tom had pushed him out of the way. It made no sense. None of it did.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and Harry looked up. The healer stood in the doorway, her arms crossed. "Time’s up," she said. "He needs to rest, and you need to go back to your own recovery."

Harry hesitated, his grip on Tom’s hand tightening for a moment before he finally let go. He stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor. "Will he—" He stopped, his voice catching. "Will he be okay?"

The healer’s expression softened. "He’s strong. And he’s getting the best care we can give him. But he needs time. You both do."

His throat felt tight as he nodded. He looked at Tom one last time, then walked out of the room.

Harry leaned against the wall for a moment, his head spinning. He didn’t know what to do next, what to feel. All he knew was that he couldn’t stay here, not with the weight of everything pressing down on him.

He straightened and walked out into the corridor, the sound of his footsteps loud in the silence. The healer’s words echoed in his mind. Young love. Harry shook his head, trying to push the thought away. It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. But as he walked, the memory of Tom’s hand in his own lingered, warm and real, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to let it go.

Chapter Text

Harry sank into one of the leather armchairs in the Slytherin common room, the green-tinged light from the lake windows casting shadows across his face. The room was empty - most students were still in class. His hands, wrapped in bandages, rested on his knees.

"You need to focus on your recovery," Dumbledore had told him that morning before escorting him back to Hogwarts. "Tom is in capable hands. The healers will notify us the moment he regains consciousness."

The crackling fire did little to warm the chill that had settled in Harry's bones. He'd argued with Dumbledore, insisted on staying at St. Mungo's, but Dumbledore had been firm.

"There's nothing you can do for him right now," Dumbledore had said, his blue eyes gentle but resolute. "The healers need space to work, and you need rest. When Tom wakes up, you'll be the first to know."

Harry flexed his fingers, wincing at the tightness of healing skin. The burns were slowly fading, but they still ached with every movement.

A soft pop broke the silence, and a house-elf appeared with a tea tray, setting it on the table beside him. Her large, bat-like ears drooped with concern as she carefully arranged the cups and saucers. “Headmaster Dippet is asking Chirpy to bring young master some tea and pain potions. Chirpy is also bringing extra honey, to help master sleep better.”

Harry expressed his gratitude with a nod, but he didn’t reach for the tea or the potions. His stomach was churning too much to think about consuming anything. The elf disappeared with another soft pop, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

Days. It could be days before Tom woke up. Harry closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair, trying to force himself to relax. The waiting felt unbearable, but he had no choice. All he could do was stay here and hope for news.

The common room door creaked open, and Harry tensed instinctively as footsteps approached, followed by hushed voices.

"Look who we have here." Mulciber's sneer broke the silence. He sauntered forward with Nott and Rosier at his sides. "Word is you had quite the escapade in the city."

Harry kept his eyes fixed on the fire, not bothering to turn around.

"The Prophet's already running the story." Mulciber circled around to face Harry, dropping a newspaper onto the table. "Two Hogwarts students caught in Muggle bombing. Rather careless, wouldn't you say?"

Harry kept his gaze fixed firmly on the fireplace, ignoring Mulciber's taunts. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the newspaper headline - "Hogwarts Students Injured in London Bombing" - but he refused to give Mulciber the satisfaction of a response.

"Not so chatty now, are you?" Mulciber snatched up the newspaper and scanned the article. "Doesn't give too many details, unfortunately. Although it does mention you and Riddle were out well past curfew...and that the circumstances are 'suspicious.'"

He let the paper drop back to the table. Behind him, Nott and Rosier snickered. Harry dug his fingernails into his palms, anger simmering in his chest.

"Riddle's still in critical condition, I hear," Mulciber continued. "Touch and go...the healers don't know if he'll make it." He paused, as if waiting for Harry to react. When Harry didn't, Mulciber leaned down, putting his face uncomfortably close.

"What I can't figure out is why our esteemed Head Boy was wandering London in the middle of the night with the likes of you." Mulciber's eyes narrowed. "Care to enlighten us about what you two were really up to?"

Harry's jaw tightened, but he held Mulciber's gaze without speaking. After a long, tense moment, Mulciber straightened with a scowl.

"Have it your way. But whatever trouble you've dragged Riddle into, you can be sure there will be consequences."

With that vague threat lingering in the air, Mulciber turned on his heel and strode from the common room, Nott and Rosier trailing after him. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Harry alone once more.

Letting out a slow breath, Harry dropped his head into his bandaged hands. Mulciber's words echoed in his mind, stoking the worry that already churned within him.

What if Tom didn't make it? The thought haunted him. He shouldn't care - not after everything Tom had done and would go on to do.

But he did care. And he hated himself for it.

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples, the conversation with Mulciber leaving him drained. He needed to get away from prying eyes.

Pushing himself to his feet, he moved toward the hallway leading to the dormitories. Sleep likely wouldn't come, but at least he could have some privacy to gather his thoughts.

He was halfway across the common room when the entrance door swung open again. Harry tensed, preparing himself for another confrontation, but it was only Avery and Lestrange.

The two Slytherins paused when they saw Harry. Lestrange's gaze moved to the bandages peeking out from Harry's sleeves.

"Merlin, it's true then," he said. "We heard you got caught in that Muggle bombing last night."

Harry said nothing. He wasn't in the mood for more questions.

Avery's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. "And Riddle was with you?"

Harry nodded.

"Merlin," Avery breathed. "Is he... how bad is it?"

"Bad enough. Burns on his back, smoke damage to his lungs." Harry's voice cracked. "The healers say he's stable now, but..."

"But you're worried," Lestrange finished.

Harry nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. He tensed as Avery stared at him, his expression guarded.

"What were you and Riddle doing out there anyway?" Avery asked.

Harry bristled at the implied accusation in Avery's tone. After everything that had happened, the last thing he wanted was to justify himself to Avery.

"We just went for a walk, that's all," Harry said tightly. "It's none of your business."

Avery's eyes narrowed. "None of my business? My friend is lying half-dead in the hospital, and you say it's none of my business why?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Harry snapped. "It was just supposed to be a quick trip into London, no big deal. How were we supposed to know the city would get bombed that night?"

"A quick trip to do what?" Avery demanded. "What was so important that you had to sneak out in the middle of the night?"

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "Look, we didn't plan for any of this to happen," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "Badgering me for details isn't going to change anything."

Avery's shoulders slumped slightly. "I just want to understand what's going on. The Prophet made it sound...I don't know...like you two were up to something dodgy."

Harry sighed, the fight going out of him. "We weren't. It was just supposed to be a fun night out, that's all. We didn't do anything wrong."

Avery studied Harry for a long moment, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. Finally he nodded, though his expression remained troubled. "Alright. If you say it was just an innocent outing, I believe you." He glanced at the bandages peeking out from Harry's sleeves. "I should let you rest. Just...let me know if you hear anything about Tom's condition."

With that, Avery turned and disappeared down the corridor leading to the dormitories. Harry watched him go. One difficult conversation down, many more still to come, no doubt.

"Sounds like you've had a rough go of it," Lestrange said quietly. He moved closer to the fireplace, leaning against the mantel beside where Harry stood. 

Harry shook his head. "This is nothing compared to what Tom had to endure. He saved me."

Lestrange's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Harry hesitated. He hadn't intended to share details of what happened that night with anyone. But Lestrange's expression held only kindness and concern.

Harry flexed his bandaged fingers, recalling the memory of Tom pushing him out of harm's way.

"That doesn't sound like Riddle," Lestrange said, then winced at Harry's sharp look. "I mean - pushing you out of the way. Risking himself like that."

"Yeah." Harry picked at the edge of his bandage. "Surprised me too."

"Maybe he changed," Lestrange said, his voice thoughtful. "People do, you know. Even Riddle."

Harry's fingers tightened. Could someone really change that fundamentally? Harry wanted to believe it was possible. But his stomach churned with doubt. Tom's ambitions ran deep, carved into his very being. The carefully planned meetings with his followers, his obsession with power and control - those hadn't vanished. They were still there.

Unless...

Harry's thoughts drifted to dangerous territory. What if he could redirect that ambition? Guide it away from the darkness that would consume Tom? So much had already shifted with Harry's presence here. The possibilities made his head spin - Tom's brilliance and drive could be channeled toward something meaningful, something that didn't end in destruction and death. Harry had seen glimpses of that potential beneath the careful masks Tom wore, in those unguarded moments when his walls slipped just enough to reveal something more.

"You alright there, mate?" Lestrange's voice broke through his thoughts. "You've gone a bit pale."

Harry blinked, forcing himself back to the present. The weight of possibility pressed against his chest. If Tom never became Voldemort, his parents would live. Sirius would never go to Azkaban. The Longbottoms would raise their son. Cedric would graduate.

Countless lives saved, countless families whole, countless children who'd never know the pain of war - all hanging on what happened here, now, with Tom.

"Just tired," Harry mumbled, but his mind raced.

The Tom who'd pushed him from danger wasn't the same Tom who'd become Lord Voldemort. Not yet. One small action could ripple through time, washing away decades of darkness before they had a chance to take root.

Harry stared into the fire, Lestrange's words echoing in his mind.

Could people really change? Even someone like Tom Riddle? Harry wasn't sure, but the possibility teased at the edge of his thoughts.

Harry turned to Lestrange. "Can I ask you something hypothetical?"

Lestrange raised an eyebrow. "Hypothetical, eh? Go on then."

Harry chose his next words carefully. "What if you had the chance to change something important, something that would affect the whole future...but you weren't sure what would happen?"

Lestrange's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Merlin's pants, Evans. Here I thought you were going to ask me about how to charm the kitchen elves into giving us extra dessert."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I'm serious."

"Clearly." Lestrange grinned. "You know what your problem is? You think too much." He tapped his temple. "Must be exhausting in there."

"Just answer the question," Harry pressed.

"Alright." Lestrange raised his hands in mock surrender. "I suppose I'd have to think what's at stake. How many people would be affected if I changed things versus if I didn't?"

Harry's throat tightened. "A lot of people. Entire generations."

Lestrange's eyebrows shot up. "Generations, you say? That's a heavy burden." He pretended to ponder deeply, stroking an imaginary beard. "Well, considering I can barely predict what I'll have for breakfast tomorrow..."

Harry shot him an exasperated look.

"Fine, fine." Lestrange's expression softened, though his eyes still danced with humor. "Look, mate, if we're talking about affecting generations of people, I'd probably mess it up spectacularly. Knowing my luck, I'd try to prevent a war and accidentally cause the extinction of chocolate frogs instead."

Harry couldn't help but crack a small smile.

"That's just me, though. If it was you...well, you've got more nerve than most. And a good heart too. I think you'd consider it carefully, weigh all the options."

Lestrange met Harry's eyes. "But in the end, you'd have to trust your instincts. The right path often isn't clear until you're already on it." He smiled wryly. "Wish I had a better answer for you. But matters of destiny and all that...it's well beyond my area of expertise."

Lestrange clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Now get some rest, mate. Don't go borrowing trouble before it finds you. Sometimes all you can do is take it one day at a time and hope for the best." With a parting squeeze, Lestrange headed for the dormitories, leaving Harry alone once more.

Harry watched the flames dance in the fireplace, Lestrange's words turning over in his mind. Tom would open the Chamber of Secrets soon, releasing the basilisk within and indirectly causing another death. When that happened, it would likely be too late to alter Tom's path.

Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. Even if he would somehow be able to prevent that from happening, there were still a million ways Tom could continue down this dark path. His ambitions ran too deep to be easily diverted. And Harry had no guarantee that interfering would actually change things for the better. Meddling with time was dangerous, the effects impossible to predict. What right did he have to alter the course of history, to play god with the lives of so many?

But if he did nothing, allowed events to unfold unchanged...how many would suffer and die at Voldemort's hands? How many families torn apart, how many lives destroyed?

Harry rested his head in his hands. He didn't know what to do. The possible paths stretched out before him, but the right choice remained unclear. For now, all he could do was take Lestrange's advice - trust his instincts and take it one day at a time. The answers would come, eventually. He had to believe that.

Harry trudged to the dormitory, his body tired from the day's events. The room was quiet, most of his housemates already asleep. He changed into his pajamas and slipped under the covers, but sleep remained elusive despite his physical exhaustion. His mind kept circling back to Tom, lying in a hospital bed because he'd saved Harry's life. The situation was complicated, to say the least. Tom Riddle was still the boy who would become Voldemort - unless something changed his path. And now, through an accident of time, Harry found himself in a position to potentially influence that future.

It wasn't as dramatic as holding the fate of the wizarding world in his hands. Rather, it was more like being dropped into a river with currents already moving in certain directions. Harry could try to redirect some of those currents, but the river would continue flowing regardless of his efforts.

He rolled onto his side, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape. Maybe he was overthinking things. After all, he was just one person caught in circumstances beyond his control. The weight of changing history wasn't solely on his shoulders.

"Get some sleep," he reminded himself. Tomorrow would bring new problems, which he'd handle better with a clear mind. The future - both Tom's and his own - would be dealt with one day at a time.

Chapter Text

"I still can't believe you dragged me into that alley," Harry said, leaning against the stone wall. "Were you trying to get us killed?"

Tom's eyes glinted in the dim light. "I simply wanted to show you something interesting. The muggle world has its charms, even I can admit that."

"Right. Because nearly getting blown up is so charming." Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips.

"You enjoyed it." Tom stepped closer, his voice dropping. "The danger. The thrill of not knowing what would happen next."

Harry shook his head. "You're mental, you know that?"

"So I've been told." Tom's lips quirked upward. "Mostly by you, Evans."

"Someone has to keep your ego in check."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "And you believe you're qualified for that position?"

"More qualified than anyone else at this school." Harry crossed his arms. "At least I'm not afraid to tell you when you're being a prat."

"How fortunate I am," Tom drawled, "to have found someone so... honest."

Harry laughed. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Tom moved closer still, until barely a breath separated them. "What would you call it?"

The air between them shifted, charged with something electric. Harry's pulse quickened.

"I'd call it..." Harry's words faltered as Tom's gaze dropped to his lips.

"Yes?" Tom prompted, his voice impossibly soft.

Instead of answering, Harry closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against Tom's. Tom responded immediately, one hand coming up to cradle Harry's jaw, the other gripping his waist.

The kiss deepened, Tom backing Harry against the wall. Harry's hands found their way into Tom's hair, tugging slightly, earning a low sound from the back of Tom's throat.

Tom broke away, trailing kisses down Harry's neck. "You're full of surprises, Evans," he murmured against Harry's skin.

Harry's breath caught as Tom's teeth grazed his collarbone. "So are you."

Tom's hands slid under Harry's shirt, cool fingers tracing patterns on warm skin. Harry shivered, pulling Tom back up for another kiss, hungrier than before.

Tom's mouth claimed Harry's again, more demanding this time. His tongue traced the seam of Harry's lips, seeking entrance. Harry yielded, opening to him as the stone wall behind seemed to soften against his back.

The corridor's shadows stretched impossibly long around them, the torchlight flickering in patterns that didn't quite match the flames. Harry barely noticed, lost in the sensation of Tom's tongue sliding against his own, exploring with deliberate precision as if mapping territory.

"Evans," Tom breathed against his mouth, the name somehow echoing slightly in the empty corridor. "You've been driving me mad for weeks."

Harry's fingers tightened in Tom's hair, which felt like silk one moment and water the next. "Same," he managed to gasp as Tom pressed closer, their bodies aligned perfectly.

Tom's hand slid down Harry's chest, lingering at his waistband. His eyes, when they met Harry's, seemed to shift between their usual dark blue and something deeper, like looking into an endless night sky.

"May I?" Tom asked, his voice somehow both right in Harry's ear and coming from somewhere distant.

Harry nodded, unable to form words as Tom's hand dipped below his waistband, cool fingers wrapping around him. The sensation sent sparks through Harry's body, making the edges of his vision blur slightly. He arched into the touch, a strangled gasp escaping his throat as Tom's grip tightened just enough to make his knees weak. The cool touch against his heated skin created a contrast that heightened every sensation, sending waves of pleasure radiating outward from where they connected.

"You're perfect," Tom murmured, his touch both gentle and possessive as he began to stroke. The corridor around them seemed to pulse with each movement, the stones breathing in time with Harry's quickening gasps.

Harry's head fell back against the wall, which now felt like it might not be there at all. Tom's mouth found his throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin as his hand continued its maddening rhythm.

"Tom," Harry moaned, the name hanging in the air like mist.

Tom's hand tightened around Harry, his strokes becoming more deliberate. Harry's breathing turned ragged, his hips moving of their own accord.

"Is this what you wanted all along?" Tom's voice held an edge now. "To get close to me?"

Harry's eyes fluttered open. "What?"

"London." Tom's rhythm never faltered, but his eyes had hardened. "You knew exactly what would happen, didn't you?"

"I don't—" Harry gasped as Tom twisted his wrist just so.

"Look at what you've done to me," Tom hissed, suddenly pressing his body harder against Harry's. "St. Mungo's. Burns across half my body. And for what?"

Despite the accusation, Harry couldn't stop the building pressure. Tom's touch was still perfect, still maddening.

"I saved your life," Tom continued, his voice dropping dangerously. "And what have you given me in return? Nothing but lies."

"That's not—" Harry tried to protest, but Tom's free hand suddenly gripped his throat.

"You think I don't see through you?" Tom's fingers tightened slightly. "You're transparent, Evans. Whatever game you're playing, I will win."

The corridor seemed to darken around them, the torches dimming as Tom's face transformed. His handsome features twisted into something cruel, something familiar.

"You're mine now," Tom whispered, his eyes flashing red. "And I always break my toys eventually."

The combination of fear and pleasure pushed Harry over the edge. His body tensed as waves of intense pleasure crashed through him, his release spilling over Tom's hand as he cried out.

Harry jerked awake, gasping for breath. His heart hammered against his ribs as he oriented himself in the darkness of the Slytherin dormitory. The sheets were tangled around his legs, and he felt the unmistakable wetness cooling against his skin.

"Fuck," Harry muttered, grabbing his wand from the nightstand. "Not again."

He cast a quick cleaning charm, then flopped back against his pillow, staring at the canopy above his bed. That made five nights in a row. The dreams were getting more frequent—and more disturbing. Each one twisted into something dark by the end, Tom's handsome face morphing into Voldemort's serpentine features just as Harry reached his peak.

Harry pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. What kind of sick joke was his subconscious playing on him? As if he needed more reminders of who Tom would become.

The dormitory was quiet around him, his roommates' steady breathing the only sound. Harry checked the time—3:17 AM. Too early to get up, too late to hope for more restful sleep.

Tom had been in St. Mungo's for eight days now. The healers were optimistic about his recovery, but they were keeping him longer than initially expected. Something about ensuring the skin-regeneration potions had fully taken effect.

Meanwhile, Mulciber had stepped into the power vacuum at Hogwarts, strutting around the Slytherin common room like he owned it. Without Tom's subtle restraint, Mulciber's bullying had become more overt, particularly toward muggle-born students.

Harry had been keeping his head down, spending most of his time in the library or by the lake. Not hiding, exactly, but strategically unavailable. He needed time to think.

Because something had shifted inside him during those moments in London. Seeing Tom's childhood home, witnessing the conditions that had shaped him, and then watching Tom nearly die to save him—it had crystallized something in Harry's mind.

Maybe Tom Riddle wasn't beyond saving. Not yet.

Harry had been mapping out a timeline in his head. If his calculations were correct, the Chamber of Secrets would be opened soon—possibly within weeks of Tom's return to Hogwarts. Myrtle would die. Hagrid would be expelled.

Unless Harry could stop it.

Harry sat up in bed, giving up on sleep. He reached for the small notebook he'd hidden in his pillowcase and flipped it open, revealing pages of hastily scrawled notes and timelines.

The Chamber of Secrets would be opened soon. Myrtle would die. Hagrid would be framed. These were the facts Harry knew with certainty.

"Options," Harry muttered, reviewing his list by wandlight.

The first approach he'd considered was trying to reform Tom—showing him kindness, understanding his trauma, giving him the connection he'd never had. Harry crossed this out with a harsh line. After months of getting to know Tom, Harry understood that manipulation dressed as kindness would never work. Tom was too clever, too suspicious, and frankly, too damaged. The boy who'd grown up without love wouldn't suddenly embrace it because Harry offered friendship with ulterior motives.

The second option was direct confrontation—finding the Chamber before Tom could open it, or catching him in the act. Harry circled this twice. He spoke Parseltongue; he could potentially command the Basilisk himself. He could even bluff, claiming to be the true Heir of Slytherin. After all, he'd inherited the ability to speak to snakes from Tom himself through that fateful connection.

"The Basilisk might actually listen to me," Harry whispered, tapping his quill against the page. It was dangerous, potentially suicidal, but it had the benefit of simplicity. Stop the monster, save Myrtle, prevent Tom from creating his first Horcrux.

The third option made Harry's stomach turn. He could simply let events unfold as they had before. Maintain the timeline. Protect the future he knew, however flawed it was.

Harry stared at the page, then decisively circled option two again. Confrontation. The Basilisk. It was the only choice he could live with.

Harry sighed. That entire option hinged on the assumption that the basilisk would listen. If it didn't... Harry had no ways of disposing of the basilisk. He had no sword of Gryffindor this time, no phoenix to blind the creature. He'd be walking into the Chamber essentially defenseless against its most lethal inhabitant.

"Brilliant plan, Harry," he muttered sarcastically. "Walk up to a thousand-year-old killing machine and hope it takes orders from you instead of Tom."

He flipped to a fresh page in his notebook and wrote "BASILISK" at the top, then underlined it twice. Below, he started listing what he knew about the creature.

"Kills with direct eye contact. Petrifies through indirect contact—mirrors, water reflections." He paused, remembering the terror of his second year. "Incredibly venomous. Only antidote is phoenix tears."

Harry chewed on the end of his quill. "Responds to Parseltongue commands from the Heir of Slytherin."

Would the basilisk recognize his authority, or would it sense he was an impostor?

"And even if it did listen," Harry whispered, "what then? I can't exactly keep a giant deadly snake as a pet. I can't let it loose."

Harry closed his notebook with a frustrated sigh and shoved it back into his pillowcase. He flopped back onto his bed, head sinking into the cushion. Closing his eyes, he let out a long, slow breath.

Everything was so bloody complicated.

These feelings for Tom—they were maddening. Inconvenient. Dangerous. And yet, Harry couldn't seem to shake them, no matter how many times he reminded himself who Tom would become.

"Why couldn't you just be reasonable?" Harry whispered to the darkness, imagining Tom's face—not Voldemort's, but the handsome, intense boy who'd saved his life in London. The boy who'd shown vulnerability in those rare, unguarded moments.

If only Tom weren't so stubborn, so set on his path. If only he could see another way forward that didn't involve murder and decades of terror.

Harry draped his arm over his eyes. He wished he could just talk to Tom—really talk to him—without all the calculations and suspicions between them. Without the weight of the future pressing down on every word.

"You're not even supposed to be here," Harry reminded himself. "This isn't your time."

But it felt increasingly like it was. The longer he stayed, the more connections he formed, the harder it became to think of 1943 as just a temporary detour.

And Tom... Tom made it impossible to remain detached. Whether Harry was furious with him or fascinated by him, Tom demanded attention, reaction, engagement.

Harry turned onto his side, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape. His dreams about Tom were getting more frequent, more intense. Even his subconscious wouldn't give him peace.

"I wish you weren't so damn complicated," Harry muttered, knowing sleep would be elusive for the rest of the night.

A rustling sound from the bed next to Harry's broke through his thoughts. He turned to see Avery sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

"Harry?" Avery's voice was thick with sleep. "What're you doing awake?"

Harry quickly extinguished his wandlight. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"S'fine." Avery yawned. "Wasn't sleeping well anyway."

An awkward silence stretched between them. They hadn't really talked—not properly—since that night on the Astronomy Tower.

"Listen," Harry said finally, "I've been meaning to talk to you."

Avery's silhouette stiffened slightly. "About?"

"About how things have been. Between us." Harry sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. "I'm sorry, Avery. For everything."

Avery was quiet for so long that Harry thought he might have fallen back asleep. Then: "You don't need to apologize for not fancying me."

"That's not—" Harry sighed. "I'm sorry for how it all happened. You deserved better than that."

Avery shifted in his bed. "Does he make you happy? Riddle?"

The question caught Harry off guard. "It's... complicated."

"It always is with him." Avery's voice held no bitterness, just resignation.

"I miss talking to you," Harry admitted. "I miss being friends."

Avery let out a soft laugh. "We're still friends, you idiot. Just because you broke my heart doesn't mean I stopped liking you."

Something loosened in Harry's chest. "Really?"

"Really." Avery's bed creaked as he leaned back against his headboard. "Though I reserve the right to mock you mercilessly when Riddle inevitably does something ridiculous."

Harry laughed quietly. "Fair enough."

"And I'm not sharing my Honeydukes stash with you anymore," Avery added, though his tone suggested otherwise.

"Not even the chocolate frogs?"

"Especially not those."

They both chuckled, and the tension that had lingered between them for weeks finally began to dissipate.

"I really am sorry," Harry said again, more softly.

"I know," Avery said, his voice gentle in the darkness. "I've known for a while now that you and Riddle have... something. Whatever it is."

Harry stared at the ceiling, processing Avery's words. The admission hung between them, neither accusatory nor bitter.

"So why are you awake at this ungodly hour?" Avery asked, breaking the silence. "You've been tossing and turning all week."

Harry hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "Bad dreams," he finally admitted.

"About Riddle?"

Harry let out a humorless laugh. "How'd you guess?"

"You talk in your sleep sometimes." Avery's voice remained neutral, though Harry could detect a hint of concern. "Nothing specific, just... his name. And you sound troubled."

Heat rose to Harry's cheeks, grateful for the darkness that hid his embarrassment. "Sorry if I've been keeping you up."

"Not really. I'm a light sleeper anyway." Avery shifted in his bed. "Want to talk about it? The dreams, I mean."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "They start off... well, they're not exactly nightmares at first." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the implication.

"Ah," Avery said, understanding immediately. "Say no more."

"But they always end the same way," Harry continued, needing to get this off his chest. "With him... changing. Becoming something else. Something terrible."

Avery was quiet for a moment. "You're afraid of him."

"Not exactly afraid," Harry corrected. "More like... I'm afraid of what he might become."

"That's oddly specific," Avery noted. "Most people just worry about getting their hearts broken, not their boyfriends transforming into monsters."

"Don't call him that," Harry said quickly, though he wasn't entirely sure what Tom actually was to him. "He's not my... boyfriend." The word felt strange on his tongue, inadequate for whatever tangled, complicated thing existed between him and Tom Riddle.

"What would you call him, then?" Avery asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

Harry stared into the darkness, considering. Tom was his nemesis's younger self. His enemy. His obsession. The boy who would become the most feared dark wizard in history. The person who had saved his life in London.

"I don't know," Harry admitted finally. "It's not that simple."

The silence stretched between them, comfortable at first, then heavy with unspoken thoughts. Harry felt a sudden wave of sadness wash over him, deep and unexpected. His throat tightened as memories flooded back—not just of Tom, but of Ron and Hermione, of the future he might never see again, of all the people who didn't even exist yet.

"You okay?" Avery's voice cut through the darkness.

Harry swallowed hard. "Just... thinking about everything I've lost." His voice came out rougher than he intended, betraying the emotion he was trying to hide.

The quiet returned, broken only by their breathing and the distant sound of wind against the castle walls. Harry wiped at his eyes, grateful for the darkness that concealed the tears threatening to spill.

"Harry?" Avery's voice was hesitant.

"Yeah?"

"This might sound strange, but..." Avery paused. "Could I... would it be alright if I gave you a hug? You sound like you could use one."

The simple offer of comfort broke something in Harry. He nodded, then realized Avery couldn't see him. "Yeah," he managed. "That'd be nice."

Harry heard Avery's feet hit the floor, then the soft padding of footsteps. His bed dipped as Avery sat on the edge, then slid under the covers beside him. Avery's arms wrapped around Harry, warm and solid, pulling him close.

Harry hadn't realized how much he needed this—just to be held, without expectation or complication. He turned into the embrace, burying his face against Avery's shoulder.

They lay like that for several minutes, Avery's hand moving in slow circles on Harry's back. The simple human contact soothed Harry in a way he hadn't experienced in months.

"Uh," Avery whispered eventually, his breath warm against Harry's hair. "Is this weird? I mean, after everything..."

"No," Harry whispered back, grateful for the comfort. "It's not weird. It's... nice."

A mischievous impulse flickered through Harry's exhaustion. "Though I should warn you—if your hand goes any lower, I might start getting ideas."

Avery sputtered, his body tensing. "I wasn't—that's not what I—"

"Relax," Harry chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in days. "I'm just messing with you."

"You're awful," Avery groaned, but Harry could hear the smile in his voice. "Taking advantage of my noble intentions."

"Noble intentions?" Harry pulled back slightly to look at Avery's shadowy outline. "Is that what we're calling it now? Crawling into my bed in the middle of the night?"

"I was comforting you!" Avery protested, giving Harry a light shove. "You were having an emotional crisis!"

"Mmm-hmm. And the fact that I'm irresistibly attractive had nothing to do with it."

Avery buried his face in the pillow. "I hate you so much right now."

"No, you don't," Harry said, grinning. "You're madly in love with me. You probably have my name written in your diary with little hearts around it."

"I do not have a diary," Avery mumbled into the pillow.

"Your secret journal, then."

"I hate you," Avery repeated, but his shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

They stayed that way a while longer, the silence between them no longer awkward but companionable. Harry felt his eyelids growing heavy, the tension finally draining from his body.

"But really, thanks," he murmured, already half-asleep.

"What are friends for?" Avery replied softly.

Harry drifted off, and for once, his dreams were peaceful—no Tom, no Voldemort, no Chamber of Secrets. Just darkness and rest.

When he woke the next morning, Avery was back in his own bed, snoring lightly. Harry felt oddly refreshed despite the late hour he'd finally fallen asleep. The weight that had been pressing on his chest for days seemed lighter somehow.

He stretched and sat up, glancing around the dormitory. Lestrange and Nott were still asleep, but Mulciber's bed was empty, already made with military precision. Harry checked the time—just past seven. Breakfast would be starting soon.

On his way to gather his shower things, Harry's eyes found his pillowcase, where his notebook was hidden. The Chamber. The Basilisk. Tom. All still problems he needed to solve, but somehow, after a night of genuine rest, they didn't seem quite so insurmountable. Maybe he couldn't save Tom Riddle from becoming Lord Voldemort. Maybe the timeline was fixed and immutable, but Harry knew with certainty that he had to try. He owed that much to Myrtle, to Hagrid, to all of Voldemort's future victims. Maybe, just maybe, he owed it to Tom, too.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed in a blur of classes and stolen moments of normalcy. Harry attended lectures, completed assignments, and tried to maintain the facade that everything was fine. But the whispers followed him everywhere.

"Did you hear about Evans and Riddle?"

"I heard they were caught in a bombing..."

"My cousin works at St. Mungo's and said Riddle almost died..."

In the corridors, students openly stared at Harry, their expressions ranging from curiosity to suspicion. The Daily Prophet article had painted Harry and Tom as heroic students caught in unfortunate circumstances, but speculation ran wild about what they'd been doing in Muggle London in the first place.

On Wednesday morning, Harry descended the dormitory stairs to find a cluster of Slytherins gathered around the common room notice board. Avery spotted him and waved him over.

"Good news, Evans. Dumbledore's posted permission for hospital visits."

Harry pushed through the small crowd, a flicker of irritation rising in his chest. Dumbledore had promised to update him personally about Tom's condition. Instead, he'd learned about it alongside everyone else on a bulletin board.

He scanned the announcement:

Students wishing to visit Thomas Riddle at St. Mungo's Hospital may do so this Saturday. Appropriate permissions must be obtained from Professor Slughorn. Transportation will be arranged for approved visitors.

"So much for keeping me informed," Harry muttered under his breath.

Lestrange clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Brilliant! I was starting to think they'd never let us see him."

"Has anyone talked to Slughorn yet?" Harry asked.

"Already done," Avery replied. "Nott and Mulciber got permission this morning. Lestrange and I went right after breakfast. You should go soon before the slots fill up."

Harry nodded, his stomach knotting at the thought of seeing Tom again. Their last interaction had been Harry holding Tom's hand while he lay unconscious, covered in burns. What would he say to him now?

*

Saturday arrived with unseasonable sunshine streaming through the windows. Harry joined the small group of Slytherins gathered in the entrance hall, where Professor Slughorn checked their permission slips.

"Ah, Mr. Evans! I understand you were with Mr. Riddle during the... unfortunate incident." Slughorn's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Most distressing. Most distressing indeed."

Harry mumbled something noncommittal and joined Avery and Lestrange near the doors. Nott, Mulciber, and Rosier stood apart, occasionally shooting glances in Harry's direction.

"Ignore them," Lestrange muttered. "They're just jealous they weren't there."

"Trust me, they wouldn't have wanted to be," Harry replied.

The journey to St. Mungo's passed in relative silence. Harry stared out the carriage window, rehearsing what he might say to Tom. Should he mention the bombing? The hand-holding? The kiss before that? Nothing felt right.

At the hospital, a young healer led them through sterile white corridors to the burn unit. "Mr. Riddle's making remarkable progress," she explained. "The burns were extensive, but he's responded exceptionally well to treatment. Still, he needs rest, so please keep your visit brief."

She stopped outside a private room. "No more than six visitors at once, please."

The group filed in, Harry hanging back until last. Tom sat propped up against pillows, looking paler than usual but surprisingly intact. The angry red burns that had covered half his body were now faded pink patches. His dark eyes swept over the visitors, lingering on Harry for a moment before addressing the group.

"How thoughtful of you all to come," Tom said, his voice stronger than Harry expected.

Nott stepped forward first. "The common room's been dreadfully quiet without you, Riddle."

"I imagine so," Tom replied with a hint of his usual arrogance.

Mulciber produced a small package wrapped in green paper. "From all of us. Thought you might be bored."

Tom unwrapped it to reveal an elegant silver pocket chess set. "How considerate."

The conversation flowed with surprising ease. Tom asked about classes, assignments, and Slytherin house politics. He seemed particularly interested in how Slughorn had reacted to his absence. Throughout it all, Harry remained near the door, contributing little.

"The healers say I can likely return next week," Tom announced. "The burns have healed well, though they want to monitor for any magical complications."

"Will there be scars?" Rosier asked bluntly.

Tom's smile tightened. "Minimal. The healers here are quite competent."

"So what actually happened that night, Riddle?" Nott asked, leaning forward with undisguised curiosity. "The Prophet was vague about why you two were in London during an air raid."

The room fell silent. Harry tensed, watching Tom's expression carefully.

Tom's eyes narrowed slightly. "I wasn't aware I needed to explain my whereabouts to you, Nott."

"We're just curious," Mulciber pressed. "Evans has been tight-lipped. One day you're both at Hogwarts, the next you're caught in a Muggle bombing."

"It was my fault," Harry interjected, drawing surprised looks. "I wanted to see London."

Tom's gaze flickered to Harry, something unreadable passing between them.

"And you decided to play tour guide, Riddle?" Rosier asked with a smirk. "Doesn't seem your style."

"I don't recall appointing any of you to interrogate me about my personal affairs," Tom replied, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable edge. "Particularly while I'm recovering in a hospital bed."

Lestrange cleared his throat awkwardly. "We were just concerned—"

"Your concern is noted," Tom cut him off. "Though I find it interesting how quickly concern transforms into invasive questioning."

The atmosphere in the room chilled considerably. Nott shifted uncomfortably, and even Mulciber seemed to recognize they'd overstepped.

After about twenty minutes, Tom shifted slightly in bed and winced. It seemed theatrical to Harry, but the others responded immediately with concern.

"We should let you rest," Avery said, standing.

Tom nodded. "Yes, perhaps that would be best." Then, his eyes found Harry's. "Except you, Evans. I'd like a word."

The others exchanged glances but filed out without protest. Lestrange gave Harry's shoulder a supportive squeeze as he passed.

When the door closed, the atmosphere in the room transformed. Tom's posture straightened, the pained expression vanishing from his face.

"You've been quiet," Tom observed, his voice cooler and more precise than the friendly tone he'd used with the others.

Harry approached the bed cautiously. "Didn't have much to add."

"Sit." Tom gestured to the chair beside his bed.

Harry hesitated before complying. Up close, he could see the healing burns more clearly – pink, shiny patches across Tom's neck and disappearing beneath his hospital gown.

"One of the healers told me you visited while I was unconscious," Tom said, studying Harry's face with unnerving intensity.

"I did."

"Why?"

Harry met his gaze. "You saved my life."

Tom's expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes. "Yes, I did. A decision I've had ample time to contemplate while lying here."

"Regretting it?" Harry asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

"I should, by all logical reasoning." Tom adjusted his position, wincing slightly – genuinely this time. "It was impulsive. Dangerous. Contrary to self-preservation."

"But?"

"But I find I don't regret it." Tom's voice dropped lower. "Which raises disturbing questions about your influence on me, Evans."

Harry swallowed hard. "I never asked you to push me out of the way."

"No, you didn't." Tom's fingers drummed lightly on the bedsheet. "Yet I did it anyway. Instinctively."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words.

"Are you in much pain?" Harry asked, breaking the silence.

Tom's expression shifted minutely. "Less than one might expect. The initial healing was... unpleasant. Burns are particularly difficult to treat magically." He flexed his fingers, studying them. "The nerve endings need to be reconnected properly, or the sensations become distorted."

"Sounds awful."

"It was educational," Tom replied with characteristic detachment. "I've learned more about healing magic in five days than most wizards learn in years."

Harry almost smiled. Only Tom Riddle would view near-fatal injuries as an educational opportunity.

"How have things been at Hogwarts?" Tom asked, his tone shifting to something more casual. "Beyond what the others have shared."

Harry leaned back in the chair. "Mostly normal. Slughorn's been insufferable, telling everyone how his 'most promising student' heroically survived a Muggle bombing."

"Has he now?" Tom's lips quirked upward. "I suppose I should be flattered."

"Dumbledore's been quieter than usual. Watching me." Harry hesitated. "And Mulciber's been strutting around like he owns the Slytherin common room."

Tom's eyes narrowed slightly. "Has he?"

"Yeah. Acting like he's taking your place while you're gone." Harry picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Tried to reorganize the study groups, told the fifth years they needed to clear their table for him and his friends."

"How presumptuous." Tom's voice carried a dangerous edge.

"Avery told him off. Said the schedules were staying as they were until you returned." Harry glanced up. "I think Mulciber expected more support from some of the others, but they didn't back him. Except Rosier."

Tom nodded, satisfaction evident in his expression. "Interesting. And you? How have you managed without my... guidance?"

The question hung between them, loaded with meaning beyond the simple words.

"Fine," Harry answered automatically, then reconsidered. "Actually, not fine. It's been... strange."

"Strange how?"

Harry struggled to articulate the confusing mix of emotions he'd experienced. Well, besides the crazy sex dreams I've been having about you, he thought to himself, feeling heat rise to his face at the unbidden memory of waking up tangled in sweaty sheets, Tom's name on his lips.

"I keep thinking about what happened. In London. At the orphanage. And then..." He gestured vaguely toward Tom's hospital bed.

"My rather dramatic rescue?" Tom supplied, his tone lighter than the intensity in his eyes.

"Yeah. That." Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "I don't understand why you did it."

Tom was quiet for a long moment, studying Harry with an intensity that made him want to squirm. "Neither do I," he finally admitted.

The admission seemed to cost Tom something. His jaw tightened, and he looked away toward the window.

"Well," Harry said awkwardly, "I'm grateful. Even if you don't understand why you did it."

Tom's expression softened unexpectedly. "You should see your face right now, Evans. One might think you were visiting a dying man rather than someone who'll be back terrorizing first-years by next week."

"I wasn't—" Harry started defensively, then caught the glint of amusement in Tom's eyes. "Very funny."

"I thought so." Tom shifted in the bed, reaching for a glass of water on his bedside table. His hospital gown slipped slightly, revealing more of the healing burns across his collarbone.

Harry instinctively moved to help, but Tom waved him off. "I'm not an invalid."

"Could've fooled me," Harry muttered, settling back in his chair. "Lying around in bed while the rest of us suffer through Slughorn's endless Potions lectures."

Tom's eyebrows rose. "Is that jealousy I detect?"

"Hardly," Harry scoffed, though he couldn't help smiling. "I just find it ironic that you're the one who ended up in the hospital bed after all your lectures about careful planning."

Tom's lips curved into a half-smile. "An aberration that won't be repeated."

"No?" Harry leaned forward slightly. "So next time a building's about to collapse on me, you'll just let it happen?"

"I didn't say that." Tom's voice dropped lower. "Though perhaps I should reconsider my priorities."

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, catching in Tom's dark hair and illuminating the sharp planes of his face. Despite the hospital gown and the lingering evidence of his injuries, he still managed to look composed, elegant even.

Harry felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion. This boy—this complicated, brilliant, dangerous boy—had thrown himself into harm's way to save him. The Tom Riddle he'd first met would never have done that. Something had changed.

Without overthinking it, Harry stood and moved closer to the bed. Tom watched him with curiosity, his expression guarded but not unwelcoming.

"What are you doing, Evans?"

Harry didn't answer. Instead, he leaned down, one hand bracing against the mattress, and pressed his lips against Tom's.

The kiss was gentle, mindful of Tom's injuries, but deliberate. Harry felt Tom stiffen momentarily in surprise before relaxing into it. Tom's lips were warm and responsive, his breath catching slightly as Harry deepened the kiss.

Tom's initial surprise melted away as he reached up, threading fingers through Harry's unruly hair and pulling him closer. What had started as a gentle press of lips transformed into something hungry, desperate. Tom's tongue traced the seam of Harry's lips before pushing inside, exploring with deliberate precision that made Harry's knees weaken.

Harry gasped against Tom's mouth, shocked by the intensity. He braced himself against the hospital bed as Tom's free hand gripped his tie, using it as leverage to deepen the kiss further. Their tongues slid against each other, hot and slick, sending jolts of electricity down Harry's spine.

The careful restraint Harry had intended evaporated. Tom kissed like he did everything else—with absolute focus and determination to dominate. His teeth caught Harry's lower lip, biting just hard enough to draw a muffled groan from deep in Harry's throat.

"Merlin," Harry breathed when they broke apart for air, his glasses askew and fogging slightly.

Tom's eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire. A flush had spread across his cheeks, bringing color to his previously pale face. His lips, red and slightly swollen, curved into a triumphant smile.

"That," Tom whispered, voice husky as he pulled Harry back down, "was worth getting burned alive for."

Harry's heart hammered against his ribs as he stared down at Tom, still close enough to feel his breath. The reality of what he'd just done crashed over him like ice water.

"I shouldn't have—" Harry started, pulling back slightly.

Tom's fingers tightened in Harry's hair, preventing his retreat. "Don't you dare apologize."

"Your injuries—"

"Are irrelevant," Tom replied, his voice low and commanding. "Though your concern is... noted."

A knock at the door made them both freeze. Harry straightened quickly, adjusting his glasses and smoothing his rumpled tie as the door opened.

The door swung open to reveal a young healer with curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Harry recognized her immediately as the nurse who had caught him holding Tom's hand during his unauthorized visit.

"Oh! It's you," she said, her expression brightening with recognition. "Mr. Evans, wasn't it?"

Harry felt heat rush to his face. "Um, yes. That's me."

"Healer Matthews," Tom greeted smoothly. "Perfect timing as always."

"I see your boyfriend managed to come back during proper visiting hours this time," she said with a wink, bustling into the room to check Tom's chart.

Harry's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. "I—we're not—I mean—"

"He gets so flustered about labels," Tom interjected, his voice warm with amusement. "It's endearing, isn't it?"

Healer Matthews laughed. "Very. Though after finding him sneaking in to hold your hand while you were unconscious, I think the cat's out of the bag."

Harry's embarrassment reached critical levels. "That wasn't—I was just—"

"Concerned," Tom finished for him, reaching out to pat Harry's hand condescendingly. "My Harry is terribly sentimental."

"My Harry?" Harry sputtered under his breath.

Tom's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Would you prefer 'darling' instead? Or perhaps 'sweetheart'?"

Healer Matthews checked Tom's vitals with her wand, apparently oblivious to Harry's mortification. "Your recovery is progressing beautifully, Mr. Riddle. Those nerve regeneration potions are working wonders."

"When can I return to school?" Tom asked.

"Possibly Monday, if tomorrow's assessment goes well." She smiled at Harry. "You'll have him back at Hogwarts before you know it."

"Fantastic," Harry muttered weakly.

"I'll leave you two alone for a few more minutes," she said with another knowing smile. "But don't tire him out too much, Mr. Evans. He still needs his rest."

After she left, Harry turned to Tom with wide eyes. "Why didn't you correct her?"

"About what?" Tom asked innocently, though his expression was anything but.

"About us being... you know."

"Boyfriends?" Tom supplied helpfully, clearly enjoying Harry's discomfort. "Why would I correct such a useful assumption?"

Harry stared at him, utterly confused. "Useful?"

Tom's smile was enigmatic. "Healer Matthews has been exceptionally attentive to my care. I suspect your dramatic nighttime visit may have contributed to her sympathetic view of my case."

"So you're... what? Using me for better hospital treatment?"

"I prefer to think of it as leveraging all available resources," Tom replied smoothly. "Besides, you didn't seem to mind being 'my Harry' a few minutes ago."

Harry huffed, crossing his arms. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told." Tom adjusted himself against the pillows, wincing slightly. "Though usually not by someone who just kissed me senseless."

"I did not—" Harry stopped himself, then shook his head. A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "Fine. If we're playing this game..."

"Oh?" Tom's eyebrows rose with interest.

Harry leaned closer, lowering his voice dramatically. "How's my boyfriend feeling today? Should I bring you flowers next time? Maybe a get-well teddy bear?"

Tom's eyes widened fractionally before his expression settled into amused appreciation. "How thoughtful of you, darling. Though I'd prefer something more practical. Perhaps those Transfiguration notes I'm missing?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Harry replied, exaggerating the endearment. "Anything for you. Should I fluff your pillows too?"

"If you're offering." Tom's smile was sharp and pleased. "I do so enjoy being pampered by my devoted boyfriend."

Harry rolled his eyes but found himself chuckling. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Perhaps." Tom's gaze softened unexpectedly. "Though I suspect you are as well."

Something in Tom's tone made Harry's laughter fade. The playfulness remained, but beneath it lurked something more serious, more genuine.

"I should probably go," Harry said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Visiting hours are almost over."

Tom nodded. "We wouldn't want you getting in trouble for breaking hospital rules. Again."

Harry stood, gathering his coat. "So... I'll see you back at school?"

"Indeed." Tom's expression shifted to something more focused, more intent. "I have rather extensive plans for when I return."

"Plans?" Harry asked, suddenly wary.

"Nothing to concern yourself with." Tom's smile was enigmatic.

Harry hesitated at the door. "Goodbye, then... boyfriend." He added the last word teasingly, waiting for Tom's smirk or eye roll.

Instead, Tom simply nodded. "Until next time, Harry."

Harry stepped into the corridor, the door clicking shut behind him. The hospital hallway stretched before him, antiseptic-smelling and quiet except for the occasional rustle of a healer's robes or distant conversation.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. His lips still tingled from the kiss, and his mind raced with conflicting thoughts.

"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered to himself, earning a curious glance from a passing healer.

The casual way they'd slipped into the "boyfriend" charade bothered him. Not because it had been uncomfortable—quite the opposite. It had felt strangely natural, the banter flowing easily between them. That ease was what unsettled him most.

Harry's footsteps echoed against the polished floor as he made his way toward the exit. His reflection caught in a window—flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, crooked glasses—and he paused to straighten himself.

Harry walked back to Hogwarts, mind churning with conflicting thoughts. Tom's cryptic mention of "extensive plans" echoed ominously in his mind. What exactly was Tom plotting? The phrase carried weight beyond simple academic catch-up.

"Nothing to concern yourself with," Tom had said, but Harry knew better. That particular tone—smooth, dismissive, yet somehow pointed—always preceded something significant.

Harry's pace slowed as realization dawned on him. Tom's "extensive plans" almost certainly involved the Chamber of Secrets. The timing made perfect sense—they were halfway through their sixth year, exactly when Tom had originally opened the Chamber according to the history Harry knew.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, kicking at a loose stone on the path back to Hogwarts.

If Tom was planning to open the Chamber soon after returning to school, Harry needed to act quickly. The timing aligned too perfectly with what he knew of history.

Harry's pace slowed as he approached Hogwarts' gates, his earlier emotional turmoil giving way to strategic thinking. He had a narrow window—just days, really—while Tom remained at St. Mungo's. Once Tom returned, preventing the Chamber's opening would become exponentially more difficult.

"I need a plan," Harry muttered to himself, nodding absently to the caretaker, as he passed through the entrance hall.

The weekend would provide the perfect opportunity. Most students would be in Hogsmeade, leaving the castle relatively empty. He could slip into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom—which wasn't yet Moaning Myrtle's bathroom—without arousing suspicion.

His hand drifted to his wand pocket. He possessed two critical advantages: Parseltongue abilities and knowledge of exactly where the entrance was located. The sink with the snake etched into the copper tap... he could picture it clearly.

"Saturday," Harry decided as he reached the corridor leading to the Slytherin dungeons. "I'll find the Chamber on Saturday."

That would give him two days to prepare properly. Two days to figure out how to deal with a thousand-year-old basilisk without getting himself killed in the process. Two days to prevent both Myrtle's death and Tom's irreversible descent into darkness.

"I can do this," Harry whispered. "I can save them both".

Chapter Text

Harry sat hunched over a thick, ancient tome in the Slytherin common room, his fingers tracing the faded text on basilisks. The pages described everything he already knew from his second year at Hogwarts, but it didn't hurt to refresh his memory.

"Known for their deadly gaze, which can kill instantly," Harry read aloud under his breath. "The basilisk can also kill by its venomous bite. Spiders flee before it, and only the crowing of a rooster is fatal to it."

He paused, considering the last part. The rooster's crow. In his time, Hagrid had once mentioned that roosters were mysteriously killed around Hogwarts when the Chamber had been opened. Tom Riddle must have taken precautions to ensure no roosters were around.

"Sound of a rooster's crow," Harry mused, tapping his chin with his quill. "But how can I replicate that sound?"

He flipped through more pages, hoping for any clue on how to produce the crowing noise without an actual rooster. "A wand could mimic certain sounds," he read from a section about advanced spellwork. "But natural animal sounds are complex and may not be effectively replicated."

"Too easy," Harry muttered, frustrated. He didn't have access to many resources here in the past—no Invisibility Cloak, no Marauder's Map, no helpful friends like Hermione or Ron.

His eyes drifted back to the line about spiders fleeing from basilisks. That part he already knew firsthand from Aragog's fear back in his second year. But the rooster's crow was critical.

"Maybe I can find a way," he thought aloud, pulling out his wand and pointing it at a nearby bookend shaped like a serpent. "Sonorus!"

The bookend emitted a high-pitched squeal that made Harry wince but nothing resembling a rooster's crow. He canceled the spell and sighed deeply.

"It has to be perfect," he muttered to himself. "Otherwise, it won't work."

Harry closed the book with a determined thud and began jotting down notes on parchment: Parseltongue for opening the Chamber, wand spells for potential fights, and figuring out how to mimic a rooster’s crow.

"I'll need something sharp," he added to the list, thinking about how they’d used the Sword of Gryffindor last time. "Maybe one of Slughorn’s special knives from Potions class."

He leaned back in his chair, surveying his notes. Despite all his preparations, Harry knew he had to rely heavily on his wits and whatever limited resources he could gather in this era.

"This has to work," Harry whispered fervently.

Harry rubbed his face, the weight of his task pressing down on him. So much to do, so little time. He stared at his notes, a new thought forming.

"A real rooster," he muttered. "That's what I need."

Hagrid would have roosters in the future, but did the gamekeeper of this era keep them too? Harry tried to remember if he'd seen chicken coops during his walks around the grounds. There had to be some source of fresh eggs for the kitchens. Perhaps a trip to Hogsmeade? But smuggling a live rooster back into the castle seemed impractical at best.

"The Room of Requirement?" he wondered. Could it conjure living creatures? Harry doubted it—Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration had its limitations. Food couldn't be created from nothing, and he suspected the same applied to living beings.

"Maybe Transfiguration," Harry mused, tapping his quill against the parchment. McGonagall—no, not McGonagall yet—Dumbledore had demonstrated turning animals into other animals. But that level of Transfiguration was beyond Harry's current abilities.

He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. "I could ask to visit Hogsmeade again, claim I need to buy something personal..."

The common room entrance slid open with a soft grinding sound. Harry's head snapped up to see Avery strolling in, his school bag slung over one shoulder.

"Evans," Avery called, walking toward him. "What are you doing over there? You've been holed up for hours."

Harry slammed his book shut and hastily covered his notes with his arm. "Just doing some research," he said, trying to sound casual.

Avery dropped into the chair across from him, raising an eyebrow at Harry's suspicious behavior. "Must be fascinating stuff, considering you missed dinner."

"Did I?" Harry glanced toward the windows, noticing the darkness outside. His stomach growled in confirmation.

Avery smirked. "The house-elves might still give you something if you go down to the kitchens."

Harry nodded absently, an idea forming. "Hey, Avery... you're pretty good at Transfiguration, aren't you?"

"Better than most," Avery said with a hint of pride. "Why? Need help with the assignment?"

"Not exactly." Harry hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I was wondering... how difficult would it be to transfigure something into a rooster? A live one, that makes noise and everything?"

Avery's eyebrows shot up. "A rooster? That's oddly specific."

"It's for a... personal project." Harry tried to look nonchalant. "Something I'm working on."

"Personal project," Avery repeated slowly, studying Harry's face. "Does this have anything to do with Riddle being away?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, nothing like that. It's just—I read something interesting about roosters in this book, and I wanted to test a theory."

"What kind of theory requires a live rooster?" Avery leaned forward, genuinely curious now.

"It's about... certain magical creatures and their weaknesses." Harry kept his explanation deliberately vague. "I thought it might be useful for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Avery looked skeptical but intrigued. "Well, animal-to-animal transfiguration isn't too difficult if you have something of similar size to start with. A chicken would be easiest, but even a rat could work with enough skill."

"Could you teach me?" Harry asked eagerly.

"I could try," Avery said, still looking puzzled. "But why not just get a real rooster from Hogsmeade or the gamekeeper?"

"Too conspicuous," Harry replied without thinking. "I mean, I don't want to draw attention to what I'm doing. It's just an experiment."

Avery narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. "An experiment that requires secrecy and a live rooster. You realize how strange that sounds, right?"

Harry sighed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. He leaned forward slightly, meeting Avery's gaze directly. "Look, I know it's odd. But I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

He deliberately softened his expression, letting a hint of vulnerability show through—the same look that had worked on Cho Chang and even Ginny back in his time. Harry reached across the table, his fingers lightly brushing against Avery's wrist.

"I trust you, Avery. More than most people here."

A faint flush crept up Avery's neck. He glanced down at Harry's hand, then back to his face.

"That's playing dirty, Evans," Avery muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his tone.

Harry smiled apologetically, not removing his hand. "I'm not trying to manipulate you. I genuinely do trust you. After everything that's happened between us..."

Avery swallowed visibly. "Even after I... well, you know."

"Especially after that," Harry said softly. "You've been honest with me. That means something."

The common room felt suddenly warmer as Avery's eyes lingered on Harry's face. Harry felt a twinge of guilt for using Avery's feelings this way, but he pushed it aside. The fate of the wizarding world might depend on stopping Tom Riddle from opening the Chamber.

"Fine," Avery conceded with a sigh. "I'll help you with your mysterious rooster project. But you owe me an explanation eventually."

Harry squeezed Avery's wrist gently before pulling his hand back. "Thank you. I promise it'll make sense someday."

"It better," Avery said, his voice slightly husky. He cleared his throat. "We should start with something small first. A mouse or a rat would be easier to practice with."

"Okay, I don't have those either," Harry said, frowning. "So now what? I need to learn this fast."

Avery drummed his fingers on the table, considering Harry's predicament. "We could probably find mice in the castle easily enough—check near the kitchens. The house-elves are always battling them."

"And if we can't find any?" Harry pressed, leaning forward.

"There's always insects," Avery suggested. "Beetles, spiders. Smaller creatures are easier to transfigure but harder to maintain the spell on. The complexity increases with the size difference and biological complexity."

Harry nodded impatiently. "But the timing is crucial. I need to be able to do this quickly, without much preparation."

"You're not giving me much to work with, Evans," Avery said, frustration edging into his voice. "Transfiguration isn't something you master overnight. Even Dumbledore would tell you that."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it further. "I know, I know. But isn't there some shortcut? A specific spell for animal transformation?"

"There's Vera Verto," Avery offered. "Turns animals into water goblets. But that's the opposite of what you want."

"What about Avis? The bird-conjuring spell?"

"Creates birds, yes, but not specific types. And conjured animals aren't fully real—they're temporary magical constructs. They don't have all the natural abilities of the real creature."

Harry slumped back in his chair. "So a conjured rooster wouldn't... crow properly?"

"Probably not," Avery confirmed. "The sound might be similar but lacking the magical properties of a genuine rooster's crow."

Harry stared at his notes, a sense of defeat washing over him. "This is more complicated than I thought."

"Maybe we're overthinking this," Avery said suddenly, straightening in his chair. "Why not just get a recording of a rooster's crow?"

Harry blinked. "A recording?"

"Yes, like those phonograph records Muggles use. I know some wizards who collect them." Avery leaned forward, warming to his idea. "There's a shop in Hogsmeade that sells magical recording devices. They're primarily for music, but they can capture any sound."

Harry's mind raced with the possibilities. "And they would work at Hogwarts? Despite all the magic?"

"They're magical themselves, so yes," Avery confirmed. "Not like those Muggle electric contraptions that go haywire around too much magical energy."

Harry felt a surge of hope. This could actually work. "So I could record a rooster crowing and then play it back whenever needed?"

"Exactly," Avery nodded. "Much simpler than complex transfiguration. Though I'm still curious why you need the sound of a rooster crowing."

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "Like I said, it's for a project. But this recording idea... that's brilliant, Avery."

"I have my moments," Avery said with a modest smile. "We could go to Hogsmeade this weekend."

"Perfect," Harry said, already calculating how long it would take to implement his plan. "And once we have the recording, I'll just need to figure out how to make it loud enough."

"There are amplification charms for that," Avery offered. "Simple enough to learn."

Harry gathered his notes, a new energy in his movements. "This could actually work," he muttered, more to himself than to Avery.

"You still haven't told me what 'this' is," Avery reminded him, crossing his arms.

Harry met his gaze, considering how much to reveal. "Let's just say I'm preparing for something that might happen. Something I hope doesn't happen, but if it does..."

"You'll need a rooster's crow," Avery finished, still looking puzzled but less suspicious than before.

"Exactly," Harry said, relieved that Avery wasn't pushing harder for details. Without thinking, he jumped up and wrapped his arms around Avery in a spontaneous hug. "You're absolutely brilliant."

Avery stiffened momentarily, clearly caught off guard by the sudden physical contact. After a second of surprise, his body relaxed, and he awkwardly patted Harry's back.

"It's just a recording device, Evans," Avery mumbled, though the pleased flush creeping up his neck betrayed his casual tone.

Harry pulled back, still gripping Avery's shoulders, his green eyes bright with renewed hope. "No, you don't understand. This solves everything. I was overthinking it completely."

Avery's expression softened, a genuine smile forming on his lips. His usual composed demeanor had slipped, revealing a rare glimpse of unguarded emotion.

"Well, I'm glad I could help," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "Though I still think you're being unnecessarily mysterious about the whole thing."

Harry released Avery's shoulders and stepped back, suddenly aware of the few other Slytherins in the common room who had glanced their way with curious expressions.

"Sorry about that," Harry said, gesturing vaguely to the space between them. "Got a bit carried away."

"No need to apologize," Avery replied, straightening his robes with deliberate movements. "It's... nice to see you excited about something. You've been rather gloomy lately, what with Riddle being away and all."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the irony. "Trust me, my mood has nothing to do with missing Tom."

"If you say so," Avery said with a knowing look that made Harry want to protest further, but he held his tongue.

"I'll gather my things," Harry said, collecting his notes and books. "We should probably get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day."

Avery nodded, watching as Harry organized his research materials. "And you should probably get something to eat before bed. Kitchen trip?"

"Good idea," Harry agreed, his stomach rumbling on cue. "Want to come along?"

"I've already eaten," Avery replied, "but I wouldn't mind the company."

As they headed toward the common room exit, Harry felt lighter than he had in weeks. For the first time since arriving in this era, he had a concrete plan to prevent tragedy.

*

Harry and Avery walked down the familiar Hogsmeade path that Saturday morning, the spring air crisp around them. Harry noticed Avery seemed unusually cheerful, humming quietly as they made their way through the village.

"You're in a good mood," Harry commented.

"Just glad to be out of the castle. Been cooped up too long with exams coming."

They turned down a winding side street that Harry vaguely remembered from their previous visit.

"Wait, isn't this—" Harry began.

"The music shop? Yes." Avery glanced sideways at Harry. "It's the only place that sells recording devices. Thought you'd remember."

Harry felt a strange flutter of awkwardness. That day had been so different—before everything with Tom, before Harry knew Avery had feelings for him.

"I remember," Harry said quietly. "The eccentric shop owner who talked your ear off about self-playing violins."

Avery's eyebrows rose slightly. "You do remember. Didn't think you were paying that much attention."

They approached the narrow storefront with its enchanted display window. The same silver flute floated in midair, though today it played a melancholy tune rather than the cheerful melody Harry recalled from their previous visit. The strange harp-clock hybrid still stood beside it, chiming softly.

"After you," Avery said, holding the door open with the same formal gesture as before.

Harry stepped inside, immediately enveloped by the rich sounds of magical instruments. The shop remained exactly as he remembered—shelves stretching toward the ceiling packed with records, instruments, and curious musical devices. The gramophone in the corner played what sounded like a somber cello solo.

"Welcome back, young gentlemen!" The shop owner appeared from behind a towering stack of sheet music, his wild white hair even more disheveled than Harry remembered. "Come for more Celestina Warbeck records?"

"Actually," Avery replied, "we need a recording device. Something portable that can capture sounds and play them back."

The shop owner's eyes lit up. "Ah! An excellent request. Follow me to the back."

The shop owner led them through a narrow aisle cluttered with musical paraphernalia. Harry ducked to avoid a suspended tambourine that occasionally shook itself.

"Recording devices, recording devices," the man muttered, running his fingers along shelves. "Ah! Here we are."

He pulled out a small wooden box with brass fixtures. "This is our standard Sound Capturer. Records up to thirty minutes of audio and can play it back at varying volumes." He demonstrated by speaking into it, then tapping it with his wand to replay his voice.

"How much?" Harry asked.

"Five Galleons for this model."

Harry reached for his coin pouch. "I'll take it."

While the shop owner wrapped the device, Avery wandered to a nearby shelf. "What about this one?" He pointed to a sleeker, silver contraption.

"That's our Premium Echo Enchanter. Records up to two hours and has superior sound quality. Also allows for sound amplification—can make a whisper sound like a shout."

Harry perked up. "How much amplification?"

"Oh, quite significant. Could fill a small hall with sound."

Harry and Avery exchanged glances. This would be perfect for the rooster crow—it needed to be loud enough to affect the basilisk through the Chamber walls.

"I'll take that one instead," Harry said quickly.

"Excellent choice! Eight Galleons."

Harry counted out the coins, watching as the shop owner carefully packed the Echo Enchanter into a velvet-lined box.

"It's simple to use," he explained. "Press this silver button to record, the gold one to stop, and tap with your wand to play back. This dial adjusts volume."

Harry nodded, taking the package. "Thank you."

Outside the shop, Harry and Avery stood on the cobblestone street, examining the Echo Enchanter in its velvet-lined box.

"This should work perfectly," Harry said, carefully tucking it into his robe pocket.

Avery smiled at Harry, a knowing glint in his eyes. "So..." he said, leaning in slightly, "now you just need to find a rooster to record, huh?"

Harry nodded, already mentally planning a trip to the gamekeeper in this time. "Yes, that's the next step."

Avery gave him a conspiratorial wink. "I already thought of that for you too."

"You did?" Harry blinked in surprise.

Avery reached into his bag and pulled out a small wooden cage. Inside, a white mouse scurried nervously around.

"Brought this little fellow from the Transfiguration classroom. Professor Dumbledore won't miss one mouse from his collection."

Harry stared, impressed. "You really did think of everything."

"Let's find somewhere quiet." Avery gestured toward a grassy area behind the shops where a few trees provided shade.

They settled under an oak tree, and Avery placed the cage on the ground between them. The mouse peered up at them with twitching whiskers.

"Ready to see some proper Transfiguration?" Avery asked with a hint of pride.

Harry nodded, taking out the Echo Enchanter and preparing it for recording.

Avery removed the mouse from its cage, holding it gently in his palm. He closed his eyes in concentration, then performed a complex wand movement while murmuring an incantation Harry couldn't quite catch.

The mouse began to change—first growing larger, then sprouting feathers. Its nose elongated into a beak, and its tail transformed into a fan of colorful feathers. Within seconds, a fully-formed rooster stood in Avery's hands, looking thoroughly confused about its new existence.

"Impressive," Harry said genuinely. "I'd have probably ended up with something half-mouse, half-bird."

"Now for the tricky part." Avery set the rooster down on the grass. "Getting it to crow."

The rooster strutted around, pecking at the ground but remaining stubbornly silent.

"Maybe we need to startle it?" Harry suggested.

Avery tried clapping his hands. Nothing happened.

"I read somewhere roosters crow at sunrise," Harry said. "Maybe we could create artificial light?"

"Worth a try." Avery cast a Lumos Maxima, brightening the area significantly.

The rooster merely blinked at them.

"This is ridiculous," Avery laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't think it would be this difficult."

Harry pressed the silver button on the Echo Enchanter. "Let's try imitating a rooster ourselves. Maybe it'll respond."

They took turns making their best rooster impressions, dissolving into laughter at each other's attempts.

"That was terrible," Avery wheezed after Harry's particularly poor crow.

The rooster, seemingly annoyed by their mockery, suddenly stretched its neck and let out a perfect, piercing "COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!"

"Quick!" Harry fumbled with the device, making sure it was recording.

The rooster, now finding its voice, crowed three more times in succession.

"Got it!" Harry exclaimed, pressing the gold button to stop recording.

Avery grinned triumphantly as Harry tested the recording, tapping the Echo Enchanter with his wand. The rooster's crow played back clearly, filling their small clearing with the sound.

"Perfect," Harry said, adjusting the volume dial to maximum. The next playback was significantly louder, making them both wince.

"That should do it," Harry confirmed, carefully tucking the device back into his pocket. "Thanks for your help with this."

Avery returned the rooster to its cage and performed the reverse transfiguration. Within moments, the white mouse reappeared, looking disoriented but unharmed.

"So," Avery said casually as they began walking back toward the main street, "are you going to tell me what this is really about?"

Harry kept his expression neutral. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Evans. First the basilisk research, now recording rooster crows? You're planning something."

Harry hesitated. He trusted Avery, but involving him further might put him in danger. "It's complicated."

"Does it have something to do with Riddle?" Avery's voice dropped lower.

"Not exactly," Harry lied, avoiding Avery's searching gaze.

They walked in silence for a moment before Avery spoke again. "Just be careful, whatever you're doing. And remember you don't have to handle everything alone."

Harry felt a surge of gratitude toward his friend. "I know. And I appreciate your help more than you realize."

As they approached the Three Broomsticks, Avery gestured toward the pub. "Fancy a butterbeer before heading back?"

Harry hesitated, then shook his head. "Actually," he said, glancing down the cobblestone street, "now we're here, I need to make one more stop."

Avery raised an eyebrow. "Another errand? What is it this time?"

"Do they sell like... uh..." Harry faltered, searching for the right words. "Weapons?"

"Weapons?" Avery's eyes widened slightly. "What kind of weapons are you looking for?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Just something for protection. You never know when you might need to defend yourself."

Avery studied Harry's face, his expression growing more concerned. "This is definitely about something dangerous, isn't it?"

"I just want to be prepared," Harry said evasively. "If the—" He caught himself before mentioning the basilisk. "If I run into trouble."

Avery sighed, then pointed toward the far end of the village. "There's Darby's Defensive Goods. They sell enchanted shields, protective amulets, and some basic magical weapons." He lowered his voice. "Nothing lethal—that would be illegal—but they have things like enchanted daggers that can cut through magical barriers."

Harry nodded gratefully. "That's perfect. Let's go there before heading back."

"Evans," Avery grabbed Harry's arm gently. "Whatever you're planning... just tell me you're not going to get yourself killed."

Harry looked into his friend's worried eyes and forced a reassuring smile. "I'm just being cautious. I promise."

They walked down the narrow side street toward Darby's Defensive Goods, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestones. Avery kicked a small pebble, watching it skitter ahead of them.

"I missed this, you know," he said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Harry glanced at him. "Missed what?"

"This." Avery gestured between them. "Hanging out with you. Just the two of us on some mysterious errand." A smile played at his lips. "Feels like we're on a dangerous mission together, even though you won't fill me in on the details."

Harry felt a twinge of guilt. "Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine." Avery waved dismissively. "Adds to the excitement, doesn't it? Like we're secret agents or something." He laughed and shook his head. "Ugh, I sound just like a little kid."

"Secret agents, huh?" Harry grinned. "I suppose that makes me the mysterious foreign operative with a dark past."

Avery chuckled. "And I'm your loyal sidekick who doesn't ask too many questions."

They reached Darby's Defensive Goods, a narrow storefront with iron bars across its windows. A small sign hung above the door, depicting a shield with crossed wands.

"Here we are," Avery said, pushing open the heavy wooden door. A small bell jingled as they entered.

The shop interior was dimly lit and cluttered with merchandise. Glass cases displayed an array of enchanted daggers, protective amulets, and strange metallic devices Harry couldn't identify. The walls were lined with shields of various sizes, some glowing faintly with protective enchantments.

An elderly wizard with a patch over one eye emerged from a back room. "Hogwarts students, eh? What brings you to my establishment?"

"Just browsing," Harry said casually, moving toward a display of daggers.

The shopkeeper eyed him suspiciously. "Those aren't toys, boy. Each one has unique enchantments for specific defensive purposes."

Harry examined a silver dagger with runes etched along its blade. "What does this one do?"

"That's a Barrier Breaker. Cuts through most magical shields and barriers." The shopkeeper crossed his arms. "Costs fifteen Galleons."

Harry nodded, continuing to browse. His eyes landed on a smaller knife with an iridescent blade that seemed to shift colors as he looked at it.

"And this one?"

"Ah, the Venom Neutralizer. Blade absorbs and neutralizes most magical and non-magical poisons on contact." The shopkeeper's good eye narrowed. "Planning to encounter something venomous, are you?"

Harry tried to keep his expression neutral. "Just curious about my options."

"Twenty Galleons for that one."

Harry picked up the Venom Neutralizer, testing its weight in his hand.

"I'll take it," he said, reaching for his coin pouch.

Avery raised an eyebrow but remained silent as Harry counted out the Galleons.

The shopkeeper wrapped the knife in protective cloth before handing it to Harry. "Use it wisely, boy. And remember—it's for defensive purposes only."

While Harry waited for the shopkeeper to finish wrapping his purchase, Avery wandered to a display of shields mounted on the wall. Each one had a small plaque beneath it describing its protective properties.

"Look at this one," Avery called, pointing to a burnished bronze shield with intricate runes around its edge. "Says it can deflect minor hexes and jinxes."

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "Probably useful for dueling practice."

Avery reached up to touch the shield, his fingers tracing the runes. "Wonder how it works exactly."

The shopkeeper looked up sharply. "Careful with those, boy. They're activated by touch."

Too late. The shield glowed blue where Avery's fingers made contact, and suddenly it detached from the wall. Avery fumbled to catch it, but the heavy metal disc slipped through his grasp and clattered to the floor with a deafening bang.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" Avery yelped, bending to retrieve it.

As he straightened up, the shield bumped against a nearby stand of protective amulets, sending them cascading to the floor in a shower of clinks and clangs. One amulet activated upon impact, releasing a small cloud of purple smoke that smelled strongly of garlic.

"For Merlin's sake!" the shopkeeper barked.

Avery, now red-faced, tried to hang the shield back on its hook while balancing awkwardly to avoid stepping on the scattered amulets. The shield slipped again, this time catching on his robes and pulling him off-balance. He stumbled sideways into a glass case containing enchanted daggers, making it rock precariously.

Harry lunged forward, steadying the case before it could topple.

"I've got it," Harry said, fighting back laughter at the sight of Avery's mortified expression.

"Out! Both of you out!" the shopkeeper shouted, snatching the shield from Avery's hands. "Take your purchase and go before he destroys my entire inventory!"

Harry grabbed his wrapped knife and pulled Avery toward the door.

"Sorry again," Avery called over his shoulder as Harry dragged him outside.

Once the door closed behind them, Harry burst into laughter, tears in his eyes.

"It's not funny," Avery muttered, still blushing furiously. "Did you see his face? I thought he was going to hex me."

"That," Harry said between chuckles, "was the least stealthy exit for two 'secret agents' I've ever seen."

Avery rolled his eyes but started laughing too. "So, after you're done making fun of me, are we done here?" He brushed dust off his robes, still flushed from embarrassment.

"Yeah, I think we've caused enough chaos for one day," Harry grinned, patting his pocket to ensure the Echo Enchanter was secure. The weight of the wrapped knife pressed against his side, hidden in his inner robe pocket.

They walked back toward the main street, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Hogsmeade was bustling with weekend visitors, and the Three Broomsticks looked particularly inviting.

"Fancy sharing that butterbeer now?" Harry suggested. "My treat, after your heroic battle with that shield."

"Oh, shut it," Avery muttered, but he was smiling as they pushed open the door to the pub.

Inside, the Three Broomsticks hummed with conversation and laughter. They found a small table in the corner, away from the noisiest patrons. Harry ordered a large butterbeer for them to share, and they settled in, both quietly relieved to be sitting after their eventful shopping expedition.

When their drink arrived—frothy and golden in a large tankard with two straws—they both leaned forward. Harry's sleeve rode up slightly, revealing the silver bracelet on his wrist. Avery's eyes fell to it immediately, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

"You're still wearing it," he said quietly.

Harry glanced down. "Oh, yeah." He twisted the bracelet slightly, watching how the runes caught the light. "Never take it off, actually."

Avery looked pleased, taking a sip of butterbeer to hide his smile.

"I've been meaning to ask," Harry said, running his finger over one of the runes. "What exactly would this protect against? Bites, maybe?"

"Bites?" Avery echoed, nearly choking on his butterbeer. "Are you joking?"

Harry blinked, suddenly self-conscious. "I just thought... you know, with all the research I've been doing lately..."

"It's not that specific," Avery said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "It's a general protective charm—shields against minor hexes, warns you of nearby dangers, that sort of thing." He tilted his head curiously. "Why would you need protection from bites, of all things?"

Harry shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Just curious about its limitations."

"Well, I don't know if it would help against, say, a dragon bite," Avery said with a half-smile. "But it might give you enough warning to get out of the way." He paused, studying Harry's face. "My brother wore it during his work. Said it saved him more than once."

Harry nodded, suddenly more appreciative of the gift. "How did it work for him exactly? Did it just... I don't know, tingle or something when danger was near?"

"He said it would grow warm," Avery explained, reaching across the table to touch the bracelet lightly. "The warmer it got, the closer the danger. And if it actually burned against your skin—" he met Harry's eyes "—that meant you needed to run. Immediately."

Harry nodded solemnly, absorbing this information. The bracelet suddenly felt heavier on his wrist, more significant. "I'll remember that. Thanks for telling me."

"Just promise you'll pay attention if it warms up," Avery said, his expression unusually serious. "Whatever you're planning with that knife and rooster recording... it sounds dangerous."

Harry took a long sip of butterbeer, the sweet foam leaving a mustache on his upper lip. "I'm just being cautious."

"Right," Avery said skeptically, wiping his own mouth with the back of his hand. "And I'm secretly Grindelwald's nephew."

Harry snorted, nearly choking on his drink.

"Careful there, Evans," Avery laughed, sliding a napkin across the table. "Dying by butterbeer would be embarrassing, especially after all your mysterious preparations."

Harry wiped his face, grateful for the shift to lighter conversation. "Can you imagine the headline? 'Boy Survives London Bombing Only to Drown in Dessert Beverage.'"

"Slughorn would be devastated," Avery added. "He'd probably preserve your last butterbeer as a memento."

They both laughed, tension dissipating between them. Outside, the afternoon light was beginning to fade, casting long shadows through the windows of the Three Broomsticks.

"We should head back soon," Harry said, glancing at the darkening sky. "I've got some reading to finish before tomorrow."

Avery drained the last of their shared butterbeer. "More basilisk research?"

"Something like that," Harry admitted, standing and gathering his purchases.

As they stepped outside into the cool evening air, Avery bumped Harry's shoulder lightly with his own. "Whatever you're up to, Evans, just remember you've got friends who care what happens to you."

Harry felt a surge of gratitude as they began walking toward the path back to Hogwarts. The weight of the Echo Enchanter and knife in his pockets reminded him of the task ahead, but Avery's presence beside him made it seem less daunting somehow.

As they approached Hogwarts castle, the sun had fully set, leaving only a purple-orange glow on the horizon. Harry and Avery walked in comfortable silence, their purchases safely tucked away.

"Thanks for coming with me today," Harry said as they reached the entrance hall.

"Anytime," Avery replied with a small smile. "Though next time, maybe warn me if we're going to get thrown out of shops."

Harry laughed. "Deal."

They made their way to the Slytherin common room, parting ways as Avery headed to meet Lestrange for a chess match and Harry retreated to their dormitory to prepare for what lay ahead.

*

The dormitory was silent except for the soft snores coming from Lestrange's bed. Harry lay motionless under his covers, fully dressed in his darkest clothes, waiting. The clock on his bedside table showed 2:17 AM.

He'd waited until his roommates had been asleep for over an hour. Now was the time.

Harry slipped from his bed silently, retrieving his wand from beneath his pillow. From his trunk, he carefully extracted the Echo Enchanter, loaded with the recording of a rooster's crow. The Venom Neutralizer knife was strapped to his ankle, hidden beneath his trouser leg.

With one final glance at his sleeping roommates, Harry cast a silencing charm on his shoes and slipped out of the dormitory. The common room was deserted, the fire reduced to glowing embers that cast long shadows across the stone floor.

Heart pounding, Harry made his way toward the exit. He was going to face the monster that had nearly killed him once before. This time, he wouldn't have Fawkes or the Sword of Gryffindor—just a recording device, a knife, and his wand.

But he also had knowledge. He knew what waited in the Chamber. He knew how to enter it. And most importantly, he knew how to kill it.

As the common room entrance closed behind him, Harry took a deep breath and headed toward the second-floor girls' bathroom where Myrtle would soon meet her fate if he didn't succeed tonight.

The dungeon corridors were pitch black, but Harry moved confidently through the darkness. After months at Hogwarts in this era, he knew every creaking floorboard and shifting staircase.

His mind drifted to the books he'd been studying over the past days. Between classes and his preparations for tonight, he'd immersed himself in texts about Salazar Slytherin and his descendants. The Hogwarts library had yielded little, but in the Slytherin common room's private collection, he'd found several volumes on pureblood genealogies that might prove useful.

The information wouldn't help against the basilisk's venom or its deadly gaze, but it might prevent a confrontation altogether. If he could convince the serpent he was the true Heir of Slytherin, perhaps he could command it to remain dormant forever.

Harry had practiced the phrases in Parseltongue repeatedly in the shower, where the running water would mask the strange hissing sounds. "I am the blood of Slytherin" and "I command you to sleep" were now second nature. He'd also memorized the names of Slytherin's children, details that only a true heir might know.

It was a desperate gamble. The basilisk had obeyed Tom in his time, but Harry was a Parselmouth too. And unlike Tom, Harry knew the beast's future—knowledge he could use to his advantage.

As he climbed the stairs toward the second floor, Harry felt the weight of the protective bracelet Avery had given him. It remained cool against his skin, offering some small comfort.

"If words fail," Harry muttered, patting the Echo Enchanter in his pocket, "there's always the rooster."

The corridor leading to Myrtle's bathroom stretched before him, moonlight spilling through tall windows and painting silver rectangles on the stone floor. Harry paused at each intersection, listening for patrolling prefects or professors.

At the bathroom door, Harry hesitated. His fingers tightened around his wand as memories flooded back—Hermione petrified, Ginny lying pale and still on the Chamber floor, the basilisk lunging at him with fangs gleaming.

"This time will be different," he whispered.

The bathroom was eerily quiet as he pushed the door open. Moonlight reflected off the porcelain sinks, creating ghostly shadows. Harry approached the sink with the small snake etched into the copper tap.

He took a deep breath and focused on the tiny serpent.

"Open," he hissed in Parseltongue.

The sink began to move. It sank right out of sight, revealing the large pipe that would lead to the Chamber of Secrets. Cold, damp air rushed up from the opening, carrying the scent of stagnant water and decay.

Without hesitation, Harry swung his legs over the edge of the pipe and let himself slide into the darkness. The decision was pure instinct, bypassing all rational thought—the same impulsiveness that had followed him throughout his life.

The pipe twisted and turned, slick with moisture. Harry plummeted downward, gathering speed until he shot out the end, landing with a wet thud on the damp ground. Bones crunched beneath him—small animal skeletons scattered across the floor of the tunnel.

"Lumos," he whispered, and the tip of his wand illuminated the cavernous space.

It was exactly as he remembered from fifty years in the future—the same tunnel stretching ahead, the same oppressive darkness pressing in from all sides. Harry rose to his feet, brushing fragments of bone from his robes. His heart hammered against his ribs, but his hand remained steady as he held his wand aloft.

The silence was absolute, broken only by the distant drip of water and his own shallow breathing. Harry moved forward, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The protective bracelet on his wrist remained cool—no immediate danger, then.

The skin on the back of his neck prickled. He was here, beneath the school, alone with no one knowing where he'd gone. If something went wrong, there would be no rescue. No Fawkes would appear with the Sorting Hat. No Ron would clear away the rockfall. No Ginny to save.

Just Harry and the monster.

Harry continued down the tunnel, each step bringing him closer to the Chamber's entrance. The passageway twisted and turned, just as he remembered. The smell of dampness and decay grew stronger, mixing with something else—a musky, reptilian scent that made his skin crawl.

Finally, he reached the solid wall where two entwined serpents were carved, their emerald eyes gleaming in the wandlight. They looked almost alive, watching him with cold, calculating stares.

Harry stopped, his breath catching in his throat. This was it. Beyond this door lay the basilisk—sixty feet of ancient, deadly serpent. The very creature that had nearly killed him once before.

His hand instinctively moved to his ankle, confirming the Venom Neutralizer knife was still secured there. The Echo Enchanter felt heavy in his pocket, loaded with the recording that could save his life.

"I can do this," Harry whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. "I have to do this."

He thought of Myrtle Warren—alive now, studying in the library, unaware that her death was approaching. He remembered her ghost, trapped for fifty years in that bathroom, forever thirteen years old.

And then he thought of Tom. Tom, who had saved him from the falling beam. Tom, whose path toward darkness might be altered if Harry could prevent this first murder.

"For Myrtle," Harry murmured. "And for Tom."

He squared his shoulders and faced the carved serpents. Their emerald eyes seemed to follow his movements, waiting for the command only a Parselmouth could give.

Harry took three deep breaths, steadying himself. Then he focused on the snakes, imagining them alive and coiling.

Again, Harry used his Parseltongue skills to open the entrance.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves sliding smoothly out of sight. Beyond lay the Chamber of Secrets, vast and dimly lit, its ceiling lost in darkness.

Harry stepped through the entrance, his footsteps echoing across the vast chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness. The greenish gloom cast eerie shadows across the floor, and the serpentine columns seemed to watch his progress with cold, dead eyes.

At the far end of the Chamber stood the enormous statue of Salazar Slytherin, just as Harry remembered it—ancient and monkey-like with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes.

Harry moved cautiously forward, wand raised, every sense alert. The basilisk could be anywhere, coiled behind a pillar or resting within the statue itself. His bracelet remained cool against his skin, but Harry knew the danger was real.

"I know you're here," Harry hissed in Parseltongue, his voice carrying across the Chamber. "I've come to speak with you, ancient one."

Silence answered him. Harry took another step forward, scanning the shadows between the columns.

Harry paused, his hand instinctively reaching into his pocket. Alongside the Echo Enchanter, his fingers brushed against something smooth and cold—the small hand mirror he'd taken from the dormitory bathroom before leaving. He'd nearly forgotten about it.

The mirror was nothing special—just a simple rectangular glass with a plain wooden back—but it could save his life. He pulled it out, angling it carefully to check behind him without turning his back on the Chamber. The reflection showed only empty space between the serpentine columns, shadows dancing in the dim light.

"Clever," he whispered to himself, adjusting his grip on the mirror. "At least I came prepared this time."

Harry continued forward, using the mirror to scan his surroundings while keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. The stone floor was slick with moisture, small puddles reflecting the eerie greenish light that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once.

His free hand hovered over his pocket, fingers twitching with readiness to snatch the Echo Enchanter at the slightest provocation. The knife against his ankle no longer felt reassuring—it felt woefully inadequate, a toothpick against an ancient horror.

Something shifted in the darkness. A whisper of movement, barely perceptible.

Harry froze. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chamber's bone-deep chill. The silence pressed against his eardrums like a physical weight, broken only by the pounding of his own heart.

Drip.

A single drop of water—or something else—fell somewhere in the darkness behind him.

Drip.

Another, closer this time.

His fingers trembled as he adjusted the mirror, angling it to peer into the shadows. Nothing. Just endless stone and darkness. But the feeling of being watched intensified, like invisible fingers crawling up his spine.

"Hello," Harry hissed in Parseltongue, his voice cracking. The word bounced back at him, distorted and alien. "Great serpent of Slytherin, I wish to speak with you."

His bracelet warmed slightly against his skin. Not danger yet, but something was changing.

A soft scraping sound whispered across the chamber—not from the statue, but from somewhere to his left. Harry whirled, mirror thrust forward, but caught only a glimpse of shadow sliding behind a pillar.

"I am a speaker of the serpent tongue," he called, louder now, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice. "I have come to meet the guardian of Salazar's Chamber."

The temperature plummeted. Harry's breath clouded before him, the mist hanging suspended in the stagnant air. Something ancient was stirring, awakening.

Hisssssssss

The sound slithered through the chamber, seeming to come from everywhere at once. Not a response—this was the sound of colossal lungs exhaling after centuries of slumber.

A faint scraping noise emerged from the statue's direction. Harry's eyes snapped to the floor, heart hammering against his ribs with such force he feared it might burst.

The scraping grew louder, heavier. Loose stones skittered across the floor as something massive displaced them. The sound of scales—yards and yards of scales—sliding across ancient stone filled the chamber, punctuated by the occasional splash as whatever approached disturbed the shallow pools of stagnant water.

Harry's bracelet warmed slightly against his skin—not burning hot with immediate danger, but definitely registering a threat. He tightened his grip on his wand, his other hand clutching the mirror.

"I can sense you, speaker," came a voice that sliced through the darkness. Each syllable vibrated with ancient malice, resonating not through Harry's ears but directly into his skull. "You are not the heir who has visited me before. Yet you speak our tongue."

The sound paralyzed Harry's lungs mid-breath. Through the mirror, Harry glimpsed movement—a massive coil thicker than his torso slithering between columns, its scales catching the dim light. The creature was playing with him, circling, assessing.

"I am—" Harry's voice strangled in his throat. He swallowed fear and continued in Parseltongue, "I am the true heir of Slytherin. I command you to recognize my authority."

His words hung pathetically in the damp air. From somewhere unseen, a sound like dry bones being ground to dust—the basilisk's laughter.

The floor trembled beneath his feet as tons of serpent shifted position. Something massive swept past just inches behind him, displacing air that carried the stench of decay and venom.

"You sssspeak with a forked tongue, little wizard," the basilisk's reply slithered directly into Harry's mind, bypassing his ears and flooding his consciousness with images of countless prey that had died beneath its fangs. "Your blood carriesss the gift, yet you reek of falssehood and prey."

The bracelet against Harry's wrist grew hotter. His heartbeat hammered so violently he could see his own pulse throbbing in his peripheral vision.

"I speak truth," Harry hissed, fighting to keep his voice steady as he felt the creature's breath—fetid and ancient—against the back of his neck. "I am the first to open this chamber in centuries."

The basilisk's enormous body suddenly constricted around the space where Harry stood, not touching him but forming a living prison of scales that reflected the greenish light like thousands of obsidian blades. Through the mirror, Harry glimpsed a portion of its head—larger than his entire body—sliding into position behind him, jaws parting to reveal fangs longer than his forearm, dripping venom that sizzled when it struck stone.

"Yesss," the creature acknowledged, its voice now a death rattle that seemed to come from everywhere at once. "No human has disturbed my slumber since the great Salazar himself sealed these chambers. Yet you come now, claiming his bloodline?"

Harry's mind raced. This confirmed what he'd suspected—Tom hadn't yet discovered or opened the Chamber. He was truly the first to awaken the basilisk in this timeline.

"I've come to ensure you remain at rest," Harry said carefully in Parseltongue. "Another will come soon—one who would use you to harm the innocent. I seek to prevent this."

The basilisk's massive head swayed closer, and Harry could feel its hot, fetid breath on the back of his neck. His bracelet grew warmer against his skin.

"You speak strangely for an heir," the basilisk observed. "Salazar commanded me to purge the castle of those unworthy to study magic. If you are truly his blood, why would you prevent this sacred duty?"

Harry swallowed hard. "Times have changed. The school now serves all with magical ability, as it should. Attacking students would only lead to your destruction."

The enormous serpent flicked its tongue out to taste the air around Harry. Its enormous head hovered somewhere behind him, and Harry could feel its gaze burning into his back.

"I AM the Heir of Slytherin," Harry declared with renewed force, channeling every ounce of authority he could muster into his Parseltongue. "By blood and by right, I command you to recognize me and obey."

The basilisk paused its circling, its massive body going still. The silence stretched for several heartbeats, broken only by the soft dripping of water from the chamber ceiling.

"Your command carries power," the basilisk acknowledged, its voice like stone grinding against stone. "There is something of the founder's essence within you... twisted and fragmented, but present."

Harry's grip on his wand tightened. The bracelet on his wrist remained warm but hadn't grown hotter—a sign the immediate danger hadn't increased. He risked angling his mirror slightly to catch a glimpse of the enormous serpent.

The basilisk's head swayed hypnotically, its scales catching the dim light. Its body was coiled in massive loops around Harry, forming a circle nearly twenty feet in diameter with Harry at its center.

"As Heir, I command you to remain dormant," Harry hissed. "Return to your slumber within the statue. Harm no students of Hogwarts."

The basilisk's tongue flicked out. Its massive head lowered until it nearly touched the ground beside him.

"I taste your fear, little speaker," the serpent whispered, its voice now taking on a sickly sweet quality that was somehow more terrifying than its earlier coldness. "It drips from your skin like honey. Sweet. Intoxicating."

Harry's free hand inched toward his pocket, where the Echo Enchanter waited. The rooster's crow was his best defense if this negotiation failed.

"Fear is wisdom in the face of danger," Harry countered, struggling to keep his voice steady in Parseltongue. "I respect your power. That is not weakness."

"Yessss," it agreed, its massive head swaying closer. "Respect is wise. Submission is wiser."

For a moment, the basilisk seemed to accept Harry's authority. Its massive coils relaxed slightly, creating a wider circle around him.

"Perhaps you do carry the blood," the serpent conceded. "Your command has... weight."

Harry allowed himself a flicker of hope. Maybe this would work after all. Maybe he could command the basilisk to sleep, prevent it from ever being used by Tom.

"Then you will obey?" Harry pressed, infusing his Parseltongue with all the conviction he could muster. "You will return to your resting place and harm no student of Hogwarts?"

The basilisk's body shifted, scales scraping against stone as it adjusted its massive coils.

"I have slept for centuries," it acknowledged. "Time passes differently for one such as I. I could return to my slumber."

Harry's shoulders relaxed fractionally. "Good. That's good. Return now to—"

"But first," the basilisk interrupted, its voice dropping to a chilling whisper that seemed to bypass Harry's ears and vibrate directly in his bones, "I must taste the blood of the one who claims to be heir."

The massive serpent's head shot forward. Harry dove sideways, rolling across the damp stone floor as the basilisk's fangs struck the spot where he'd been standing. The mirror flew from his hand, shattering against a nearby column.

"Shit!" Harry scrambled to his feet, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. The basilisk's massive body whipped around, its tail lashing out and nearly catching Harry's legs.

"You move like prey," the basilisk hissed, its voice now dripping with malice. "No heir would flee from my blessing. Your blood will reveal the truth."

Harry ducked behind a pillar as the enormous serpent lunged again, its fangs scraping against stone with a sound like nails on a chalkboard. His bracelet burned hot against his skin now—unmistakable danger.

"Shit, shit, shit," Harry muttered, fumbling in his pocket for the Echo Enchanter. His fingers closed around the small device, but it slipped in his sweaty grip, tumbling back into the depths of his pocket.

The basilisk's massive body slammed against the pillar, sending fragments of stone raining down on Harry's head. He darted to another column, his hand still frantically searching his pocket.

"I can smell your desperation," the basilisk taunted, its voice echoing from multiple directions at once. "It tastes of lies and fear. No true heir would tremble before me."

Harry's fingers finally closed around the Echo Enchanter. He yanked it from his pocket, nearly dropping it again in his haste.

"Come on, come on," he whispered, fumbling with the activation mechanism. The small dial on the side was supposed to trigger the recording, but his trembling fingers couldn't seem to find the right position.

The basilisk's massive head appeared around the pillar, its mouth open wide to reveal curved fangs the length of Harry's forearm. Harry threw himself backward, landing hard on the wet stone floor as the serpent's jaws snapped shut inches from his face.

Harry rolled to his feet, still clutching the Echo Enchanter. He managed to turn the dial, but instead of the rooster's crow, the device emitted only a faint clicking sound.

"No, no, no," Harry muttered, shaking the device frantically. "Work, damn you!"

The basilisk reared up, its massive head nearly touching the ceiling of the chamber. Its body coiled, preparing to strike again.

"Your tricks will not save you, false heir," it hissed, venom dripping from its fangs and sizzling where it hit the stone floor. "I will taste your blood and know your deception."

Harry backed away, still trying to activate the Echo Enchanter. The dial seemed to be stuck, refusing to turn to the proper setting. He slammed it against his palm, desperate to make it work.

The device gave a sickening crack, and a piece of the casing broke off, falling to the floor with a clatter that echoed through the chamber.

"No!" Harry stared in horror at the damaged Echo Enchanter. The recording mechanism was exposed now, its delicate internal components visible through the broken casing.

"Your time runs short, little speaker," it hissed, drawing itself up for the final strike. "Let us see what truths your blood reveals."

Harry's free hand flew to his ankle, yanking the Venom Neutralizer dagger from its sheath. The weapon's enchanted blade gleamed in the dim light of the Chamber, its runes pulsing with a faint blue glow.

"Last resort," Harry muttered, gripping the knife tightly while still fumbling with the broken Echo Enchanter. The device's internal components dangled precariously, held together by a few thin wires.

The basilisk lunged forward, its massive jaws wide enough to swallow Harry whole. Harry dove sideways again, rolling across the slick stone floor as the serpent's head crashed into another pillar.

Harry's fingers worked frantically, trying to reconnect the loose wires inside the Echo Enchanter. A spark jumped between two metal contacts, singeing his fingertips.

"Come on, just one crow," Harry pleaded, jamming the components back together and twisting the dial with desperate force.

The basilisk recovered quickly, its enormous body slithering across the Chamber floor with terrifying speed. Harry backed away, knife raised in one hand, the damaged device clutched in the other.

Harry pressed the activation button one final time, forcing the broken dial to turn. The Echo Enchanter vibrated in his palm, emitting a high-pitched whine as its magic struggled to function through damaged components.

Just as the basilisk's head shot forward, fangs bared, the device gave a sickening crack—and then a piercing rooster's crow erupted from it, amplified to deafening volume by the Chamber's acoustics.

The basilisk recoiled violently, its massive body convulsing as the crow echoed through the Chamber. The serpent's hiss transformed into a shriek of pain, its coils thrashing against the stone pillars.

The basilisk's massive body writhed in agony, its scales scraping against stone as it thrashed. The rooster's crow continued to blare from the damaged Echo Enchanter, reverberating through the Chamber with supernatural intensity.

Harry backed away, knife still clutched in his hand, watching as the ancient serpent convulsed. Its enormous head slammed against pillars, sending fragments of stone cascading down. The creature's movements grew increasingly erratic, its hisses transforming into choked, gurgling sounds.

"It's working," Harry whispered, hardly daring to believe it.

The basilisk's body began to still, its movements slowing as the crow's effect took hold. The enormous serpent's head crashed to the floor, its jaw slack, venom pooling beneath its partially open mouth.

Harry kept his distance, the Echo Enchanter still blaring its fatal crow. The device grew hot in his palm, its broken components glowing with the strain of continuous magical output.

As the basilisk's body gave one final shudder and went completely still, the Echo Enchanter sputtered and died, the crow cutting off mid-sound. Silence fell over the Chamber, broken only by the distant drip of water and Harry's ragged breathing.

Harry approached cautiously, knife raised. The basilisk lay motionless, its enormous body stretched across the Chamber floor like a fallen tree. Its eyes—those deadly yellow orbs—were clouded and dull, no longer carrying their fatal power.

The basilisk's enormous body lay motionless before Harry, its scales already losing their vibrant sheen. Harry exhaled shakily, lowering the useless Echo Enchanter and taking a tentative step closer to examine the fallen serpent.

"I've done it," he whispered, hardly believing he'd managed to kill the creature that had terrorized Hogwarts in his own time.

Just as Harry began to relax, the basilisk's massive tail suddenly twitched, slapping against the wet stone floor with a thunderous crack. Harry's heart leapt into his throat as the serpent's enormous body convulsed in a violent spasm, its massive head jerking upward.

"Fuck!" Harry screamed, instinct taking over completely.

Without conscious thought, Harry lunged forward, the Venom Neutralizer knife clutched in his white-knuckled grip. He plunged the enchanted blade deep into the basilisk's throat, just below its jaw where the scales appeared thinnest. The knife sank to the hilt in the creature's flesh, black ichor spurting from the wound and splattering across Harry's robes.

The basilisk's body gave another violent shudder, then went completely still. The black fluid oozed around the embedded knife, but unlike the caustic venom from its fangs, this blood didn't sizzle against the stone floor.

Harry stumbled backward, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. His hands trembled violently as the adrenaline coursed through his system. He stared at the knife protruding from the basilisk's throat, watching as the weapon's enchanted runes pulsed once, twice, then faded to dull metal.

"Just death throes," Harry muttered to himself, trying to slow his racing heart. "Just its nerves firing after death."

He wiped sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand, inadvertently smearing basilisk blood across his face. The acrid smell made him gag, and he hastily wiped his hand on his already ruined robes.

Harry stared at the massive corpse sprawled across the Chamber floor, his mind racing through the implications of what he'd just accomplished. The basilisk lay dead—the creature that had nearly killed him in his second year, that had petrified his friends, that Tom Riddle would have used to terrorize Hogwarts—was now just a lifeless mountain of scales.

"Well, this is good," Harry muttered to himself, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "No more Chamber of Secrets. No more 'enemies of the heir, beware.'"

He circled the enormous serpent, studying its now-harmless form. The knife still protruded from its throat, the enchanted blade buried deep in the creature's flesh. Harry approached cautiously, reaching for the handle of the Venom Neutralizer.

"Should probably take this with me," he murmured, wrapping his fingers around the knife's grip.

He tugged, expecting the blade to slide free. Instead, it remained firmly embedded in the basilisk's throat. Harry frowned, applying more force. The knife didn't budge.

"Come on," he grunted, bracing one foot against the basilisk's massive jaw for leverage as he pulled harder.

The handle slipped in his blood-slicked grip, nearly sending him tumbling backward. Harry wiped his palms on his robes and tried again, gripping with both hands this time. The knife remained stubbornly lodged in the creature's flesh, as if the basilisk's death had somehow fused the blade to its body.

After several more attempts, Harry stepped back, breathing heavily.

"Fine. Stay there then," he said to the embedded knife.

A sudden thought made him pause mid-step. The corpse would obviously raise questions when Tom eventually opened the Chamber. Tom would come down here expecting to find his weapon, his "noble" servant, only to discover it already dead—recently killed, based on the state of decomposition.

Harry's lips curved into a grim smile. "Let him wonder," he whispered to the empty Chamber.

This unexpected development would throw Tom completely off balance. The boy who prided himself on knowing all of Slytherin's secrets would be confronted with evidence that someone had beaten him to the Chamber, had known of its existence, and had destroyed his most powerful weapon.

Still, Harry felt a twinge of unease. Tom wouldn't be able to use the basilisk anymore—that much was certain—but how would he react to finding it dead? Would he become more cautious, more paranoid? Or would it push him to seek other, possibly worse forms of power more quickly?

Harry shook his head, dismissing the concern. He'd done what was necessary. Myrtle would live. No students would be petrified. That was what mattered most.

Harry took one final look at the basilisk's corpse, a sense of satisfaction settling over him. With a deep breath, he turned away and began retracing his steps through the Chamber, eager to leave this damp, eerie place behind.

"Lumos," he whispered, illuminating the path ahead as he made his way back toward the entrance. The massive stone door with its carved serpents slid open at his hissed command, revealing the long tunnel that would lead him back to Myrtle's bathroom.

As Harry climbed through the passages, his mind raced with the implications of what he'd done. He'd changed the timeline, deliberately and drastically.

"Sorry, Professor Dumbledore," Harry murmured to himself.

The journey back through the pipes felt longer than Harry remembered, each step echoing in the confined space. By the time he emerged through the sink in Myrtle's bathroom, his legs trembled with exhaustion and leftover adrenaline.

"Finite," he whispered, closing the Chamber entrance behind him.

Harry cast a quick cleaning charm on his robes, removing the worst of the basilisk blood and slime. He checked his reflection in one of the bathroom mirrors—pale, disheveled, but alive. Most importantly, no one would know where he'd been or what he'd done.

He slipped out of the bathroom and made his way through the empty corridors. The castle was quiet, most students already at dinner. Harry's stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since breakfast, but food was the last thing on his mind.

"It's done," he whispered to himself as he descended toward the Slytherin dungeons.

Chapter Text

Harry stood at the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, the dead basilisk at his feet. Something felt wrong. The creature's massive body twitched, though Harry knew he'd killed it. Its scales shifted, rippling like water.

"I killed you," Harry whispered.

The basilisk's head lifted, impossibly alive. Its jaws parted, but instead of fangs, Harry saw a human face emerging from within—Tom Riddle's face, pale and perfect.

"Did you think it would be that easy, Harry?" Tom's voice echoed through the Chamber. "Did you think you could change what I am?"

Harry stepped backward, his foot slipping in a puddle of basilisk blood. "You're not real."

Tom's face smiled, still half-embedded in the basilisk's body. "I'm as real as you are. As real as the future you're trying to prevent."

The Chamber walls began to shift, morphing into the familiar columns of the Ministry's Department of Mysteries. Shattered time-turners glittered on the floor, their sand swirling upward like golden mist.

"You can't change time, Harry," Tom said, his body now fully human, standing before Harry in Hogwarts robes. "You'll only make it worse."

Behind Tom, shadowy figures appeared—Avery, Lestrange, Lucretia—their faces blank, eyes empty. One by one, their features melted away, revealing skull-like visages beneath.

"Look what you've done to them," Tom whispered, his own face beginning to change, skin pulling tight across sharpening cheekbones. "Look what you've done to me."

Tom's handsome features dissolved, replaced by the snakelike visage of Lord Voldemort. Red eyes gleamed in the darkness.

"You made me," Voldemort hissed. "Your presence here, your interference—you created what I become."

"No," Harry gasped, backing away. "That's not true."

The basilisk's corpse stirred again, slithering toward him despite the knife still embedded in its throat. Blood poured from the wound, forming words on the Chamber floor: I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.

Harry turned to run, but the exit had vanished. The Chamber walls closed in, and Tom—now fully transformed into Voldemort—raised his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light filled Harry's vision—

Harry bolted upright in bed, a scream caught in his throat. His heart hammered against his ribs as his eyes darted around the dormitory. Predawn darkness filled the room, broken only by the faint greenish glow from the lake windows. The other boys slept soundly, undisturbed by his silent terror.

Trembling, Harry pressed his palms against his eyes, willing the nightmare images to fade. It was the third one this week, each more vivid than the last. Each featuring Tom, the basilisk, and some version of Harry's actions in the Chamber leading to catastrophe.

"Just a dream," he whispered to himself, reaching for the glass of water beside his bed. His hand shook so badly that water sloshed over the rim when he lifted it to his lips.

Harry groaned softly, knowing sleep wouldn't return now. Not with his heart still racing, not with the remnants of the nightmare clinging to him.

Not with today being the day Tom returned to Hogwarts.

Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as his bare feet touched the cold stone floor. He reached for his glasses, then his wand, casting a silent Tempus charm to check the time.

Four in the morning. Tom would be arriving sometime after breakfast, according to Slughorn's announcement yesterday. The Healer had finally cleared him to return to school, though he'd still need to visit the Hospital Wing daily for burn salve applications.

This wasn't even the first return date they'd been given. Tom was supposed to have come back last week, but some complication had extended his stay at St. Mungo's. Slughorn had announced the delay during dinner, his usual jovial expression tinged with concern. The additional week had given Harry more time to prepare for their reunion, but it had also allowed his anxiety to build like pressure in a sealed cauldron.

"What happened to his perfect healing progress?" Lestrange had muttered after hearing about the delay. "Thought the healers said he was recovering faster than expected."

Avery had shrugged. "Burns are tricky. My uncle got dragon burns once and had complications months later."

The week's delay had been both blessing and curse for Harry. Harry's stomach twisted with a confusing mix of emotions. He was relieved that Tom had recovered, genuinely so. The memory of Tom lying unconscious beneath that beam, flames licking at his clothing, still haunted Harry. No one deserved that.

But relief wasn't the only thing Harry felt. There was anticipation too—a flutter of something uncomfortably like excitement at the thought of seeing Tom again. And beneath that, a current of anxiety that made his palms sweat.

What would Tom do when he eventually discovered the basilisk was dead?

Harry rubbed his temples, trying to ease the tension headache building there. The nightmares had started the night after he'd killed the basilisk, growing more intense with each passing day. He told himself it was just stress—the culmination of everything that had happened since he'd arrived in this time. The pressure of keeping secrets, of navigating his complex relationship with Tom, of trying to change the future without destroying it.

"You made me," dream-Voldemort had said. "Your interference created what I become."

That wasn't true. Couldn't be true. Harry was trying to prevent Voldemort's rise, not cause it. Yet the doubt lingered, a persistent whisper in the back of his mind.

Harry slipped out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown. No point lying awake listening to Avery's soft snores and Lestrange's occasional sleep-talking. He needed air, space to think.

The common room was deserted at this hour, the fire reduced to glowing embers that cast long shadows across the floor. Harry sank into his favorite armchair by the hearth, drawing his knees up to his chest like he used to do as a child in his cupboard.

The green-tinged light from the lake windows cast strange patterns across the common room floor. Harry watched them shift and dance, reminding him of the basilisk's scales in his nightmare. He shuddered.

Harry forced his thoughts away from Tom and the basilisk. He tried to focus on his classes instead—the Transfiguration essay due next week, the Charms practical they'd be having on Thursday. But his mind kept circling back to the Chamber, to the knife he'd left embedded in the basilisk's throat.

"Fine. Stay there then," he said to the embedded knife. Perhaps it was better this way—the blade had served its purpose, and leaving it behind created undeniable evidence that someone had killed the basilisk before Tom could use it.

Harry rubbed his eyes, exhaustion weighing on him despite the early hour. His stomach growled, reminding him he'd barely eaten at dinner the night before. The house-elves wouldn't have breakfast ready in the Great Hall for hours, but they were always working in the kitchens.

The idea of some hot food suddenly seemed like the most appealing thing in the world. Harry stood, stretching his stiff limbs. A trip to the kitchens would give him something to do besides sitting here alone with his thoughts.

He slipped out of the common room, careful not to make noise as the stone wall slid open. The corridors were silent and dark, lit only by the occasional torch. Harry moved quietly, avoiding the spots where he knew the floorboards creaked. After years of sneaking around Hogwarts under his Invisibility Cloak, he knew the castle's nighttime sounds intimately.

The familiar route to the kitchens calmed him. This, at least, was something normal—something that connected him to his own time, to late-night excursions with Ron and Hermione.

When he reached the painting of the fruit bowl, Harry tickled the pear, which giggled and transformed into a doorknob. The warm, yeasty smell of baking bread greeted him as he entered the kitchens.

Several house-elves looked up in surprise, then hurried over when they recognized him.

"Mr. Evans, sir!" squeaked a small elf with particularly large ears. "What can we be getting for you so early?"

"Actually," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I was wondering if you might have something... different? Not the usual Hogwarts fare."

The house-elf's enormous eyes widened further. "Different, sir?"

"Yeah. Back in my..." Harry caught himself before saying 'time.' "Back home, I sometimes had these spicy eggs with tomatoes and peppers. My friend's mum made them." He wasn't sure why he suddenly craved Molly Weasley's breakfast specialty, but the memory of it made his mouth water.

"Shakshuka?" another elf piped up, her voice hopeful.

Harry blinked in surprise. "I don't know what it's called, but that might be it."

The elves exchanged excited glances. One of them—an older elf with graying tufts of hair—stepped forward with a little bow.

"Master Evans is in luck! Tibby learned many foreign dishes from old Headmaster Dippet's travels. Shakshuka is Middle Eastern breakfast, yes? Eggs poached in spiced tomato sauce?"

Harry nodded, surprised and delighted. "That sounds exactly right."

"Sit, sit!" The elves ushered him to a small table in the corner of the kitchen. "Tibby will make fresh for Master Evans!"

Harry watched as the kitchen burst into activity. Tibby directed operations with surprising authority, sending elves scurrying for ingredients—tomatoes, peppers, garlic, and spices Harry couldn't identify from a distance.

The rich aroma soon filled the kitchen—garlic and onions sizzling in oil, the sharp scent of peppers, and a blend of spices that made Harry's empty stomach growl audibly.

"We don't make such foods for regular meals," Tibby explained as he worked, skillfully cracking eggs into the bubbling red sauce. "Most students prefer traditional English cooking."

Harry nodded, watching the eggs slowly turn white as they poached in the spiced tomato mixture. The familiar-yet-foreign smell transported him momentarily away from his worries about Tom, the basilisk, and the future he was trying to prevent.

When Tibby placed the steaming pan before him with a basket of crusty bread on the side, Harry felt a rush of gratitude that nearly brought tears to his eyes.

"Thank you," he said simply, inhaling the aromatic steam.

The first bite transported Harry straight back to the Burrow's cramped kitchen. Memories flooded in—Ron laughing at Harry's bedhead, Hermione with her nose in a book while absently reaching for her fork, the twins plotting mischief in whispered tones. The spicy tomato sauce and perfectly runny eggs tasted like home, like belonging.

"Is Master Evans enjoying his breakfast?" Tibby asked, wringing his hands anxiously.

Harry nodded, mouth too full to speak properly. He tore off a piece of crusty bread and used it to soak up the rich sauce.

"It's perfect," he finally managed. "Exactly what I needed."

The house-elves beamed with pride, their large ears perking up at the compliment. They bustled around him, refilling his water glass and offering more bread until Harry had to insist he couldn't eat another bite.

With his stomach comfortably full and his mind temporarily settled, Harry thanked the elves profusely and made his way back toward the Slytherin dormitory. The castle was beginning to stir now—he could hear distant footsteps of early-rising professors and the occasional ghost drifting through walls.

The warmth of the meal had made him drowsy again. Perhaps he could catch another hour of sleep before facing the day—before facing Tom's return.

When Harry slipped back into the dormitory, the other boys were still sleeping soundly. Avery had kicked off his blankets and was sprawled across his mattress, one arm dangling toward the floor. Lestrange had pulled his covers over his head, with only the top of his dark hair visible.

Harry eased into his bed, the full stomach and early hour making his eyelids heavy. The shakshuka had been more than just a meal—it had been a momentary connection to his real life, his real friends. A reminder of why he was here, what he was fighting to preserve.

As sleep reclaimed him, Harry's last conscious thought was a silent promise to Ron and Hermione that he would find his way back to them.

But as consciousness faded, the warm comfort of the kitchen transformed. Harry found himself back in the Chamber, the dead basilisk before him, and Tom Riddle's voice echoing off the ancient stone walls.

*

The Slytherin common room vibrated with expectation. Green-tinged light fractured across faces turned toward the entrance, where the stone wall hadn't yet parted but surely, any moment now, would reveal their returning prince.

Harry observed from the periphery, spine pressed against cold dungeon stone, fingers tracing absent patterns on the binding of a book he hadn't opened. The waiting reminded him of something—Ministry officials before a press conference, worshippers before an altar.

When the wall finally slid open, the collective intake of breath was audible.

Tom Riddle stepped through with casual grace. His Slytherin tie hung perfectly straight, his robes pressed and immaculate despite the journey from St. Mungo's.

"Riddle!"

"Welcome back!"

"We saved your usual seat—"

"How are you feeling?"

The crowd converged, Mulciber and Rosier at the forefront, followed by Nott, Lestrange, and Avery. Even Lucretia Black, who'd been avoiding common spaces lately, materialized from a corner to hover at the edges of Tom's reception committee.

Harry remained where he was, watching Tom accept their attention with practiced modesty. Tom's eyes swept the room, pausing briefly when they landed on Harry. A slight nod—acknowledgment, nothing more—before returning to Lestrange's detailed account of what Tom had missed during his absence.

Harry slipped away, retreating to the relative sanctuary of the dormitory. He sat on his bed, drew the curtains halfway, and tried to focus on his Transfiguration assignment. The words blurred before his eyes as his mind replayed the moment Tom had stepped into the common room, looking impossibly composed for someone who'd nearly died saving Harry's life.

The dormitory door opened an hour later. Harry didn't need to look up to know who it was—the silence that followed the sound of the door closing told him everything.

"Hiding, Evans?"

Harry kept his eyes on his parchment. "Studying."

Footsteps approached, unhurried. The edge of Harry's mattress dipped as Tom sat, uninvited. Harry finally looked up, meeting dark eyes that studied him with familiar intensity.

"Are you happy I'm back?" Tom asked, the question deceptively light.

Harry met his gaze again. "Yes," he answered truthfully. Despite everything—despite knowing what Tom might become, despite the dead basilisk beneath the castle—Harry couldn't deny the relief he'd felt seeing Tom whole and alive.

Tom's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "The others have been... attentive. But none of them asked how I actually felt."

"How do you feel?" Harry asked.

"Good," Tom said, his lips curving into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Better than good. It's... great to be back."

Harry nodded, setting his parchment aside. The awkward silence stretched between them until Tom broke it.

"Slughorn's been insufferable since I returned. Already asked me to prepare a special presentation for the next Slug Club meeting about 'overcoming adversity.'" Tom rolled his eyes. "As if getting caught in a Muggle air raid is some profound character-building experience."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I'd consider it." Tom leaned back, bracing himself with one hand on Harry's bed.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of Tom's proximity. He cleared his throat.

"About... us," Harry began awkwardly, immediately regretting his word choice. "I mean—now that we're back at Hogwarts—what happens now?"

Tom's eyes widened with mock innocence. "Us? I'm not sure what you mean, Evans." His lips twitched at the corners, betraying his amusement. "Are you perhaps referring to our academic relationship? Our mutual interest in advanced magical theory? Or..." he leaned slightly closer, voice dropping, "something else entirely?"

Harry's cheeks warmed. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Do I?" Tom tilted his head, expression deliberately obtuse. "You'll have to be more specific. After all, I've been through a traumatic experience. The healers warned me about potential memory issues."

Harry snorted. "Your memory is fine."

"Is it?" Tom's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Perhaps you should remind me."

Harry glared at him, frustrated by Tom's obvious enjoyment of his discomfort. "I just want things to be clear between us," he said firmly. "No games, no manipulation. Just... clarity."

Tom's playful expression faded, replaced by something more guarded. He studied Harry's face for a long moment before sighing.

"Clarity," Tom repeated, as if testing how the word felt in his mouth. "Do we really have to give it a label? This... thing between us."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Labels. Definitions. Boundaries." Tom waved his hand dismissively. "Why constrain something we barely understand ourselves?"

"Because without clarity, there's confusion," Harry countered. "And confusion leads to misunderstandings."

Tom leaned back, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Perhaps what we have defies conventional—"

"Are we boyfriends or not?" Harry blurted out, cutting across Tom's careful words.

The question hung in the air between them, stark and unavoidable. Tom's expression froze, his carefully constructed facade momentarily shattered by Harry's directness.

"Boyfriends," Tom repeated. "Is that what you want us to be?"

Harry swallowed hard, surprised by his own boldness. "I just need to know where we stand. What this is." He gestured between them. "The kisses, what happened at the orphanage, you saving my life... what does it all mean to you?"

Tom's eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but in careful consideration. He straightened his already-perfect tie, a gesture Harry had come to recognize as a stalling tactic when Tom needed to gather his thoughts.

"I've never been anyone's boyfriend before," Tom finally said, his voice quieter than usual. "I'm not sure I know how to be that."

"That's not an answer," Harry pressed.

"No," Tom agreed. "It's not." He met Harry's gaze directly. "The truth is, I don't know what to call this. I don't particularly care for labels, but..." He paused, seeming to choose his next words with extreme care. "If 'boyfriends' is what you need to hear, then yes, we can be that."

Harry frowned. "That's not—I don't want you to just say it because I asked. I want to know what you actually want."

Tom's expression shifted, a calculating look replacing his momentary vulnerability. He tapped his finger against his chin, feigning deep thought.

"Let me consider this properly," Tom said, voice lilting with renewed playfulness. "Boyfriends... what would that entail exactly? Hand-holding in the corridors? Sharing desserts at dinner? Writing each other soppy poetry?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."

"I'm thorough," Tom corrected, leaning closer. "If I'm going to accept such a significant title, I should understand all its... obligations."

The dormitory door creaked open, voices drifting in from the corridor. Tom's eyes narrowed slightly. Without looking away from Harry, he drew his wand in a fluid motion and flicked it toward the door. It slammed shut with a decisive thud, followed by the unmistakable click of a locking charm.

"Privacy," Tom murmured, "seems like a boyfriend's prerogative."

Before Harry could respond, Tom closed the remaining distance between them. His lips pressed against Harry's, firm and insistent. Harry's initial surprise melted into response, his hand instinctively reaching for Tom's shoulder.

Tom deepened the kiss, one hand cupping the back of Harry's neck, fingers threading through his perpetually messy hair. The mattress dipped further as Tom shifted his weight, pushing Harry back against the pillows. The textbook slid to the floor with a forgotten thud.

"Is this..." Tom whispered against Harry's mouth, "part of the boyfriend arrangement?"

Harry's response was lost as Tom kissed him again, more urgently this time. The controlled precision that characterized everything Tom did was fracturing, replaced by something hungrier, less restrained. His hand slid beneath Harry's jumper, palm warm against Harry's skin.

Harry gasped as Tom's teeth grazed his lower lip, then his jaw, then the sensitive spot just below his ear. The sensation sent heat coursing through his body, pooling low in his abdomen. His fingers fumbled with Tom's perfectly knotted tie, desperate to loosen it.

Tom's tie came loose under Harry's fumbling fingers, and Tom laughed softly against Harry's neck.

"Impatient, are we?" Tom murmured, his breath hot against Harry's skin. "That's very... un-Slytherin of you. Where's your cunning restraint?"

Harry's response was cut short as Tom's teeth grazed his collarbone, sending a shiver down his spine. "Shut up," he managed, tugging at Tom's perfectly pressed shirt.

"Make me," Tom challenged, eyes gleaming with mischief. He caught Harry's wrists in one fluid motion, pinning them above Harry's head against the pillow. With his free hand, he traced a feather-light path down Harry's chest, pausing to unbutton Harry's shirt with maddening precision.

"Is this part of your boyfriend research?" Harry gasped as Tom's fingers skimmed across his exposed skin.

"Thorough investigation," Tom confirmed, releasing Harry's wrists to focus on removing his own shirt. "I always excel at my studies."

Harry reached up, running his hands over Tom's chest, tracing the faint pink scars from the burns—permanent reminders of what Tom had sacrificed for him. Tom caught the shift in Harry's expression and shook his head.

"None of that," he whispered, catching Harry's hand and pressing it firmly against his heart. "Not now."

Their lips met again, more urgent this time. Tom's weight pressed Harry deeper into the mattress, their bodies aligned in a way that drew a moan from Harry's throat. Tom smiled against Harry's mouth, clearly pleased with the reaction.

"So responsive," Tom observed, rolling his hips deliberately against Harry's. "I wonder what other sounds I can elicit from you."

Harry's retort died as Tom's hand slipped lower, fingers deftly unfastening Harry's trousers. The playful confidence in Tom's movements suggested this wasn't entirely new territory for him, despite his earlier claims about never being anyone's boyfriend.

"You seem to know what you're doing," Harry managed, his voice embarrassingly breathless.

Tom's laugh was low and rich. "I excel at everything I attempt, Evans. You should know that by now."

Harry's heart hammered against his ribs as Tom's fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his trousers. The confident smirk on Tom's face faltered when he noticed Harry's sudden tension.

"What is it?" Tom asked, his hand stilling.

Harry swallowed hard, embarrassment washing over him. He'd faced dragons and Death Eaters, yet this moment—Tom's weight pressing him into the mattress, both of them half-undressed—left him paralyzed with uncertainty.

"I've never..." Harry began, his voice catching. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I haven't actually done anything like this before. With anyone."

Tom's expression shifted from surprise to something softer, more contemplative. He withdrew his hand slowly, propping himself up on his elbows to study Harry's face.

"Never?" Tom asked, his voice neutral, carefully stripped of judgment.

Harry shook his head, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. "There wasn't exactly time for... this sort of thing. Where I'm from."

Tom was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Then he brushed his thumb across Harry's flushed cheek in an unexpectedly gentle gesture.

"We don't have to continue," Tom said, his voice low. "There's no rush."

Harry blinked in surprise. He'd expected mockery, perhaps, or impatience—not this careful consideration.

"It's not that I don't want to," Harry clarified quickly. "I just... don't really know what I'm doing."

A slow smile spread across Tom's face, but it lacked its usual sharp edges. "That makes two of us, then."

"But you seemed so..." Harry gestured vaguely.

"Confident?" Tom finished for him. "I'm always confident, Evans. It's part of my charm." He shifted his weight, moving to lie beside Harry rather than on top of him. "But theory and practice are different matters entirely."

Harry turned to face him, their noses inches apart. "So you haven't...?"

"I've had... experiences," Tom admitted. "But nothing quite like this." His fingers traced lazy patterns on Harry's bare chest. "Nothing that mattered."

The confession hung between them, a fragile moment of vulnerability that neither seemed quite sure how to handle. Harry watched the subtle shifts in Tom's expression—the slight furrow between his brows, the careful control in his eyes.

"Nothing that mattered," Harry repeated softly. "And this... matters?"

Tom's fingers stilled on Harry's chest. For a heartbeat, his carefully constructed mask slipped, revealing something raw and uncertain beneath.

"Yes," Tom admitted, the word barely audible. "It matters."

The simplicity of his answer struck Harry more powerfully than any elaborate declaration could have. Tom Riddle, who calculated every word and gesture for maximum effect, reduced to single-syllable honesty.

Harry reached out, tracing the sharp line of Tom's jaw with his fingertips. Tom leaned into the touch, his eyes half-closing.

"Then we figure it out together," Harry said. "No rush."

Tom's eyes glinted with renewed mischief. "No rush," he echoed, his tone suggesting he found Harry's restraint both endearing and amusing. His hand drifted back to Harry's waistband, fingers tracing the edge of the fabric with deliberate slowness.

"Of course," Tom continued, his voice dropping to a silky murmur, "there's a difference between rushing and... exploring."

Harry's breath caught as Tom's fingers dipped just below the waistband, then retreated teasingly. The ghost of a touch, nothing more.

"I can stop completely," Tom offered, his expression all innocence even as his actions contradicted his words. His fingers traced the same tantalizing path, never venturing further than that initial boundary. "If that's what you prefer."

Harry swallowed hard. "That's not what I said."

"No?" Tom's eyebrow arched elegantly. His hand stilled, resting lightly against Harry's stomach. "What exactly are you saying, Evans?"

The question hung between them, loaded with implication. Tom's fingers tapped a patient rhythm against Harry's skin, waiting.

"I'm saying..." Harry began, then faltered as Tom's hand shifted slightly lower, still maintaining that maddening restraint.

"Yes?" Tom prompted, leaning closer. His breath warmed Harry's ear. "I'm listening very carefully."

Harry's frustration mounted at Tom's obvious enjoyment of his discomfort. "You're doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?" Tom asked, all wide-eyed innocence even as his fingers continued their teasing dance at Harry's waistband. "I'm simply respecting your boundaries. Being a considerate boyfriend." The word rolled off his tongue with deliberate emphasis. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Harry's frustration with Tom's teasing finally reached its breaking point. With a determined huff, he reached down and grasped the waistband of his trousers, shoving them down past his hips along with his boxers. His face burned hot with embarrassment, but there was defiance in his eyes as he met Tom's gaze.

"There," Harry said, his voice coming out huskier than intended. "No more teasing."

Tom's carefully composed expression faltered, genuine surprise flashing across his features. His eyes darkened as they traveled downward, taking in Harry's newly exposed skin with undisguised interest.

"Well," Tom murmured, his usual eloquence momentarily deserting him. "That's... direct."

Harry's blush deepened, spreading down his neck to his chest. Despite his bold move, uncertainty crept back in as Tom continued to stare. Harry resisted the urge to cover himself, instead lifting his chin slightly.

"Problem?" Harry challenged, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his nervousness.

Tom's lips curved into a slow smile, predatory and appreciative all at once. "No problem at all," he replied, voice dropping to a lower register. "Quite the opposite."

He reached out, fingers hovering just above Harry's hip, not quite touching. "May I?"

The unexpected request for permission made Harry's breath catch. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

Tom's fingers made contact with Harry's skin, tracing a feather-light path along his hip bone. The touch was almost reverent, completely at odds with Tom's usual demanding presence.

"Beautiful," Tom whispered, the word seemingly slipping out unplanned.

Harry's mind splintered into warring fragments. The word "Voldemort" echoed through his consciousness, a desperate reminder of who this boy would become. But the face before him bore none of those monstrous features. No crimson eyes —just flushed cheeks and parted lips.

"Harry?" Tom's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "Where did you go just now?"

Harry blinked, realizing he'd frozen completely. Tom's hand had stilled on his hip, his expression shifting from desire to something resembling concern.

"I—" Harry struggled to find words. "Sorry. Just... thinking too much."

Tom's eyebrow arched. "About?"

"The future," Harry admitted, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

Something flickered in Tom's eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or suspicion. His fingers resumed their gentle exploration of Harry's hip, tracing idle patterns against his skin.

"The future is overrated," Tom murmured. "The present is far more interesting."

To emphasize his point, Tom's hand moved inward, fingers brushing against Harry's inner thigh. The touch sent electricity coursing through Harry's body, effectively short-circuiting his moral dilemma. His breath hitched audibly.

Tom smiled, clearly pleased with the reaction. "There you are," he whispered. "Back in the present with me."

Harry's hands moved of their own accord, reaching for Tom's perfectly pressed trousers. His fingers fumbled with the button, then the zipper, his movements clumsy compared to Tom's practiced precision.

"Let me," Tom said, gently brushing Harry's hands aside. He unfastened his trousers with swift efficiency, lifting his hips to slide them down. Unlike Harry's impulsive disrobing, Tom's movements were controlled and deliberate, his eyes never leaving Harry's face as he revealed himself.

Harry swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. The reality of what they were doing hit him with renewed force. This was Tom Riddle—brilliant, dangerous, complicated Tom Riddle—half-naked beside him on his dormitory bed.

"Second thoughts?" Tom asked, his voice carefully neutral despite the vulnerability of his position.

Harry shook his head. "No," he said, surprised by the firmness in his voice. "No second thoughts."

Tom's smile returned, genuine this time rather than calculated. He reached for Harry, drawing him closer until their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh. The contact of skin against skin pulled a gasp from Harry's throat.

"Good," Tom whispered against Harry's ear. "Because I've thought about this more than I care to admit."

His hand slid between them, wrapping around Harry with confident precision. Harry's breath stuttered, his hips jerking involuntarily at the contact.

"Sensitive," Tom observed, his voice a mixture of amusement and approval. His thumb circled slowly, drawing another strangled sound from Harry's throat. "I like that."

Harry's mind emptied of everything except sensation—the warmth of Tom's hand, the rhythm he established, the subtle shift in Tom's breathing as Harry's reactions grew more pronounced. All thoughts of the future, of Voldemort, of time travel and moral complexities evaporated like morning mist.

Acting on instinct, Harry reached between them, mirroring Tom's actions. The unfamiliar angle was awkward at first, but Tom's sharp intake of breath encouraged him to continue. He watched Tom's face, fascinated by the way his carefully maintained composure began to crack—eyelids fluttering, lips parting, a flush spreading across his cheekbones.

"Like this?" Harry asked, adjusting his grip slightly.

Tom nodded, his usual eloquence deserting him. "Yes," he managed, the word strained. "Just like that."

They established a rhythm together, movements growing more urgent as pleasure built. Tom buried his face against Harry's neck, his breath coming in hot, uneven bursts against Harry's skin. The controlled, calculating Tom Riddle was nowhere to be found—replaced by someone raw and responsive, making small sounds of pleasure that sent heat coursing through Harry's veins.

"Harry," Tom gasped, the use of his first name striking Harry as oddly intimate given what they were doing. Tom's free hand gripped Harry's shoulder, fingers digging in almost painfully as his control slipped further.

Harry's own thoughts scattered, coherence impossible as tension coiled tighter in his abdomen. Tom's movements grew less precise, more desperate. His forehead pressed against Harry's, their breath mingling in the narrow space between them.

"Look at me," Tom commanded, his voice rough.

Harry opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed, meeting Tom's intense gaze. Something electric passed between them—a connection that transcended the physical. For a moment, Harry felt as though he could see past all of Tom's carefully constructed layers, glimpsing something genuine beneath.

Tom's eyes widened slightly, his rhythm faltering as he reached his peak. The sight of Tom Riddle coming undone was enough to push Harry over the edge as well, his body tensing as pleasure crashed through him in waves.

They collapsed against each other, breathing heavily. Harry's mind slowly reassembled itself, awareness returning in fragments. Tom's arm draped across his waist, their legs tangled together on the rumpled sheets. The air smelled of sweat and something muskier.

"Well," Tom said after a long moment, his voice still slightly unsteady. "That was..."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, unable to find a more articulate response.

Tom propped himself up on one elbow, studying Harry's face with renewed intensity. His free hand reached up to brush a strand of hair from Harry's forehead, the gesture unexpectedly tender.

"So," Tom said, a hint of his usual composure returning. "Boyfriends, then?"

Harry stared at Tom, the question hanging between them. Boyfriends. The word carried weight beyond what Tom could possibly understand.

"Yes," Harry heard himself say, surprising even himself with the certainty in his voice. "Boyfriends."