The ties that bind

— CHAPTER NINETEEN —

Old haunts

A gentle hush fell over Hogsmeade as the midday sun filtered through the clouds, casting a golden glow over the stony rooftops. It was a quiet day, the air brisk but with a hint of warmth beneath it — a promise that spring was near. The calmness felt almost unnatural to Tom, in whose memories these streets were always crowded with hordes of Hogwarts students. They had poured in like a tidal wave, filling every corner with laughter, shouts, and boisterous energy that Riddle had always found distasteful. After leaving school, he had visited Hogsmeade twice, and had been always struck by how different the place was without all the noisy crowds. In the absence of these invaders, Hogsmeade's true character shining through. Crooked chimneys puffed faint, rainbow-tinged smoke, and floating shop signs swayed gently as if nodding at passersby. The half-timbered houses, their walls tangled with ivy, leaned toward each other, casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets.

Will it still look like this in fifty years? The thought crossed Tom's mind as he adjusted the strap of the leather bag containing Rosier's wine and a box of candied pineapples. He glanced at Potter. The boy's wide-open eyes, as he looked around, suggested otherwise. Or perhaps this was just the first time Potter had seen Hogsmeade without the tarnishing crowds?

"Why didn't we just Apparate closer to Hogwarts?" Potter asked, sensing Tom's gaze on him. Suspicion coloured his voice, a welcoming change from his earlier numbness.

"We have some time before our meeting with Headmaster Dippet," Tom replied calmly. "I thought a little tour might be a pleasant way to pass the time. You might consider it a reward for good behaviour."

Potter’s eyes narrowed, and Tom could practically see the distrust glinting behind them, a spark he found oddly satisfying. Impulsively, he added, "After all, what kind of guardian would I be if I only punished you?"

Potter's look of pure incredulity was priceless, and Tom allowed a flicker of amusement to surface, though his expression remained composed. Toying with Potter like this — mixing small kindnesses with hidden barbs — was a game he was beginning to enjoy. The boy’s confusion was almost tangible, and Riddle relished the control it gave him.

"Shall we, then?" Tom gestured down the main street with an lazy, inviting sweep of his hand, as if suggesting a walk to Potter was the most natural thing in the world.

The teen hesitated, but eventually gave a reluctant nod, his gaze lingering on Tom with a mix of scepticism and curiosity. They walked side by side, Tom’s pace steady and unhurried, giving Potter ample opportunity to absorb his surroundings. He watched as the boy's eyes traced the lines of each building, the slight awe in his expression betraying his attempted indifference. Despite himself, Potter was visibly enchanted by this familiar-yet-strange version of Hogsmeade.

"So," Tom began, breaking the silence with his smooth and casual tone, "how much has the village changed?"

Potter glanced around again, his expression softening slightly. "A bit," he replied cautiously. He pointed toward a dark, crooked sign swaying gently in the breeze. "That bookshop over there — it wasn’t in my time. In fifty years, it’ll be the headquarters for some magical radio station, though I don’t remember its name."

Tom felt a stab of irritation — as he always did when he realised what invaluable knowledge he could have gained if Potter had taken even a little more interest in the world around him. The boy’s ignorance was maddening. Still, Tom masked his annoyance behind a polite, interested expression.

Oh, if only he could use Legilimency freely…

Potter’s gaze shifted to Zonko’s Joke Shop. "That looks almost exactly the same," he said, his voice tinged with surprise. "Didn’t even know the shop was that old."

"Well, bad taste can be timeless," Tom remarked dryly. He recalled Rosier's brief, unbearable obsession with Zonko's products, which had ended abruptly when Tom threatened him with the Cruciatus Curse should any of those ridiculous items appear in their dormitory again.

Potter caught the contempt in his voice and rolled his eyes with exaggerated drama. "You know, some of us actually enjoy having fun instead of plotting world domination between classes," he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

And to think he'd missed Potter's insolence.

"Better than wasting time trying to figure out how to blow up your friend's cauldron with a handful of dungbombs."

Potter only shook his head. "I'd rather take my chances with the pranksters than with people who constantly have a stick up their—" he caught himself and stopped abruptly as the realisation of who he was talking to hit him.

Tom’s lips curved into a slow, cold smile. "Please, do finish that thought, Harry. I’m curious to know where this stick is supposed to be."

Potter hastily changed the topic. "Oh, there's Honeydukes! I wonder what else is still around. I'd love a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks..."

Though the idea made Tom cringe inwardly, he saw the perfect opportunity. At least it wouldn’t look as if he had planned it all along.

"Actually, that can be arranged. We’re not far from the Three Broomsticks."

Potter stared at him in disbelief. "You’re… offering me a Butterbeer?"

"Yes," Tom replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "Try not to look so shocked. Consider it a reward."

Had his Knights been present, they would have been equally shocked. Tom had made his disdain for such low entertainments perfectly clear on their very first visit to Hogsmeade, and none of them had dared suggest going to the pub together again since. But goals demanded sacrifice - sometimes even indulgence in what he might otherwise despise.

"Lead the way, then," Potter said with a mock-innocent grin, his eyes gleaming with barely contained mischief.

Tom allowed himself a small inward smile. Manipulating Potter truly was too easy.

o.O.o

Shifting in his chair, Harry tried to relax his clenched hands. He looked around once more at the office, which was as different from the one he was used to as the wizard sitting on the other side of the oak desk. At the same time, it seemed to perfectly reflect the character of the person who occupied it. Austere, harsh, and devoid of any personal touch.

Riddle had been talking to headmaster Dippet for over twenty minutes, and Harry could do little but sit and squirm. Every time a question came his way — and there weren’t many — Riddle cut in before Harry could say more than a word. Why had he even bothered bringing Harry along?

There could only be one answer.

Harry’s eyes flicked to the Sorting Hat, perched on a dresser across the room. It looked the same as ever, worn and dormant, yet its presence made his stomach twist. He quickly glanced away, not wanting to think about the task ahead. But prickling sensation made him glance up again. A witch in a velvet hat from one of the portraits was staring at him, leaning toward the stout, bearded man beside her. She whispered something, and the man nodded, his gaze briefly resting on Harry. They were talking about him. He could feel it in their watchful stares.

"...I've taken full responsibility for my brother's schooling and welfare ever since I discovered his existence. Unfortunately, due to his circumstances, his former education has been rather... fragmented," Riddle was saying. His voice was smooth, perfectly balancing concern and confidence.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snorting. Fragmented education. What a nice way to describe being constantly chased by dark wizards while trying to keep up with schoolwork. He glanced at Riddle, who spoke with the confidence of someone who had practiced every word. His expression was perfectly measured, radiating concern and the appearance of a dutiful older brother.

Headmaster Dippet nodded sympathetically, steepling his long fingers under his chin. Despite his polite manner, Harry found him very different from Dumbledore and couldn’t help feeling an instinctive dislike.

"You've done a marvellous job, Tom," Dippet said. "It's heartening to see you take such responsibility for your brother. And you believe he's ready for his O.W.L.s?"

"I do," Riddle replied calmly. "I think he will do well, perhaps even exceed expectations."

Harry gritted his teeth. Very funny.

Dippet’s lips twitched in faint amusement, and his gaze shifted to Harry. "I understand you'll take all the mandatory subjects — Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and so on. What about the rest? Which additional subjects would you like?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Riddle’s voice cut in smoothly.

"Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, Headmaster," Riddle said, his tone tinged with regret, as if the choices disappointed him. "Unfortunately, his earlier guardians didn't see fit to guide him towards more practical areas of magic."

Harry clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay silent. The condescension in Riddle’s voice made his blood boil, but he knew better than to argue.

Dippet, oblivious to Harry’s frustration, nodded understandingly. "Fortunately, he has you, Tom, and I trust you’ll steer him toward more challenging subjects in the future."

"Of course, sir," Riddle replied, inclining his head in a display of modesty that Harry knew was entirely for show. "I assure you, Harry will never be left to struggle alone again. He will always have me to rely on."

Riddle's hand came to rest on Harry's shoulder, a gesture that might have seemed brotherly to an outsider, but the grip was firm, commanding. Play along.

"I’m truly grateful for everything Tom has done for me," Harry said, forcing a smile and matching Riddle’s polished tone with false sincerity.

Harry knew better than to be fooled. Riddle’s trip to the Three Broomsticks wasn’t kindness; it was calculated, a way to soften Harry up before this meeting with Dippet. But if Riddle wanted to play games, Harry was more than happy to play along in his own way.

After all, he had his own reasons for wanting to be at Hogwarts.

That didn't stop him from enjoying the moment. Watching Riddle squirm when Harry had insisted on Butterbeer instead of tea had been priceless. Riddle's sharp glare had been full of warning, but Harry hadn't backed down, knowing this was one of those rare moments when he could push without consequences.

The sight of the future Dark Lord sitting stiffly with a white foam moustache had been worth the short display of cooperation.

"I really was lucky to find him," Harry added, his tone syrupy with exaggerated gratitude, teetering just on the edge of mockery.

Riddle tightened his grip on his shoulder in warning. Don't exaggerate. Harry countered with his most innocent smile.

Dippet leaned back, his gaze settling thoughtfully on Harry. "Tell me, Harry, have you thought about staying at Hogwarts to finish your education? In a stable environment, I’m sure you’d excel."

Harry blinked, caught off guard, but Riddle was quicker.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Riddle said, his tone skilfully balanced between gratitude and regret. "We've already discussed it. I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity for him, but Harry is determined to choose another path."

Dippet raised an eyebrow. "Another path?"

"Harry wants to start working. By July, he’ll be of age and legally able to support himself." He sighed softly, his expression a mix of regret and understanding. "You see, we’re both orphans, and we’ve had to learn to fend for ourselves. While I’d gladly support Harry, our resources are... limited."

Ours for sure, but the Malfoy's or Selwyn's? thought Harry tartly.

Dippet’s face softening further. "That’s admirable, Harry," he said gently, his tone filled with sympathy. "But surely completing your education here would—"

"Unfortunately, Harry is adamant," Riddle interjected quickly. "Despite my attempts to persuade him, he insists he's a burden and is determined to become independent as soon as possible. I respect his decision, of course, although I fear he may be rushing into adulthood too soon."

The older wizard nodded slowly, his sympathy now mixed with reluctant approval. "I see. Well, determination is a commendable trait."

"Indeed, sir," Riddle agreed, his voice soft and respectful. He sighed slightly, slumping his shoulders just enough to appear uneasy. "Unfortunately, Harry's exams present a rather delicate logistical problem for us."

Dippet tilted his head. "Go on."

"The exams are scheduled for June," Riddle began, his voice measured, striking a perfect balance between humility and embarrassment. "As Harry has not yet mastered Apparition — nor will he legally be allowed to attempt it until his birthday in July — it would be difficult for him to travel to and from Hogwarts daily during the exam period."

Dippet frowned. "A fair point. But surely there’s an alternative?"

"Of course, I’d help myself. But my work commitments make daily travel impossible. Renting a room in Hogsmeade isn’t financially feasible. I was hoping you might allow Harry to stay in the castle during the exam period."

Dippet’s brows rose. "Stay in the castle? That’s highly irregular. We don’t usually—"

"I completely understand," Riddle interrupted with a deferential nod. "It’s an unusual request, but it seems the safest and most practical solution. Harry would have access to resources and supervision. If I may, perhaps Professor Slughorn could oversee him? As my former Head of House, I trust him implicitly."

Dippet leaned back, steepling his fingers as he considered the request. His posture softened slightly, showing he was leaning toward agreement. "Professor Slughorn is more than capable, but granting such an exception requires careful handling."

"Absolutely, headmaster," Riddle agreed, his tone carrying just the right note of humility. "I wouldn't be asking if I thought there was another way. Harry's welfare is my priority. As his brother, I feel it is my duty to ensure that he has every opportunity to succeed. After all he's been through, I just want him to feel supported."

Dippet's expression softened, all rigidity leaving his features. "It's rare to see such devotion between brothers. Very well, Tom. I'll speak with Professor Slughorn personally to make the arrangements. Of course, this will be strictly for the exam period, and I expect Harry to adhere to all school rules during his stay."

"Thank you, sir," Riddle replied warmly, his eyes gleaming with apparent gratitude. "Your understanding means more than I can say."

Dippet’s lips curved into a faint smile. "You’ve always been an exemplary student, Tom. It’s clear that same excellence extends to your care for Harry. Hogwarts is fortunate to have you as his family."

Harry's stomach twisted as he watched the exchange. Dippet's admiration for Riddle was almost palpable, and Harry could only marvel at how easily the headmaster fell under the spell of Tom's charm. Every word, every gesture was calculated for maximum effect, and — most disturbingly — it had worked flawlessly.

o.O.o

The moment they left Dippet's office, Harry had to work hard to keep the surprise off his face. Riddle had not only managed to secure permission for Harry to stay at Hogwarts for the exams but had also somehow charmed the headmaster into letting him visit Professor Slughorn. As they made their way through the familiar corridors of Hogwarts, every sight and sound tugged painfully at Harry's heart.

Students in their black robes hurried past, their casual chatter and laughter echoing off the ancient stones. Harry longed to be among them, to lose himself in the simple normalcy of school life that now felt so far out of reach. His feet slowed as he craned his neck to watch a group of Gryffindors disappear around a corner; he had to restrain himself with the rest of his strength not to reflexively move after them.

"Try not to look so miserable," Riddle hissed quietly. "You're supposed to be here for the first time in your life — if you have to, stare at everything with a gaping mouth. It's more appropriate."

"If you didn't like my behaviour, you wouldn't have dragged me here," Harry replied angrily, unconsciously switching to Parseltongue as well.

"I had my reasons," Riddle replied coolly, his voice sharp. "You’re here to obey, not question."

Harry bit back an angry response, glaring instead. Riddle, as always, ignored him.

As they walked, Harry couldn’t ignore the attention they were drawing. Many students looked at them, their eyes lighting up in recognition as they spotted Tom Riddle. Two Slytherin boys nodded at him with unmistakable respect, their gazes lingering briefly on Harry with curiosity before moving on. A pair of Ravenclaw girls trailed past, their reaction impossible to miss. They whispered excitedly, nudging each other with sharp elbows, their faces flushed as they glanced repeatedly at Riddle. One covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, her eyes sparkling as she stole another look at him.

Harry’s stomach churned, but he kept his head down, refusing to comment. Riddle, however, seemed to notice the girls’ behaviour. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a flicker of satisfaction that only deepened Harry’s irritation.

Finally, as they reached Slughorn’s office, Riddle knocked, and after a brief pause, the door opened to reveal the plump professor. His moustache twitched as he gave them an astonished look.

"Tom! My boy!" Slughorn exclaimed, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "What an unexpected surprise! What brings you back to Hogwarts?"

"Professor Slughorn," Riddle replied with a charm-laden smile. "I've just come from a meeting with Headmaster Dippet and thought I'd take the opportunity to pay a visit to my favourite professor. I hope I'm not disturbing you, sir."

"Disturbing? Oh, not at all, not at all," Slughorn said quickly, though he made no effort to move aside. His broad frame remained firmly planted in the doorway, effectively blocking the entrance to his office. "But, I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a rather busy time, Tom. Essays to mark, you know how it is. Deadlines sneaking up on me as always!"

Harry noted the polite deflection in Slughorn’s tone, but Riddle wasn’t so easily deterred. His expression shifted subtly, his smile dimming just enough to appear disappointed.

"Of course, Professor, I understand," Riddle said, his voice softening into something regretful. "I only wanted to introduce you to my younger brother, Harry. He’ll be taking his O.W.L.s here this summer, and I couldn’t think of anyone better to meet first than you, sir."

Slughorn blinked. The mention of a younger brother clearly caught him off guard. His gaze darted to Harry, curiosity replacing caution. "Younger brother, you say?" he asked. "Well, well, I never knew you had a sibling, Tom."

"Neither did I until recently," Riddle said smoothly, giving Harry’s shoulder a light squeeze. "Harry’s my half-brother. We’ve only just discovered our connection, but I intend to do right by him. Family is everything, after all."

Slughorn’s moustache twitched as he absorbed this revelation, his eyes flitting back to Harry. Clearly intrigued, his resistance softened.

Harry had a feeling that this was the moment for his intervention.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor," Harry said, keeping his tone steady and polite.

"Well, what a fine young man,” Slughorn said, his tone turning indulgent. "Tom, you certainly know how to surprise an old professor. A younger brother sitting O.W.L.s, no less!" His curiosity finally outweighed his reservations, and he stepped aside with a warm gesture. "Come in, come in! I suppose those essays can wait a little longer. How could I turn away such distinguished company?"

The room was just as Harry remembered — cluttered with ornate trinkets, gilded frames, and shelves lined with potion ingredients in murky bottles. Slughorn directed them to cushioned chairs while he busied himself at a side table.

Riddle unhurriedly pulled a dark glass bottle from his leather bag and placed it beside a ribbon-tied box. "I thought you might enjoy this, Professor," he said with a flourish. "Rosier’s ’36 vintage — a rare gem. And of course, your favourite; crystallized pineapples."

Slughorn’s eyes widened in delight, his earlier reservations forgotten. "Rosier’s ’36? Tom, my boy, you spoil me! And the pineapples too? You remembered!" He turned to Harry with a beaming smile. "You see, young man, your brother has impeccable taste. A fine trait to have, don’t you think?" he winked.

Harry forced himself to nod politely, trying to suppress bad feelings. He liked it all less and less, but felt it was too late to back out of it. He just hoped the wine wasn't poisoned. Or the pineapples.

Slughorn flicked his wand, and a teapot on the corner table sprang to life, pouring amber liquid into three delicate cups. Wisps of fragrant steam curled in the air as he handed one to Harry, one to Riddle, and kept the third for himself.

"Now then," Slughorn said, settling into a cushioned armchair and gesturing for them to do the same, "let’s hear about this extraordinary turn of events. A younger brother, you say? Quite the family reunion!"

Riddle leaned back into his chair, every motion deliberate, his smile charming but reserved. "It’s a rather unusual story, Professor," he began smoothly, "but one I feel should be shared. After all, Harry deserves understanding, not judgment."

Harry, perched stiffly on the edge of his seat, resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Riddle’s voice dripped with mock sincerity and was clearly meant to manipulate Slughorn’s sympathies.

"Go on, my boy, go on" Slughorn urged, leaning forward slightly, his rotund figure jostling the table and making the cups tremble.

As they sipped their tea, Riddle began to tell his carefully crafted story of how Harry had come into his care. Harry was amazed, not for the first time, at how easily the story was accepted, as if half-brothers appearing out of nowhere was perfectly normal. Perhaps that was the way the wizarding world worked — when you're surrounded by the impossible every day, you stop questioning the extraordinary.

Slughorn's reactions to Riddle's story were as expressive as they were perfectly timed. At the mention of Harry's time on the streets, forced to fend for himself, the professor's eyes widened, a mixture of horror and reluctant admiration flashing across his face. But it was the part where Harry, against all odds, crossed the sea to find his brother that seemed to move Slughorn the most. He looked genuinely touched, his gaze lingering on Harry as if the boy were a hero from a fairy tale. When Riddle finished telling how he had taken Harry under his protection, Slughorn beamed, dabbing at the corners of his eyes with a handkerchief and murmuring soft words of approval.

As if to mark the happy ending of the story, Slughorn opened the ribbon-bound box of crystallised pineapple he had received and offered one to Riddle, who declined with a gentle wave. " They’re meant for you, Professor," he said.

Harry took the hint and refused as well, murmuring, "Thank you, but no."

Slughorn seemed entirely unfazed, plucking a piece for himself with fingers that moved with unhidden delight. He popped it into his mouth and chewed with exaggerated relish, his eyes fluttering shut. "Ah, perfection," he sighed. "You’ve outdone yourself, Tom, truly."

Harry’s stomach churned. His suspicion grew, but when Slughorn swallowed without incident, it seemed as though nothing bad was going to happen. Harry allowed himself a shaky exhale of relief.

Then — Boom!

A heavy, echoing thud shattered the moment. Slughorn’s body slumped forward, knocking the teacups and sending a spoon clattering to the floor.

"Professor!" Harry shot to his feet. His heart pounded as panic surged like wildfire through his veins. But before he could take a single step, his legs froze mid-motion, bound by an invisible force holding him as if glued to the spot.

"What have you done?" Harry barked, struggling to break free. He reached instinctively into his empty pocket, wishing desperately for his wand. "If you’ve hurt him—if you’ve ruined something—" His voice cracked with fury. "—I’ll stop you. I swear I will!"

"Do calm yourself," Riddle said coldly, his wand flicking with effortless precision. Harry’s arms snapped to his sides, pinned as though by unseen hands. "All this shouting—it’s terribly uncivilized."

"Uncivilized?!" Harry burst out, stumbling back into his seat from the force of the spell. "Then what do you call attacking a former—" He wasn’t given the chance to finish, as Riddle sealed his tongue to the roof of his mouth with a deft flick of his wand.

"Much better, wouldn’t you agree?" the future Dark Lord said icily.

Muffled, furious sounds escaped Harry, but he was helpless to do more than stare as Riddle approached the slumped professor. With a quick flick of his wand, Riddle cast two spells in quick succession, presumably to prevent any outside interference. Then, with an almost casual grace, Riddle turned his wand on Slughorn. The professor's wide, terrified eyes darted wildly, the only sign of life in his otherwise frozen body as it hovered above the ground. Harry's mind screamed at him to act, to intervene, but he was powerless to stop Riddle.

"Don’t worry, Professor," Riddle murmured, his voice mockingly soothing as he raised his wand. "This won’t hurt a bit. In fact, you won’t even remember it."

With a graceful wave of his wand, a shimmering tendril of light coiled from Slughorn’s temple. It moved like smoke, twisting and curling before vanishing into the void. Slughorn’s face slackened, the spark of recognition and fear fading as though extinguished.

Harry’s stomach dropped, a cold sweat breaking out along his spine. He knew — he knew —what memory Riddle was erasing. The realization hit him like a physical blow, and a raw, primal fear clawed its way through him. This could change everything.

When the spell was done, Riddle lowered Slughorn back into his chair with chilling precision. Another flick of his wand, and Slughorn’s head lolled forward, unconscious.

Then the future Dark Lord — or perhaps just the Dark Lord — turned to Harry. "Feeling calmer now?" he asked, as though addressing a tantrum-throwing child.

Harry just glared.

Riddle sighed. "Blink twice if you’re ready to behave. And if you start screaming again, I’ll make sure you regret it when we return home."

Harry, feeling pure, uncontrollable hatred, blinked twice.

The spells released, and Harry shot to his feet.

"What did you do to him?" he demanded in a harsh whisper, though he already knew. He needed Riddle to deny it — anything to make it untrue.

Riddle arched a brow, his lips curving faintly. "Nothing drastic. Just removed some inconvenient memory."

Harry's stomach twisted violently. Fury took hold of him; without thinking, he lunged forward, his fist aimed directly at Riddle’s smug expression.

But Riddle moved faster. His hands shot out, catching Harry’s wrists in an iron grip that made him gasp in pain.

"Pathetic," he sneered, shifting his hold to trap Harry’s hands in one of his own. With a rough yank, he pulled Harry closer, forcing their faces inches apart, then hissed: "Do I need to remind you who you’re dealing with?"

Harry jerked, trying to break free, but the older boy's grip only grew stronger. A piercing pain shot through his head.

"Let me go!"

"You’re not answering my question."

"You’ve ruined everything!" Harry snapped. A growing headache warned him he was pushing Riddle's patience to its limit, but he no longer cared. "You've destroyed the timeline! every single person I care about could vanish!"

With a sudden shove, Riddle released him, sending Harry stumbling backward into an armchair. Before Harry could react, Riddle’s wand flicked. Harry instinctively tensed, expecting the worst. But instead of the expected Crucio, Harry’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, silencing him once again.

"Calm yourself," Riddle said coolly, his tone edged with irritation. "You’re overreacting."

Harry threw him a hate-filled look. The pressure in his head eased slightly as Riddle's anger cooled.

When Riddle released the spell a moment later, Harry couldn't hold back. He hissed: "Overreacting? It’s not your friends who are at risk of disappearing into—"

The slap came faster than Harry could react — a brutal, stinging crack that snapped his head to the side. But worse was the sudden, piercing pain that lanced through his skull.

Harry hissed, his hand flying to his scar before he could stop himself. Realizing his mistake, he quickly dropped it, rubbing his cheek instead. The last thing he needed was for the future Dark Lord to figure out just how deeply his anger was affecting him.

For a moment, Riddle simply watched him, his grey eyes narrowing. "You don’t learn, do you?" he said, his voice low and edged with venom. "I warned you, Potter. One more outburst, and I’ll ensure you regret it."

Harry stayed silent. His fists remained clenched at his sides as he fought the urge to lash out again. The searing pain in his head was an effective restraint.

"And don't be so shocked," Riddle added icily. ""I hope you didn't think I'd leave any loose ends, did you?"

Swallowing his rage, Harry slowly lifted his gaze. His cheek throbbed, his head pounded relentlessly. The grim truth was that there was nothing he could do to undo it. At least not now. "You’re a monster," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Riddle's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Oh, Harry," he said softly, his tone mockingly pleasant. "Flattery will get you nowhere. And it certainly won’t spare you from punishment. So unless you’d prefer the Belt Spell to the Cruciatus when we get home, I suggest you learn to control yourself. My patience is wearing thin."

o.O.o

"Thank you for your time, Professor," Tom said smoothly, rising from his armchair. "Speaking with you is always a pleasure."

"My dear boy, the pleasure was all mine!" Slughorn exclaimed, his round face beaming with genuine delight as he also rose from his seat. "And what a delightful surprise, meeting your younger brother! My door is always open to you both. Yes, that includes you, Harry, my boy. Feel free to come to me if you need any help with anything in June." Slughorn pulled Potter closer and gave him a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. The teen tensed but, to Tom's satisfaction, didn't pull away.

"Actually, Professor, might I ask one more favour? I'd like to visit my old housemates," Tom asked before Potter could speak and spoil the good impression with his sullen mode.

"Of course, of course!" Slughorn beamed. "Just make sure not to keep them up too late —classes tomorrow, you know."

Tom watched with quiet satisfaction as Slughorn's expression remained warm and trusting, without a trace of his earlier suspicion. The memory modification had been flawless, not that he'd expected anything less. He also had ensured there would be no evidence of their visit this time — no boxes of candied pineapple, no lingering traces. Tom wasn't in the habit of making the same mistake twice.

Potter, for his part, was doing a poor job of maintaining his composure. His jaw was clenched, and his posture was rigid with barely suppressed fury. Fortunately, Slughorn remained oblivious, too wrapped up in his own good cheer to notice the boy's obvious distress.

After exchanging final pleasantries, Tom stepped into the corridor. Potter immediately retreated into stubborn silence, his anger and hatred rolling off him in almost palpable waves as they made their way toward the Slytherin common room. Tom made a mental note to work on Potter's emotional control; the boy's inability to mask his feelings was becoming a liability. Perhaps, Tom mused, this could provide the perfect pretext for using Legilimency on him again. After all, how could Potter hope to control his emotions without first understanding how his mind worked?

"If you want to avoid Crucio, you'll have to try harder," Tom hissed, not even turning his head towards Potter or slowing his pace.

"Fuck you."

Tom allowed himself a small smile; the boy truly had no sense of self-preservation. Still, he decided — just this once — to let Potter's vulgar language slide.

Moreover, the boy's anger was misplaced. To Tom, Potter's fear that the timeline had been irreversibly altered, that his friends might cease to exist, was ridiculous. The memory he had erased — a fleeting conversation about Horcruxes — while significant, was not important enough to change the future that drastically. At most, it would make Dumbledore's eventual hunt more challenging, which suited Tom's purposes perfectly. Besides, removing that particular memory served another purpose — eliminating Slughorn's lingering suspicions and reservations. The man's extensive network of contacts and his willingness to provide recommendations could prove invaluable in the future. Tom had learned long ago that maintaining useful connections was just as important as raw power.

When they reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Tom paused before the stone archway adorned with serpentine carvings. He turned to Potter.

"Open it," he commanded.

Potter stared at him blankly. "How? I don't know the password."

"You don't need one. Just tell it to open. In Parseltongue."

Potter's face expressed utter scepticism, yet he obediently hissed: "Open up."

Nothing happened.

Tom had expected this result, though a part of him had hoped otherwise. The boy's ability to speak Parseltongue remained a fascinating enigma — there wasn't a drop of Salazar's blood in his veins, as evidenced by the castle's refusal to acknowledge his commands. Yet somehow, he possessed this rare gift. Another mystery to unravel, Tom noted, filing it away for later consideration.

However, the fact that the castle had refused to recognise Potter as a descendant of the Slytherin line meant that the second option would have to be taken. In his mind's eye, Tom could already see Potter's reaction when the boy found out about his plan. But for now...

Stepping forward, Tom issued his own command, his Parseltongue smooth and authoritative: "Open up for me."

The stone entrance yielded immediately, just as it always had. As the rightful heir of Slytherin, his authority here was absolute.

Tom stepped through the entrance first, his head held high, and Potter followed with a sullen glare.

The Slytherin common room was just as Tom remembered — a long, low chamber with rough stone walls and a vaulted ceiling. Emerald and silver lanterns hung on chains, casting a green-tinged light that blended with the glow of the Black Lake visible through large windows. The water’s murky motion refracted the lantern light into shimmering patterns, giving the room an otherworldly atmosphere.

Riddle took in the familiar surroundings, feeling at ease. From his very first day at Hogwarts, the greenish glow of the room under the lake, the ancient stones and deep shadows, had made him feel truly at home.

For a while their arrival went unnoticed. The students remained absorbed in their usual activities; some studying, some doing homework, some playing cards or chess, but the low murmur of conversation died as soon as the older Slytherin students recognized who had entered. Their initial surprise quickly gave way to barely concealed curiosity and respect. The younger Slytherins, catching the change in atmosphere, fell silent, looking between their older housemates and the newcomers with growing curiosity.

Two figures rose smoothly from their high-backed armchairs. Alphard Black moved with the fluid grace characteristic of his family, his aristocratic features composed yet alert. Beside him, Tertius Lestrange barely contained his eagerness, though he attempted to match Black's measured pace. Tom allowed himself a small smile at their approach, observing how the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

"Tom, Riddle" Tertius said drawing out the consonants. To an outsider, this might have sounded like a genuine surprise, and that was the effect they wanted to achieve. The younger Slytherin greeted him with a slight bow of his head, his prefect badge gleaming in the greenish light. "What an unexpected pleasure to see our former Head Boy visiting. To what do we owe the honour?"

Tom acknowledged the pair with a nod of his head. At the same time, he placed a hand on Potter's back, subtly pushing him forward. As he did so, the thought crossed his mind that this time he might hit the boy on the back rather than the hands. Why not? Potter had annoyed him quite a bit with his earlier childish outburst.

"Family matters," Tom replied, knowing the vagueness of his answer would only fuel curiosity. "On the occasion I decided to visit old haunts. I see that not much has changed since I left these walls," he added, his gaze sweeping the room deliberately.

"As you can see, we strive to maintain what you have achieved. And I can assure you that we've met your expectations," Orion replied, his right hand casually brushing past his school robe's pocket.

Tom's lips curved into a slight smile.

In other words, they had managed to break into Slughorn's stash of potion ingredients. Over the past two and a half months, Riddle had discovered more than once that Potter relied on luck more than cleverness, but in a matter as important as acquiring an item that could threaten his immortality, he preferred to leave nothing to chance. Felix Felicis was the ideal solution. But it had to be brewed first, and some of the ingredients were hard to come by. Stealing them from the Potions Professor's private stash was, despite appearances, the best option.

If Tertius and Alphard had failed, there was always Aleksandr Dolohov in reserve, though Tom preferred not to rely too heavily on any single person. Besides, this task provided an excellent opportunity to evaluate his youngest followers in person. Sebastian Selwyn had promised the Hogwarts map would be copied by mid-May, and the boys were about to undertake their first major mission. They could not afford to disappoint him.

So far, they had proven themselves capable.

"Indeed," Tom murmured, gesturing toward the black leather sofas. "Shall we sit? I'd like to introduce you to my brother. I was helping him sign up for the June exams," he added, well aware that every Slytherin in the room was hanging on their words.

A meaningful look from Tertius was all it took for the students occupying the sofas near the fireplace to suddenly remember pressing matters elsewhere. Tom felt a flicker of satisfaction; his people were still upholding the reputation he had built.

As they settled into the dark leather sofas, he placed his bag between himself and Orion, the gesture casual to all observers. Black and Lestrange's scions exchanged a fleeting glance, understanding the unspoken instruction.

Potter sat down next to his left; his reluctance was almost palpable, but fortunately he tried to control it at least a little. Tom assessed his tense posture. With some luck, others might mistake it for nervousness.

"Harry, right?" said Tertius as he settled himself in the armchair across from the sofa.

So, Primus had made the introduction.

Potter nodded stiffly. "And you're probably Tertius Lestrange," he said, and the tone in which he said Tertius' surname clearly indicated that Tom was going to have to work on his attitude in the near future.

The youngest of the Lestrange brothers maintained a polite demeanour.

"I'm flattered that your brother told you about me."

Potter thankfully held back a snort. Tom seized the moment to discreetly cast an anti-eavesdropping spell. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Alphard's hand resting near the flap of his bag.

How three years could change someone, Tom mused. When he'd left Hogwarts, these two had been awkward fourteen-year-olds. Now he watched with satisfaction as they proved their worth and utility.

"In that case, I hope you won't mind if I ask you to look after my brother when he goes to Hogwarts in June?" Tom wondered, making himself more comfortable on the sofa. He leaned his left arm casually against the back of the sofa, just behind Potter's back. The boy tensed immediately. "Harry is quite talented when he puts his mind to it. Though he does need... guidance sometimes."

Alphard immediately grasped the hidden meaning. He leaned forward slightly to look at Potter. "Of course you can count on us. We'll look after him as if he were one of our own, Tom."

"Oh, he'll be one of ours," Tom replied lightly, smiling slightly. "Dippet has agreed to leave him in Slughorn's care for the duration of the exams."

Tertius nodded.

"All the more reason for you to count on us then, perhaps we can even arrange for him to share a dormitory with us. After all, it is my duty as Head Boy to keep an eye on someone like that."

Tom smiled wider.

"I would be obliged."

Potter just glared.

Yes, they would have to work on his attitude.

So... perhaps the back this time.