lolling still
Slughorn dismissed them shortly after, giving Harry the opportunity to flee from Riddle and the others’ questions. He arrived at the Charms classroom and sat down in his former seat.
Harry had to admit that sitting in the front row was very unusual. He never had as many chances to lie back or let his focus drift from the lessons since the professors could easily notice. “Hello, Harry.”
He started in his seat, turning towards the person.
“Ah, hi Luna,” he greeted the white-blond girl. He had no idea how he could have missed her; she appeared to have already been seated before him.
“Is everything alright?”
Cocking his head slightly, he warily asked, “I think so. Why?”
“You were lost in thought,” Luna answered, her gaze swept over features. “They are very crowded today, obscuring your view.”
Probably one of the creatures that only she can see, Harry concluded and nodded. “But I’m fine, really,” assured Harry. “In fact, something brilliant just happened.”
She smiled, her eyes fixating back on his and asked, “Tom?”
He scrunched his eyebrows. “I- uh, yeah. Unfortunately.”
“I’m glad,” she informed him. “That things are moving along so nicely.”
He smiled, gaze tracing over her features. “Me too.”
Slowly the other students started filtering into the classroom, seating themselves. Avery, Lestrange ―was that Malfoy? ― and Riddle came along with the crowd, though it was fairly clear that some students gave Riddle space to move along effortlessly. When Riddle sat down on the other side of Harry, he met his eyes and stated, “I had not expected you to be that good at potions.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, “Was that the reason you took the bet?”
Riddle shrugged and unpacked his things. “Perhaps.”
Harry smiled, “Thanks anyway. I’ll make good use of the favour.”
Glancing at him, Riddle’s eyes turned slightly red causing Harry’s chest to tighten. “I hadn’t expected otherwise.”
He was about to turn back to Luna when Riddle asked, “Though I have wondered,” his voice slightly drawn and hands playing with his quill. “How a muggleborn achieved such event on their first try.”
Harry clenched his jaw and forced a smile, “A fluke?”
His scar gave a small sting. He inhaled sharply out of surprise and quickly turned away. How. How was it possible for his scar to hurt here and why. It didn’t make sense. Why now? It hadn’t caused any problems the past few days.
Luna swung her hair around, the colourful beads catching his attention and pulling his from his thoughts. "You are thinking too much," Luna told him, her blue eyes far too big. "You are going to break your head."
Harry blinked. "What?"
She smiled, "Your headache won't go away if you keep thinking about it."
He sighed and laid his head in his hand. "Alright," he sighed. "Entertain me."
She kept on smiling and flatly stated, "He is also thinking about you."
Harry furrowed his eyebrows, turning his head to her. "Who?"
She didn't answer, just let her gaze stray from Harry to Riddle. Realization pooled in his stomach and he risked a brief glance at the other. How was that supposed to settle his thoughts?
Riddle did not seem to be thinking of him, focused on his book. Finger hovering above the pages. It was kind of domestic, ethereal if he had to add. This action and scene felt surreal; the Dark Lord just reading a book in the middle of a class.
Just as he made to turn back to Luna, Riddle raised his eyes. The warm brown colour contrasted the dark black hair, he discerned. The slightly long lashes captivating in their motion. Riddle cocked his head in question, bringing Harry out of his notion.
He scowled when he saw Riddle's grin and quickly turned away. Luckily, professor Opera started the lesson shortly after this interaction. They were meant to practice Aquamenti in this period since they had only focused on the theory the lesson before.
Mr. Opera charmed a basin for each student and told them to fill them with the spell. The first few to succeed would earn their houses some points, though the amount depended on the passed time.
Harry watched the others struggle to perform this spell. They seemed to have quite some difficulty conjuring the water which he expected Riddle to have as well. However, as his eyes lay on Riddle, and he took in his relaxed and composed posture, he knew that Riddle would succeed in his casting.
But he did not try to get it before the other, too entranced by the way Riddle was holding his wand and guiding it in the air. He did not hear the incantation, like the other students loudly chanted, instead the prefect was quiet and focused on his wand.
After a brief time, water flowed out of the tip of Riddle's wand, guided smoothly into his basin and filling it to the brim. Mr. Opera of course took notice of this as Riddle lay down his wand and leant back.
"Oh, how marvellous!" The exclamation broke through the classroom catching the attention of many students and halting their process. "This was a flawless execution, Mr. Riddle. 25 points to Slytherin."
Their professor seemed overjoyed as he took in Riddle's basin and the clear water inside. His gaze drifted towards Harry, and he told him, "Go on, Mr Evans. Practice the charm. One can does not succeed if they don't try."
Harry gave the professor a, what ought to be, charming smile and waved his wand, focusing on the flow of his magic and guiding it to his wand arm, through his fingertips and into his wand. Shortly after water built up at the tip of his wand and flowed into the tank as well.
Their teacher did not hold back in his applause. "Two perfect executions! Yes, yes. This is wonderful and on their first try as well! Another 20 points to Slytherin —and 15 to Ravenclaw, what great wand control, Ms. Evergreen."
Harry looked at Luna who was pushing her wand into the water of her basin and stirring it.
There was nothing else to be done until the end of the lesson, everyone had somehow achieved to conjure water, those who had been finished earlier were told to use their time to do other activities.
Riddle used his time to go through his notes while Harry watched Luna play with her water as he stroked Ornella. Overall, the rest of the lesson was spent lounging around.
Thankfully, Charms was Harry’s last class for the day. However, this wasn’t the case for Riddle, the other spoke to him as they were waiting for the lesson to end. "This is your last class for today, isn't it?"
Harry looked away from Luna, facing him. "Yeah, why?"
"I still have two more periods of Arithmancy left," Riddle informed him.
He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms on the table. "Cool?"
Riddle kept his eyes on his notes. "Just so you know."
Harry hummed. Strange, Harry thought. But this finally gave him the opportunity to ask, "How do you even manage this tight schedule?"
Finally, the other met his eyes again. It was quite disrespectful not to be faced while being talked to; Harry internally sighed. He really didn't make a good expression on the first day if he had been this rude. But honestly it was Riddle's fault as well. So, who could blame him.
"I'm well organised," came the short response. Serious and intense.
Reluctantly Harry breathed out, "OK." He tried to smile, "Pretty impressive."
Riddle raised an eyebrow and nodded his head. "Thank you."
And yet not impressive enough to trick Dumbledore, he hid a grin.
"Did I say something wrong?" Riddle’s question told him that he had done a poor job at hiding his amusement.
"Nothing, nothing," he barely withheld a chuckle. Tom Riddle, future dark lord, asking if he has said something wrong. This is gold. Were Ron here, he would not get a hold of himself or perhaps he would just be questioning Harry’s life choices.
'How right you are, Harry," Ron's voice echoed in his head. 'Hilarious to have a future dark lord doubt himself.'
'This can be used,' Hermoine's voice sounded interested and inquisitive. 'If he doubts himself, he cares for your opinion. Use this, Harry.'
'As witty as always, Hermoine,' complimented Ron.
Harry rolled his eyes; not even in his head they would stop playing with one another. He focused back on Riddle, who was already gazing intently at him.
"You manage to do so much," Harry tried, cringing at himself. This was definitely not how he thought the persuasion of a dark lord would go. Compliments and sympathy.
Riddle seemed to be suspicious as well, drawing his eyebrows together. Trying to finish what he had started, Harry continued, "And you are really good at it. Why don't you want to work at the ministry?"
The other's eyes flashed around the room, noting that everyone else was occupied and not listening. Riddle's gaze found his again, leaning in closer. "How would you know what I want to do?"
Harry tried to think of something. "You don't seem the type, you know? Far too smart, strategic and hands-"
He cut himself off. This was definitely not going as planned; flattery was one part, straight up complimenting was another. And seriously, had he almost been about to call Riddle handsome? He was still with Ginny. He wouldn’t cheat on her; even if she wouldn't know about it. Seeing her again was something that was going to happen.
Riddle apparently did not take his clue as having stumbled over words. He raised both eyebrows and asked, “Handsome? My, Evans, I never took you for having those interests.”
Crossing his arms, Harry responded, “I don’t. I have a girlfriend ―and anyway, can’t I just compliment someone’s appearance?”
Riddle leaned back, stretching his neck and asked, “You have a girlfriend?”
He huffed, “Of course I do.”
The other just hummed but did not comment any further, turning back towards his page. “I do,” Harry felt the need to clarify himself. “Just because I didn’t mention her doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”
Nodding slowly, Riddle just noted, “Alright.”
Harry just stared at Riddle for a moment before turning back to Luna and watching her until they were dismissed.
He quickly packed his stuff and left the classroom, leaving Lestrange or Avery no time to catch up to him. As soon as he arrived in the common room, Harry swapped his textbook and parchment with ‘Time a Magic,’ ‘Core; the substation of magic’ and ‘Magical Means’. To make sure that he wouldn’t forget the cloak this time, he pulled it over his head after being sure that nobody was watching and descended down the stairs.
Finding himself in the Chamber of Secrets, he strode towards the study of Slytherin and entered it, releasing Ornella in front of the fire. The silence which filled the room, was exactly what he needed. He settled himself in the ginormous chair after pushing the two books aside that he had placed there last night.
The chapter Harry started off, from the book, ‘Time a Magic’ talked about the altering of a person and its connection to the core. The author, Williams Noah Loures, states that prolonged exposure to different time flows ―this includes the number of times one choses to go back to the same timeline― has been proven to cause a degradation of body and mind by independently altering from the original timeline.
Experimentations with people William Loures chose not to name, have proven that this alteration can be connected to the timespan, which was travelled, however to know the exact aging the core needs to be taken into account. If the core, as already mentioned, is a larger one, the altering may proceed slower whilst the altering from a smaller core proves to be faster.
Harry lay his book down next to the others and let his head roll against the back rest. This was definitely how he imagined his free time to be spent. He closed his eyes and let his body relax for a few moments.
Listening to the crackling of the fire, his mind wandered to the offer Avery had introduced to him. Joining the quidditch team. It sure would be an enjoyable way of getting his mind off those books and the whole-time magic fiasco. The wind sweeping through his hair, his hands holding onto the rough wood of the broomstick while he chased the snitch.
He sighed. Perhaps he would give into the temptation of flying, even if it were for Slytherin. Nobody had to know; at least nobody he knew had to know.
“You are back I see,” the voice of the founder broke through the silence.
Harry took a deep breath, preparing himself. “That is what I asked for, isn’t it?”
When he cracked an eye opened, he came to face with the awoken image of Slytherin. “As I said before,” the founder began. “Some manners would help you immensely.”
Harry shifted in the chair, sprawling his legs over one armrest and still having enough room to sit perfectly in it. “I have enough of those. Just for those who are willing to pay me the same respect.”
Slytherin did not shake his head, nor did he shout. Apparently, he regained some of his patience since he barely muttered, “Why, of course you do.”
Harry tilted his head to the side, leaning it against the soft material. He was curious of this reaction, causing him to blurt out, “Why is that?”
Slytherin looked up from his folded hands and examined his face. The rough eyes moving quickly, though Harry couldn’t tell if they were precise or just random. Slowly, seeming to evaluate every word that he was about to say, Salazar explained, “You hold both attributes. Those of the house Gryffindor and Slytherin. You are smart yet repulsive. Your actions resemble those of a child, but they have motives and strategy a child could hardly think of.”
Harry scowled and pressed himself further into his seat. “Great,” drawled he, playing with the hem of his sleeves. A slight scowl forming on his face. “I’m getting a bloody therapy session by Slytherin himself.”
“You better be grateful, boy,” spoke Slytherin loudly. “Most people don’t get the chance to experience such.”
“Perhaps I want to be ‘most people’ then,” informed Harry, eyes cold as they found the monkey ones. “I honestly couldn’t care less about this whole situation would I not need to go back to my time.”
Slytherin was silent after that. The elder’s eyes not straying from Harry’s tense form. He seemed to be contemplating something before stating, “Time magic is not made to move someone forward in time just backward.”
Harry’s blood ran cold and his heart stopped.
The founder did not avert his eyes as he continued, “It is not possible to move to the future, experiments and magic itself forbade it.”
Stop, Harry thought, body frozen.
“Restrictions are placed.”
Stop. His eyes were unfocused.
“The future is one of them.”
Stop. He could hear the pulse in his ears, but nothing seemed to drown Slytherin’s voice.
Finally, he brought forth a whimsical mutter, a plea, “That can’t be…”
“Untouchable to wizards; influenced yes but truly grasped; never.”
“A lie.”
“It is not,” Salazar replied. “The future is supposed to be unknow and build itself as such.”
Harry couldn’t believe it. Would not believe it. Everything for Nothing?
“The only guidance that we are offered are prophecies, seers to be exact.”
This had to be some sort of sick joke. There was no possible way that, whatever it was that Slytherin had just said, was or is the truth.
By now Harry had moved to sit at the edge of the chair face in his hands. He moved them through his hair countless times, messing them up even more. But at that moment he did not care. Up until now, he was certain to find a way back. There was no way. It had to be a lie. A trick. A foolish prank. His way back home couldn’t be stopped by some… law.
“You lie,” his soft voice rang through the air.
Not even the fireplace held importance anymore, drowned by the high ringing in his ears. Slytherin’s voice however cut through it. Loud and clear. Small and inaudible. “I do not.”
Harry’s head shot up. Eyes blazing. The only warmth he could perceive was the anger that flooded his veins, consumed his flesh and clouded his brain. It covered the emptiness that spread through him. Stretched along every fibre like coldness and freezing it.
His voice shook, rage bubbling and uncertainty breaking through, “You must be.”
“I have never and will never lie, boy,” told Salazar.
“Stop calling me BOY!”
Fist clenched by his side and shaking, Harry was stood in the fragment of a second. He did not try to reign his magic as his outburst continued, “I have done nothing―NOTHING to deserve this. I never wanted to be here.” Salazar looked like he wanted to say something but held himself back.
Harry paced around the study, the room expanding in every direction. “I never cared to be here! To have all this fame ―this- this; ugh,” frustrated Harry punched a shelf, earning a glare from Salazar but the elder did not intervene. “This pressure.”
He took a pencil from one of the desks, anger sizzling and tainting his thoughts, and snapped it; doing so with the other few left the throwing them away into a far corner. With every snapping of a pencil he listed, “Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Ron, Hermoine, Ginny, Neville, mum, dad –everyone gets hurt and worse even killed. And whose fault is that? MINE.”
Slytherin was now gripping his chair tightly, although it was just a portrait, the face seemed to be filled by many emotions; livelier than ever.
“Instead of blaming the one actually responsible, let me take the blame. The Chosen One. The boy-who-lived.” Harry groaned in frustration before turning to mockery, “‘He must have soo much experience since he has fought You-Know-Who so many times’ ‘He is even more powerful than most adults I know, he can handle it.’ ‘Don’t make such a big deal out of it’ ‘I would like to be you for a change’ ‘You’re over exaggerating, it’s not that bad’.”
“And if this,” Harry made a frantic gesture around the room, startling Ornella who had woken up prior to Harry’s outburst. “Is some joke, it is the most mental one there is. I have had it! What is the point in trying to get back if there is NO WAY for me to actually do so? Why am I always the one to do the ‘impossible’?”
First Cedric, then Sirius, Dumbledore and now this. Stuck in the past without a way to return. He gave a frustrated noise and punched a table, letting himself drop into the plush armchair again.
The distinct hope that the chair could be smaller arose. Smaller and more compact. Where he would get the opportunity to hide, to flee from his responsibilities, from the expectations, the pressure. He wanted to be in alone, like he was I the cupboard. Where no one would bother him, where no one wanted to bother him.
He felt himself coiling tighter into the fabric of the seat, his anger vanishing. The coldness has seeped into his skin, his bones, lungs and heart. It pooled at his stomach; uncomfortable, swallowing him whole.
A touch to his leg caused him to shrink further into himself. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? What had he done to them to deserve this?
“My Harry?”
A hiss. Familiar. One that was laced by worry. Worry he had never managed to receive in his cupboard. Worry that would have never been so openly shown. Not by anyone other than his friends.
But they were too much as well. He did not want to see them. Could not. Scared of what they might think of what they might do.
The touch, long and somehow cold wrapped around his thigh moving up his leg and resting on the side of his torso. “Oh, my Harry,” the voice sounded again. “What is it? Let me help you.”
A tiny flicker at his ribs caused him to turn his head enough to expose his eyes to the other. Beady black ones stared into his. The soft black scales were the second thing that came into his view. Ornella.
“My Harry, my brave hatchling. Good hatchling.” It was like a chant. Ornella’s hissing words seemed to soothe him. His throat seized at that, eyes burning. He had the urge to cry, to break down once more like he did in Dumbledore’s office. He wanted the words to sooth him, heal his aching heart.
But it did nor; not entirely that is.
His heart still felt as cold and heavy; stomach filled by dread. With numb fingers, which he hesitantly untangled, Harry began stroking Ornella’s scales. The feeling of them already similar. Yet, they did not resemble feathers. The feathers of an owl he would likely never see again.
A lump formed in his throat, tightening, making it hard to breath and mouth appearing to dry out. Ornella continued hissing calming words and after some time, Harry relaxed enough, unfolding from his cramped position.
As he settled himself on his back and let Ornella lay on his stomach, he noticed the tight expression Slytherin bore. He stared blankly at him, eyes tired. The founder stayed quiet as the minutes went on, slowly; painfully.
Would he just be stuck in this time? Probably. Highly so. He huffed. The coldness stayed despite Harry slowly calming down. The feeling in his stomach eased, though his chest felt empty yet heavy at the same time. His heart seemed to weigh far more than usual, taking up more space.
After a few more minutes, his stomach tightened once again when he realized just how childish that must have seemed. He quickly cleared his throat, noting a soreness, and apologized, “Sorry.”
Slytherin just hummed but did not speak up. Ornella the only one talking for the next moments. This however soon turned into comforting hisses when she noticed Harry’s relaxed muscles under her body.
Harry continued tracing his finger along her scales, his mind wandering back to Hedwig and his friends, people he knew, who would care about him. Were they panicking? Had they notice that he wasn’t there? Would he just grow old in this time and watch his friends grow up with a younger version of himself?
Goosebumps broke out over his skin. He did not like the image of that. Nor did he want to leave them and see them grow with someone that resembled him so much and yet wasn’t he.
It was selfish. Selfish of him to want to be the one by their side. Selfish to, if he could go back, be the cause of their suffering. He wanted. For once he wanted, yearned.
He had wanted Sirius when he had been pushed through the veil. To bring him back to life, join him again. He had wanted Sirius by his side. He had wanted to escape the Dursleys and live with him. To be part of a real family. He knew that their relationship wasn’t the healthiest, but neither was it the worst.
They had depended on each other, Harry had ―still is depending on him. Now he had met someone who looks just like Sirius. The eyes, the hair, the face. Everything but the personality.
It would do him no good watching someone he thought he knew, someone he wished he knew, grow to be something he hated, did not know. Something that wasn’t his.
Make it yours, a voice whispered.
Harry did not want to make it is; he wanted to have what has been his. What should have been his. And this was not it. This would never be it.
Right now, Harry decided, he was in no condition to see anyone, be it Avery, Lestrange, Riddle, Malfoy, Dumbledore, Orion. He did not want to see people that remind him of what he could not have.
His hand which wasn’t stroking Ornella, found the invisibility cloak, that he hurriedly threw over himself.
A sense of safety surrounded him. Warm and welcoming. The tightening in his stomach loosened, knowing that he could not be seen; that he was hid.
“Are you sure?” His voice was quiet, almost inaudible if one weren’t listening. But he knew that Slytherin was, that he was looking for him, trying to find his silhouette in the empty space. A person which he could not see due to the cloak.
Still, the answer came, steady and firm, “Unfortunately.”
His gaze dropped to his finger’s which traced the pattern of Ornella’s scales. “No way back,” it was a statement and a question. Harry did not know, did not want to decide.
“No.”
Harry chose not to move, staying silent and ending further conversations. His body felt heavy and exhausted. It was as though he would not be able to move a muscle, let alone go back to the common room.
Opting to stay for the night, he pushed himself further into the armchair and let the cloak stay wrapped around his body.
Even if the invisibility cloak was thin, it stored warmth Harry was not able to produce. It guided his muscles to relax and his mind to close off, swaying him into a dreamless sleep.
Slytherin did not sleep; he watched the boy through the night or at least where he though the boy was. Occasionally a leg or an arm would stick out from under the cloak, though it quickly retreated back inside.
He watched over the boy quietly. He wasn’t sure why, but a sense of guilt settled in his guts. Which was curious. As a painting it would be harder to perceive emotions, many just imitated their earlier emotions and expressions. However, talking to the child, a mover, Slytherin was not sure whether he made the right decision to tell him the impossibility of moving to the future.
So, he stayed awake. A painting, lone and silent, kept awake while everyone and everything else was sleeping.
Harry opened his eyes, mind still fogged by sleep. The first thing he noticed was the empty feeling inside his chest. Then came the warmth and smoothness of the cloak as well as Ornella’s weight on his stomach.
He stroked her, noting the heaviness and stiffness of his limbs. Then came the realization that he was not in the common room but the study of Slytherin; and with it the dawning event and revelation of last night.
“You are awake,” the statement came from the portrait above him.
Harry looked up, Slytherin looked as usual giving no indication that he has watched the boy overnight.
“Yes,” Harry said, wrapping the cloak around his shoulders, leaving his head exposed and visible. “Stating the obvious, aren’t we?”
Slytherin pursed his lips. The following question came with hesitance, “Are you alright?”
The child’s eyes stared into Slytherin’s, silently questioning whether he had truly just asked that. Afterwards came a reply, voice laced in sarcasm and exaggeration, “Oh, I’m feeling wonderful!”
“I am –ah,” Slytherin seemed to stumble over his words as Harry held up the eye contact. “I apologize if the revelation yesterday has caused you so much distress. I wouldn’t have said so if I had known.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, it’s fine. Probably the first time I have ever really been given information without having to ask for it.”
Slytherin averted his eyes. “Though I must ask you to clean up the mess since I unfortunately can not.”
Harry let his gaze fall upon the scene he had created the night before. A few books had fallen out of the shelves and lay scattered on the ground, pencils stuck to the carpet their pieces stuck in the fabric.
His fingers twitched and he apologized, voice slightly hoarse, “Sorry for the mess.”
He got out his wand and started to reassemble the stuff to their usual spot, meanwhile the founder’s eyes calculated him. As arranged the books back into the shelf Harry could have sworn that he heard Slytherin mutter, “You have little to apologize for.”
After he was finished, he cast a quick tempus, '6:51'. "I will be off to eat," informed Harry as he packed his books and let Ornella settle herself on his shoulders.
Slytherin nodded and bid him goodbye, leaning back in his seat and preparing to sleep.
When they found themselves before the exit, once again led by Ornella, Harry threw the invisibility cloak over his head once again and pressed his ear against the wood. Fortunately, there were no sounds of students or footsteps in general. He hissed a small, "Open." and let the portrait move out of the way.
He hurriedly left the Chamber after making sure the exit was fully close again and started towards the Great Hall, his stomach empty and energy used up from the previous night.
Shortly before arriving at the Great Hall, Harry went into an alcove and stored his cloak; the sense of warmth vanishing along with it. The cold air of the castle announced the start of the colder seasons. He shivered slightly as the coldness spread over his body, emphasized by the one inside of him.
Ornella wrapped tighter around himself and hissed, "Use your magic, my Harry. It is growing cold."
He agreed and retracted his wand, casting a heating charm. His clothes warmed, he could feel them against his skin; Ornella also settle down more firmly, savouring the heat. However, the warmth of the clothes and skin, did not change the way the coldness in his chest felt.
Harry took a deep breath. Whatever was wrong with him, would not stop him... from what?
Getting into the Great Hall and sitting down in his seat, he continued to ask himself so. For what? Why would he continue? He would likely never see the ones again for whom he had originally planned this. He could not change it, so the books have stated. He could not get back to his time. So why try?
He clenched his teeth and piled some toast on his plate. This was all because of Malfoy- no, Harry stopped himself. He let his gaze wandered around the Hall. There were few students sitting here, a mere ten at maximum at each table, yet it seemed gloomy. As if something or someone is affecting the atmosphere and their dynamics.
As he took a bite, Harry remarked that blood superiority had been a consistent factor in the wizarding world for centuries. This however was only amplified by Riddle; by Voldemort.
It was true that Draco was the cause that the death eaters had the chance to infiltrate the school and set Dumbledore and him up; but he wasn’t the one who had founded them. Who was the leader of the death eaters. Voldemort was the reason he was here. Harry should not let that slip his mind. He was the reason his parents were dead, the reason so many things —things he did not want— to happen in his life.
It wasn’t long before he was finished with his toast, Riddle and the others have not arrived yet, for which Harry was grateful. He had no interest in seeing them right now, not when so many things were going through his head. Ironically, he needed time. Time to think.
He pushed his plate away and waited for his tart to pop up before him, the one thing he liked about his situation. His eyes wandered over the few students and teachers in the Hall, perhaps it seemed a bit strange for him to turn his head in every direction, needing to twist his body as well since he was facing away from the other tables.
At the Ravenclaw table he only recognized Luna, her colourful accessories making her stand out amongst the dull uniforms. The Hufflepuff table had no face he knew; as his gaze landed on the Gryffindor table, remaining on a messy hair.
The Potter-family has always been described to have such hair ―Snape always having reminded him of such and teased by his peers―, which would probably explain the similar face shape. A Potter. His relative.
The black hair was accompanied by ―Harry squinted his eyes― brown eyes. The first time he met a direct relative who was alive. He assessed the boy. He was younger that was for sure. His posture was not relaxed, rather hunched over and far stiffer than the other purebloods he was used to seeing. How strange.
He did not at all appear like the descriptions he had been told of his father. He knew that this was, at best, his grandfather. But there still had to be some similarities in their behaviour if his dad had the traits he now knew of; thanks to, once again, Snape and his pensive.
His gaze slipped towards the front table where the teachers sat. Most of the teachers that sat there he already knew. However, there were some that he did not know; but in comparison to the future there also appeared to be far more teachers.
Dumbledore sat next to Dippet. He appeared to be a nice company from the way the people who talked to laughed and smiled. Though there was one teacher who sat in their seat like it was the worst day on earth. Their mood however did not affect the others.
Perhaps Harry might have a talk with Dumbledore later. He had no idea about what, but he knew that it would help. At least a bit. He had never really had the chance to talk to the previous headmaster.
Harry let his gaze fall back to his own table. The students both talked to each other or had their face buried deep within a book. Orion was part of them as well; reading a book while eating some fruit.
He quickly averted his eyes and stabbed at his tart. Even if the dish was prefect and tempting, Harry had no hunger or desire to eat it. He took a bite of it and savoured the taste but that was all, the heaviness of his chest seemed to consume the hunger.
It could be compared to the time after Sirius’ death. Back then he had no desire to eat as well. Neither was the idea to exercise or drink or in fact even do anything at all compelling.
Sighing, he laid the fork down and rested his cheek in his hand, closing his eyes. Ornella stayed wrapped around his shoulders, her head resting on her tail and leaning into his neck. He stroked a finger down her scales.
Just as he was about to stand up, the emptiness eased up leaving hunger and exhaustion in its place. His legs grew heavier, and his stomach grumbled. The moment he was about to pick up the fork once again, he spotted Riddle.
Anger bubbled in his chest; the emptiness now completely vanished. The prefect seemed his usual composed state; hair perfectly styled, posture straight and having an air of superiority around him.
His scowl was not contained. The glare he sent Riddle would have thrown anyone else off, the other however did not appear to care, heading straight towards the seat opposite of Harry. “Good morning, Evans,” Riddle greeted as he seated himself.
Harry did not answer, glare held until he averted his eyes. The fact that Riddle was the problem behind his situation, only dawned upon him now. That he could not get back to his friends or the people he cared about was a fatal reminder of that.
Riddle took his silence as a clue to keep on talking, only gratifying his anger. “Where were you yesterday?”
He once again did not answer. The smooth voice seemed to burn in his ears and quicken his pulse. He turned his head further from Riddle, a sign that he had no interest in a conversation.
The other ignored this and pressed, “You were not seen by anyone in fact. What did you do after dinner?”
Clenching his teeth, he kept his head turned away.
“May I have that Treacle tart if you don’t want it? We wouldn’t want it to go to waste now, would we?”
Harry sneered at that, stabbing his tart forcefully and stuffing some in his mouth. Through a mouthful of food he grumbled, “Fuck off, Riddle.”
Sneaking a glance, he saw the others amused expression, if it weren’t for the tightness of his lips, he might have actually believed it. Waving a hand, Riddle said, “My, my, Evans, where did that attitude come from?”
Your mom. “None of your business,” he pushed out instead, hoping to finish his tart rather quickly.
“But as a prefect it is my business; I wouldn’t want you to be like this towards others.”
Harry rolled his eyes and looked around. Lestrange, Avery nor Malfoy was around. He drew his brows together. How uncommon for Riddle to be alone outside of prefect duties.
“What are you gonna do about it?” Harry now had the patience to look him in the eye. “Are you going to deduct points again?”
“Maybe I will,” noted Riddle with a teasing smile, eyes never leaving Harry’s.
There was a push at the front of his mind. That bastard was trying to use legilimency on him ―Again!
He bared his teeth and pushed his plate away –perhaps a bit too forceful as it crashed into another eliciting a loud clatter. Many eyes turned towards them, even those of teachers; but Harry did not care. He was fuming.
“Really, Riddle,” Harry pressed through closed teeth, breathing harshly. “When somebody tells you to fuck off; LISTEN.”
He was out the Hall before the other could react. This was definitely how he wanted to spend his breakfast. The further he went down the corridors and distanced himself from the Hall, the pressure in his chest returned; pushing everything else down and leaving his heart heavy and aching.
The anger went with it.
His feet dragged him through the halls and down some paths, he didn’t recognize. He had no apparent destination; surprising himself when he found himself standing in front of a ghost.
The air was freezing, Ornella tightened her grip on him. But even though he could see his breath curling in the air, the coldness making it visible, his body held no other effect towards it. The emptiness replaced his feelings and sensibility.
He stared up at the ghost. Their translucent robes covered in blood, tainting his hair and face as well. The silver tinge of the blood standing out against the gaunt face and dull, black eyes. The curly powdered wig complimented the linen shirt and sword the ghost kept at his waist.
“Bloody Baron,” Harry commented aloud.
The eyes focused on him, but their look stayed the same. Dull and perhaps a faint sadness. “You are in my house,” the horse voice was silent and almost comprehendible.
Harry swallowed; he felt no fear though his throat was tight. “I am.”
The Baron’s eyes swept over his body. “Why have you come here? Students are you usually not fond of this part of the castle.”
“I- are they not?” He tilted his head, having the opportunity to look past the ghost. The hall before him was dark, lit only by the few torches that lined the wall. The atmosphere seemed even creepier than the corridors leading to the Slytherin common room.
“No,” answered the Bloody Baron simply, the hoarseness made it difficult for Harry to understand.
He let his gaze fall back upon the rather frightening ghost. “Where are we exactly?”
“Nowhere and somewhere in the castle,” the Baron replied cryptically.
Harry gave a tight smile. That did not answer his question at all, so he tried again, “I mean, what part of the castle are we in?”
“Nobody knows but Ravenclaw.”
Did he mean the house or the ghost? Harry furrowed his brow and watched the Baron float away. Turning to look over his shoulder, he spotted an endlessly long corridor, which he had no interest to go back alone. His last years at Hogwarts proved how safe the unexplored parts of it were and for Harry no less.
Reluctantly Harry trotted after the floating ghost, taking in the damp walls and mossy patches on the floor. The Baron's eyes were just staring off into the air, not focused on the way before them. They did not talk as they went through the halls, but this did not bother Harry; he actually rather appreciated the time with the silent companion.
Eventually they came across a door, which, after bidding the ghost a farewell he went through and walked up a spiralling staircase. It was unlike the other ones he knew of Hogwarts, this one being uneven and at times twisted, making it difficult to walk up if one didn't pay attention.
After a few minutes of walking up the stairs, which left Harry slightly panting, the staircase ended in front of a door, which Harry eagerly opened; vaguely happy to have left the corridors.
As he opened the door, he was blinded by sunlight which streamed through the gap. Pushing it further, he squinted and came face to face with the landscape surrounding Hogwarts. He stepped outside and examined his surroundings. Next to him, around a corner, were the Quidditch fields and the space where first years practice riding a broom.
He turned around and made to shut the door but was surprised when he found none. The stone wall was smooth, and their pattern was not interrupted by a door.
Harry pressed his hand to the wall, feeling for the door, however the wall itself remained the same. He pushed at a few stones to see if there was a switch or a puzzle of any kind but found none.
As he heard students around the corner, he instinctively got his cloak out and threw it over his head. It was purely out of reflex; he was caught off guard too engrossed in the missing door than to watch his surroundings. It had a thrill to it; the unknown. The forbidden and perhaps unwanted.
The students however did not turn around the corner, seeming to stay right before it prior to moving back to the main entrance. He sighed and was about to pocket the cloak again when a wooden shape caught his eye.
When he turned towards the wall, there now stood a tall, carved door. He drew his eyebrows together and reached for the door, which opened with ease. He shut the door and tried it again. The result stayed the same; the door was real.
He took off his cloak and watched, stunned as it fitted itself into the stone wall behind it, obscuring it from view. Harry drew the cloak over his head and the door appeared once again. He pulled it off; the door disappeared.
He looked around. This part of the grounds wasn't usually visited by anyone, it was too close to the forbidden forest as well as the lake. Which, if the door truly only opened to the invisible, made the door almost impossible to be discovered. Harry noted this down for the next time he wanted to go out past curfew or avoid others.
Pocketing his cloak, Harry made his way over to the Great Lake. His feet crushed the sand underneath his shoes with every step, the coldness enveloped him even feet away. A mist spread above the surface, blurring out the islands standing above it.
He settled down on the sand, using his cloak used as a mat, leaving him in his sweater. Though he had lost a layer, the temperature was, as before, of no importance to him. His eyes swept over the lake.
This whole situation was twisted and wrong. Why was he even here if he couldn't go back? It was doing him no good and it will do him no good. What was he doing here? What was his purpose?
Before he had been told and brought to fight Voldemort; he had been to fights some would not fear to take part of. He had been lied to, withheld information from or just completely ignored.
All of it for nothing? All of it just to be sent back in time. To have no place, no status, to be forgotten and to have never existed.
This was wrong, he gritted his teeth and picked up a rock, throwing it into the lake.
He had done everything that was asked of him, and now he was stuck here. He had witnessed people suffer; had been the cause of their suffering. And now he had to act like they never existed. Like anything that has happened to him was a dream –a lie.
All to change someone who did not want to change. Who had no intentions of changing his motives or even himself. Why was it that he had to be the one to do this; to be their saviour. He had never signed up for it. His fate had been decided by adults who could have prevented this problem themselves.
By people to scared to act or to prone to do so. By people who have fulfilled their own purpose and use leaving it to others and disappearing. By people who judged based on their believes, their ideals, their blood. It has been decided by the dumb and the smart alike. Set in stone and unmovable; unchangeable. Expectations set; hopes started and spread.
He watched as the stone sank further into the depth of the water, getting swallowed by the dark, unknown. He rubbed a hand at his chest. The tightness and heaviness of his heart was overwhelming and impalpable at the same time.
Laying back on the sand, Harry stared into the sky. Blue and wide. Free. Flying was the same. It was the thing that caused his heart to stutter, the adrenaline to pump through his body; it was his sky, his freedom. And now, he had none. He had not flown since he arrived. His hands skimmed over the sand, the callouses filled by some grains. It wasn't the same as holding a broom. The wood had been smooth yet uneven beneath his hands. Maybe he would consider Avery’s offer. Who would care if he played Quidditch for the Slytherins. Nobody knew him.
Quidditch, Avery. Those brought forth another person; Tom Riddle. His fingers twitched and he clenched them to fists. He did not want to think about Riddle and yet here he was. Once again focused on the cause of his problems. The one who has influenced him since birth yet held no knowledge of it.
The selfish motives, actions having changes the young, impressive, and mesmerizing student into a ruthless, inhumane monster.
He tried to redirect his thoughts; Riddle, Tom, Voldemort, Horcruxes, death, battles, Dumbledore.
Yes, Dumbledore. Dumbledore. He had been like a grandfather but that did not help the fact that they had their ups and downs. Harry let his head hit the ground and closed his eyes.
The man had always wanted his best, he had of course prepared Harry to fight against Voldemort; not in the best ways but he had tried. Harry hummed as he remembered the time at the start of the year when Dumbledore had put uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia in their place; that had been exhilarating and the way his relatives had been unable to do anything against it was, to say the least, even better.
Dumbledore himself had even admitted that he had been blinded by his affection for Harry, which had felt like such a relief at the time in his fifth year. He had been angry, not only at Dumbledore for abandoning him, but also at himself. But having the headmaster admit this, that he was not only left alone because he was a burden, a danger towards others, felt great.
Harry took a deep breath. He would talk to Dumbledore sometime over the weekend just not now. He still needed space, this feeling inside his chest was somehow messing with him and he did not want to affect others or scare them off since this Dumbledore didn’t know him. He would do something to entertain him for a while. To get his mind off his problems.
And, oh, what better way to do this than play Quidditch. If he weren’t mistaken, the Slytherins had practiced at dawn at least on Saturdays, Gryffindor had always practiced in the mornings.
He sat up with a groan, combing a hand through his hair and trying to get the sand off it. Throwing on his cloak after dusting it off, he took one final glance at the Great Lake before making his way back to the building. When he walked along the wall, he remembered to be the one with the door, he stopped, looked around and checked to see if anyone was currently watching him.
After this reassurance, he drew the invisibility cloak over his head and watched as the door appeared in front of him. With a final glance around, he opened the door and ushered inside, following the staircase as it led him to the bottom corridor of the castle.
As he walked through the many corridors, Ornella still quietly drawn around his shoulders, he noticed a few ghosts floating through the walls and passing the next, they did not notice Harry and Harry did not want to be noticed by them. So, he just continued to walk the halls in silence.
At a certain turn, Harry came across another stairwell which led him back up. Choosing this as his exit, he quickly descended up the stairs, somehow eager to leave the cold halls. Finally, after a few minutes of walking up the stairs, which honestly shouldn’t have taken that long, Harry found himself in an alcove, directly besides the caretaker’s office.
Fastly, he made a sharp turn and walked the other direction not wanting to be spotted by the caretaker. Which is how he came across Lestrange sitting in an alcove not far from the one he came from. The boy was, once again, reading a book ―which, honestly, how is it that he was not a Ravenclaw? ―
Harry took a breath, he wouldn’t want to deal with Riddle getting as meddlesome as he had at breakfast, suspicious of where Harry had been. He could only guess that the others were as suspicious as Riddle. Therefore he found himself sitting next to Lestrange who just looked up but did not try to converse any other way and just kept on reading his book.
He took his time to observe Lestrange. He bore many pureblood features, such as strong, sharp contours, long eyelashes or, as known for the Lestrange family, a straight nose.
The slightly curled hair atop his head reminded him slightly of Riddle’s just that his was far curlier while Riddle’s hair was tamed and somehow stayed perfectly in place. The posture the boy maintained while reading also gave away his pureblood etiquette, straight back leant against the wall and legs perfectly lodged together.
Harry remembered that there had been a Lestrange present the night Dumbledore was killed, though he guessed it to be his son, otherwise Harry had no idea how he could keep his youth.
So, Harry just sat there quietly, watching Lestrange read his book. The silence was quite comfortable; not like he had expected. But he also had not expected Lestrange to just accept Harry when he sat down.
In the end, Lestrange still broke their silent agreement in order to ask, “I did not see you last night. Where have you been?”
Harry rolled his eyes. Him as well? They could all just sod off. What had his business to do with theirs that they had to ask him about it. After a calming breath, he said, “Why do you wanna know?”
Lestrange peeked up from his book, his eyebrows were slightly drawn and the start of a scowl could be seen. “Since you are in my house, I don’t want to have any problems or deduction of points if you were caught by a prefect.”
“I was not caught,” Harry assured and leaned his head against the cold stone wall closing his eyes.
Lestrange considered him for a few more moments before dropping the topic and going back to reading. He probably had no interest or patience to deal with a ‘mudblood’. Well, Harry had no problem with letting that conversation drop either.
Ornella apparently chose this as a great time to make herself known, stirring beneath his outer cloak and rubbing her scales to the base of his neck. Lowly, she hissed, “It has grown cold, my Harry. Why is it always cold?”
As much as he wanted to talk to her right now, he knew that that would be no innovative idea; he eyed Lestrange subtly. He had not even noticed that it had grown cold but the scarf around Lestrange’s neck seemed to prove otherwise. Taking out his wand, muttered the incantation for the heating charm, feeling Ornella slack against his body. A small smile escaped him, and he gently petted her scales.
The other boy looked up once again when Harry asked for the date. “20th of October,” answered Lestrange simply.
How curious. It had never been this cold when it was October, at least he guessed that it had not been. He thanked Lestrange anyway. Wait- he had said Oktober, hadn’t he?
Harry buried his face in his hands. Of course, it had to be Oktober and prior to Halloween at that. Somehow Halloween always proved to be a remarkably interesting day in his life.
His parents being killed on the 31st; Quirrell letting a troll run around the school dungeons and them discovering the three headed dog; the Chamber of Secrets being opened; Sirius’ attempt to break into the Gryffindor tower and steal Pettigrew; him being selected as a Triwizard champion. He had a loathful history with Halloween. One that he would never appreciate.
Letting his head roll against the stone behind him, he closed his eyes. He has no intention of letting his already sour mood get ruined by some holiday.
Peeking out of one eye, he asked Lestrange, “Do we have any essays or homework to finish by Monday?”
Lestrange, once and for all, lowered his book and let it rest in his lap. He let his gaze trail over Harry for a second before saying, “I only have something to do in Arithmancy which, I guess, you don’t have.”
Harry hummed. “Well, better that way; at least I don’t have to study every passing second.”
Hermoine had been the same, buried in her books when she had a break from helping Ron or Harry. But somehow, the Slytherins which he was amongst; Avery, Lestrange, Malfoy and Riddle, always seemed to be studying, it didn't matter for which subject.
“It is not that bad,” commented Lestrange, his finger stuck between the closed book, marking his page. “It is actually just a habit one gets used to after time.”
Harry held back a snort, which was far easier than usual; the happy tingling quickly swallowed by the emptiness. Still, he remained a smile if not a slightly teasing one. “Sure,” he drawled and waved his hand. “As long as you think that.”
Lestrange minimally tilted his head, “I do, and it is true.”
He rolled his eyes. “I was joking, loosen up, man,” he tried, Lestrange furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “I'm just not the kind to outright study, you know?”
“Many say that,” Lestrange raised his book. “The easiest way is to start by picking something you are interested in.” The title read, ‘magical law enforcement’. “I like to know how the magical community upholds their position and structure. I like to read about many different professions and their worth to this community.”
Surprised by this, Harry was quiet for a fleeting moment, but he quickly composed himself and noted, “That's cool actually.” Lestrange raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were just, you know, reading up blood superiority or something.”
“For someone apparently knew to this world,” a very fancy way to describe the word muggleborn. “You know quite a lot about our culture. You seem to know magic so well in fact, that you have no problem keeping up with your peers. How is that?”
Harry shortly glanced to the side; he wasn’t feeling nervous or anxious, yet he knew that if he somehow got lost of the emptiness spreading through his chest, he would have the urge to flee. But because he didn’t, he simply answered, “It just comes naturally, I guess. It's like a part of me I never want to let go, an extension of myself.”
Lestrange just hummed before returning to his book. Although Harry could tell that, since his eyes weren't moving, that he was simply staring at the page, not reading it. The other was likely thinking about something and this made Harry smile; he had a feeling that he knew that something had changed. That he had somehow gotten past Lestrange’s set view on muggleborns. But it was too soon to say.
So, Harry just sat there along with Lestrange and let his head rest against the wall, dropping his eyelids and eventually facing into a light slumber.