Juxtaposition

“Death? Why has it taken you so long to contact me?” Harry asked curiously.
“Because you don’t have all three Deathly Hallows, it makes it a lot more challenging to talk to you, even if you are already the Master of Death.”
“Also, what were you going to say before you were interrupted last time?”
“I believe I was going to say there is a way for you to return back to your time. Though I have never tried it with a human, it may be the solution.” Death continued to talk and eventually concluded that Harry would need all three Deathly Hallows. He mentioned that even after having one Hallow, it would make it significantly easier to communicate while Harry was asleep, and eventually when he had all three Hallows, when he was awake.
“You should probably wake up now, your dorm-mates are starting to get ready.”
Suddenly, Harry felt himself return to his body. He blinked while trying to readjust his eyes to the abrupt light. He still felt Anakin on his chest, so he carefully moved the snake while he manoeuvred himself so he was sitting at the edge of his bed.
Opening his curtains, he saw Antonin Dolohov sitting on his bed, putting his shoes on, Abraxas walking out of the bathroom connected to their dorm and Riddle was standing at the mirror in the bathroom.
“You woke up a bit late, Peverell.” Dolohov said, plucking his wand from his bedside table.
“Yeah, well, I don’t need as much time to get ready as you lot.”
Abraxas gently fixed his hair as he spoke “Yes, you quite like that ‘just woke up’ look, don’t you? Or is it unintentional?”
Evander Rosier laughed loudly from his own bed, “You know, I think the rugged look suits him well.” Harry was fairly sure Evander was the brother of Druella.

Harry ignored the laughter around the common room and scooped up his uniform. He walked into the bathroom, avoided Riddle, and changed clothes.

Walking back out to the dorm room, everyone apart from Evander had left. He had sandy blond hair and dark brown eyes that looked pitch black in the dim lighting surrounding them.
“What’s with you and my sister? Do I need to step in?” Evander asked, his tone getting serious.
“No, Merlin. We are friends.” Harry said breathlessly. How did Evander even know he and Druella were hanging out? They had only been talking for a couple of days.
“Ok. Good.” Evander said, his expression now softening, “See you at breakfast.”
Harry gave him a curt nod and adjusted his tie.

While walking to the Great Hall for breakfast, Harry’s mind was focusing on the Hallows. He knew his grandfather must have the invisibility cloak, but he didn’t know how to get it. If the wards on their house allowed family, he would be able to get in, but if not, Harry would not have a way in. Since it was 1942, Dumbledore hadn’t duelled Grindelwald yet, and so Grindelwald still had the elder wand.

The Elder Wand, in Grindelwald's possession, posed another challenge. Harry knew he couldn't confront Grindelwald. That would disrupt the future, maybe Dumbledore would never become headmaster. Or maybe something worse.
He plucked his journal from his bag and scribbled down everything he knew about the Deathly Hallows into it, writing down where they were located, who owned them, and anything else Harry thought was relevant.

Arriving into the Great Hall, Harry had to stop himself from instinctively going to the Gryffindor table. Before, it was the norm. He, Hermione and Ron would always eat there. He still sometimes woke up thinking this was a dream. A really weird and annoying dream.

Harry eyed Tom, watching him pile food onto his plate, “Planning to eat for two, Riddle?”
“No, just compensating for the lack of substance in your conversation.” Tom retorted, his smirk sharp and unwavering.
Druella, who had joined them at the table, chimed in, “Could you at least bicker quietly? Some of us are trying to enjoy breakfast.”
“Agreed. Hadrian, you should try these croissants.” Orion picked one up and shoved it in Harry’s direction. Harry picked it up carefully and took a bite, the flakes breaking off over his plate.
It was the best bloody thing he had tasted in ages.

Breaking out of his food daze, he heard Lestrange whispering to someone else.
“Did you hear? I heard one of the new Slytherin’s is a mudblood.”
Harry clutched his wand beside himself and slyly pointed it towards the boy's legs - underneath the table, “Petrificus totalus,” He whispered.
Lestrange stiffened and fell backwards with a loud thud, and Harry couldn’t help himself but to smile.
“What the fuck?” The other student said. He looked quite a bit like Theodore Nott, so maybe his grandfather.
Harry turned back to Orion, who was eagerly eating more croissants. Harry couldn’t even blame him, they were delicious.

Thinking about how to get back to his own time, a thought popped into his head. Instead of just trying to ignore and stay away from these people, he could at least try to change them for the better. Maybe he could even change Riddle from his murderous, insane, psychotic and narcissistic path. Unlikely, seeing as the boy already seemed like a psychopath, but still not a zero percent chance.

Back at his dorm, Harry opened his journal once again and wrote down the major events that majorly affected the future: Riddle opening the Chamber, stopping that would stop Riddle from making his first horcrux and therefore stop him from making all of his other horcruxes. In theory. If he stayed long enough, he could possibly save Orion and Walburga from each other. Maybe getting some couples counselling would do the trick.

Lost in contemplation, Harry’s thoughts oscillated between the weight of changing destiny and the stark reality that lay before him. If he was to influence the lives of those around him, he needed a plan, a strategy that went beyond impulsive decisions.

Harry’s gaze fell on Tom, who was now engrossed in a book on advanced Transfiguration. His younger self hadn’t yet fallen into the darkness that would define Lord Voldemort, and there was a slim chance, a glimmer of hope, that he could steer Tom away from that path.

He knew he would have to be very subtle, so as to not arouse suspicion, like nudging conversations, slowly changing beliefs, and maybe even trying to become friends with them. For their benefit, not Harry’s. He still believed he didn’t truly need anyone for this.

Harry put his quill down and closed the journal. Pushing around his belongings in his trunk, he noticed one of the books in French from the Peverell library laying in there. Inspecting it, he tried to remember any translating spells, but none came to mind.
Maybe he could ask Slughorn.

“Do you know any language translating spells?” He asked hopefully.
“Uh, no, I don’t believe so, my boy. Why do you ask?” Slughorn’s eyebrows raised.
“Oh, I just found a couple of precious books in my study, at home. In French, I believe.” Harry shrugged,
“Ah. Always in the pursuit of knowledge! An admirable quality, that is. I regret to say that I am unable to help you, though. I do wish you the best of luck.” Slughorn said with a bitter smile, lowering his head slightly.

Harry flipped through the book, not understanding a lick of it. Talking to Slughorn had been uneventful, and he didn’t know what to do next. His eyes narrowed as he tried to read, and he snapped the book shut with a loud and exaggerated sigh.
Orion emerged from his dorm at the noise and meandered towards Harry, “Everything okay?”
“I have this book and I can’t read it.” Harry tapped his foot against the stone floors of their common room. Orion piled out a chair next to him and opened up the book, “It’s French,”
“I’m well aware.” Harry’s face was pinched.
Orion stifled a laugh, “I can speak French, you dimwit.”
Harry perked up, “You can?”
“Bien entendu,” Orion cocked his head, “I can help you, if you want.”
“Obviously I want help.” He crossed his arms.

As Orion went over some basic French, Harry was feeling better about his chances. His French lessons from Primary School did help him, and Harry was surprised he could even remember it.

Since they didn’t have any classes - it was a Saturday, Orion continued to translate and teach Harry French.

Orion and Harry walked to the Great Hall for dinner. Before they left, Anakin demanded that he join them, so Harry cast a notice-me-not charm on the snake, so other students wouldn’t be concerned or anything.
“Comment ça va?” Orion asked, tilting his head.
(“How are you?”)
“Er, je suis bien, et toi?” Harry replied slowly.
(“Er, I’m good, and you?”)
“J'ai assez faim,” Orion’s stomach growled in response.
(“I’m quite hungry,”)
They continued to chat in French about the most random things, like how the weather was, describing people and more. He started feeling a sense of accomplishment as he began to understand more and more.
“You know French, Hadrian?” Walburga leaned and slid forwards, closer to Harry.
“Orions teaching me. My parents were never able to teach me, and I wanted to connect to my culture, because the Peverell’s are French.” Harry half lied. The Peverells were indeed French, which did make the lie significantly easier.
“Oh, fantastic! The Blacks are French too!” Walburga’s face was upturned, and she smiled. Although she had an aristocratic face, seeing a smile on her just didn’t feel right.
Anakin was currently coiled around his arm, but moved to now settle on Harry’s lap, now that he was sitting down.
Now that his mind was thinking about snakes, he began to think about the Chamber. He could never be 100% sure that Tom wouldn’t open the Chamber, so maybe he could try and convince the Basilisk to stay loyal to Harry, not Tom. Convincing the creature to remain loyal to him instead of Riddle was risky but could potentially change everything about the future.