Chapter 3
“I what?”
A loudly hissed “shhh!” came from behind them, and Harry smiled apologetically at Madam Pince before leaning closer to Hermione and Ron.
“You don’t have a girlfriend, Harry,” Hermione repeated, that same confused-concerned look on her face again. It practically never left when they had a conversation now-a-days.
“Yeah, mate,” Ron said, “if you did, I’m sure you’d tell us.”
“So I’m not dating Gi - er - I’m not dating anyone? ”
They shook their heads.
Harry leaned back, something like dread creeping into him slowly. Then why had Riddle…
“Is it possible I have a secret girlfriend you guys don’t know about?”
They exchanged a look, one filled with meaning, and Harry fought the irritation that raged at the sight.
“I highly doubt it,” Ron said firmly, “you would have told us if you did. The only girlfriend you had was Cho - and that barely lasted a week before you called it quits. Not to mention your other short-lived on and off tumble last year with that creepy Slytherin Nott—”
This time, Harry couldn’t hold back the shout. “My what?”
This time, it was both Madam Pince and Hermione that shushed him, the former coupled with the stern glare - the latter with a sharp swat.
Rubbing his smarting arm, Harry groaned. He wasn’t surprised to hear that he’d dated a boy - that discovery was one he’d had a wild night with Micheal Corner a few months after he’d graduated from Hogwarts - but the fact that it was a Slytherin…
“Of all people,” he murmured, “why the hell did it have to be a Slytherin? ”
“I said the same thing,” Ron said, shaking his head solemnly, “but you told us that hate-fuelled fu-” his words choked off, probably because Hermione kicked him under the table, “- er - tumbles - were very much fun.”
They were, Harry agreed silently, the one I had with Corner wasn’t so much as hate-filled as it was an annoyance-filled tumble, but it was good enough to change my mind about men.
Back to the issue at hand — “Why the hell did Riddle insinuate that I had one then?” he wondered aloud, “did I lie to him that I did? Why would I do that?”
“Er - ” another knowing glance exchanged, and this time Harry didn’t even bother getting annoyed, “I highly doubt you would do that.” Ron said finally.
Harry put his elbows on the table, hand in head as he rubbed furiously at his temples. He felt a pulsing headache coming.
Why would Riddle mention Harry’s supposed girlfriend? Was it a lie this Harry had told him during their apparent conversation before his death?
It wouldn’t make sense though, he thought, lying about having a girlfriend? Especially when Riddle could learn right away with one pointed question to Ron and Hermione that I don’t?
So then why would Riddle say such a thing? What could be the reason?
His mind raced, running through their conversations.
“Yes,” Harry had said, “Memory problems or not, I still love her, and we are very happy.”
“Are you now?”
He looked smug. Amused. Almost as if —
Fuck.
That’s why Riddle kept bringing up Harry’s supposed girlfriend - he had been testing to see whether Harry would remember if it were true or not.
And by lying, Harry realized, I’d just given away that I don’t remember fuck all. He could tell me something and I would have no clue whether it was the truth or just some lie he had come up with.
Riddle was playing him.
Something not unlike rage coursed through him. Mind games - he fucking hated mind games. Give him a wand and a battlefield - and he would do excellently, but he hated having the game of manipulation and twisting words.
It was something he had come to terms with when he had to sit back and realize that Dumbledore had been playing him like a Queen on a chess board - used to destroy all the other pieces before sacrificing himself to take out the King.
A stack of parchment dropped down in front of him.
“Here.” Hermione said, voice stern yet gentler than it’d been moments prior, “my notes for our lessons. They should help you with your assignments.”
Harry smiled gratefully, and turned his focus onto the set of notes, settling in with a sigh. He would put the Riddle problem aside for now, and focus on finishing his assignment before Hermione or Madam Pince blew up.
***
Later that night, when he was sure everyone had gone to sleep, Harry drew the curtains of his four poster bed tight, sealing them shut and throwing a quick Silencio so no one could hear him.
He’d somehow managed to smuggle the two books out of the library, but didn’t dare pull them out in case Hermione caught sight of them. He was sure she’d recognize on sight that they were rather...dark sources.
Settling down, he started skimming through the book on Time. Most of it was filled with information on the creation of the Time Turner, and how even a minor change while Time-Travelling could split the dimension, branching it off into an alternate universe where choices differ.
The splits were endless - infinite - they looped and bent and twisted in ways that were nearly indecipherable. Travel between dimensions was known to be impossible - although many have tried. It’s rumoured that one sect in the Department of Mysteries was dedicated to their studies on parallel universes - hoping to help perfect their dimension by studying the numerous results certain choices can create - though Head Unspeakable Ruggas Armstrodol insists that no such thing was taking place.
In short - the book was purely theoretical. As Hermione would say - there was little to no logical evidence to back up their claims.
Harry slammed the book shut with a sigh. Finger’s drumming on the cover, he thought back to his conversation with Riddle instead.
Riddle knew now that Harry's memory wasn’t up to par. Which meant that drawing out what exactly their conversation had been about would be that much harder. Alluding to it vaguely in order to catch him slipping was Harry’s initial plan, although maybe it was best that was no longer an option - he was never that good at being discreet.
If Riddle had done something to Harry, then Harry proving that he couldn’t remember was just the thing Riddle could use to harm him further. He’d already succeeded in pulling him away in private once, and then sneaking up to him in the restricted section.
Not to mention he had also been in the library that first time I ran into him, Harry mused, maybe in the restricted section again? What exactly was Riddle looking for there?
Either way, it was safe to assume that Riddle had something up his sleeve: something important regarding that thrice-damned conversation they’d had before his Quidditch match, and was now lording the information over Harry like the twat he was.
What could it possibly be? What is it about this conversation that has Riddle so amused?
And why was he so sure I didn’t have a girlfriend. Harry frowned, why was that what he used to check for certain whether I had my memories or not?
Not to mention both Ron and Hermione had been very sure he didn’t have one either. Even more sure that he wasn’t hiding one from them.
Another pulsing ache rang through his skull, and Harry fought back a groan of pain, finger’s digging into his temple. He had assured everyone that he no longer felt pain from the bludger accident, but he honestly wasn't so sure. Were there side affects from the accident? Even if he was mentally another Harry, he was still in this Harry's body, which meant any lingering pain and aches would remain.
The ache grew; sharper and sharper until it peaked into an agonizing burn - not unlike the ones he’d get from his scar. But this he knew wasn't Voldemort - it felt different. His vision blurred, until he could see nothing but darkness
A flash of a memory: Two kids running down the Hogwarts corridor.
Where was he? Where was his office —
“Over there!” Ron cried, pointing at something. “Gilderoy Lockhart - Defence Against the Dark Arts!”
The two kids burst through the door, “Professor, we know where the troll-!”
Lockhart spun round, the familiar scene of bags half-packed and ready to spill open behind him.
“You’re fleeing?” Harry shouted, after a momentary silence of surprise, “you’re supposed to help with the Troll! Hermione’s in trouble!”
More words, familiar yet not, almost identical to the argument that’d taken place in Harry’s timeline with the Chamber of Secrets. A fight - Lockhart launched for Ron’s wand and with a shout —
“Obliviate!”
Lockhart flew back, body slamming in the shelf behind him. Ron and Harry glanced at each other, and with a nod - Ron grabbing Lockhart’s wand from where it’d fallen on the opposite side of the room - they ran to the girl’s bathroom, determined to save a new friend.
Harry’s eyes shot open. He was panting, as if he’d exerted himself. He was still in his bed; books open as they were last night on top of him, wand clutched in his hand. Had he fallen asleep?
He sat up slowly, listening for the sounds of the others. Their dorm was quiet, despite the rays of light that shone through the curtains he’d sealed so tightly last night. The sun was likely just rising.
Was that a dream? The last thing he could remember was the horrible, painful headache…
Harry got out of bed slowly, being careful to shove the books into his case, in the secret compartment he’d discovered this Harry had hidden his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's map in.
He dressed for the morning as quietly as possible, then slipped out, making way to the sventh floor.
He needed to talk to Death face to face. He needed answers.
Because that did not feel like a dream. What he had seen…it felt too real, too vivid. Familiar yet not.
It felt like…
Like a memory.
A memory that was not his.
***
“Death!”
The figure appeared with a sharp crack! Its face was hooded as always, but Harry could still grasp the creature's amusement. The Room of Requirement had morphed in 12 Grimmauld Place, the familiarity soothing yet odd to see.
“What the fuck was that!” he demanded, “why am I getting memories of this body?”
“I am…unsure.”
What the —
“What the hell? How are you unsure? Isn’t this your job? ”
Death circled around him, flitting from corner to corner of the room, almost as if it were restless.
“You are quite the extraordinary case, Harry James Potter. You have thwarted me not once, not twice — but three times. You have managed to stay pure despite the darkness that festered within your very soul…you have stayed righteous when others might have turned in the treatment they were given from their world.”
The creature inched closer. Its words are a mere whisper in the vast emptiness of the room. Suddenly, Harry felt largely uncomfortable with it's attention.
“A leader and a martyr…a King and a General…You have managed to not only collect all three of my relics, but have coerced them into accepting you as its rightful owner. How many have greeted me with joy for you? How many have leapt into my arms to protect your soul? To keep your livelihood? Not for a title. Nor for a cause…but for you. For your Self and your Nature and what you Are. What you Became…”
The next words were like a wisp in the air.
“You are a rare case indeed…Harry James Potter…”
Chills raked through his body, sending the hair on his neck up. He fought the urge to shudder. To cringe back at the voice dripping with excitement, with fervor and intrigue. Like Harry was something fascinating to pick apart and dissect.
“You said—” his words came out choked, forcing him to clear his throat before speaking again, “you said that I coerced the relics into accepting me as its owner. What does that mean?”
“Do you truly believe that you became Master of Death so easily?”
Well he wouldn’t really call it easy.
“If merely collecting my relics were enough to earn the title, do you not think there would be several Master’s throughout the vast expanse of Being?”
Truthfully, Harry had wondered that. What would happen if someone in his timeline collected his cloak and found the stone? What if they hunted down the one who had killed him as well? Would they become the Master of Death? Would Harry’s soul in this body perish?
“Collecting the Hallows wasn’t the only step to becoming the Master of Death?”
Death let out a laugh - it's a rasping, grating noise; like the screeching of keys on metal. “My Hallows had to have accepted you as their Master,” he confirmed, “the Elder Wand is not the only one that must concede its loyalty; the Ring and Cloak must submit as well.”
“So even though I had collected them all, if the Ring or Cloak hadn’t accepted me as its Master, then I would have — what? Just died?”
“Yes. It was your nature, your soul and the power it possesses that allowed my Hallows to recognize the one worthy.”
Harry’s head spun. Learning that he had become Master of Death was crazy enough, to learn that they had chosen him? That it wasn’t just a mad coincidence where he had managed to somehow collect the Hallows?
It was another matter altogether.
“The memories,” he said slowly, desperate to get back on track. He shoved the information in a box, determined to think back on it another time - when he didn’t need answers. “Will his memories return to me then? Will I…will I start to lose myself in him?”
Death hummed. “No I do not think so. I believe the memories are remnants of the boy’s soul and magic. You may get several more back - you may get none. As I have said, Master, you are quite the rare case.”
Harry sighed, turning without another word, and heading down for breakfast.
Great.
How much of a freak can one be that even Death has no idea what’s going on with you.
***
Harry had been making his way to the Gryffindor table when he’d bumped into a familiar figure.
“Remus!”
Remus Lupin, smiled, his tall, gangly figure in a familiar well-worn linen pants and warm brown cardigan. His face was still scarred as per usual, but the bone-deep wariness that’d always seemed to be present wasn’t there, making his face appear much younger than Harry had ever seen it.
“Harry!” he sounded relieved, “I’d been looking for you this morning - your friends told me you weren’t in your dorms when they’d woken up, and Sirius had been quite frantic since he’d heard of your injury—”
Sirius. Fuck, he’d forgotten to owl him a response.
“Are you alright?” Remus’ voice was sharp, he lifted a hand to brush Harry’s fringe back, his fingers achingly gentle, “to think something this bad had to have happened just when I had to-” he let his words drift off, lips tight.
Harry blinked, trying his best not to feel awkward about Remus’ touch. He couldn’t remember a time when his Remus had ever…caressed his head. The most he’d gotten was from Sirius, or Molly.
“Er—I’m alright,” he said, trying to step back without making it too obvious.
The man frowned, brows pushing together at the action. “Are you sure you’re alright Harry?”
He reached out again, and Harry couldn’t help but cringe slightly. Remus froze, eyes wide. A flicker of hurt flashed by his face.
Fuck. Maybe this Remus was a lot more touchy than his. Otherwise why all the sudden caresses? He was never used to being touched - a reaching hand was usually followed by a blow to the head, or being locked up in the cupboard for days on end without food. He’d somehow gotten used to Sirius and Molly; both loud and boisterous and friendly, open with their love. Hermione and Ron were much more tactile, but even with Ginny he’d found it unfamiliar.
Fuck. He needed to do something before he caused more suspicion.
“Professor!”
A surge of relief coursed through him as he spotted Hermione in the doorway of the Great Hall, Ron close behind her. They both beelined straight to where they lurked in the back end of the hall.
“Harry!” she scolded, “will you please stop disappearing on us? You’ve given me enough heart attacks already!”
Harry shot her a sheepish grin, turning it on Ron who just shook his head, relief evident on his face.
“And what heart attacks are you referring to?” Remus cut in, eyes narrowed.
Hermione shot Harry an apologetic look. “Harry’s injuries have been causing him memory problems—” Remus stiffened at the words as Hermione rushed to finish, “he’s been fine mostly, but still forgets some things here and there.”
A ringing filled the room, cutting off the buzz of students shuffling into the hall. Harry’s vision blurred again; that same agonizing ache blinding him momentarily.
His godfather fidgeted, hands twisting the deep rich cloth of his robe. Harry sat opposite him on the dining table, feeling both bewildered and oddly nervous.
Sirius had dragged him from his room minutes prior, claiming he had an important announcement to make before dropping him into a chair with a bowl of cereal. Given that it's merely been two months since everything had calmed and they finally began living together, he was rightfully quite cautious.
Remus was on the other side of Sirius, he sat ramrod straight; yet his eyes betrayed his nerves. He looked to be in a worse condition than Sirius.
The silence stretched longer as they stared at one another.
Harry took another hesitant spoonful of his cheerios, and coughed. The sound echoing in the vast room. “So-”
“I love Remus!”
A beat. Harry dropped the spoon in his hand. It cluttered to the floor pathetically.
“Er...”
“And he loves me too, obviously,” Sirius continued, “we are in love. With each other. Loving each other. Together.”
Another beat.
“At the same time.”
From down the hall, Harry could hear the faint echoes of a portrait cackling.
“What your Godfather means to say,” Remus said slowly, his hand dropping to cover his partner's, “is that he and I are in a relationship. We’ve been together since our days in Hogwarts, and are very sorry to have kept it from you. We just thought…with the scrutiny from the press we already received for what they presumed was a mere friendship, we didn’t wish to risk it. And now that everything has settled we thought…”
Sirius slipped his hand out from under Remus’ and held it up. A small, yet elegant band sat on his left ring finger.
Harry’s jaw dropped.
They exchanged a glance, appearing to have a silent conversation. “And…” Remus continued, seemingly ready to drop all the bombs at once, “and we hope that with this next step, we could adopt you together…as a family.”
Harry blinked, lost for words. Sirius gripped onto Remus’ hand, tight enough that he could see how it whitened with the pressure.
“Har-”
“That’s your big secret?” he scoffed, relief flooding through him and making his voice pitch high, he let out a laugh. “I knew that already!”
His godparents exchanged a look of surprise.
“You knew?” Sirius demanded, “how? When? I thought…”
“Ages,” Harry laughed, “you guys are not discreet. I walked in on you together so many times.”
“So you don’t mind?” Sirius said quickly, “I’m aware that in the Muggle world it’s frowned upon but here in the Magical World it’s not uncommon—”
“Of course not!”
They both visibly sank into their seats, gripping each other’s hand. It made Harry want to laugh again.
“You really want to adopt me?” He asked, when their huffs of relief settled.
It was Remus that spoke, voice gentler than ever.
“Lily and James are your parents,” he said, reaching forward to tuck a curl back, “we would understand if you’d rather live as our ward instead but…even though we haven’t been able to spend much time together you have been ours since we first laid eyes upon you at eleven. Adopting you as our child would be our greatest joy. If — if you would allow it.”
Their child.
He had never known his parents. Had never felt the connection to them besides the aching longing he felt growing up, or listening to stories. He had always yearned for them - but yearned more for what they represented.
Family.
Harry jumped up, and leapt into their arms, a feeling of joy — so bright and flaming he felt as if he’d burn with happiness — rose within him. He was gangly and tall at fourteen, yet they held him as if he were still a child.
“I would love it!”
Remus grabbed Harry’s shoulder, and a jolt of electricity shot through him - tearing him from the memory and back to himself.
“Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey at once,” he said firmly, “we need to get a thorough check up done - and I’d like to give her a reminder that guardians must be informed when their child has been injured to this extent. And to think that neither Sirius nor I have received a single word! Granted it was the full moon but even so-”
Harry half listened, his mind racing at the memory that’d just returned.
Sirius and Remus - he turned to eye his professor - Sirius and Remus? He would have never guessed. Definitely not in his timeline. Remus had Tonks, and Sirius had always seemed too…
Unstable.
Not that I would know, he thought, I was barely with Sirius for the two years we had together. And Remus had only gotten with Tonks after Sirius had died…
He turned back to his supposed guardian.
Sirius and Remus???
Merlin.
A low, rasping chuckle sounded in his head, and it took every ounce of willpower to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the creature’s amusement.
“I’m okay,” Harry said, fighting to keep focus, a few students glanced at them on their way to the table. “I spoke to her already,” he lied again, “she said that they’ll begin to return slowly, and to give it some time.”
Was it a lie though? Since I technically was getting some of my memories back…
Remus shot him a look of doubt, so Harry rushed to continue, “Like right now! I was blanking because the memory of the day you and Sirius asked to adopt me just resurfaced.”
The gaze didn’t gentle, so Harry threw out casually, “I never did get to finish those cheerios.”
At that, Remus’ eyes softened, suspicion gone, and he gripped Harry’s arm. The Hall was rapidly filling with students, and they were gaining more and more attention. Ron nudged Hermione, and they both exchanged a glance before heading off to join their house at the table.
“I'll keep an eye on you,” Remus said at last, “owl Sirius and let him know how you're doing as well. He was worried sick when we heard. The only thing that kept him from storming down was the reminder of Dumbledore’s reaction to the last time.”
“I will.” Harry promised.
His godfather gave him a long, searching gaze, before tugging him into a hug.
“I’m glad you’re okay, son,” he said quietly, before pulling back with a smile, “now go eat with your classmates. I’ll see you in class.”
Dodged a stunner there.
Harry forced himself to eat breakfast, aware of Remus’ gaze locked onto him, watching his every move. He had to make sure his godparents were convinced he was alright, otherwise the scrutiny could very well lead to his discovery.
“Are you excited, Harry?” Neville asked, leaning forward from across the table, with a small grin.
“Er—about?”
“Duel club,” Neville continued excitedly, “I can’t believe it’s finally happening!”
Harry turned to Hermione incredulously, “The what?”
“Duel Club,” she explained, placing her finger on the line of the book she was reading as she looked up, “Professor Lupin and Professor Dumbledore had several staff meetings about it. The discussion has been going on for weeks about whether they should allow it to re-open after the incident in second year.”
“Oh.” Harry glanced at Ron, then at Neville. The former merely shrugged, stuffing his face with eggs, while Neville grinned.
“Are we joining, then?”
Hermione nodded, a small smile on her face. “The lot of you signed us up as soon as it was announced. I don’t mind - it seems like it would be very educational. Not to mention we’re bound to learn some advanced spells seeing as sixth and seventh years are paired together.”
A small surge of excitement surged in him.
Duel club. Although the one and only time he’d been in one was in his second year - and wasn’t that just a joyful memory - he couldn’t help but be reminded of the DA. He was sure with Remus teaching, it would be even better than their meetings had been.
***
Hours later the four Gryffindors lingered in front of the Great Hall, the excited chatter from the other students seeping into them as well. Even Hermione bounced with restless energy.
“Ronnie!” A pair of familiar red-heads approached them. Standing out amongst the crowd with their tall, gangly height and bright flaming hair.
Harry had forgotten that the twins were only a year older than Ron in this timeline, and were still at Hogwarts. It was nice seeing them together again - the few years he’d seen George after the war, the man had seemed hollow. Although lately he’d been getting better, there was still an echo of despair that followed him everywhere.
“Alright there, you lot?” Fred asked, slinging an arm over Harry’s shoulder in a painfully familiar way.
George grinned, slinging his arm around Harry’s as well. “Our ickle sixth years, joining the grown-ups for some dueling! How does it feel being among real wizards?”
“Sod off,” Harry laughed, trying to squirm out from under their hold.
Any hints of amusement faded, however, when he realized just who stood across from them.
“Fuck,” he hissed, catching sight of Riddle, who was unsurprisingly surrounded by a group of Slytherins, all utterly pathetic as they were vying for his attention - though he looked as bored and uninterested as always.
As if sensing his gaze, Riddle’s eyes glided over to him. The deep maroon glow of them brightened minutely as the Head Boy studied him, before they bounced away dismissively.
Something hot burned low in his gut. First Riddle stalked him, and now he just … looked away? As if Harry were nothing else but a pathetic, crooning loser straining for a second of his attention.
Hermione and Ron seemed deep in a conversation, which was why it was only the twin’s that noticed. They shared another grin, one underlying with something Harry didn’t get, before crooning out an very old, very off-tone, love ballad.
What the fuck? Merlin, they almost seemed weirder than his Fred and George were.
Harry shrugged them off and headed in when the doors opened, fists clenched to his sides.
Fine, let Riddle just ignore him. It was better this way anyways. Without the attention, looking into how Other Harry had died was much easier. He could focus on the duel club without having a pair of sodden eyes boring into the back of his head.
Remus stood at the front of the room, head bowed over some parchment. He looked up as soon as Harry walked in, eyes scanning over him as if he’d somehow gotten injured in the few hours they’d been apart.
Harry held up his hands, as if to say 'look, I’m perfectly fine' to which Remus just smiled and shook his head at. He turned to follow his friends over to the right side of the room, where most of the Gryffindors idled, and found a figure blocking his way.
“Er...”
The boy raised his brow, obviously waiting for something. When Harry glanced around the room, confused, he merely watched him.
“Theodore Nott,” he said finally, holding out a hand. His hair was dark and curly like Harry’s, with thick set of brows set over equally as dark eyes that held the same blank look Harry had only ever seen in Riddle before. He remembered him vaguely from his timeline; a tall, gangly Slytherin he doesn’t remember ever having a single conversation with.
“Harry Potter,” he accepted, trying hard not to flinch at how cold the other boy’s hand was.
“I know,” the boy said, as if that were obvious, “you may call me Theo, if you like. You often did.”
Theodore Nott? Where had he —
Oh holy fucking shit balls.
Theodore Nott. As in the creepy Slytherin. As in the Slytherin Harry had apparently had an on and off tumble with.
Harry’s jaw dropped. “You’re—!”
Nott hadn’t let go of his hand yet. He seemed amused, the corner of his lips lifting just a fraction.
“Ah, yes I’ve heard about your little memory problem since the accident. Yet it seems that some things are coming back?”
Harry continued staring, floored. He wasn’t sure how to react around this new drop of information. Luckily, the universe seemed to be on his side, because the last bit of students trickled in, and Remus called for attention.
Theo sent him one last, lingering smirk. He lifted Harry’s hand to his lips before finally dropping it to swagger over to other Slytherins. Harry noted Malfoy scowling at them, mouth opening as soon as Theo approached - no doubt to sneer something about how they shouldn’t lower themselves and mingle with Gryffindors - though Theo ignored him, choosing to settle against the wall instead.
Shite, Harry thought, I guess I can see why this Harry had been all over that. Creepy Slytherin or not, Merlin he’s fit.
***
Remus was in his element.
It wasn’t hard to see just how much the man thrived in teaching, and how much everyone - Slytherin’s included - gave him their undivided attention, even with a scowling Snape looming in the corner.
Harry felt a surge of pride, an odd feeling to have towards his professor, but he couldn’t help it; Remus in this world felt young, felt his own age. He didn’t seem to hold the weight of the world like his Remus did. He stood straighter, taller than before — like he was finally aware that being a werewolf didn’t diminish his worth in any way. Tonks had been helping him realize that little by little before the war. Harry wondered if being less separated from Sirius in this timeline was what appeared to make a world's difference.
“For our first meeting,” Remus continued, snapping Harry out of his daze, “I’d like to show an example on what we’d like to achieve during our time here, before we begin with our lessons and practices,” he circled the room, making sure to make eye contact with every student, “I’d like for two students to come up. They will duel to the best of their ability, and then we will analyze what’s happened after it’s done.”
Excited muttering broke out across the room, students shifting restlessly where they stood, reminding Harry distinctly of his second year. Then, they had little DADA knowledge and just pure excitement. Now, with the club being restricted for only sixth years and above, it felt more real.
“Do we have any volunteers for the task?” Remus said, smiling at the crowd. There were about sixty students in the hall, and more than half of their hands shot up.
“If I may,” Snape said from where he loomed, “I believe a student from my house may be the wisest and most competent choice if you wish to set an example while…avoiding any accidents.” he said the last part with a pointed look in Harry and his friends’ direction. Beside him, Neville shrunk, shoulders hunching.
Remus frowned at the obvious slight, but appeared to decide to let it go. “I believe you’re referring to Mr. Riddle?”
More hushed whispers broke out amongst the room, followed by an occasional giggle at the mention of Tom Riddle. Harry grit his teeth, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.
Stupid Head Boy with his stupid perfect hair and stupid perfect grades.
I sense a bit of jealousy, Master.
Jealousy my arse. I’m just shocked no one’s seen through his facade yet — I mean he’s clearly evil!
Ah yes, Head Boy with a perfect, clean record. How the Aurors tremble in their seats.
Oh shut up, you overgrown dementor.
Harry slammed his shields up, cutting off the creature's snarl of outrage at the comparison.
He glanced up and froze.
Everyone was looking at him.
“Harry?” Remus said, sounding as if he were repeating himself, “is that alright with you?”
“Er—” he glanced at Hermione and Ron, the former giving him an encouraging smile while the latter stared back with wide eyes.
“Yes?” he settled on.
“Excellent! We’ll just have the two of you come up then, and we can begin.”
Harry blinked, rooted in his spot until Hermione nudged him forward. Riddle stood at the elevated platform, the picture of confidence as he toyed with his wand idly. When their gazes met, he raised a brow, as if to say, “well?”
He was bored, Harry realized, he clearly felt as if he’d already won.
Well, Harry seethed, that same familiar rush of rage settling throughout his body, we’ll see about that.
He clenched his fists, and practically stormed towards the bastard, letting himself retract into that battle-worn, Auror’s mind. He didn’t care that Riddle was stupidly powerful, or that he had straight E’s, Harry was going to beat the fuck out of him and his smug, stupid face.
Harry felt reminded once again of his second year as they stood facing one another. Snape stood behind Riddle, at the opposite end as Remus, who stood behind Harry.
Harry sent a glare in Riddle’s direction, and it was returned by the slight quirk of Riddle’s lips, as if Harry amused him.
“Now remember,” Remus said, “no maiming, no dark magic, keep it clean.”
“Of course professor,” Riddle smiled, that same dead, fake smile.
Harry muttered his agreement half-heartedly.
“Ready, Harry?” Riddle said, lowering himself ever so slightly in a mockery of a bow.
Harry didn’t bother to bow at all.
“Ready when you are, Riddle.”
He barely had time to blink before the first spell was shot off at him.
***
It was exhilarating.
Everything else faded. Harry could longer hear the chatter of the students, could no longer feel the chill of the hall, or the sneers from the other Slytherins.
Everything else was gone. All Harry could see was Riddle, and all he could feel was the pump of adrenaline through his body as he launched himself into the battle.
Spell after spell came, and Harry deflected. He threw himself down to dodge an Incarcerous, then came to a roll and stood up again, retaliating with a Conjunctivitis, which Riddle deflected with a flick of his fingers.
Soon, Harry barely had the energy to speak, and the duel immediately turned non-verbal. He felt a glimmer of satisfaction when Riddle’s brows shot up at the realization that Harry was equally as good at non-verbal spells.
Those eyes narrowed, and Harry barely threw up a shield in time to block himself as a part of the platform blew apart with his Confringo.
Was he insane? Did he not hear that they were supposed to keep it simple?
Of course not. Riddle had never cared about harming others. Why would he begin now?
Harry felt as if he were on fire. His rage was burning, engulfing him entirely as it rose at the thought. At the memory of this same face nearly ten years ago in the Chamber of Secrets — standing over Ginny’s body with that same look on his face, and Harry’s wand held idly in his hands. The same look, the same pose he held merely minutes prior to the start of their duel.
Harry felt his magic gather, felt it fill his body. He tightened his grip on his wand, and with a snarl that sounded as if it came out of someone else, he shouted, “Expelliarmus!”
Riddle’s spell was non-verbal, yet a bolt of greenish-yellow shot out to meet his red.
It was the same as always.
Their spells collided with one another, meeting head on as their spells touched — as the brother wands connected with one another for the first time.
A phoenix call sounded out in the distance, and the beam of color turned gold.
It was the shock that’d done it.
Harry was prepared, yet Riddle was unaware of what was happening. His eyes were wide on his face, mouth comically gaped open at the scene. Harry saw the exact moment his grip loosened ever so slightly on his wand, and pushed.
Riddle’s wand flew out his hand, and with a seeker’s skill, Harry caught it.
The hall fell silent.
Not a single sound could be heard. Harry didn’t even bother to glance at their audience. Instead he made sure to meet Riddle’s eyes, and sent him that smug, condescending smirk back.
It was the look in Riddle’s eyes that quickly drowned the satisfaction, replacing it with a looming, sickening sense of unease.
The look in Riddle's eyes wasn’t what he’d been anticipating.
It wasn’t the forced indifference, nor the murderous rage at being bettered that Harry only knew all too well.
No — it was not anger in those eyes.
It was fascination.
Bright red-brown and practically screaming with it. Riddle looked fascinated. His eyes were alight with a sort of hunger Harry didn’t dare decipher, and they roamed his form, before shooting up and settling on his eyes once more.
Oh fuck, Harry thought as he tried to tear his gaze away and failed, oh fuck, fuck, fuck. What have I done?
If he wanted to lose Riddle’s attention, if he wanted Riddle to ignore him and leave him be, he most definitely failed now.
Because Harry could recognize the glint in his eyes. Could recognize the beginnings of the same slight hysteria that had been directed at him for years before, different yet the same in its fervor. Again and again, every time they’d faced one another, every time Voldemort discovered another piece that connected them — discovered just how their fates were so intimately entwined.
Harry could see it now, so obvious even in the dimly lit hall.
The damning threads of obsession.