The Greek Class
In the following few days, Harry made several discoveries and reached an important—yet obvious—decision.
The first thing he learned had been thrown at him the moment he left the room where he had woken up.
The door directly in front of his was wide open, revealing a strikingly familiar space.
The main clue had been the standard college desk, the exact same as the one in his room, pushed to the end of the room and crudely transformed into a vanity table cluttered with cosmetics.
A crumpled silk ribbon was draped across the white wood, and a triple mirror stood proudly on top, leaning against the wall.
Sitting before it was an even more familiar girl, intently painting her lips a Ferrari red without making a mess; a task made difficult by her current state.
She was, despite the early hour (the sun was still near the center of the sky, its bright light streaming through the open window and reflecting in the mirrors, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the walls and ceiling), already drunk.
Judy.
Judy Poovey.
The realization struck him like a physical blow.
He immediately thought of her, of how her room had been described in the book, and of how she had lived in the one directly across from Richard.
Merlin.
Had he taken the place of the main character?
The imminent panic attack was stopped before it could even start, as a new detail forced its way into his brain.
That girl bore the face of Lavender Brown; older than when he had last seen her, only hours before.
Eyes closed, laid out on a white cloth.
But how could it be?
How could Judy be Lavender?
Death’s words echoed in his mind.
Could this be the "surprise" he had been promised?
But why Lavander, a girl he barely knew...
Unless she wasn't the only one.
The realization hit him like an Avada in the face (a feeling Harry knew all too well)
He hadn’t been brought inside the book, but into a strange fusion of the story and his own universe.
That’s why his mark hadn’t disappeared.
Tom was actually there... somewhere.
"Judy-Lavender" seemed to spot him through the mirror. Her dazed gaze suddenly sharpened, clarity flickering back into her eyes. They lit up, and she turned toward him as if wanting to speak.
But Harry rushed out of the house before she had the chance to say anything.
He knew he had looked rude, running away as if disgusted, or scared, by her, but he also knew he was in no condition to talk.
Not to her.
Not to someone who was a bizarre mix of a book character he could barely tolerate and a girl who had died only hours earlier.
Yet, the biggest shock had yet to come.
Only after a couple of days spent learning as much as he could about the new world he had been thrown into and exploring the campus, carefully avoiding groups of stoners and hippies, always ready to ambush him with talks of politics and ideology, did Harry notice them for the first time.
It would have been impossible not to single them out from the crowd of students mingling around.
They were all impeccably dressed. Not in the usual flashy designer brands worn by those eager to flaunt their wealth, but in something subtler; real high-class clothes. The kind one couldn’t buy in ordinary stores, that had to be tailored.
They carried themselves with an air of superiority usually reserved for royalty.
But what had struck him most had been the familiarity of their faces.
Appearance-wise, they looked nothing like the characters described in the book. But despite not having occurred in the weird phenomenon again after meeting Lavender, Harry already suspected that the students in the Greek class could have new identities.
The first to stand out reminded him of a more well-mannered Lucius Malfoy. He was thin and effortlessly elegant, with a kind yet sly face framed by long blond hair -so pale to appear nearly white- tied at the base of his neck with a thin black ribbon, forming an elegant low ponytail.
He moved with an almost ethereal grace, the kind of fluidity one expected from someone utterly comfortable in high society, someone who knew his own importance.
The boy looked like a prince from an old fairytale, accidentally dropped into the modern world.
He dressed mostly in dark tones. Starched white shirts, brown or burgundy waistcoats, black gloves and the ever-present black coat that floated behind him like a cloak.
(At times, Harry had caught only the hem of it disappearing behind a corner and had immediately tensed up; a deeply ingrained reaction to anything his mind even vaguely associated with Snape.)
Later, he would learn that the boy’s name was Abraxas Malfoy.
The last name came as no surprise.
Then there was a pair of students, the shortest in the group, eerily similar to one another and always joined at the hip.
The first time Harry saw them, his stomach plummeted. For a split second, he mistook the boy for Sirius.
They both had the high cheekbones, noble features, and the dark, long, lustrous hair characteristic of the Black family.
Just like their book counterparts, they dressed mostly in white (a rare sight in Hampden, where most people favored gloomier, darker clothing). It only enhanced their ephemeral presence, making them seem like ghosts haunting the campus from ancient times.
They resembled each other so much that, at first, Harry mistook them for twins.
His assumption didn’t last long once he learned their names, Orion and Walburga Black
Sirius’s parents.
Cousins, then, not twins.
All in all, Harry thought that was better than the alternative, considering the "unique" relationship he knew the two shared.
The fourth of the group he could actually recognize, having seen the older version being tortured in the graveyard after the Triwizard Tournament.
Edward Avery.
He was the only one always smiling, preferring a more earnest and friendly look to the ambiguous and mysterious one his classmates had opted for.
The tuft of dirty blonde hair almost entirely covered his right eye, leaving only the left one as proof of its baby blue color.
Sometimes, they were even further covered by glasses with a thin, silver frame.
Only later would Harry learn them to be fake; a tinsel on the otherwise unassuming face that the boy thought made him look smarter.
But the person Harry truly couldn’t take his eyes off was the last boy in the strange parade. A few steps behind the others, yet unmistakably part of the scene.
At first glance, he seemed detached from the group, nose buried in a book and gaze fixed on the words in front of him, as if the rest of the world simply didn’t exist.
But every now and then, if one paid close attention, a faint smile would appear, in response to a particularly funny joke, usually marked by Avery’s sudden, loud, raspy laugh overpowering the quiet snickers of the others.
His light brown hair was meticulously styled, shaped into smooth waves and held in place by what seemed like willpower alone.
He wore a crisp, freshly ironed shirt and sleek black trousers not unlike Malfoy’s, paired with a dark tie, slightly loosened. Though imperfect, the somewhat messy knot didn’t detract from the effortlessly immaculate image he projected, it only made it more human.
Standing there, he was the physical embodiment of the many memories Harry had been shown.
Tom Riddle.
The sight stole the breath from his lungs, it was as if the air had been knocked out of him.
Harry couldn't do anything beside stand, as if stunned, in the yard and stare at the group... Stare at HIM.
He had known, or better, suspected, that he would have found Tom somewhere in there; but to have him so close? To have him as a major character of the story of which he had just stolen the role of the protagonist?
That was completely unexpected.
But was it really?
If his memory wasn't playing any tricks on him, Tom had taken the position of Henry Winter and, really, who would have been better suited for such role?
The cynical, sociopathic genius with a fascination for the esoteric", and the cynical, sociopathic genius who had mastered magic beyond everyone's comprehension.
There really wasn't a better match.
After that first impossible encounter, Harry had begun to almost subconsciously take notice of the eclectic group.
It was beyond strange to be that close to his soulmate and not be attacked, not even recognized.
The fact that he could finally walk around without the fear of being stared at, without whispers following his every move and headlines constantly judging him, was refreshing, if a bit surreal.
It had taken a week for his mind to finally accept the absence of stares and, more importantly, of threats.
Yet he couldn’t just keep playing student, pretending nothing was happening around him.
Every passing glance, every subtle look at them, hurt.
To be that close to his soulmate and not even try to interact with him seemed like madness, but Harry knew he couldn’t act irrationally and risk his chance.
So he decided to follow in Richard’s footsteps.
Before the second week had even passed, Harry found himself in the counselor’s office, asking about joining the Greek class.
“I’m gonna be honest with you, kid. It’s almost impossible to get into that class.
The professor takes very few students, and he follows some… unique criteria for choosing them.
I understand that you’ve already been studying the subject, but are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to take Latin instead?”
He’d almost laughed when he heard that.
Of course he knew the class was extremely exclusive, but after learning the name of the professor, he just knew he could do it.
After all, hadn’t he spent an entire year trying to get close to Horace Slughorn?
“I know it’ll be hard, but I’d still like to try, if that’s alright with you, sir.”
The man in front of him just exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Do whatever you want, kid. It’s your funeral.”