Behind Lies Eternity

Halloween was just around the corner. Heavy, grey clouds loomed over Hogwarts, drenching the Scottish landscape with frequent rains and storms. A palpable gloom pervaded the castle’s every nook and cranny, and even the bright flicker of torchlight failed to elevate Harry’s mood. From the clock tower, Harry surveyed the students below, his gaze tinged with melancholy. For most, the weekend signified a delightful trip to Hogsmeade. For Harry, however, it meant yet another day sequestered within the castle walls, eerily reminiscent of the past where danger constantly shadowed him. In years gone by, he couldn’t venture to the village because of a fugitive Sirius. Now, a mysterious abductor who had buried Gordian alive was the looming threat. He felt incredibly isolated. He kept to himself, staying out of sight, ensuring his true identity remained a secret. Rut and Joanna, both astute wizards, respected his boundaries. Lucretia seldom sought conversation, and as for Alphard… Their friendship had evolved into something so convoluted, Harry found it hard to comprehend. Alphard appeared despondent. He wore a façade of normality, often lost in deep thought, staring off into the void. Harry had his suspicions that the rift between Walburga and Orion played a part; the two were still at odds, blatantly avoiding one another. Harry steered clear of their affairs. He knew he needed to distance himself from Alphard, so he refrained from prying. Their friendship now felt awkward and strained. But, despite their mutual somber moods, they remained seatmates in class. Harry was mentally drained. His interactions with Riddle were equally puzzling. The two now found themselves sharing the room more often. Their interactions were limited to nods and occasional conversations about assignments, but it all felt forced. As Harry scrutinized Riddle, Riddle would do the same, leaving Harry unsure of his next move. Every little thing about Riddle got under his skin: the scraping sound of Riddle’s quill, the faint glimpse of his collarbone from an open shirt button, those unreadable glances, fake smiles, and overly polite questions about Transfiguration essay lengths. At times, Harry was overcome with an urge to confront Riddle, to pin him to a wall and shake some sense into him. The tension that bastard was stoking was suffocating, as if he was intentionally playing with Harry’s nerves like a skillful violinist. Riddle’s slyness was evident. The more Harry observed him, the more he realized that outwitting a young Voldemort would be quite a challenge. Somehow, Riddle had silenced the Faculty’s pureblood circle. Burke ceased his torment of the Muggleborns in the common room, Walburga looked deflated, and even the head boy, Crabbe, started acknowledging Riddle in public. Harry couldn’t fathom how Riddle had accomplished all this. Attempts to discuss it with Malfoy were futile. Malfoy, irked that Harry hadn’t swayed Alphard to their side but instead pushed him further away, now held a grudge. After Harry’s standout performance at the fencing club, the other purebloods gave him the cold shoulder. An intangible cloud of unspoken words, secrets, and rumors seemed to envelop Harry. However, there was a silver lining: Riddle took heed of the warnings and stopped speaking to Walburga as if she was a past love who had broken his heart. Their interactions ceased, much to Harry’s relief. As Riddle’s tall frame, which seemed to stretch even taller in recent months, disappeared beyond the gates, Harry pulled away from the window, heading purposefully to the second floor. His plan was clear-cut. He was certain Riddle would uncover the Chamber of Secrets sooner rather than later. Harry aimed to expedite this discovery by strategically pushing him in the right direction. He tore a page from the first edition of ‘Hogwarts: A History’, confident it would captivate Riddle’s curiosity. Riddle would then undoubtedly locate another such book and piece together the mystery of the basilisk, much like Hermione had once done. Harry pushed open the all-too-familiar door leading to the girls’ bathroom. It felt strange to think that Myrtle, very much alive and equally as irritating as she was in death, wouldn’t douse him with water on this occasion. The bathroom gleamed with cleanliness. The sinks, floors, and mirrors were all spotless. Harry quickly approached the prominent sink. Its faucet bore a snake emblem, which shone brightly, likely from recent polishing. Drawing his wand, Harry muttered the incantation he had been practicing for weeks. The faucet’s snake responded with a flick of its tail before disappearing. “That’s more like it,” Harry remarked smugly, gazing at his reflection. His next destination was a disused classroom on the first floor. Harry had invested considerable time studying Hogwarts’ architectural blueprints, plumbing structures, and historical renovation sketches. His efforts had recently paid off. Hidden behind a portrait of a knight in a first-floor classroom was a majestic hall. Stone serpents gracefully coiled around its columns. Dominating the hall stood an altar, a vast octagon made of an unfamiliar dark, matte material. It was intricately adorned with runes and geometric patterns. While Harry couldn’t identify any of the runes, he observed ominous brown stains trailing from the center of the altar. It suggested that Slytherin might have engaged in sacrificial practices there. Given Slytherin’s history of sparking a millennia-long feud, Harry wasn’t particularly shocked by this revelation. Harry deduced that the hall was situated directly below the Slytherin common room. The sole entry point was the portrait in the first-floor classroom, which led to an exceptionally steep and treacherous staircase. Below this hall lay the Chamber of Secrets. However, no direct route connected the hall to the Chamber. Harry was ecstatic. This twist of fate was beyond his expectations. Originally, he had intended to misrepresent some old dueling chamber as the Chamber of Secrets, but luck was on his side, as always. By cross-referencing two maps of Hogwarts, he discovered a vast uncharted space between the Chamber and the common room. His memory was then jogged by stories he had heard from guests from the mirror. Locating the entrance became simpler, given that Auror search spells had significantly improved since Hogwarts was built. “Forgive me, sir, but I’ll need to alter your portrait slightly,” Harry told the knight, who started muttering in a language Harry didn’t understand, waving his sword threateningly. With a swift motion of his wand, the faded portrait frame underwent a transformation. Where there were once scrolls, now small snakes adorned it, mirroring those on the sink faucet. “Sorry, it’s just necessary,” Harry reasoned with the still peeved knight. “Without some sort of clue, he might not stumble upon this hall. We wouldn’t want that, would we? /Open up/!” The portrait quieted down and moved aside, revealing a perilous and shadowy downward path. “The things one does for the greater good,” Harry mused, stepping onto the landing. He had some intricate decoration to do to ensure authenticity.   ***   For Halloween, Professor Beery had planned a grand event in the Great Hall. Students from all years congregated, eager to witness yet another spectacle from the Herbology professor. “I’d bet everything in my purse that someone will end up injured,” Joanna chirped with glee. She wore a beautiful lavender robe, and her chestnut hair flowed freely down her back. The school’s regulations permitted such flamboyant attire and hairstyles only on special occasions, and this had everyone abuzz with anticipation. To Harry, the scene reminded him of the lavish receptions at the Selwyns’. Students showcased their best outfits, wearing magnificent robes and gowns, and the myriad of hairstyles and makeup left Harry in awe. In his time, such opulence was reserved for special events like the Triwizard Tournament. The notion of dressing oneself like a Christmas tree wasn’t in vogue. Reluctantly, he too had dressed up to blend in. He hadn’t even wanted to attend the festivity but felt obligated. Dean Callahan had made attendance mandatory, and Harry didn’t want to strain their relationship further. He had been trying to engage the dean, but all his attempts seemed in vain. Callahan seemingly sensed Harry wanted something and kept his distance. “What a drag,” grumbled Rut, Joanna’s companion for the evening. “I’d rather not waste my time on Beery’s amateur theatrics.” “I’d usually agree, but I’m quite eager for tonight’s show. Rumor has it they’ve conjured up an illusory fire spell!” Joanna said, clutching Rut’s arm excitedly. “I bet they’ll accidentally set something alight!” “A fire? Boring! If only pixies got loose again, like last year…” “Planning to stay for the dance?” Alphard asked Rut. Naturally, Harry hadn’t invited anyone, and neither had Alphard. So, they found themselves paired together, a duo formed by chance. Rut and Joanna tagged along. In his black tailcoat, frilled white shirt, and blue tie, Alphard looked more somber than usual. He grimaced slightly but made an effort to engage in the conversation. “I suppose we must,” Joanna shrugged. “Callahan will be watching. I believe he thinks dancing will somehow unify the house.” “Oh, sure,” Rut said with a hint of sarcasm. “He probably believes a romantic waltz will dissolve pureblood prejudices, and suddenly they’ll ask people like us to dance.” “I’ll dance with Joanna,” Alphard declared. “And you too, if you’re up for it. Maybe Callahan’s onto something. Perhaps we just need to set an example?” “I don’t know… Seems a bit pointless. They’ll never accept us anyway,” Rut replied candidly. “And dancing with you, Alphard, isn’t on my wish list, to be frank. I prefer the company of witches. It’s odd… Your traditions don’t differentiate by gender.” “What’s so odd about that?” Black looked puzzled. “Oh, I’d love to!” Joanna chimed in, her cheeks tinged with a rosy glow and her brown eyes shimmering. “Let’s dance together and show everyone that the Black heir is above such prejudices! But for Rut… You see, Alphard, in the Muggle world, such acceptance is rare. They caught my Muggle uncle a few years back in a gay club and beat him so badly at the police station that he was bedridden for months.” “Such barbarism!” Black exclaimed. “That’s how everyone lives! Always has!” “Not everyone,” Rut interjected with a grimace. “You, lords and ladies, have the luxury to marry as you please. If anyone on our street saw two men holding hands, they’d be cursed. We live in a neighborhood mainly populated by Muggles and half-bloods like me. Different cultures blend, so, you see, we live in very different worlds.” Harry remained silent. Were these relationships common in his time? Many Hogwarts students had same-sex partners, but it wasn’t something they made a spectacle of. Yet, at the Yule Ball, there were a few same-sex couples among the attendees. He remembered how he and Ron had curiously watched two older Hufflepuff girls. The Muggle world was progressively advocating for minority rights, so these magical norms resonated well with the perspectives of Muggleborns. Dances and performances weren’t really on Harry’s radar. He noticed Alphard had been distant with him throughout the day, which led him to ponder. What had changed? Why did Alphard seem so distant yet continue their strange semi-friendship? “It’s magnificent!” Joanna squealed as they stepped into the Great Hall. “The decorations are so beautiful!” The teachers’ platform had been transformed into a vast stage. A fountain was at its heart, a magical forest stood as its backdrop, and the floor was grassy, giving it an enchanting ambiance. “Beery mentioned it’s a production inspired by the ‘Fountain of Fair Fortune’,” Rut noted. “I’m dreading to see how the Goblet’s illusory flame fits into this narrative.” Younger students gathered near the stage, while older ones chose tables around the hall, reminiscent of the Yule Ball. Professor Beery’s play, however, didn’t seem to generate much anticipation among the senior students. “Should we find a table? Care to join?” Alphard asked, suddenly placing his hand on Harry’s waist, then looking towards Joanna and Rut. “No, we’ll opt for front seats,” Rut answered, his gaze lingering on Alphard’s hand for a moment before he looked away. “We might catch up with you afterward.” Acknowledging Rut’s response, Alphard guided a somewhat distracted Harry to a table near the wall. They sat in quietude. Alphard effortlessly summoned a menu and silently selected appetizers. “Anything on your mind?” Harry inquired, sampling a cheese-filled mini cauldron. He idly observed the crowd, taking in the diverse attires and hairstyles. But primarily, he was searching for one and one person only– Riddle, who remained conspicuously absent. “What makes you think that?” Alphard responded, observing Harry’s fixation on the cheese cauldrons. “Just a hunch,” Harry remarked nonchalantly. Riddle eventually graced the hall, exuding his characteristic dark allure. His traditional white ruffled shirt paired with a dark tailcoat looked eerily natural on him, as if he was used to wearing such attire from birth. A brooch with a prominent black gemstone clasped his tie in place, emphasizing the intensity of his gaze. Harry nearly choked when Tom gracefully kissed the back of a girl prefect’s hand – Shion. Her cheeks reddened, and she giggled bashfully. What a show-off! Juvenile Romeo! “I just didn’t want to intrude on Rut and Joanna. Seems there’s something between them,” Alphard remarked, drawing Harry’s attention away from the young Voldemort. “Pff! That’s absurd,” he retorted. “Joanna’s smitten with you. Rut is too engrossed in his magical theory research. Haven’t you noticed?” Alphard briefly averted his eyes. “No. You’re not…” “Good evening, everyone, on this wonderful holiday!” Professor Beery’s voice, magnified by a spell, boomed. “In honor of Halloween, I’ve prepared…” The stage was magically levitated a few inches off the ground. Even from their distance, Professor Beery, draped in his vivid green robe, was unmistakable. Harry’s attention drifted as he scanned the room for Riddle. Today, the enchantments he placed on the Monster Book of Monsters had triggered. Hidden in the restricted section, the tome had information on basilisks. This implied Voldemort had procured the first edition of ‘Hogwarts. A History’ and was now aware of the Chamber of Secrets’ occupant. It was merely a matter of time before he would delve into the Hogwarts reconstruction archives, a place where significant revelations beckoned. Harry tried to decipher what he felt by observing Riddle’s face, but Tom, as always, was disgustingly charming and courteous, yet their connection… Oh, yes. It resonated with hints of Riddle’s glee. It felt to Harry as if alien emotions were intruding, like static disrupting a phone call. For the first time since their connection formed, he perceived a radiant joy, so potent he couldn’t suppress it. These emotions were a stark contrast to the ones he felt upon their first meeting at the orphanage. However, the catalyst for such jubilance was Riddle’s intent to harm and leverage his newfound knowledge for domination. Harry was overcome with a mix of sorrow and pity, realizing that the only glimmer of joy in the young boy’s life stemmed from such evil aspirations. Could Voldemort even conjure a Patronus? “You’ll miss everything if you keep staring at him,” Alphard whispered. “What?” Harry responded, taken aback. “Oh, right, the performance. What were you mentioning earlier?” “Never mind,” Alphard replied, turning his attention back to the ongoing act. The play had commenced. A third-year student, adorned in a sparkling outfit with tiny wings, stood by the fountain. Her melodious voice silenced the hall. The audience, including the older students at the periphery, was captivated. Harry mused that the wizarding world had limited recreational outlets. If artistic pursuits were more prevalent, those embroiled in political games or battles might find refuge in such diversions. Maybe a young Bellatrix would’ve been drawn to the arts and emerged as a celebrated actress, not unlike Alphard with his impressive artistic skills. Under Professor Beery’s proficient guidance, the young performers shone on stage, singing, dancing, and enacting poignant monologues. Their expressions radiated passion and dedication, devoid of any weariness. Harry was unexpectedly moved by Amata’s melancholic tune about her ill-fated romance and felt joy for Asha’s recuperation. The Unlucky Knight reminded him of himself. The show seemed to fly by, and soon all four characters were poised before the fountain. Familiar with the tale’s ending, Harry anticipated the culmination with a heavy heart. However, Professor Beery’s artistic genius stepped in. He aimed to highlight the Unlucky Knight’s valor by having the fountain erupt in flames. As the flames soared, Harry instantly recognized something was amiss. The illusory flame spell was one he recognized, having been taught the same by Hermione. It emanated warmth without truly scalding. Yet, Harry was aware of how effectively it could heat. Such an intense source of warmth, like the flaming fountain, quickly began to affect the curtains surrounding the stage. The audience, captivated by the sight of the Unlucky Knight stepping into the fountain, didn’t notice the curtains smoldering, their burgundy hue darkening to a charcoal black. “Glacius,” he muttered, pointing his wand at the curtains. “What did you just do?” Alphard inquired quietly. Harry gestured towards the darkened patches on the curtains. Alphard’s eyes widened in realization before he swiftly drew his own wand. “Glacius!” he echoed softly. Together, they succeeded in cooling down the curtains, averting any potential fire. As the fountain’s flames subsided, the knight declared his love for Amata, and the cast sang their final song. “Merlin’s beard, if you hadn’t spotted that, those curtains might have fallen on Briggs, and he could’ve been seriously injured!” Alphard whispered, albeit joining the rest in their applause. “Just a hunch,” Harry remarked nonchalantly, clapping along with the crowd. A recollection flashed: Hermione once commented that such productions were discontinued at school after a tragic incident resulting in a student’s death, leaving only the school choir in its stead. It seemed he might now understand why. Professor Beery, with his penchant for fiery displays and using pixies as stage props, ought to be confined to his greenhouses and barred from orchestrating events in the Great Hall. “Surprisingly, no one got injured this time,” Joanna noted, a trace of regret in her voice as she settled next to Harry. “Dear Merlin, I was certain that blue flame would consume the entire hall,” Rut commented, shaking his head in disapproval. “Beery and spells is a hazardous combination. Still, the performance was absolutely incredible. I gasped when that massive fountain erupted.” Harry couldn’t help but smirk. The table erupted into a spirited debate about the new interpretation of an old fairy tale, as food and drinks appeared, making everything seem so… serene. It felt as if he was just a regular student, spending time with friends, without the need to deceive or kill anyone. “Amata was undoubtedly the best!” Joanna passionately argued with Rut. “Did you see her tears? Do you know how challenging it is to cry on command?” “Overacting!” Gorbovich crossed his arms, his thick eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. “Now, Alteda was good! She even had a better voice!” “Take that back!” Joanna exclaimed, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “How about a dance?” Alphard whispered to Harry. “Before these two drag us into their argument? Personally, my vote goes to Asha.” Harry grinned and agreed. He and Alphard had danced at Marius’s birthday celebration once before. The waltz resonated throughout the hall, with couples gracefully maneuvering, always ensuring they maintained a decorous gap. As Mrs. Selwyn used to quip: there ought to be room for the spirit of Merlin between dance partners. As they blended effortlessly into the lines of dancers, Harry’s mind wandered back in time. He had once danced awkwardly in this very hall, stepping on his partner’s feet. But now, things were different. Black skillfully led him, they debated in whispers about who had performed best (Harry was particularly fond of the Unlucky Knight), and it all felt so natural, as if Potter had been a regular at such events for years. “Imagine,” Alphard leaned in, “if someone dared to play a ragtime record?” “You’re joking,” Harry gasped in mock horror. “Priggles would hang the culprits from the basement ceiling by their toes.” Gordian’s grandmother had once enlightened Harry about the fate of those who broke etiquette by playing vulgar Muggle music at respectable gatherings. Priggles, always watchful over the students in the hall, would surely identify the perpetrator in an instant. Unlike Filch, Priggles was proficient with a wand and was the bane of Hogwarts. “And yet, the ever-popular waltz among wizards is a Muggle dance,” Black scoffed. “Just like the German waltz and the dreary mazurka. I despise all these old-fashioned dances. I’d rather dance the quickstep or ragtime.” “That would be fun…” Harry’s mind drifted to watching Hermione having a blast. In their time, far more unrestrained and candid dances were allowed. Many just jived in place, following no rules, moving freely to the music. The measured music shifted to a livelier tune, and both Harry and Alphard rolled their eyes in unison, recognizing that bloody mazurka. The youngsters tried to dance as they had been taught but kept losing their rhythm. Many of the Muggleborns simply returned to their seats, watching the bolder ones from the sidelines. Harry and Alphard did the same. Only a few couples from noble families could boast flawless execution. Nevertheless, no one seemed too bothered. The boys swelled with pride as they dropped to one knee, while the girls beamed, fluttering around them. “What a farce,” Black grumbled, clutching a goblet of light wine, which was allowed for all students over fifteen. Harry tried his best not to even glance at the goblet. “I hope Slughorn gets rid of the dance list approved under Dippet. That old dinosaur established it a century ago!” Mentioning Dippet immediately soured Harry’s mood. He glanced at the blushing Joanna, clumsily but diligently dancing in front of Rut, at the impeccable footwork of Abraxas Malfoy, and at the delighted squeals of third-year girls. He pondered whether traditions were really so bad. Could anyone dance the mazurka in his time? The new will inevitably replace the old. Young wizards and witches dreamt of breaking free from the unyielding morality of the older generation, and they always would. Simply because they were young and full of fire. Lost in his somber thoughts, Harry missed the moment Joanna pulled Alphard away for a new dance. A persistent Gryffindor girl immediately asked Rut, leaving Harry alone, as vulnerable as a fledgling in a nest. It wasn’t surprising that only a few moments later, Gaspard Crouch swooped in. “Would you do me the honor of the next dance, Mr. Selwyn?” The young man formally inquired, assuming the traditional pose of invitation: one hand behind his back, the other extended toward Harry. “Little asshole,” Harry cursed silently. With teachers and the caretaker watching, Harry couldn’t just tell him to sod off. “I’m not feeling very well,” Harry replied with a forced smile. “What’s wrong?” Gaspard asked, visibly concerned. “Do you need to go to the infirmary? I can escort you…” “No, no, it’s fine,” Harry tried to deflect, but Crouch gripped him tightly. “I insist…” In the ’90s, Harry would have told him to piss off. “Gaspard, I…” “What he means is the next dance is promised to me,” Riddle appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “Have some pride and accept the refusal, Crouch. Begging is unbecoming.” “You’ve got to be shitting me!” Harry thought. He was caught between a rock and a hard place: on one hand, the annoying Crouch who might try to feel him up again, and on the other, young Voldemort, who wouldn’t grope him but would certainly get under his skin. “Get lost,” Gaspard stepped toward Riddle, his voice low and menacing. “There’s no place here for the mudblood scum next to my… friend.” “How rude of you. Ten points from Slytherin,” Riddle retorted coolly. Gaspard reeled back, his sole eye widening in disbelief. “You wouldn’t dare…” “Oh, I dare,” Riddle moved closer, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Gordian is no longer your… friend, Crouch.” Gaspard’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched, seething at the audacity. “Want me to deduct more points? It’s a shame, really. Mostly, I’m the one earning them.” Harry could feel Riddle’s triumph and malicious glee. “Enough,” he declared firmly, standing up, which made Riddle’s hand slide off. “Gaspard, calm down. I did promise him a dance.” “Gordian…” Crouch backed away, closing his eye momentarily. “Very well. As you wish.” With that, he swiftly turned and stormed off, startling several dancing couples. “How dramatic,” Riddle murmured mockingly. Harry recoiled, realizing how close they were. Riddle towered over him, much like Alphard did, but his presence wasn’t soothing or familiar. It was unsettling. “What have you done?” Harry whispered. “Saved you, obviously,” Riddle replied, stepping closer and pushing Harry against the chair’s backrest. “Now, you owe me a dance.” “Why would you want that?” Harry’s mind raced, seeking an escape, but it seemed the universe conspired against him. Alphard and Joanna were dancing far away, Rut was nowhere to be seen, and nearby, Professor Callahan was waltzing with Wilcost. “Building bridges,” Riddle said with a syrupy smile, bowed, extended his hand, and loudly (too loudly!) asked, “May I have the next dance, Mr. Selwyn?” “Sod off,” Harry hissed. But then, he caught the watchful gazes of the dean and other students. “With pleasure, Tom,” he replied grudgingly, taking the offered hand. Callahan smiled approvingly. No sooner had he turned away than Harry yanked Riddle closer, forcing him to lean down, and whispered, “I see what you’re up to! Want to become the teacher’s pet?” “Absolutely,” Riddle smirked, squeezing Harry’s hand so tightly it hurt. “Don’t you? Staying behind so often after class… Hoping your pretty face will make him forget the bastard you were?” “You know I regret who I was,” Harry growled softly, locking eyes with Riddle. “I’m not…” “Ahem,” someone coughed nearby. Harry pulled away from Riddle, realizing they’d been standing too close for comfort. “You’re out of line,” the head prefect, Crabbe, remarked sternly. “Separate immediately to an appropriate distance or I’ll have to deduct points.” “It’s not what you think!” Harry said, horrified. “Gideon, you’ve misunderstood!” “I’ve given my warning. Gentlemen,” Gideon nodded impassively and moved on. “Shit!” Harry muttered as the ring stung his finger. “Happy now? Just what I needed…” “And here’s time for our dance,” Riddle interrupted, grabbing Harry’s hand firmly and pulling him forward. “Waltz of the Enchanted Forest, how poetic.” “Son of a bitch,” Harry thought better than to say out loud. The sting from the ring was quite painful. Surprisingly, Riddle was an excellent dancer. He whisked Harry into the whirlwind of the waltz, steering him deftly away from any missteps. Riddle’s hand, placed firmly on Harry’s waist, felt like burning steel through his cloak and vest. Flustered, Harry nearly lost his footing several times, but Riddle, as if handling a rag doll, easily lifted him just above the floor and set him right. “You’re blushing,” Riddle noted calmly. His breath was steady, despite the brisk pace of their dance. “Of course, I’m furious!” Harry retorted, avoiding Riddle’s gaze and focusing instead on his tie. The patternless dark green fabric looked quite expensive. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?” “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” Riddle pulled him closer so that Harry had to tilt his head up to meet his eyes. “Look around, Harry. Everyone’s watching us.” Dragging his gaze from the abyss reflected in Riddle’s eyes, Harry peeked over Riddle’s shoulder. Indeed, everyone was watching them. Both professors and students. Only the youngest seemed uninterested in the spectacle of two fifth-years. “Selwyn dancing with Riddle… Who would’ve guessed?” Riddle taunted with a smirk. “The fiercest opponent of the mudbloods suddenly in the embrace of one…” A wave of icy anger surged within Harry. While he was preoccupied with Callahan, Riddle was playing his own game. And now he couldn’t even push him away, not with the dean watching them with such a smug expression. Yes, Harry had distanced himself from the other pureblood Slytherins. But to many, he remained Selwyn of the “Sacred Twenty-Eight,” a friend of Black and an associate of Crouch. By associating with Riddle, he cast a shadow not just on himself, but on Alphard too. Everyone now saw firsthand who Riddle’s friend was, or perhaps even something worse. “You fucking bastard,” Harry muttered, defiantly ignoring the pain from the ring. “You think anyone from Gideon’s circle will be swayed by your influence and switch sides?” “Not a doubt in my mind,” Riddle replied, spinning Harry into another turn. The shoes glided effortlessly over stone slabs, polished by thousands of feet, with music streaming in, lofty and beautiful. But with every movement Harry made, black smoke seemed to linger in the air, settling on students, teachers, walls, and tables. He felt he was ruining everything, tainting the destinies of other wizards in that very moment. Suddenly, he imagined skeletons dancing around him, clad in rotting clothes. The black voids of their eyes followed him, the stench of decay overwhelming his senses. “I’m sorry you’ve become this,” Harry said, a fresh wave of anger and regret washing over him. “Using everyone and everything to get what you want. There are other ways to be powerful.” “What are you talking about?” Their connection wavered, revealing Riddle’s surprise. “You don’t need the validation of pureblooded jerks to be respected and revered,” Harry murmured. Before him stood a monstrous, scaled creature with red irises, gripping him with clawed hands. But through its skull, another face emerged — that of a boy with wavy dark hair and bright, lively eyes full of hatred and fear. “It won’t make you happy. Destruction begets destruction.” “What is this?” Riddle faltered, his gaze fixed on Harry’s chest, where their bond seemed to resonate. Time seemed to freeze. Dancing students and teachers transformed into ornate, stationary skeletons, their hair and clothing suspended mid-air, laughter from elsewhere stilled. Only the sound of the waltz persisted. Harry found himself alone with Riddle in the now monochromatic Great Hall. He felt Riddle’s astonishment as if it were his own. Riddle’s eyes seemed vast and mesmerizing, like a dark lake. He was the only other living soul in this shadow realm. “You… you’re afraid,” Riddle whispered, his face paling. “Who are you? You don’t belong here.” He glanced around, his grip on Harry’s waist tightening. “Are these… corpses?” With great effort, Harry tore his gaze from Riddle’s face and squeezed his eyes shut. “Get out!” he growled. The world shattered like a mosaic stained-glass window, revealing the reality that lay hidden behind. They were once again in the Great Hall. Riddle looked around, apparently taken aback, yet their dance hadn’t faltered even amid the disturbance. Things had just escalated for Harry. “You’re a fucking Legilimens,” he asserted. “You know they send people to Azkaban for that, right? One word from me and…” The connection between them intensified, just as he had been warned, and a rush of panic overwhelmed Harry. “I did nothing,” Riddle’s grip on Harry’s shoulders became almost painful. “And you’re aware of it! What just happened?” “I don’t know!” The waltz concluded, and as Harry attempted to distance himself, he was yanked back, his face colliding with Riddle’s chest. “You do know!” Riddle whispered harshly. “You pulled me into that. It wasn’t me.” “I told you, I don’t know! Now let go,” Harry thrust two fingers into Riddle’s solar plexus. Riddle grunted and his grip loosened, allowing Harry to deftly slip away. He made a quick exit, sensing the stares of other students. He felt unsteady, as if recovering from an intense physical exertion, muscles quivering and vision slightly off. How had this happened so unexpectedly? Harry’s mental defenses, meticulously built over years, had seemingly let Riddle pass without any challenge! “What do you think you are doing?” Alphard confronted him near the exit. While Alphard’s grip on Harry’s elbow was strong and his expression jovial, his eyes betrayed anger. “Return to our table,” he muttered. Harry tried to collect his thoughts and looked around. A new dance had begun, and pairs spun around the hall, yet some glanced his way occasionally. He nodded at Alphard and calmly followed him back to their table. “Have you completely lost your mind over him?” Alphard murmured urgently once they were seated. “Explain!” “Nothing happened,” Harry responded, a bit drained, as he took a sip from a nearby cup. “Crouch cornered me, demanding a dance. Riddle intervened, saying I had promised him one. With the dean observing, I had little choice. We argued while dancing. That’s all.” Suddenly, he felt Walburga’s intense gaze. She was seated some distance away, but her fiery, disapproving look was unmistakably directed at him. Across the hall, Crouch wore a similarly stern expression. “That’s all?” Alphard whispered loudly into his ear, making Harry’s skin prickle. “From the outside, it looked like you two were about to pounce on each other and… well, you get the idea!” “What?” Harry was so taken aback that he spilled his juice, staining his pristine shirt. “Exactly that!” Alphard quickly wiped at Harry’s chin and removed the stain with a charm. “First Gaspard approached, then Riddle appeared out of nowhere, staking his claim with a hand on your shoulder. You two were very close, and when you began dancing… It was intense! From the way he held you, to your flushed expression and the intimate conversation. From where I stood, it looked like jealousy was in the air. Then, suddenly, you pushed him away and nearly sprinted off. It seemed very… passionate.” Harry choked and reddened further. “How could you even suggest that?” he responded, perhaps too vocally, then lowered his tone. “I would never! This jerk manipulated the situation for his gain, to impress the dean and other purebloods. I was furious, and it nearly turned violent. Passion? Nonsense!” He restrained himself from uttering a slew of curses, despite his mounting frustration. “Merlin,” Alphard murmured, tapping his glass, which then filled with juice. Harry took a long sip, his throat dry from the tension. “What has he dragged you into? They won’t leave you alone now.” “That’s not the main issue,” Harry countered. “Let them target me; I can handle it. I don’t want you getting involved.” “I can take care of myself; I’m a Black,” Alphard insisted, leaning in. “No one would dare harm me. But currently, you’re an easy target. Between Lord Selwyn’s death, your abduction, and your cousin’s reputation, you’re attracting attention. Burke’s obsessed with revenge. He’d held back, hoping your memory might return. But after this! And Riedale’s treatment of you? Aren’t you concerned?” “I assure you, Alphard, I can defend myself,” Harry replied, his tone softening. He placed a comforting hand on Alphard’s wrist. “Truly. Focus on yourself. Perhaps it’s best if we’re not seen together publicly for some time.” “Absolutely not!” Alphard snapped, grasping Harry’s hand tightly. “I’ve said it before, no one will harm me. I don’t care…” He hesitated, his cheeks turning a vivid shade.  “I’ll continue associating with you and I don’t give a damn about what anyone says.” His blue eyes shone with resolve. In that moment, Harry didn’t see the shadow of Bellatrix or Sirius in him. Alphard was distinctly himself, another fiery Black with a forceful presence. A sudden, sharp pang of foreign hatred struck Harry. Lifting his gaze, he locked eyes with Riddle, who was heading their way. However, something changed his mind, and Riddle veered off, brushing past Alphard, his cloak trailing behind. His entire demeanor screamed extreme displeasure. “Did you see that?” Alphard murmured. “It’s as if he’s jealous! And you, you can’t help but watch him every time he’s around. No wonder the rumors are spiraling!” “He’s not jealous; he’s angry,” Harry corrected, fighting the urge to cradle his head in his hands. These teenager speculations were driving him up the wall. “I’m throwing him off and interfering with his plans. He’s probably realizing how it all looks from an outsider’s perspective.” “Hey, Selwyn!” a sharp voice pierced the air. Harry barely had time to react before a hand slapped his face. “Decide already: Crouch, Riddle, or my brother? Quit making a spectacle of yourself, flitting between all three like a common whore!” “Walburga!” Alphard stood abruptly, his chair toppling over. “Enough!” Harry, still in shock, gazed at Walburga, who was fuming like a protective dragon over her eggs. “Am I wrong?” she shot back, fury evident in her voice. “First, he broke Gaspard’s heart, then he started toying with your feelings! And now he’s got that Mudblood trash in his sights!” She was like a volcano on the verge of eruption, with sparks flying from her wand’s tip, scorching the hem of her elegant blue dress. “Miss Black! This is crossing the line! To my office, now!” Dean Callahan intervened in the Black family dispute. “You too, Selwyn!” “But Professor, he didn’t do anything,” Alphard protested. “It’s alright, I’ll go and explain everything,” Harry assured. “Did you really do nothing?” Callahan glanced at Harry’s reddened cheek and flicked his wand. The stinging sensation vanished instantly. “Alright, just Miss Black then. Let’s go.” Harry gritted his teeth, watching Callahan escort the fuming Walburga out of the Great Hall. What a missed opportunity! He wanted to follow them, but Alphard gripped his arm. “Merlin’s beard, enough for today!” he exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here.” “Go,” Harry snapped. “Without me. You shouldn’t associate with me anymore.” “I told you I don’t care,” Alphard argued back stubbornly. “Well, I do!” Harry retorted, jabbing a finger into Alphard’s chest. “Just leave and stay away from me!” Pushing him away felt so wrong. But Harry realized he was once again drawing a good soul into his whirlpool of gossip, hatred, and persecution. Everywhere he went, those close to him suffered, always because of him. He was better off alone. “You can’t be serious…” Alphard murmured, taken aback. “I’m dead serious. Your unhinged family of muggle-haters? I can’t stand them! Just go and don’t you dare approach me again!” Harry shouted, drawing attention to them. “What’s going on here?” Prefect Crabbe approached them. “Selwyn, today you’ve shamed our House for the next century. Do us all a favor and shut up, will you?” “You’re right, Gideon,” Harry noted, spotting Headmaster Slughorn rushing towards them. “I’m truly sorry, I’ll leave.” He shoved his chair back with a clatter and calmly made his way through the crowd of dancing students towards the exit. Guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders, its burden amplified by the music’s notes and the surprised gazes of fellow students. “It’s for the best,” he kept telling himself. “Alphard’s better off without you. You’re poison. Pure poison. Just like Riddle.” How many times had his friends been on the brink of disaster because of him? Trouble circled Harry like vultures, eager for a kill, regardless of who got hurt. He couldn’t use Alphard anymore to feel even slightly better in this unfamiliar, oppressive world. He effortlessly made his way out of the hall and headed to his room. His head throbbed under the weight of his problems, and he was sorely tempted to grab a bottle of wine from the table. Everything was crumbling before his eyes, and he felt lost. People’s fates were intricately intertwined; pulling one string could cause another to unravel. In attempting to alter one course, he had inadvertently torn apart countless threads of destiny. He was horrendous. Truly horrendous. He deserved punishment for his foolish actions. The room he shared with Riddle still sparkled with protective spells and a barrier that would activate if someone attempted to curse an object on the other side. Harry discarded his robe, waistcoat, and tie onto the floor and started blasting the barrier with the strongest spells he knew. None penetrated, but after ten minutes of unyielding attack, a crack appeared in its center. Without overthinking it, he fervently struck at the crack until it broadened. Finally, the barrier gave way, propelling him onto the bed in the wake of a shockwave. His wand slipped from his grip, and his anger ebbed. The pain from colliding with the wooden bed frame brought him back to his senses. “What are you doing?!” Riddle burst into the room, halting abruptly as he realized he had entered Harry’s territory. “You broke my barrier!” The sight of Riddle was intolerable. “Then make a new one!” Harry growled, searching the bedding for his wand, but it remained elusive. “Incarcero!” Riddle exclaimed. The ropes fizzled out before they could bind Harry. His own protective spell was still active. “What’s your plan?!” Harry rose, poised to retaliate. “Planning to restrain me? Think twice!” He surged forward, deftly twisting Riddle’s wrist. Riddle yelped, dropping his wand. But when Harry attempted to knock him down, Riddle swiftly countered, shoving him off. “Go to hell!” Riddle’s facade crumbled, revealing his true dark, twisted nature. “Take a hike yourself!” Harry’s hatred was so intense he felt an urge to throttle Riddle with his bare hands. He lunged at him once more, bearing in mind that Riddle knew how to fight. They tussled furiously like two angry kneazles. Harry seized Riddle’s tie in an attempt to choke him, but Riddle retaliated by slamming his head against the wall. “Son of a bitch!” Harry snapped, punching Riddle in the face and clutching his shirt. Buttons flew everywhere as Riddle’s complexion turned crimson. He wriggled free from Harry’s hold, removing the constricting tie from his neck. “What’s your end game?” Riddle yelled. “Do you want to kill me?” “If I could, I would have done it ages ago! You’re a fucking psycho! Why can’t you live like normal people?” Harry shouted back, overwhelmed. Months of fear, pain, regret, and anger erupted like a blazing inferno. They clashed again, trading blows like fencers in a duel. Before long, blood stained their torn shirts, faces, and fists. Harry couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt such primal, unbridled rage. He might have killed Riddle right then if not for the fact that Riddle was retaliating just as fiercely. At one point, Harry managed to pin Riddle to the floor, triumphantly holding him down. But Riddle quickly used their height and weight difference to his advantage and flipped their positions. Gasping for breath, Harry pressed his hand against Riddle’s chest, preparing for a final, decisive blow to the neck when something unexpected occurred. Riddle’s undershirt was old and worn thin. It ripped easily, and Harry’s palm met the smooth skin underneath, flooding him with a torrent of unfamiliar emotions. Triumph, the thrill of an imminent victory, confusion, astonishment, fear, relief, anger — they all swirled within Riddle, reminiscent of a multifaceted potion boiling in a cauldron. Harry’s eyes were drawn to where his fingers touched an ugly birthmark just below Riddle’s heart: a dark, reddish blot that seemed to mock every aspect of Potter’s existence. “Why does it seem like a mockery?” Riddle whispered, his breath ragged. Harry realized he’d hesitated, equally fixated on the mark. “What is it?” “Stay out of my mind!” Harry exclaimed, pushing a dazed Riddle aside and quickly standing. There they stood: bruised, in shredded clothing, smeared with blood, as if both recognized the chaos they had caused. Harry touched his face, realizing with a jolt that his nose was askew. Riddle cautiously probed his split lip. “Shit!” Harry whispered, wincing. He hastily retrieved his wand from the bed and straightened his nose. Painful, but nothing seemed broken or fractured, so he performed a few basic healing spells. The last thing he wanted was to explain this altercation to the school nurse, and then to the headmaster. “Hey, you alright? Nothing broken?” “No,” Riddle answered, having wiped away most of the blood, but his lip continued to bleed — the gash was deep. Harry collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in a pillow, and let out a laugh. The post-fight relief was so palpable that he felt emptied of his usual resentment, anxiety, or concern. For the first time in months, he felt utterly spent. Riddle, still on the floor, stretched his legs out and leaned back, tasting the blood on his lip. Their shared bond, stretched beyond belief, betrayed his own sense of relief. Harry wasn’t sure how much time passed with them in that quiet state. Their emotions intertwined, making it hard to tell which were truly his. However, this brief tranquility was shattered by a forceful knock on the door, so strong it caused the handle to quiver. The connection closed off abruptly, and Harry was left with a profound sense of isolation. “Gordian, open this door at once!” Crouch’s voice was muffled by the wood, but the undertones of fury were clear. “For Merlin’s sake, he just won’t leave me alone!” Harry exclaimed, reluctantly rising from his seat. “Get lost! I’m busy!” he shouted at the door. Riddle slowly got to his feet. Adjusting his shirt and rebuttoning it, he headed for the bathroom without giving Harry a second look. Harry begrudgingly opened the door. “Gordian, you… Merlin’s beard, what happened?” Gaspard’s hand, which had been raised to knock again, froze mid-air. His eye widened in shock upon seeing Harry’s disheveled appearance. “We had a bit of a disagreement,” Harry commented, becoming aware of his torn shirt with small bloodstains. His hair probably stood on end too. “A disagreement?” Crouch’s voice rose sharply. “He dared to lay a hand on you! That mudblood piece of crap! I’ll have him sent to Azkaban before—” “I initiated it. He was just defending himself,” Harry cut in firmly. “Look, Gaspard, there’s no relationship between him and me. Just as there’s none between you and me, alright?” Crouch defiantly raised his chin. “I know you, Gordy,” he spat bitterly. “I know your… needs. If not with me or him, then who? Ah, Black! Did you find someone wealthier?” “Believe what you wish,” Harry said, his voice weary. “I’m done with these confrontations. Just move on and find yourself another boyfriend.” He forcefully closed the door in Gaspard’s face and took a moment to rub his temples. “Teenagers!” he sighed. Was he truly this dense at fifteen? Looking around the chaotic room, with overturned chairs and scattered parchments, he admitted to himself that he might still have some growing up to do. He’d lost his temper with Riddle, and now Riddle was aware of their peculiar connection. But, in that moment, anger didn’t surface. Exhausted, Harry felt strangely detached. He’d lie his way out; it wouldn’t be his first time. He kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed, pulling a pillow close. Moving was the last thing on his mind. Riddle, now clad in pajamas, came out of the bathroom and settled onto his own bed, seemingly undisturbed by the mess around him. Wet locks of hair clung to his forehead, forming dark curls. “So, are you going to explain what happened earlier?” Riddle asked after a brief silence. Harry was on the verge of falling asleep. “Don’t know. Somehow, you entered my mind,” he murmured into his pillow. “I can’t read thoughts without casting a spell. And… it didn’t feel like legilimency,” Riddle pointed out. “I experienced what you felt.” “How should I know? Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Harry mumbled in response. “Perhaps you possess some unique ability.” “A unique ability? Such as?” “Empathy. Have you heard of it? Some individuals can naturally sense the emotions of others.” Harry’s voice trailed off, sleepiness overtaking him. “You… When you touched me… You had thoughts about my birthmark,” Riddle said, hesitating slightly. “You felt as though it mocked you.” “That’s not it,” Harry muttered. “I merely noticed it and was caught off guard. Those could have been your feelings, not mine. Who can truly say? I’m spent, Riddle. Just let me sleep.” Finally, Riddle remained quiet.