Chapter 4
The aftermath of their duel was, thankfully, not as bad as Harry had dreaded.
Remus had sent him a look mixed between pride and suspicion. He had clearly been happy about Harry’s win, yet there was no doubt the threads of confusion at just how Harry seemed to suddenly develop his skills in dueling overnight.
Hermione had stared at him with the same look of pride and confusion, as if she too were torn between being happy and suspicious. Neville had gapped, and Ron clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him.
Throughout it all, Harry felt the back of his head burn, painfully aware of two pairs of eyes watching his every move, every breath. He pointedly ignored them, trying to focus on settling his magic again. It was agitated, twisting and burning in his gut as the last ebbs of adrenaline lingered.
Finally, an hour later when the meeting had come to an end, Harry managed to spit out a lame excuse, and practically ran out the hall before his friends. Riddle’s attention he could handle, as annoying as it was, he had been subjected to the single-focused obsession from a variation of him before, and was unfortunately well-versed in learning how to ignore it.
Yet now, Theodore Nott was another problem. The boy’s eyes had gone from subtle yet sensual to actual interest . Both Slytherin’s had kept their focus on him the remaining hour, and Harry had to fight the urge to glance their ways the entire time. Hermione and Ron whispered next to him, their eyes darting between Harry and the Slytherins. He knew they were equally as confused, and were waiting to pounce with questions the second they had a moment alone.
Harry thought he had managed to outrun everyone, yet found himself slamming into someone as he turned a sharp corner.
Hands gripped him around his waist, halting his fall. He squirmed out of its hold, glowering at the boy before him.
“Nott,” he said, partially relieved it wasn’t the other dreaded person.
“Harry,” the boy drawled. He reached forward to wrap a stray curl round his finger, before tucking it back. “I was hoping to run into you.”
No shit, seeing as you’d somehow tracked me down.
“Did you now?”
Nott smirked, his finger trailing down the side of his face to the nape of his robes, where his tie was askew.
“Er—”
“I was wondering if you’d like to meet tonight,” Nott said, “I understand it's been some time since our last . . . meeting, yet as I said several times before, I do wish to rekindle what we had.”
What they had? Were they not just occasional partners?
“You mean one night stands?” Harry said slowly, “I thought we’d stopped months ago.”
“We took a break,” Nott agreed, “as per your request, actually. Something about it not feeling right… Yet it seems whatever inhibitions were holding you back no longer appear applicable.”
Merlin, did everyone in this bloody snake house speak like this? Why did no one just say what they meant?
“I beg to differ.”
Harry’s head snapped up, and he whirled around.
Riddle stepped forward, a small, cordial smile on his face that did nothing to hide the irritation in his eyes. Those same eyes that zeroed in on where Nott still held onto Harry’s collar.
“Riddle,” Nott said, his grip tightening a fraction before he let go. His hand, however, slid down Harry’s arm to rest proprietarily on his hip. Harry debated shaking him off, before knew it would do nothing but prompt the boy to get bolder.
“Theodore,” Riddle greeted, his gaze had trailed with the touch, and landed on Harry’s hip as well. He felt as if the skin of it would burn with the sensations.
Merlin, he wasn’t suddenly some doe-eyed romance novel heroine everyone and their brother obsessed over. What the hell was going on in this world? Why was he suddenly Slytherin fodder?
If Malfoy throws his hat in too, Harry thinks, slightly hysterical, I’ll be officially offing myself.
“Harry and I were just discussing the details of our next date,” Nott continued.
“Who the bloody hell said anything about a date?” Harry snapped, trying to step away but getting reeled back into Nott’s side.
Riddle’s smile tightened, “That’s quite interesting to hear,” he said, taking a step forward, “last I heard any relations between Harry and yourself were well over.”
If only I could apparate away. Screw Hogwarts and their wards.
“Well, as I told Harry, we were temporarily taking a break due to . . . other obstacles. Ones that no longer appear relevant.” Nott sent Riddle a knowing look, one with meaning that was lost on Harry.
Can you somehow get me out of this? Harry’s eyes darted to the corner, where Death loomed gleefully.
Of course, Master. Which of them shall I kill for you? Or shall it be both?
Harry’s eyes shot to the figure and widened.
What the—who the bloody hell said anything about killing them?
I would presume that was your request. As the Master of Death, I am but your humble disciple, your will and desire are to be taken as my utmost highest decree of order.
Merlin and Morgana’s left bloody tit, never mind then. I’ll figure it out myself.
Very well then, Master. I hold nothing but the highest degree of faith in you.
Sarcastic git. Harry scowled, somehow knowing the under the cloak the figure was grinning.
The sudden silence drew Harry’s attention back to the two feuding Slytherin’s, who both watched him — one with the same, irritating interest, and the other with mild amusement.
“Er—” Harry blinked slowly, trying to think of a way to get out of the situation before rolling his eyes and abandoning all reason. Hey, he wasn’t called a reckless bastard by every other person he’d ever met for nothing, might as well live with it.
His elbow shot back and slammed into an unsuspecting Nott who released his death grip to whirl back, breathless. Harry didn’t bother glancing back at Riddle before shooting down the hall and out of sight. “Gotta go, bye!”
***
Safe back in the Gryffindor common room, Harry fell back into an armchair, ready to relax when the portrait door slammed open and Hermione and Ron spilled in.
“Harry!”
Oh sweet Merlin.
Harry lifted a lazy hand, grunting a greeting. He was worn out from the duel earlier, not to mention running across the bloody castle trying to avoid not only the two pain-in-the-ass Slytherin’s, but his curious and slightly suspicious guardian slash pseudo father.
Hermione appeared ready to open her mouth and barrage him, but one look from Ron had her snapping it shut instead. Harry felt relieved, happy that his best mate knew when to let him be, even if Hermione needed some reminding from time to time.
They both headed up to their dorms instead, before coming back down to settle into seats next to him, pulling out parchment paper as they began on their night’s homework. Ron passed Harry a stack of textbooks and parchment - grabbing it from Harry’s trunk, and Harry shot him a thankful smile.
“You were incredible,” Hermione said, after they made some headway on their potion’s essay and finally reached the topic of today’s dueling club, “I knew you were skilled in DADA, but wow, I never knew just how well!”
There was an underlying hint of envy in her tone, one that came purely due to her love for academic excellence and nothing more. It’d taken the war for Hermione to mellow down and ease up on herself. He hoped they could help her achieve appreciation for herself without it.
Harry shrugged. “Er, yeah I’ve been practicing myself when I get some time…” he racked his brain, “that’s where I’ve been going, you know. Just for some time alone. I didn’t realize how into it I would get when the duel with Riddle started.”
“Well you were great,” Hermione assured him, looking up from her parchment with a soft smile, “Professor Lupin was very proud.”
“Yeah mate,” Ron grunted, “you should have seen the look on his face. He was looking for you afterward, actually. Was asking where you ran off to.”
Harry rifled through his parchment, trying to stall on his answer. From their pile, he grabbed a textbook at random, and frowned when a folded piece of parchment fell out. Brows pulled together, Harry opened it, and blinked.
Staring back at him were a pair of very familiar eyes. Even without it’s exact colour, the shape and slant of it - with the rich brows perched on top made it quite easy to decipher exactly who it was.
Holy—
It was a drawing of Riddle. Of Riddle’s eyes to be specific. They were drawn with such detail, there was no doubt that whosoever this was paid deep attention to those eyes.
Written under the drawing, were the letters: H.J + T.M.R
The last letter of the first three initials was smudged, by water or liquid of some kind. The last three - T.M.R were easy to decode: Tom Marvalo Riddle.
H.J…Harry frowned harder. H.J…was that…a G?
His eyes shot open with shock.
Hermione…Jean…Granger?
He snapped his gaze to his friend, who sat unaware at his utter shock. She was hunched in her seat, wild curls pulled into a sensible bun as she gnawed on her lip in thought.
“Hermione,” he cried.
She jerked, the ink bottle next to her falling onto her lap. She cried in outrage, and turned to glare at him. “Harry! What are—”
Her eyes caught sight of the parchment in his eyes, and she stopped midway, mouth dropping open in surprise.
“Oh…”
“What?” Ron demanded, craning his neck around to chance a glance at the parchment. He snorted when he caught sight of it. “Well I guess the cats out of the bag on that, eh?”
“What the hell Hermione!” Harry felt his heart race in his chest. An odd swirl of emotion lay low in his gut. He felt almost hysterical in its wake. Hermione and Riddle? Hermione and Riddle? His sweet, compassionate, genius friend Hermione fancied the evil dark Lord Voldemort?
“Well…” Hermione said slowly, glancing at Ron.
“You fancy Riddle?” Harry cried, shaking the parchment. Suddenly, he felt sick.
Hermione’s mouth snapped shut. She frowned. “What Harry…no.”
“Don’t lie!” he said, “H.J.G? Hermione Jean Granger!”
His friends glanced at one another and another thought came to mind, “What about Ron!”
Ron let out a sound of surprise behind him, spluttering in shock, as Hermione flushed deeply.
“Harry!” Hermione shouted finally, shocking him into silence, “seriously! Don’t be ridiculous!”
She snatched the paper from his hands, slamming it onto the table before tapping on to the letters. “That is a P. As in H.J.P! As in—”
“Harry James Potter.” Ron finished with a grin.
For a moment everything went silent.
Then every bottle of ink in the common room shattered.
***
“Merlin’s sake!” Hermione sighed.
After Harry’s little — er, freak out — chaos had ensued in the common room. Ink was splattered across the walls and couches, and on nearly every innocent student that had been unlucky enough to be there at the time.
Hermione and Ron had shot up, and in between Harry’s profusely apologies, collected their things as Harry worked on righting the mess. Thankfully, as an Auror he knew more than a few spells for cleaning, and managed to get rid of any ink stains on both the parchment and the walls before McGonagall would come.
After being unofficially banished from the room, they made their way to the dorms, where Harry curled in a fetal position on his bed and contemplated dying.
“There’s no way,” he said hollowly, “there is no way I actually…”
Merlin, he couldn't even say the words out loud.
Hermione appeared too absorbed in her essay to bother looking up.
“You do Harry,” she said, “or you did I guess, if those feelings are no longer present. It was a pretty big crush, big enough that most of the student body are aware.”
Most of the—
Harry slowly got up, very much aware of his friend’s unimpressed gazes as he slammed his head very purposefully into the wall.
He got two slams in before a thought occurred to him.
“Does Riddle…?”
Both his friends grimaced, before nodding.
Harry turned back, and continued slamming his head into the wall.
“Oh.”
Neville stood in the doorway, books in hand and a brow raised. He very deliberately step-sided Harry on his way to his bed. “Er…is Harry alright?”
“Nah.” Ron said, not bothering to elaborate.
Harry let out another horrified groan and slammed his head harder into the wall.
“...alright then.” Neville shrugged and grabbed his things, joining them with his homework.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Hermione finally snapped, when Harry accidentally hit his head too hard and knocked something off the nightstand nearby, “Harry don’t be dramatic. So you fancy Riddle, how is that the end of the world?”
“Ah,” Neville said slowly, “he remembers?”
“Saw an old parchment of him doodling Riddle like one of his french girls.” Ron sniggered.
Harry turned sharply. “First of all — how do you even know that saying? Second of all I did not doodle him like one of — whatever. I respectfully illustrated his eyes.” Or well, another version of him did. Another very stupid, out of his mind Harry who clearly has horrible taste in men.
“I mean Riddle?” Harry said, slumping onto the floor, “of all the boys Riddle?”
“Step up from the Creepy Slytherin if I do say so myself.” Ron assured him.
“I mean he’s evil. Like pure evil. Like dominate the world because he’s racist evil.”
Now all his friends were staring.
“Riddle is not evil, Harry.” Hermione said, and it was a testament to how thrown she was that her voice now gentled.
Of course he wasn’t. Because he was a sly, sneaky, conspicuous, bastard.
Don’t those all mean the same thing, essentially?
Shut it, you overgrown bat.
“That’s what he wants you to think.” Harry muttered.
Thinking back to it, it now made sense why Riddle was so damn smug around him. Obviously it couldn’t just be the fact that Harry was a new toy to play with, freshly surviving the (likely) assassination attempt from the Head Boy with nothing but lost memories. It was the fact that Harry — now with nothing but pure hatred for Riddle — was such a stark difference to the Harry that’d apparently had been very obviously crushing on him.
So obvious, that everyone — from his bloody friends to the other Slytheris to Tom Fucking Riddle himself — was aware of his feelings.
Harry let out another loud shout of despair and slumped onto the floor once more.
Hermione reached out, not bothering to look up from her parchment, and gave him a half-heartedly soothing pat on the head.
***
Harry had come up with a new game plan.
- Avoid Tom Riddle.
- Avoid Theodore Nott
- Find out who killed Other Harry (might be hard to do if related to 1???)
- Try not to Avada yourself out of despair.
Harry felt his list was rather concise and well thought out, even with the slight obstacle that 1 may provide for 3.
4 however, was looking rather impossible.
One thing that Harry was so utterly appreciative of, was that in both worlds, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were the best things to happen to him.
Both, although very obviously thought Harry was out of his mind and being much too dramatic about something that seemed minuscule, agreed to help him avoid both 1 and 2 of his list.
Neville Longbottom, whom Harry had only ever gotten really close to after the War in his world, was a much closer friend to this Harry, and agreed to help keep an eye out as well. He seemed more amused by the situation, as was Ron, while Hermione was prone to eye rolls and little huffs at the antics.
Harry didn’t care how he looked. He was going to avoid getting stuck in another situation with the two Slytherin’s like his life depended on it.
***
In hindsight, Harry should have realized that the universe — every universe — harboured a deep hatred for his peace of mind.
Harry shifted his weight, glancing fleetingly to his left where Riddle sat leisurely, posture perfect and eyes fixed on the front.
Sitting on the neighboring table on his right was Theodore Nott, who was much more obvious in his blatant stares at Harry.
It had only been days earlier that Harry had his New Game Plan, written out and ready to be followed religiously, when he got an owl from Dumbledore asking to speak to him.
Not even an hour later, Harry found himself in the Headmaster’s office, along with Professor McGonagall and Remus — a proud glean in both their eyes. Dumbledore informed Harry that after careful thought and long discussions, the professors agreed that Harry may be excelled to seventh year Defence Against the Dark Arts classes.
Granted it would require sitting an exam to ensure Harry would be able to catch up in his studies. However, if Harry were to pass the exam, he would be able to jump a year and participate in the seventh year’s DADA class, since it would be closer to his academic level.
Harry had been shocked, to say the least. He had never heard of a student being allowed to skip a year in a course in Hogwarts — not in over a hundred years! Remus informed him proudly afterwards, in the comfort of his office hours later — and would never have thought he would be someone chosen to do so.
A part of him winced at the thought that he was actually cheating, seeing as he was — in all intents and purposes — actually 21 years old both magically and mentally.
A part of him wanted to refuse the offer, content to stay in class with his friends and well below the radar for once. Yet after much pestering from both Remus and Hermione, he finally gave in and took the exam, well expecting to fail it.
Instead, he now found himself in the seventh year’s Defence Against the Dark Arts class, where Riddle had entered the room and swiftly claimed the seat next to Harry with a smug smirk, as if he somehow knew this was going to happen.
Nott, with little to no hesitation, took a seat on his right, with a confused, brown-haired Gryffindor next to him.
Harry tensed further in his seat.
He hasn’t seen Riddle face to face since discovering Other Harry’s feelings for the Head Boy. Even now, he refused so much as to look at Riddle since he had taken his seat, which was thankfully mere moments before Remus started his lesson.
Thank Merlin for that, because he was sure the second they made eye contact, he would start inexplicably screaming.
Harry’s leg bounced as he counted the minutes. Lessons were an hour and a half, which meant there was roughly ten minutes left until their lesson was over. Moving at a snail’s pace so as to not be caught, Harry began packing up his things, having every intention of running out the door the second he could.
Such cowardly behavior, Death’s voice crooned. It was a testament to how often it happened that Harry no longer started when it spoke. Where is the legendary Gryffindor bravery?
Up your arse, Harry scowled, right next to the last bit of my sanity.
It's only response was a deep, echoing chuckle.
A part of him felt ashamed at how right the creature was. Since when did Harry run from his problems? Throughout his own Hogwart years, Harry had only ever run straight at anything, recklessly and with abandon.
It must be old age, he decided, being twenty-one and being seventeen are practically a millennia of difference.
Although a part of him knew the reason he ran wasn’t being he was afraid per say. If Riddle had been threatening him with bodily harm, he probably would have retaliated as he always did. Threats to his life were something he was quite used to.
What he wasn’t used to, though, was the. . . charm.
The full force of Tom Marvolo Riddle’s legendary charm was something Harry had only heard of in passing. When he’d caught glimpses of it through the diary horcrux, or through the pensieves with Dumbledore.
But to be on the full receiving end of that attention? Merlin, no wonder this Harry had folded so hard.
A hand clamped onto Harry’s thigh, stilling his leg. His head shot up, and he barely avoided wincing at the crick in his neck. He glared at Riddle.
“Get your hand off my thigh,” he hissed angrily. He tried to pry it off, but to no avail.
Christ was there a sticking charm on him or something? How is he so bloody strong?
Riddle didn’t bother turning his head. His grip did, however, tighten.
“Riddle,” Harry grit out, leaning closer to avoid being heard, “let go of me.”
“Mr Potter, is something the matter?”
Harry’s face immediately flushed, as the full weight of the class’s attention landed on them. He looked at Remus, who watched him with a raised brow and a small, almost indecipherable look of mischief in his eyes.
Right. If everyone and their bloody mom knew about his supposed crush on Riddle, he had no doubt his guardians did as well.
Fuck. Once a marauder, always a marauder. There is no way Remus’ going to let this slide.
“No, Professor,” Harry said, trying his best to keep his irritation from his voice, “sorry about that.”
Remus sent him another knowing look before turning back to the board, where he continued outlining out this night’s reading and assignment.
Harry immediately turned back to glare at Riddle, irritatingly aware that Nott’s narrowed gaze continued to burn into them both. “Riddle I swear to god—”
“Yes, Harry?” Riddle purred, “is something the matter?”
“You bloody well know what’s the matter,” he snapped, “why the hell is your hand on my thigh?”
Riddle’s hand squeezed once more and Harry’s hand shot out to grip it.
“I was simply trying to help rid you of the ungodly habit.”
“..What?”
Riddle’s stupid, perfect brow rose, lips twitching with amusement. Harry wished he could sock the amusement out of him. “Your leg shaking,” he continued lowly, “quite a ghastly habit of nerves. Tell me Harry, is there a reason you’re nervous?”
“Nervous?” Harry hissed, “the only bloody thing I am is annoyed at you and your inability to respect my personal space.”
A look of surprise and false innocence came over his handsome face. “My inability to respect personal space? Why Harry, you’re the one leaning closer to me.”
Harry blinked, coming out of whatever trance he was in and glanced down.
He hadn’t even realized when he’d slid across the bench into Riddle’s face in his anger. He could feel the brush of Riddle’s breath as he exhaled, could see how Riddle’s eyes darkened, falling briefly to Harry’s lips before shooting back up to his eyes. Riddle’s hand was still on his thigh, and Harry tried hard not to notice just how big Riddle’s hands were. How despite his perfect appearance, it was calloused and rough against the silk of his robes, and though Harry was by no means the same frighteningly skinny boy he once was, it still encompassed nearly the entire width of it.
Merlin was any part of this boy done in halves? Or had Mother Magic been only too glad to bless him with generosity in exchange for his shitty childhood.
“That’ll be all for today,” Remus’ voice rang out, startling him out of his thoughts. Harry shot back on the bench, breaking their eye contact and silently cursing himself for getting caught up in Riddle’s game.
“Harry,” Remus’ voice called, “please stay back after class, I’d like to talk to you.”
Balls, he hoped Remus would let it slide.
Harry slumped back into this seat with a nod, letting his bag drop back onto the bench. He pointedly ignored both the Slytherin’s gazes, and waved off the twins, who snickered as they walked by.
“Sorry about the interruption, Remus,” Harry sighed, “won’t happen again.”
“I sure hope not,” Remus said, with no small hint of amusement in his voice, “although that isn’t why I asked you to stay back.”
Harry circled the room, and hopped onto a desk in front of Remus’, getting comfortable. “Oh? Then did you want to have dinner toget--”
“Harry!” The door connecting Remus’ office to his quarters slammed open, and it took every last bit of control to stop himself from jumping out with his wand at the sound.
Sirius Black jumped into the classroom, crossing it into two long strides before grabbing his godson into a embrace tight enough to hurt.
Harry barely managed out a wheeze at getting his breath knocked out of him before Sirius immediately reared back, hands gripping his shoulder’s not unlike Remus had days ago. His eyes, wide with worry danced over his body.
“Are you alright? How could you not respond to any of my letters? If the fucking Ministry wasn’t in shambles I would have been here sooner. That damn fucking beater,” he growled, suddenly, cutting Harry off when he opened he mouth to respond, “I swear to Mother Magic I will storm down old Dumby’s office and make sure that snake gets got—”
“Sirius!” Harry cut in with a laugh, “I swear I’m fine! It was just a few days of confusion but I’m back to normal, really.”
Well mostly. Harry had been gaining more memories of this Harry's life, most small miniscule details, ones that felt so much like his own life it was somehow more jarring than if it hadn’t been.. He was learning quickly of the differences between his old world’s adventures and these ones.
“And you can’t punish a beater for hitting a bludger,” he continued, “it’s like fining a seeker for catching the snitch”
Sirius let out a slow breath, shoulders relaxing just a fraction at the words. Then, in typical Sirius fashion, let out a louder, much more exaggerated sigh before falling back into his husband’s arms. “Our son is so grown,” he groaned, “so mature and reasonable.”
“What a nightmare,” Remus said teasingly, “looks like we did a horrible job raising him.”
Sirius eyed him, “This is your influence, by the way. Your genes are coming to play.”
“Seeing as neither of us birthed him, I highly doubt that they’re my genes. ”
“Speak for yourself,” Sirius sniffed, turning back to wink at Harry, “I practically birthed the kid. I was there the entire time.”
“I have a feeling Lily might disagree.”
Sirius waved his hand, “Lily and I have come to an agreement on that matter.”
Remus let out a huff, teasing back with a remark that was lost on Harry as he studied his godfather.
He had thought the difference between the Remus he knew and the Remus that raised Harry were stark, but it had nothing on the difference between this Sirius and his Sirius.
The Sirius in this world had spent only half the time as his Sirius had in Azkaban, so although the lingering effects were still there, it wasn’t nearly as prominent. He gained back the healthy, youthful weight a man in his 30’s should have, nothing like the gauntly thin body from his own world. His hair was thick and long, much healthier and shinier, he was well groomed - looking every bit as the Noble Black family heir should. He even held himself differently; no longer tense and strung tight, like it could take anything to set him off. His eyes didn’t hold the sunken in, haunted look -- only resembling humans when he spoke to Harry to Remus. It was less guarded, more jovial and mischief. Much closer to the glimpse of Sirius Harry had caught in the photo album Hagrid had gifted him.
A flash of color. One last look of shock on a once handsome face. Then — Sirius tilted back and fell into the veil.
And Harry shattered.
“—Harry?”
Harry blinked, pulling himself out of the flash of memory. He felt almost a dull ache course throughout his body.
No matter how many years passed, the ache of Sirius’ loss hadn’t lessened.
“Sorry, I got lost in thought.” He forced a small smile, jumping off the table. He waved off their looks of concern, trying not to react as they glanced at one another, having a sort of silent conversation.
“Are we going to have dinner together?” He continued, trying to move on before either of them pressed, “or should I get going?”
“Nah, I grabbed us some food Kreacher made,” Sirius said, flicking his wand to pull up some chairs and put the tables together.
Harry took a seat, mouth watering as Remus and Sirius uncovered the plates of food. He watched as they bickered, flirted and knocked into one another, never not touching one another.
Though he would never give up his life for anything, a part of him wondered if this was somehow Mother Magic’s way of blessing him for the shite he’d been through. A simple, easy meal with his godparents. The way it could have — should have been — for the small child that lost his parents all those years ago.
A child who was just a child. Not a soldier for an entire community. Or a martyr in the making.
Not The Chosen One or the Boy Who Lived.
But Harry. Just Harry.