Snakes' den, part I
— CHAPTER THIRTEEN —
Snakes' den, part I
Harry nervously smoothed his robes and took a deep, calming breath as he entered the living room. The crackling fire in the fireplace cast long shadows on the elegantly wallpapered walls, which usually gave the impression of cosiness, but not here. Over the past few weeks, however, he has had time to get used to the austere atmosphere of the future Dark Lord's apartment. Riddle wasn't there yet, of course; it was Harry who should be waiting for him, not the other way around. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly nine in the evening. Hadn't Riddle mentioned that the party was to start at eight?
Harry tugged at the sleeve of his robes — he wasn't nervous at all, he just didn't feel like spending the whole night in the company of pre-Death Eaters (or rather, Knights of Walpurgis, because that's what Riddle once called them, my knights, which was even more creepy than the name the older version of him had given his followers). He would have liked to return to the state of three days ago, when he knew there were some pre-Death Eaters, but they were just a vague concept to him, which his mind wisely chose to ignore. Now, unfortunately, they had taken on a more tangible form. He had already met three of them — according to Riddle, he would meet a few more tonight. He really didn't need to. Especially after yesterday's conversation, during which Riddle told him a little something about them, so that Harry didn't walk into the snakes' den completely oblivious.
It didn’t sound encouraging.
"Acceptable but your hair's tragic, really."
Harry flinched. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice Riddle's quiet arrival.
He glanced sideways at the older boy and his jaw almost dropped. Harry was used to Riddle always carrying himself with elegance and spread an air of dangerous refinement, but looking at him now, he would never have said he was looking at someone who had grown up in an orphanage. In every way, Riddle looked like someone from the upper classes. The dress robes he was wearing was exceptionally elegant and perfectly tailored, its dark green colour ideally matching the pale complexion of the future Dark Lord. His hair was slicked back and although the style was similar to the one he wore every day, it seemed even more posh. This was Tom Riddle, the man who could wrap the cream of the crop of the wizarding world around his finger.
Harry felt a shiver of horror run down his spine.
And he wanted to stop someone like that? No, he didn't — he had to.
Riddle snapped his fingers twice and Harry, blinking slightly, came back to reality. The shadow of a smile appeared on the older boy's lips, as if Riddle had guessed what Harry had just been thinking.
"Do something with it," Riddle repeated coldly, moving closer to Harry and handing him his wand.
Harry sighed, oh yes, his hair. He didn't mind how dishevelled it was, but Riddle seemed to be obsessed with it. So, without a word (and almost without emotion), he took his wand from the future Dark Lord and muttered the incantation of a spell he'd learned from him. Judging by the look on Riddle's face, the result was satisfactory.
"Concentrate more next time, the effect will be better," Riddle said, conjuring a mirror.
Harry had a look at his reflection. In his opinion, the effect of the spell was very good.
"All right," he replied, however, knowing there was no point in arguing about it.
Riddle vanished the conjured mirror and gave him an assessing look, and despite the earlier remark about his hair, there was a shadow of approval in his gaze.
"Grace really does have an excellent sense of style, she was right about you looking good in those robes."
Harry, to hide his confusion, smoothed his robes again. His dress robes were a lighter shade of emerald, which actually accentuated the colour of his eyes well, as Balenciaga's assistant had told him. They reminded a little of the ones he had worn to the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament, but even he, a novice in matters of wizarding world fashion, felt that their quality and cut were nothing like the ones Mrs Weasley had bought him. He felt unexpectedly comfortable in them, confident even, and it made him uneasy too.
"Don't do that," Riddle scolded him, noticing Harry's gesture. "Balenciaga always puts a straightening spell on all their clothes, so it's an empty gesture, you're just showing people you're nervous. And if you don't want to be eaten by my Slytherins tonight, you need to look confident."
"Then perhaps I'd better stay home," Harry suggested, forcing himself to stay still as Riddle approached to fix his foulard.
He was almost certain that he had tied it properly this time — apparently it was supposed to be tied differently at formal receptions, though, because Riddle untied it and began to skilfully adjust it again.
"This is not an option. I told you that sooner or later, you must meet them anyway. Today is the perfect opportunity."
"By the way, what's the occasion for Malfoy's party?" asked Harry, lifting his head to give Riddle better access to his neck.
"The spring equinox. And his birthday. Two reasons to celebrate," the last sentence was said in an unexpectedly tartly tone.
Harry shot a quick glance at Riddle.
"And do you really think it is a good idea to introduce me to your pre-Death Eaters today?" there was a note of scepticism in Harry's voice. He wasn't the best at social interaction, but even he could sense that it wasn't entirely appropriate. The interest shown in him by Dolohov, Avery and Nott was probably just a prelude to what was to come tonight. And since it was Malfoy's birthday party, he should be the star of the show, not some boy from nowhere. "What did he do to you?" he asked, more in jest than out of curiosity. He didn't expect an answer.
"He delayed the delivery to my vault at Gringotts," Riddle replied simply. He adjusted the halves of Harry's robes a little more and took two steps back to assess the result. "Better. And please refrain from calling my friends pre-Death Eaters."
Harry almost rolled his eyes, but stopped himself at the last moment.
"Oh yes, forgive me, they are the Knights of Walpurgis after all," he said, not refraining from using his tone to express what he thought of Riddle's nickname for his followers. One worse than the other.
Riddle's eyes narrowed.
"Restrain your insolence. Today I expect impeccable manners and absolute obedience. You will be civil. Do not argue with me or talk back, especially in front of the others. If you do, I will punish you. Publicly if necessary. Do I make myself clear?"
Harry swallowed, feeling a knot in his stomach. And that would be enough for a semblance of normality.
"Crystal clear," he replied stiffly.
Riddle did not take his eyes off him, as if judging the sincerity of his words. After a moment he spoke again:
"Remember, today you’ll be officially introduced as my younger brother, Harry Riddle. You’ll arouse interest, and others will want to know as much as possible about you. Stick to the story I've made up, but don't go into too much detail. Let them wonder and guess. Total honesty isn’t good in my world."
Harry lifted his head and looked boldly into the grey eyes of the future Dark Lord. He would not allow himself to be intimidated by anyone. Certainly not by a young Voldemort.
"I remember. Harry Riddle, your younger brother. Same father, different mothers. Orphaned, like you. I grew up in Ireland, but when my last guardians got in trouble with the law, I was left to fend for myself and decided to flee to England to find any living members of my family. And you generously agreed to look after me." Riddle really should be proud: almost without emotion or hesitation. This was just a cover so that one day he can break out of this nightmare and return to his own time.
"Stick to it. And do not embarrass me," Riddle said, scooping a handful of Fiuu Powder from a vase on the mantelpiece. He threw it into the flames, which immediately shot up and turned green. "Woody Bay Manor." He pointed to the flames with a mocking gesture. "Guests of honour ahead."
o.O.o
Head first, then the rest, without a hint of grace, of course — if Riddle had hoped that by choosing to travel on the Fiuu Network he would provide Harry with a more elegant entrance, well, he had miscalculated. Harry hated magical ways of travelling. As he covered his face with his hands because a stray piece of ash had flown up his nose and he was about to sneeze, he wondered if there were any that didn't have side effects. Probably just broomsticks.
"Pathetic," he heard the hiss above him. A sharp retort was already on the tip of his tongue when he remembered the warning he had just received. No talking back, especially in front of others.
And they were no longer alone.
"Abraxas Malfoy is coming, prepare yourself," Riddle hissed again, nodding toward the grand staircase.
The sneeze finally won, echoing loudly in the opulent hall. Harry adjusted his glasses just in time to see the wizard in question descending the white marble stairs that split into elegant spirals. Riddle's comment was unnecessary. Even without it, Harry would have recognised the progenitor of a family that had brought him nothing but misery, including the greatest of all, falling into the paws of the young Dark Lord. The traits of both Lucius Malfoy and Draco Malfoy were clearly visible in the progenitor of their lineage. And if Harry had any doubts about Abraxas Malfoy being Draco's grandfather, they had just been dispelled. The same light, almost white hair, gently curled and elegantly combed in the current fashion, the same cruel, emotionless look. He even moved in a similar way, walking slowly down the stairs, his deep blue robes swaying with every movement, adding to the elegance of his slender figure.
A fucking aristocrat in every way. And, of course, he wasn't in a hurry, although was clearly heading towards them.
When Malfoy was a few feet in front of them, he held out his hands in a gesture of greeting to Riddle. Harry was ignored.
"My most anticipated guest has finally arrived, what a relief! I was beginning to think you weren't coming at all, Tom," Abraxas said in a calm, deep voice, giving Riddle's left arm a quick squeeze as he shook his other hand.
Had Harry not known better, he might indeed have believed that this was a greeting to two friends rather than to a master and future servant. The familiarity that Riddle allowed his pre-Death Eaters to have with him really amazed Harry.
"Dear Abraxas, do you really think I could have missed my best friend's birthday? You are hurting my feelings."
"I'm happy to count on your presence. Everyone else has already arrived."
Riddle nodded, as if he had missed the allusion in Malfoy's words.
"Properly on their part."
Or maybe he did catch it.
Harry suddenly felt very, very out of place. He had to control his instinctive reluctance, his nervousness and the feeling that he was about to be thrown to the thirsty fresh meat snakes that could destroy a man with one innocent sentence. Or at least show him his place. And on top of that, pretend to be the brother of the most ruthless of them all. Great.
He forced himself to straighten up and put on a polite, impersonal smile.
"I see you haven't come alone," Malfoy remarked, changing the subject and finally turning his attention to Harry. The tone in which he said this sounded all too neutral.
"Oh, I thought you wouldn't mind if I brought my younger brother," Riddle replied smoothly, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder in a gesture that was not missed by the watchful steel-blue eyes.
Harry suppressed the urge to shake it off.
Abraxas Malfoy looked at him intently, but there was not even a hint of surprise on his face. Which meant either that the wizard was perfectly in control of his facial expressions, or that he had made it a point of honour not to show that Harry's unexpected presence had annoyed him.
"Younger brother? I heard, but I didn't believe," he drawled almost lazily.
Feeling a squeeze of Riddle's hand on his shoulder — a silent command — Harry extended his hand. Right, the great Abraxas Malfoy wouldn't be the first to introduce himself.
"Harry Riddle," Harry said, trying not to sound too hostile. He couldn't believe he was doing it: he exchanged a handshake with Malfoy. The other wizard's hand was cool, but his grip was firm, determined. Malfoy even made an effort to smile slightly, as good manners dictated, but it did not reach his eyes, where barely concealed disdain was mixed with challenge.
"Abraxas Malfoy."
Awkward silence fell. Riddle had already removed his hand from Harry's shoulder and it looked as if his support would end there. Now Harry was on his own.
Malfoy clearly had no intention of making things easy for Harry either.
"Happy birthday," Harry added, because he had no idea what to say and it was a birthday party after all.
"Thank you," Malfoy replied curtly, then almost immediately turned his attention back to Riddle. "We shouldn't keep the others waiting."
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught the slight smirk that briefly played across the future Dark Lord's face.
"After you," Riddle said, placing his hand between Harry's shoulder blades and pushing him forward slightly.
Harry took a deep breath.
Snakes, here I come.
o.O.o
"Come over here and sit down, we need to talk," Riddle said in a serious tone, gesturing to the sofa across from the armchair in which he had settled himself.
Harry's heart jumped into his throat.
Had he realised? No, that was impossible. He would have had to have seen Harry shove the journal with the mention of the Hor... the thing he wasn't supposed to be thinking about, into the gap between the floor and the stacked bookshelf in the back room. Which he had only done after making sure Riddle was busy serving a customer.
Stop. This wasn't the time to panic.
Thus, Harry sat obediently on the edge of the sofa, forcing himself to put on an innocent expression of mild curiosity on the one hand and slight concern on the other — after all, this kind of order would evoke that type of emotion in any normal person.
"I'm all ears," he said cautiously, at the same time trying to push the memory of the black journal out of his mind.
Riddle tilted his head and looked closely at him. Harry suppressed the urge to fidget. Finally, the future Dark Lord spoke again:
"Since Avery and Nott discovered your presence, there's no point hiding you from my knights any longer. By now, it is likely that everyone is aware of your existence."
Harry couldn't help himself and cringed at the sound of the word 'knight'. What an idiotic nickname. Riddle narrowed his eyes but continued:
"That's why I've decided to take this opportunity to take you to a party at Abraxas Malfoy's tomorrow. You'll get to know everyone at the same time."
Harry squirmed slightly. Even though his last two encounters with Riddle's Death Eaters hadn't left him with any particularly traumatic memories — on the contrary, they'd been surprisingly civilised — he had no intention of repeating the experience too soon. Better not to tempt fate.
"Can I say no?"
"No," Riddle replied briefly, reaching for a wine glass which appeared before him on a tray carried by Bug. The house elf then approached Harry with a mug of steaming cocoa. Harry absentmindedly took it and, out of habit, threw a "thank you" in Bug's direction. He was met with a hateful stare, as if he had at least mortally insulted the house elf up to three generations back.
Harry sighed and, playing for time, took a sip of his warm drink. He closed his eyes and, against his will, a satisfied smile appeared on his face. Bug's cocoa was the best he had ever tasted.
"I really don't think it's a good idea," he said calmly. There was none of the usual steely note in Riddle's voice that meant zero tolerance for discussion, which implied he could afford to be frank without fear of receiving a stinging hex.
"You're going to meet them sooner or later anyway, isn't it better to get it over with? Besides, there will be a lot of other people at the party, so your presence will be a bit lost in the crowd," Riddle replied, taking a sip of his wine. Instead of putting the glass down, he began to turn it in his hands.
Okay, so it looked like they were going to have a long but civilised conversation. As long as he didn't think about the hor...., it would be fine.
Harry wrapped his fingers around the warm mug and crossed his legs in a more comfortable, relaxed position.
"They're going to eat me alive," he grumbled, realising he wouldn't wriggle out of his presence at the party. On top of that, at Abraxas Malfoy's. "I've been behaving myself lately!"
Riddle smirk.
"It's not a punishment, it's a necessity." He took another sip and finally put the glass down on the coffee table next to the armchair he was sitting in. "But you're right, there's a good chance my Slytherins will eat you alive. So let me tell you a little about them, so you don't walk into a snake's nest completely unprepared. What a brother I'd be to let you do something so stupid."
"Exactly the one I expect," Harry muttered sarcastically, the next moment dodging a curse that was sent his way. The spell flew over his shoulder, which meant Riddle wasn't aiming to hit him with it.
Harry looked at him reproachfully; his sudden movement had caused some of the cocoa to spill out of the mug and onto his shirt. It was a good thing that Balenciaga used to cast cleaning spells on all his clothes; the stain disappeared almost instantly.
With a smile that did not bode well, Riddle tucked his wand into his sleeve and settled himself more comfortably in the armchair. His forefinger trailed idly over the edge of the wine glass.
"When we went to Hogwarts, Abraxas Malfoy was two years above me," Riddle began, rightly considering the question of Harry's presence at the party settled. "Of course, he didn't pay any attention to me at first: a boy from nowhere, with no connections and a surname that meant nothing to anyone." The future Dark Lord scowled slightly, as if the memory of his first year at school still made him angry. "But I soon began to stand out and make a name for myself. When Abraxas became a prefect, he had to take more interest in others, especially younger Slytherins, and that's when our paths really crossed for the first time. By fifth year, when I also became a prefect and he became a head prefect, we were already close. So close, in fact, that he had no hesitation in sharing what was his with me when I graduated Hogwarts.”
"So completely voluntarily," Harry sneered, unable to contain himself.
Riddle, surprisingly, smiled leniently.
"Actually, yes. He thinks it'll keep me in line, that I'll never turn against him. That he'll become indispensable, irreplaceable." The smirk that appeared on Riddle's face made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. He didn't know Malfoy, didn't even like him, but at that moment he felt sorry for him. "He doesn't know that I don't really need his gold, his Galleons. I've managed without them in the past, I'll manage without them now. But since he insisted..." Riddle reached for his glass and took another sip. He looked at it carefully, raising it to eye level. "Malfoy is useful, I don't deny that, but for very different reasons. His name counts, it's recognisable. He has connections and acquaintances that I intend to make use of soon. Of course there are others who are just as influential, but with Abraxas it will be faster. The luxury with which I surround myself, thanks to him, is merely an add-on, a pleasant nuisance that Abraxas uses to fool himself into thinking that he is a special to me."
Harry was speechless. He had not expected such honesty from Riddle.
"Aren't you afraid I'll tell Malfoy what I've just heard?"
Riddle's gaze hardened.
"Just try."
o.O.o
"Try not to get into any trouble," Riddle threw in seemingly carefree manner, although the glint in his eye clearly suggested that nothing but unpleasant things awaited Harry if he didn't follow the suggestion.
"Me and trouble? You've offended me," Harry replied in an equally casual tone putting his hand to his heart. He didn't talk back, so Riddle had nothing to complain about. But if he had intended to show Harry off like a well-trained pet, he was sorely mistaken. Even the little dogs could bite.
Malfoy just gave him a disdainful look.
"Of course he's free to make himself comfortable. The ballroom, foyer and garden terraces are at the disposal of my guests. If you wish, I can instruct my house elves not to serve him anything alcoholic if you're worried about his behaviour," Malfoy said to Riddle, as if Harry wasn't standing between them.
"It's really kind of you, but I think Harry will behave reasonably. Will you, Harry?"
Harry gritted his teeth. And although he hadn't thought about it before, he unexpectedly found himself wanting to get drunk. Why not?
"I think I can drink three glasses of wine with no apparent side effects," he replied, ostentatiously reaching for the one on the silver trays of alcohol that were floating among the guests. He had not even had time to touch the glass with his fingers when the tray was suddenly lifted out of his reach.
"I think you should stick to pumpkin juice," Riddle replied coldly. "It's better for you if I don't catch you with anything else in your hand. You're still a minor and under my care."
Harry just glared at Riddle.
"I will definitely tell my house elves to block your brother's access to alcohol," Malfoy said in a lazy tone, as if it were nothing humiliating. "I think that will solve the problem," he added dismissively. "Now, let me introduce you to some of my guests. My my father's cousin, is the head of the Department of Magical Locations, and he recently indicated that he might need a new assistant, and if I remember correctly..."
Harry's ears perked up, but he didn't get to hear what Malfoy was about to say because his ramblings were interrupted by three giggling witches, their cheeks flushed from the alcohol they had consumed. They approached them holding empty wine glasses.
"Abraxas, where have you been? We've been looking for you. It's not nice to run away from guests like that," one of them said, poking Malfoy playfully in the chest. She pursed her lips and made a sulky face. A lock of her neatly pinned up curly black hair swayed.
"It is also impolite not to welcome newcomers, my dear Ada," Malfoy replied, taking two glasses of wine from the tray and handing them to the witches. Riddle, to Harry's surprise, also took one and handed it to the third witch.
"Ada, Madelline, Aspara, you all look gorgeous," Riddle greeted the girls with a charming smile. Two of them returned it sincerely, but the third did so with obvious reluctance.
This time it was Harry who smirked. Wasn't everyone in awe of the young Dark Lord? What a surprise.
"I think my husband will be delighted to finally enjoy the company of the two most important men in his life," the one who showed the least enthusiasm said tartly, taking a good sip of wine. The taller and slightly older looking witch took the glass from her friend's hand.
"Aspara, I think you should switch to something less... head-busting," she said quietly. "But perhaps you're right, we shouldn't keep the gentlemen any longer. Let's get some fresh air." And, ignoring the protests, she pushed her friend towards the wide-open double doors of the balcony.
Riddle nodded at them.
"Ladies, join us later," he offered kindly and then allowed himself to be pulled into the crowd by Abraxas Malfoy.
He didn't even look in Harry's direction, who was unexpectedly left alone.
The band occupying the stage began to play a lively waltz louder, causing some of the guests to rush onto the dance floor. Harry, after being pushed the second time, decided it would be better to move to a quieter spot away from the crowd.
He took a deep breath and looked around the ballroom (who on Merlin's beard had such a place in their house?!) to which he and Riddle had been led by Malfoy moments earlier. The room was large and bright, filled to the brim with elegantly dressed wizards and witches of all ages. Three huge crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, and the white stucco walls were decorated with floor-to-ceiling mirrors on one side and huge windows on the other. Tables were set up under the windows, and the amount and variety of food on them probably exceeded that served at the Hogwarts feast. There was also a corner with comfortable looking armchairs and sofas where guests could rest when they were tired of partying. On the two shorter sides of the ballroom were balconies with richly ornamented balustrades against which the guests leaned to look down on those gathered on the dance floor. Although Riddle had mentioned that Harry would blend into the crowd, the teenager had not expected so many guests.
Taking another look at the balconies, Harry decided that they would be a good vantage point. Since Riddle had already dragged him here, he might as well take advantage of the situation. Perhaps he would spot someone in the crowd who could help him in the future. However, he didn't get the chance to reach the stairs leading to the balconies in peace, as he was stopped halfway by an all-too-familiar-looking wizard in deep purple robes.
"Oh, what a surprise! I didn't think we'd meet again so soon. Harry? Am I right? Harry...?
If Harry hadn't overheard Riddle's conversation yesterday, he might have thought the surprise in the wizard's voice was genuine, it sounded so authentic. He resisted the urge to turn on his heel and ignore the hand extended to him. It couldn't be worse than a handshake with Malfoy. Besides, that was exactly why Riddle had dragged him here.
With a grim resignation, he plastered a false smile on his face. He knew only too well why his surname hadn't been mentioned and what was expected of him.
"Yeah, that's me. Harry Riddle. Curtis... Curtis Nott, right?"
Harry was rewarded with a wide, bright smile, though the honey-coloured eyes that peered at him from behind the vivid purple rimmed glasses remained alert.
"I can see you have a very good memory."
Another wizard, whom Harry recognised, stepped in behind Nott.
"Brandon Avery. We've also met before."
o.O.o
"You met Curtis Nott and Brandon Avery yesterday when they came into the shop," Riddle continued when he had finished talking about Abraxas Malfoy. "They, along with Everett Rosier and Secundus Lestrange, shared a dormitory with me for seven years, since we were in the same year."
"And they survived? Unbelievable," Harry snorted.
Riddle just looked at him.
"They were useful. They still are," he replied simply. A slight smirk appeared on his lips. "Although I must admit, sometimes I felt like murdering them."
Harry didn't know what to say. He had a strange feeling that it wasn't said as a joke.
"So? What should I know about them?" he asked with resignation in his voice. He reached for the cookie Bug had just brought and dipped it in cocoa. Before he popped it into his mouth, a few crumbs flew onto the couch, causing Riddle's forehead to crease in annoyance.
Harry wasn't going to let that bother him.
"Try to eat more neatly," the future Dark Lord said, disappearing the crumbs away with a wave of his hand.
Harry was beginning to hate his display of the wandless magic.
"I'll try," he promised without meaning to. Riddle had a strange fixation with keeping things tidy. "So?"
Of course, all four of these names sounded all too familiar. Nott, Avery, Rosier, Lestrange…
"As for Nott, Curtis currently works as a journalist for the Daily Prophet. His mother's cousin is editor of the paper. His older brother helps their father run the publishing company, so Curtis had to choose between taking a secondary role in the family business or finding his own career path. Knowing his ambition, sooner or later he'll get his uncle out of his job, which is what I'm counting on. If he catches up with you at a party, be prepared to be flooded with questions. He's great at getting information out of people. Although, of course, he's no match for me."
"No match for you," Harry muttered, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. He didn't have particularly good memories when it came to the press and journalists, and it didn't look like that was going to change.
Riddle took a sip of wine.
"He knows the basics of Legilimency, but I don't think he would try it on you. However, if you sense something, the Thought Warding Curse should act as a shield, which will surely scare him away. Of course, should it come to that, I expect you to report it to me right away."
It didn't sound encouraging. Harry just nodded.
"Brandon Avery is just as inquisitive as Curtis. It was no coincidence that they were the first to come into the shop when Aleksandr told the others the news about you."
"What does he do?" asked Harry, remembering Avery's stocky, muscular figure. He didn't look like a journalist, more like a thug involved in coercion and threats. He reached for another biscuit.
"He's an apprentice at St Mungo's. He's training to be a healer," Riddle replied.
Harry choked on. He coughed a few times to clear his throat of the remains of the cookie, then blinked to rid himself of the tears that had started to form in his eyes.
"A healer?!" he repeated in bewilderment. "A Death Eater healer? By Merlin, what the hell is going on?"
He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Death Eater as a journalist it made some sense, but Death Eater as a healer?
Riddle narrowed his eyes.
"Don't use that term," he ordered him sharply, surprising Harry even more.
"Okey," Harry relented, still shocked. "But... but it doesn't make sense. How could one of your De... followers end up as a healer? Aren't they supposed to, I don't know, like hurting people?"
Riddle sighed and shook his head.
"You really are narrow-minded," he said as if in rebuke. Harry decided not to feel offended by this. "Practically all of Brandon's family is involved in healing. His mother is the chief of St Mungo's, and his two older sisters also work there. Brandon, of course, has no intention of being stuck there for the rest of his life, but if he wants to help his father run his private clinic in the future, he will have to complete the training to be officially recognised as a healer."
Well, okay, presented that way it made a bit more sense, but still…
"And what is Avery's father doing in his private clinic?" asked Harry, full of bad feelings. Until now he hadn't even known that private healers existed. But his knowledge of the magical world in general was limited, and the longer he stayed in Riddle's company, the more he realised that.
Riddle looked at him in a way that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. He had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer.
"He takes care of everything the others would like to hide from the ministerial healers," the future Dark Lord replied calmly. "When you've been hit by a dark curse during some dodgy activities or have messed up a ritual you weren't supposed to know about, it's good to have someone who knows how to put you back together again."
This was the answer Harry had feared. Brandon Avery had chosen his career not because he was an idealist who wanted to help others, but because he was a cunning opportunist, a wolf in disguise pretending to be tame. Something of Harry's thoughts must have been reflected on his face, for Riddle smiled with satisfaction.
"I see you're beginning to understand," he said. "But let's move on to another of my... Slytherins. Everett Rosier. A spoilt only child whose arrogance could only be matched by Abraxas Malfoy. His family made their fortune in wine production and trade. Everett knows he doesn't have to lift a finger to inherit it all and he shows this very clearly."
Riddle didn't even need to give any more details for Harry to imagine what Everett Rosier might be like in a face-to-face encounter. Immediately, a picture of Draco Malfoy flashed before his eyes.
"His was the one I most often felt like killing," Riddle added casually, taking a sip of wine.
o.O.o
"Wine?" Everett Rosier asked, pointing to the golden tray hanging between them. "From the best vineyard we have in France. A small gift for Abraxas and his guests on his birthday," he added, flashing a smile of even, white teeth.
Harry, mindful of Riddle's opinion of Rosier, tried not to fall for the wizard's friendly charm. With his softly curling dark blonde hair, the freckles on his straight nose and the dimples that appeared when he smiled (and he smiled a lot and often), he gave the impression of innocence, while his easy-going manner encouraged an air of casual conversation. Yet it was he who evoked the most murderous impulses in Riddle. Surely someone like that should have been approached with caution.
Or perhaps it was because he radiated such cheerfulness and openness that it was hard to believe that someone like that could belong to Riddle's circle. He even stood out in appearance from the others with his few extra pounds.
"I've already had one, it was really excellent," Harry lied, remembering Riddle's order. He had no intention of admitting that his fake older brother had forbidden him to drink alcohol, but he suspected that Rosier would not let him off easily.
"All the more reason for you to have another," Rosier insisted, scooping some pudding onto his spoon. He ate it with obvious delight. "It goes very well with cheese, especially these," he pointed with his spoon at a platter filled to the brim with various sliced and diced cheeses.
"Everett, give him a break, you can see he doesn't want to," Nott chimed in, putting some pickled mushrooms on his plate.
Harry might have been grateful for his intervention, if not for the realisation that he was probably only doing it to further his own agenda.
When he and Avery had caught up with Harry a few moments earlier, he had dragged him towards the food tables where Rosier was already waiting for them. Harry would have liked to get away from their company, but he didn't know how to do that without antagonising them from the start. On the surface, the boys were friendly — Nott, of course, was trying to find out something about him, but so far he was doing it tactfully, surprisingly only asking how Harry was enjoying the party, Avery was more reserved than he had been with Riddle, but without being as overtly hostile as Malfoy, and Rosier, on the other hand, treated him as if they had known each other for years rather than five minutes.
"But I'll gladly take your advice" Nott added as an afterthought, approaching the cheese platter. He scooped a few thin slices onto his plate.
"Have some more of that pecorino," Rosier advised him, putting it on his plate as well. "Harry, you should help yourself too. It's excellent even without the wine."
Harry decided that he could take this advice.
The music had quietened down a bit and the tables were getting crowded, so Rosier suggested they move to the terrace. To Harry's surprise it was quite pleasant outside: the late March air was crisp but not cold. The terrace was bathed in the soft light of paper lanterns floating above the guests. The gentle murmur of the sea, heard from afar, mingled with the muffled buzz of conversation and the sounds of music coming from the ballroom. Harry looked around, but the way the terrace was lit made the darkness around seem even denser and more impenetrable. Harry briefly wondered what the surroundings must be like in the daytime. According to Riddle's word this was the Malfoy summer manor, where Abraxas had taken up residence in order to become independent.
Summer manor house with full-size ballroom.
He really stopped to wonder why Draco Malfoy was such an asshole.
Rosier and Nott leaned against the balustrade in a relaxed pose, occasionally nibbling food from plates that levitated within reach of their hands and sipping wine. Avery slipped his hands into the pockets of his robes and looked around with an unreadable expression on his face. Harry stood next to him, waiting for them to resume their conversation, grateful for the plate of food because, although he wasn't hungry, snacking on it kept him occupied. There were several other guests on the terrace, and when one of the group moved, Harry noticed the three witches who had approached Riddle and Malfoy earlier. The one who had probably drunk a little too much looked sad, and her friends looked like they were trying to comfort her somehow.
Nott focused his gaze on Harry and shook his head as if in disbelief, then sighed ostentatiously. Harry arched an eyebrow questioningly, preparing himself for the inevitable.
"I can't get used to the idea that Tom has a brother. It's so... unexpected."
Harry supressed a sigh. Here we go.
"Me too," he said, "until recently I had no idea either."
This, of course, had the desired effect. But it wasn't Harry who asked for it, it was Riddle, so he decided not to worry about it. If anything, Riddle would sort things out.
"How so?"
Harry shrugged. He forked a little tomato and, to gain time, chewed it slowly.
"I grew up elsewhere," he said finally, heeding Riddle's warning not to reveal everything at once. "It wasn't until my previous guardians got into trouble and I was left on my own that I remembered I could have a family in England. I decided to take a chance, and that's how I found Tom."
Nott, Avery and Rosier nodded in understanding.
"And where did you grow up?" Rosier was immediately interested. With elegance effortless, he raised his glass to his lips and took a sip.
"In Ireland, in Dublin," Harry replied, praying inwardly that they wouldn't start asking him what it was like because he wouldn't know what to say. He also hoped that in the wizarding world the animosity between the Irish and the British was less than in the Muggle world.
"That would explain a lot," Avery said, speaking up for the first time since they joined Rosier. "So you're Irish?"
"In half. My mother was, my father was from here."
"Were..." Nott immediately picked up the past tense of the verb.
Harry thought of his real parents to sound convincing.
"They are both dead. But... it's not a subject I like to talk about," he added, which was essentially true. And he hoped to cut off any uncomfortable questions.
Unfortunately, this had the opposite effect. Rosier got excited.
"Wait, wait. Does that mean Tom is half Irish too?" he asked with a strange glint in his eye.
Harry shook his head.
"I don't think so. We had the same father, but different mothers. I know nothing about his."
A collective 'oh' came from all three throats.
"So you were raised by your common father?" Nott probed further. It looked as if he hadn't picked up on the allusion or had chosen to ignore it.
"From my mother, until she died. I saw my father maybe three times in my life. That was three too many," he added, to make it clear that he had no warm feelings for him. "When my mother died, I started wandering from one guardian to another until I ended up here. I met Tom and he let me stay with him."
The trio exchanged looks of surprise, their expressions mixed with intrigue and disbelief.
"Just like that? He just let you move in with him?" Avery finally said, his tone sceptical, clearly trying to reconcile what he had heard with the behaviour of the Riddle he knew. Harry was not at all surprised by his confusion. He suspected that if the supposed brother hadn't been a time traveller, he would have been thrown over the threshold.
It didn't change the fact that he had to come up with a plausible explanation.
"We met at the beginning of February. I'm still sixteen, so he let me stay with him, got me a job, started teaching...."
Besides, he also made me swear an oath of obedience, cast a tracking spell on me, put a magic muzzle on me, and when I tried to escape, he held me under the Crucio for so long that I lost consciousness, that sort of thing, the usual brotherly interactions, he added bitterly in his mind.
Nott straightened up abruptly.
"He started what?!"