Behind Lies Eternity

In the morning, as Harry cracked his eyes open, he expected to see an empty bed across from his. That was typical of Riddle: up with the lark, always eager to plot his next sinister move. But today was an exception. Riddle was at his desk, fervently writing in that all-too-familiar diary, even though breakfast was merely half an hour away. Harry hesitated. Should he greet him with a jovial “good morning”? Or perhaps blurt out, “What the hell happened to you last night?” What if Riddle had another meltdown? “You’re usually up an hour and a half before this,” Riddle remarked, catching Harry’s eye as he peeked out from his bed curtains, his hair a tousled mess. “Usually, I’d be jogging and working out on the field while it’s still quiet. But the castle’s empty now,” Harry replied with a hint of indifference. “Why do you jog and work out anyway?” “So, are we just gonna pretend you weren’t sprawled on me like a comfy mattress last night?” Harry thought to himself. “Because I love sports. Why else?” Never satisfied with Gordian’s naturally slight and fragile frame, Harry developed a workout regimen inspired by the Auror program. This became his routine over the past three years. While his efforts bore fruit, he knew he’d never achieve the physique of his previous body. Gordian’s constitution didn’t favor muscle or brawn. And with his imminent departure from this world, Harry didn’t see the point in overly strict diets or pushing himself excessively. “You might benefit from a bit of that,” Harry remarked after a moment, eyeing Riddle’s form. Riddle, lucky bastard, boasted broader shoulders than Harry ever had at that age. “Exercise and fresh air work wonders for stress.” Riddle’s scowl could have put stone gargoyles to shame. “Didn’t stop you from drunkenly lamenting about your family,” Riddle shot back, his voice smooth but with a sharp edge, his sly grin sizing Harry up like a hawk eyeing its next meal. “Never claimed I was all happy and relaxed. Just said it helps. Along with a decent seven hours of sleep and regular meals,” Harry shot back. “Educating me on life now, are we?” Riddle’s tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Merlin, talking to you is like pulling teeth!” Harry said, rolling his eyes and stretching languidly as he rose. “Not preaching, just pointing out the obvious. Proper sleep, food, and routine are good for the nerves. With your habits, you could drop dead any day now.” Riddle’s hackles visibly rose, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a smug satisfaction. He always knew which buttons to push . “From sleep deprivation?” Riddle countered with a sardonic lilt. “From sleep deprivation, darling, from sleep deprivation,”  Harry mimicked in a lofty tone, channeling Healer Pernella, the woman who had once pulled him from the edge. “Did you know the brain keeps working while you sleep? When awake, it’s in tune with the external world, but during sleep, it turns inward, managing bodily functions. Skimp on rest, and things start to go sideways. First and foremost, the nervous system. If that’s compromised, other systems follow suit. Symptoms like headaches, fatigue, poor concentration, reduced efficiency, and even exacerbation of chronic ailments can emerge. Anything from mental health issues to digestive problems might be aggravated. Go sleepless for extended periods, and the consequences can be dire. Does that ring any bells?” “I don’t have mental health issues,” Riddle snapped. “I’m fine.” “Funny you picked that one out from the list,” Harry shot back, heading for the bathroom. “I didn’t say you were insane. Mental health issues are just like kidney or heart problems. They need treatment, Riddle.” “So, you think they should fry my brain with electricity?” Riddle sneered, his face twisting in disgust. “Electrocution?” Harry paused, briefly taken aback by the reference to dated psychiatric treatments. “No, I’m not calling you a lunatic. And electrocution isn’t the solution. Mental health issues should be addressed with humane methods.” “What happened last night wasn’t—” “It was exactly that, Riddle!” Harry interjected sharply. “Self-inflicted pain and a meltdown. Trust me, I know the signs. I’m a recovering alcoholic with a temper.” Seeing Riddle’s defensive posture falter, Harry smirked. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? Sounds like the setup for a bad joke.” Post-war, Harry had been ensnared by alcohol, drowning in it, often waking in puddles of his own vomit. Ginny had been overwhelmed; it was a time of constant conflicts and public embarrassments. It was Hermione who steered him toward salvation, introducing him to Madame Pernella. From that point on, he maintained his sobriety. Until recently. Riddle appeared poised to retort, but instead, his face darkened and he unleashed a chilling laugh. For a brief moment, Harry was transported back to the Ministry of Magic, a fifteen-year-old boy confronting the crimson-eyed devil. That cackle was unmistakable. Harry had to bite down on his lip several times to ground himself. “Amusing, isn’t it?” Riddle remarked after his bout of laughter. “Why did you drink?” “Life threw its curveballs, suffered some losses…” Harry began, trying to deflect. “You’re clearly going through something as well. It’s okay to be vulnerable. Embracing emotions means you’re still human.” “I’m not ashamed,” Riddle replied coldly, not meeting Harry’s gaze. “I wanted something, didn’t get it, and it infuriated me.” Suddenly, it clicked for Harry. He realized what had truly happened and what emotions he had sensed from Riddle the day before. “You got angry because you were upset,” he whispered in disbelief. “You didn’t want to feel, but you did, and then you decided to punish yourself.” “No!” Riddle exclaimed, shaking his head. He clenched his fists, gazing at his diary. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t punishing myself. It is about regaining control. When I’m overwhelmed with emotions, I have this urge to destroy something. The magic surges, becomes too much to handle. So I found a way to cope without causing damage. It just… calms me.” Harry frowned, a pang of pity and disbelief. No matter how Riddle framed it, he saw it as self-punishment. Punishment for having feelings. “You can be better.” “You have every right to feel upset,” Harry echoed the advice from Madame Pernella and Hermione. “And angry, or joyful, or to seek support. It’s natural. You shouldn’t inflict pain on yourself to find peace; it won’t bring the desired outcome. You can’t morph into someone else. You are who you are, and to be ashamed of yourself is to be your own worst enemy.” “Pot calling the kettle black,” Riddle retorted, voice rising, his glare hostile. “You’re lecturing me? You’re an alcoholic. Let’s shift the focus, shall we? Why did you start drinking? What hides behind that mask of the righteous, selfless boy?” He stood, closing the distance between them. “Alright, you’ve got a point,” Harry conceded quickly. “I’ve no right to pry into your soul, and I’d ask the same of you.” “Well, aren’t you brighter than you appear,” Riddle smirked, a hint of mockery in his eyes. “Guess it’s in your best interest to keep things under wraps?” As Harry felt his back press against the bathroom door, he realized the foolishness of trying to escape an encroaching Riddle. With squared shoulders and chin held high, he defied his inner alarms, refusing to back down. But as Riddle neared, anxiety gnawed at Harry’s core. “Of course. I’d hope you’ll also stay quiet about me,” Harry’s breath hitched as Riddle got uncomfortably close, memories of Mirror Harry flooding back. “It wouldn’t be to my advantage,” Riddle’s dark eyes, devoid of life just yesterday, now sparkled with mischief and challenge. He reached out, a finger caressing Harry’s face, sending shockwaves through their bond. “Enough,” Harry muttered, swiping Riddle’s hand away. “You plan to keep resisting? I remember clearly what you said yesterday, Harry,” ” Riddle murmured, his body almost touching Harry’s. “You know this isn’t some empathy ability.” “A connection exists,” Harry confessed, struggling to maintain composure. Stubborn pride alone prevented him from pushing Riddle aside. “I’m aware. But its nature, and how to break it? I’m clueless. I’ve combed through the entire library to no avail.” “Progress,” Riddle sneered, stepping back and allowing Harry some space. “But what I wonder is: why resist? Why not just admit it?” “Because I knew you’d exploit this connection to your advantage,” Harry replied, though he wasn’t sharing the whole truth. “How so? What does it offer me? Trust me, feeling your emotions isn’t precisely a joyride.” “And you think I’d provide ideas on how to harness it? I’m not that daft,” Harry snorted, gripping the door handle. “Here’s a proposal: I’ll hand you a list of books I’ve checked, and you join the hunt. Together, we might figure out this connection and how to sever it more swiftly.” “That sounds reasonable,” Riddle nodded, much to Harry’s relief. “So, are we temporary allies now?” “Temporary allies,” the term left a sour taste in Harry’s mouth. An alliance with Voldemort? To what depths had he fallen? “Now, if you’d excuse me, I need the loo. Wait any longer, and there might be an accident.” Riddle scrunched his nose. “You might’ve kept that to yourself. Some matters aren’t meant for public proclamation,” he admonished Harry, reverting to his familiar role as the ever-pedantic prefect. “What’s natural isn’t obscene,” Harry shot back, vanishing behind the door, musing how even with a fractured soul, Voldemort maintained his fussiness. “Come, the niceties will be observed. Dumbledore would like you to show manners…Bow to death, Harry”. Voldemort’s endeavor to emulate a pureblooded heir of an ancient, noble house was indeed curious. ***   The holidays sped by, and before he knew it, they were at an end. Harry had devoted his days from sunrise to sunset in the library, maintaining a covert watch on Riddle. To date, Riddle hadn’t delved into the restricted section and seemed equally focused on their bond’s research. Harry was uncertain when Voldemort had discovered the information about the Horcruxes. In his first month at school, Harry had discerned the dangers that the unsettling book posed. Alphard, with access to the restricted section courtesy of Professor Wilkost, had without hesitation torn out the page about Horcruxes. He handed it to Harry with a wink, reminiscent of one Sirius might give when plotting mischief. When the students came back for dinner, Harry felt strangely out of place entering the Great Hall, which buzzed with chatter. He had become so used to the solitude, sharing the expansive table only with Riddle, with as much distance between them as possible. “Harry!” Alphard hailed him, his grave expression clearly signaling Harry had no option but to sit and engage. “Welcome back,” Harry said, settling into his usual spot. “How were your holidays?” “Dreadful,” grumbled Rut. “Horrible,” Joanna echoed, her mood equally gloomy. “—And you already know about mine,” Alphard chimed in, smirking. “What happened with you two?” Harry quickly pivoted to Rut and Joanna, pointedly overlooking Black. “My dad works in the Department of Mysteries,” Joanna began, listlessly pushing her food around her plate. “The Minister has been pushing them so hard that he’s barely been home. When he does make an appearance, he fills the living room with parchments full of calculations and asks me to assist. They’re searching for missing wizards.” “They’ve drawn up a list? Do you have an idea how many are unaccounted for?” Harry leaned in, intrigued. He’d been trying to ascertain the number and identities of the vanished wizards, but to no avail. The Ministry was adeptly concealing the repercussions of the temporal disturbances. “Dad’s not privy to those details; they’re keeping it under wraps,” Joanna huffed, setting her goblet down with a thud. “However, he suspects it’s about ten people. The whole situation is mystifying! His calculations are constantly erratic! It’s as though there’s been a disturbance in the magical field above the island, which seems to be mending slowly. But the cause? Absolute mystery.” Harry’s pulse quickened. “It’s mending? How?” he blurted, a touch more alarmed than he intended. He had poured over magical theories; all that intensive study must mean something! The anomaly shouldn’t be resolving with him still present! “It just is! The magic’s healing, but at a slow pace. It’s as if something’s obstructing it. But the calculations suggest it will eventually repair itself.” Thoughts whirling, Harry gripped his fork. “But can you trust those calculations? You mentioned they’re somewhat erratic,” he managed, offering Joanna a reassuring smile. “It’s the origin of the disturbance that’s baffling. Things like this don’t just happen, you know?” The anomaly had enabled him to alter the past and held the promise of sending him back to his original timeline. If it closed up, all would be lost for Harry. “How fast is it healing?” Harry queried, making an effort to remain composed. “Any estimate on when it might be fully mended?” Alphard threw Harry a probing look. “Can’t say for sure. You’d need to consult my dad on that,” Joanna responded, swiftly diverting the conversation. “What about you, Rut?” Harry chose not to press further to avoid drawing any more attention. He’d already voiced enough. “— My mother truly outdid herself this time,” Rut said, arching his bushy eyebrows. “She’s a writer for the Daily Prophet. She crafted an article about child abuse within families. Considering our laws, she’s pushing the Ministry to reconsider legislation and establish a Child Protection Division, like they have in America. Our entire holiday was filled with a barrage of Howlers and cursed letters from the traditionalist purebloods who believe they were ‘raised in the traditions of the magical world and won’t stand for those traditions being undermined’.” “Sounds intense,” Joanna nodded in agreement. “Your mum’s a real pioneer! I’ve been pondering journalism as a career; I’d be thrilled to meet her someday.” As the discussion veered towards career aspirations, Harry’s attention waned. He hurriedly consumed his meal under Alphard’s scrutinizing gaze, silently wishing he’d awaken from this unsettling dream to find himself looking into a wall mirror, exclaiming, “What a peculiar dream!” Regrettably, no such relief came, and post-dinner, he found himself reluctantly following Black to his quarters for a private discussion. “My father will consent,” Alphard declared confidently, closing the door with an expression that signaled Harry wasn’t departing anytime soon. “Oh, really?” Harry glanced between the two identical beds, choosing the closer one. Perching lightly on its edge, he focused on the floor, dreading the intensity of Alphard’s gaze. “I am sorry for dragging you into this. And for disregarding your letters. I truly am sorry. Associating with me was a mistake. Now you’re caught up in…” “Stop!” Alphard’s tone heightened unexpectedly, prompting Harry to snap his gaze upward. “Cut the dramatics, Harry. I chose to assist you—on my own accord! My choices aren’t your responsibility, understand?” Harry’s response was a meek, “I…” “Just hear me out,” Alphard insisted, stepping forward to grasp Harry’s shoulders. “I want to save you from Rosier. He is a notorious jerk, Merlin knows what he’d do to you before you come of age. We’ll formalize this damned betrothal, and upon turning seventeen, if we desire, we can nullify it. Trust me, it’ll work out.” His eyes, deep pools of blue, conveyed an unwavering resolve. “If we desire?” Harry parroted, probing the blue depths for a glimmer of familiarity. “Exactly,” Alphard emphasized, moving even closer. A sudden awareness that Alphard was just fifteen hit Harry as his gaze inadvertently settled on his inviting lips. “If you believe it’s a sound strategy, then let’s proceed,” Harry proposed with feigned indifference, gently leaning away. “It’s a great plan,” Alphard retorted, astute enough to promptly establish some distance. “You’ll evade Rosier’s clutches, and my family’s nagging about securing a fiancée will cease.” “The entire school will find out,” Harry ventured, making one last argument. “Walburga won’t hold her tongue.” “So, you’re anxious someone might catch wind of this?” Alphard quipped with a smirk. “Perhaps Riddle?” A surge of tension gripped Harry, memories of tales from another universe flooding his mind. Fortuitously, in this version of events, he and Riddle harbored no mutual attraction. “He’s already in the know,” Harry quickly countered. “He jokes about me becoming the future Mrs. Black. But that’s beside the point. I don’t want your reputation tarnished…” If it ever came out that Gordian Selwyn was involved in porno… Merlin’s beard, Alphard would never live it down. Their only option might be to relocate to somewhere remote, say, Africa. “Your damned chivalry makes me want to punch you,” Alphard muttered, pacing with agitation. “I’ve told you, I’m making this choice with my eyes wide open. The repercussions are mine to face.” “You’re not making an informed decision because you don’t have the full story!” Harry blurted out. “Gordian Selwyn was a pervert, you understand? There’s evidence of my indiscretions! And by evidence, I mean magical photographs of me having sex! Very, very perverted sex! If you, in your naivety, go through with this engagement and this gets out…” Alphard paused, slowly turning to face Harry, his expression a mixture of surprise and horror. “What?” he echoed, clearly thrown aback. “Perverted? You…?” “You bet!” Harry exclaimed, finally feeling like he was getting through. “I had quite the libido, slept around with many people without a thought, and those photographs are proof. I stumbled upon them in a secret spot. After the memory loss, I obviously steered clear of such behavior, but the urges never waned. I’ve been taking suppressive potions to avoid, well, jumping just about anyone.” Alphard, momentarily speechless, struggled to find words. It took a few moments for him to compose himself, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “That’s all in the past,” he finally stated, brushing back his dark curls. “I don’t care about your past escapades. I see who you are now, and I like what I see.” “Alphard!” Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Why can’t you understand? I don’t need your help with Rosier. Just need to buy some time until summer, and then…” “Your cousin isn’t naive! He’ll catch on to our stalling tactics and hand you over to Rosier without a second thought,” Alphard retorted, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Accept it, Harry. It’s the only logical solution.” And with that, weary Harry finally conceded. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” Black grinned. “I’ll write to my father. The last time we spoke, he yelled so loudly he got a nosebleed. What a memory. Hopefully, this letter will give him a heart attack.” “Hey!” Harry protested. “You shouldn’t speak about your father like that. He loves you.” Harry couldn’t fathom such blatant disrespect. “He loves his booze and hunting. I’m just his slave,” Alphard retorted with a frown. “Don’t assume you understand our family dynamics. You think Walburga turned out that way on her own?” “Oh. You want to… um, discuss this?” Harry asked, caught off guard. He’d assumed all was well with the Blacks. But maybe Walburga didn’t just become twisted on her own… “No,” Alphard replied, his lips curling into a rare smirk. “I’m not as altruistic as you. I won’t burden you with our family’s dirty laundry until we’re officially tied together.” Harry felt the joke was in poor taste, but he smiled politely anyway. There was something off about Alphard, something bubbling just beneath the surface. But diving into whatever was going on felt too draining. All Harry wanted was to retreat to his room and immerse himself in another tome. It’d probably be fruitless, but at least it would offer a respite from the chaos of Gordian Selwyn’s life. As for Crouch, Harry decided to play it cool for now, subtly reciprocating his advances to find out what he knew. The most straightforward method would be to let Riddle use his Legilimency and evil schemes to extract information, but they didn’t agree to assist one another beyond their bond research. It was regrettable, really. Riddle would have cracked Crouch open like a nut in no time. “Turns out I’m now engaged to Black, not Riddle, at least in this one universe. Not such a bad day after all!” Harry mused, making his way to his room. The betrothal was taxing. No matter how you looked at it, Alphard didn’t seem to grasp who he was truly helping. He clearly wanted to spite his father, but at what cost to himself? ***   A month breezed by with a tranquility Harry hadn’t experienced since landing in the past. He attended classes, delved into dusty tomes at the library, let off steam at the Quidditch pitch, and sat next to Alphard in every class as if their argument and betrothal never happened. For four weeks, Riddle was a model student, a paragon of restraint. No snide remarks, no menacing glares, no exploiting of their connection, and certainly no confrontations in dimly lit corridors. He even graciously offered Harry some Rudbeckias during Potions. Harry navigated this fragile truce with caution, as deep inside, he was certain it wouldn’t last. Not with his luck. Everything felt like the calm before a storm. And then, the storm came. The Daily Prophet in ‘43 bore little resemblance to its future iteration. More a page of social gossip and fashion, it was largely dismissed by the professional wizarding world. Its widespread popularity was still in the making, but it was held in high esteem amongst purebloods. The news of Gordian Selwyn’s and Alphard Black’s engagement traveled through the school in what felt like under five minutes. Their story graced the front page, accompanied by a photo Harry hadn’t seen, nor knew of its existence. It depicted him and Alphard, dancing at the summer ball on the Selwyn estate. They perfectly played the part of a joyous couple — tall, dashing Alphard tenderly holding a delicate, long-haired Gordian, both beaming as they swirled. “Ugh,” Harry remarked succinctly, peering over the shoulder of his newly announced fiancé. “I don’t look that sugary now, do I? Maybe I should try growing a beard?” After endless tantrums, threats, and personal school visits, Pollux finally conceded to his son. He and Marius, as the family heads, formalized the betrothal contract. And, despite Lord Black’s obvious reluctance, Marius wasted no time sending a letter to the Prophet. “You’ve become more masculine,” Alphard observed. “Taller, more robust. And you got a haircut. Your hair isn’t as long now, but it’s still beautiful.” “Really?” Harry played with a curl that had grown down to his shoulders. “Should I go shorter? Like Elphinstone?” “No! The hair suits you!” “And a beard?” “Don’t. You’d look like those ridiculous thirteen-year-olds trying to show off their three chin hairs.” “Merlin’s beard, you sound just like my parents when they were over seventy,” Rut said with a grimace. “Could you both, maybe, tone it down a notch?” “Yes, could you… I mean, I’m happy for you both, but I feel left out. You could’ve told me,” Joanna looked close to tears, her face pale and eyes reddened. Harry realized he hadn’t considered her feelings. “It’s all for show,” Harry whispered, eyeing the fourth years nearby. Thankfully, they were preoccupied with an animated debate about the upcoming Quidditch match, their rising voices hinting at a looming argument. “This isn’t a genuine engagement. We’re just sidestepping our pushy families.” “It doesn’t look that way,” Rut said, punctuating his words by jabbing a sausage with his fork. “You two look like a couple. I’m not opposed, but it feels awkward for me.” “Do you think, as wizards, we should be ashamed of our feelings and hide them, like Muggles?” Alphard interjected loudly. “I didn’t say that!” Rut was never good at holding back. Harry suddenly realized he shared more in common with Alphard than he’d initially thought. His introspection was cut short by a sudden attempt to slap him across the face. Darting aside, he found himself confronted by incensed Walburga, who seemed to embody impending doom. “You won’t have my brother!” she cried out, her hand poised for another strike. However, before she could act, an unexpected intervention occurred. “Walburga,” Riddle emerged seemingly from thin air, capturing Ms. Black’s outstretched hand. “This ends now. Have you forgotten where you are?” “Unhand me, you…” she began, her voice faltering as an uneasy silence fell over the surrounding students. “You… junior!” “I’m a prefect,” Riddle retorted, his voice dripping with frosty disdain, causing even Harry to shiver involuntarily. The aura of authority he exuded was palpable. “You are currently breaking every school rule. Would you care for additional detentions?” “Wal, enough,” Alphard interjected, liberating his sister’s hand from Riddle’s cold hold. “Father has spoken, and you’re aware…” But Walburga seemed ready to burst. Her fists clenched, her cheeks puffed up in fury, and a low growl resonated from her throat. “Congratulations,” she spat, making a dramatic exit from the Great Hall. Harry took a discreet, steadying breath. “She was aware, wasn’t she?” he murmured to Alphard. “I didn’t tell her about us,” Alphard shrugged nonchalantly. “You should take care to ensure that in the future, our house’s reputation remains untarnished,” Harry knew Riddle well enough by now to recognize the rage simmering beneath the surface, even without any magical connection. However, their bond did react. It was as if a torrent of intense fury rushed through it. “Walburga’s antics are well-known. Everyone’s used to it,” Alphard asserted, rising to his full height in an attempt to overshadow Riddle. However, the two were now evenly matched. “What’s eating you? Our betrothal with Harry?” “Your charade of an engagement is inconsequential to me,” Riddle whispered, his voice barely audible. “I have no interest in your affairs. Just refrain from igniting skirmishes for the whole school to witness. And for Merlin’s sake, don’t parade your affections in public. It’s the height of indecency.” “He does have a point,” Rut noted, once Riddle had departed with his typical air of arrogance, no doubt adding a few more to his list of admirers with that display. “I can’t stand him, but he’s right about this.” A fire ignited in Harry’s chest again, and these weren’t his feelings. With fifteen minutes left before the first lesson, he abruptly stood up and dashed off, ignoring Alphard’s call. “What was that?” He barely caught up with Riddle on the second floor, right opposite the door leading to the girls’ bathroom. The bond stretched out, vibrating with anger and disappointment, only to snap shut, like a bedroom door behind which outsiders weren’t welcome. “What?” Riddle retorted sharply. “I…” Harry lowered his voice to an audible whisper, “can feel your anger. Why?” Riddle paused, his shoulders tensing so much that his robe stretched taut over them. It was evident he had outgrown it. “So you really did get engaged to Black to escape that… Rosier,” his voice took on that familiar menacing chill. “Um, yes?” Harry responded, puzzled. “So?” “You’re so pathetic,” Riddle drawled in his most obnoxious tone. “Can’t you even handle problems yourself?” “What?” Now, the anger belonged solely to Harry, no doubts about it. “I did handle it! And it’s none of your business. Why are you so mad?” “Why?” Riddle spun around, and Harry instinctively took a step back. He was truly livid; his eyes seemed like they could burn holes through anything with their fiery glare. “You could have come to me. I would’ve dealt with Rosier without any ridiculous engagements. But you went to the Blacks. You yourself said they’re dangerous. Yet you still got involved. Maybe… just maybe, you want to become part of their family?” “Have you lost your mind?” Harry exclaimed in disbelief. “I don’t even know which question to start yelling at you about first.” “Try one by one,” Riddle hissed, grabbing Harry’s shoulders so tightly it felt like his bones might snap. “What’s going on…?” The emotions from Riddle seemed to be crashing into a thick wall; Harry could feel the vibrations but not the meaning. “Explain why you’re so upset!” Everything had been going so well. They’d been pretending there was no connection between them, and it was working. “You seriously got betrothed to Black. Betrothed! What were you thinking?” His fingers tightened, causing genuine pain. “Why do you even care?” Harry snapped, shoving Riddle in the chest. But Riddle didn’t let go. “It’s none of your business!” “Everything concerning you is my business as long as I can feel your emotions. You owe it to…” “I owe you nothing!” Harry interjected, his voice seething with anger. He lost control and punched the infuriating Slytherin. Report to Voldemort?! Him?! “No, you owe it to me, Mordred, and Morgana! As long as you affect me, you’re going to listen to me!” Riddle’s pale face turned flush, his beautiful features contorted, revealing the beast lurking within. “Go take a hike in a Niffler’s ass, Riddle,” Harry retorted fiercely. “Think the world revolves around you? Here’s a fact: it doesn’t! I have my life, you have yours, and our idiotic connection doesn’t change that!” The ink-black gaze of the madman became so intense that Potter wanted to shrink away. Previously, the red irises with elongated pupils seemed the pinnacle of horror. But genuine human eyes, with their ordinary anatomy, became far scarier when they glowed with that inhuman fire. “Really?” the devil countered innocently, suddenly pressing Harry against the wall with his body, his too-hot hands gripping Harry’s face. It felt like a jolt of Innervate had shot through Harry. “So, you’ll tell your fiancé that we can feel each other’s emotions?” “What the—?” Harry almost squeaked. Almost. “Get off me! I’ll hit you, I swear!” Images of their relationships in other worlds flooded his mind. Merlin’s beard, they were married in every single one of them! Everywhere! And now… This felt all too familiar. “Will you? Or not?” Riddle persisted, unyielding to Harry’s struggles. “I won’t tell him anything, are you mad? Why would I have come to you? Rosier is my problem; I handled it my way. Soon, I’ll be seventeen, and we’ll break off the betrothal. End of story,” Harry resisted the urge to whip out his wand and hex the lunatic, aware he’d feel the pain of the curse too. “The point is…” Riddle started, then abruptly stopped, his expression turning sour. “I don’t want to faint one day because you’re being tortured somewhere. Do you think Lord Black will merely accept you ending things with his son? There will be a massive scandal. You’ll pay for it, and so will I.” “I couldn’t care less about Lord Black. How’s he going to find me? At Hogwarts?” Harry, in truth, hadn’t fully considered the ramifications of breaking the engagement. “By then, we should have severed our connection. You’re the genius here, find a way! Use it as motivation.” “It’s hard to break something you don’t understand. And what do you mean, ‘where’s he going to find you’? Aren’t you returning to the Selwyns?” Riddle finally stepped back, freeing Harry from his intense grasp. Harry felt as if he could finally breathe, no longer oppressed by Riddle’s palpable fury. “I don’t know. I’m not one for planning; I’ll improvise,” Harry replied, rubbing his sore shoulders. “And do me a favor, stop feeling me up!” “Oh? Worried your fiancé will find out?” Riddle smirked crookedly. “It wouldn’t befit the future Mrs. Black to be seen with Mudbloods.” “You’re a half-blood. And the future Mrs. Black is about to break your half-blooded nose,” Harry growled. “If you’re so desperate for affection, go bother that Ravenclaw fanboy of yours.” “We don’t have the connection, so physical touch is pointless,” Riddle said, his finger tracing a path along Harry’s cheek and eliciting an involuntary shiver. “Aren’t you curious to explore this? What else can we do?” “Share magic, read thoughts, perhaps even acquire each other’s magical talents…” Harry mused and then halted. If he absorbed Riddle’s talent to converse with snakes, could he master Legilimency as well? Breaking into Crouch’s mind would be a piece of cake. “Fine,” Harry said, pushing away Riddle’s touch. “Let’s delve deeper.” Riddle seemed taken aback by the sudden agreement. “Was that sarcasm?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “No sarcasm. I’ll reserve that for when we draw a blank. Let’s probe this connection,” Harry replied, offering his hand. “Temporary allies.” Harry couldn’t think of any particular talents he possessed that Riddle might covet. Exceptional flying abilities and an uncanny talent for attracting trouble hardly qualified as magical gifts. It would have been amusing to dump some of his bad luck on Riddle, though. Riddle eyed Harry’s extended palm as though it was something repulsive, but after a moment, he took it. A wave of suspicion, tinged with a smidge of elation, flowed towards Potter. Such a paradoxical man. It’s a relief he’s no longer irate – that’s a step forward. “Tonight in our room, sharp at eleven,” Riddle instructed. “Don’t be late.” Harry immediately felt the urge to be late just out of defiance. “We’ve got Charms soon, we should move,” Harry said, glancing at the time. “Indeed,” Riddle agreed. The two of them made their way down the corridor towards the staircase. “By the way, if I may suggest, you ought to trim your hair. You resemble a mop.” “Been eavesdropping again, haven’t you?” Harry said through gritted teeth. “I possess acute hearing, and your so-called fiancé tends to be rather vocal,” Riddle responded nonchalantly. “Stop referring to Alphard as my fiancé!” “So now I can’t state facts?” “You only do it to irk me.” “You’re surprisingly observant today.” “Ugh!” Harry grumbled. “Things were simpler when we avoided each other! Ever considered taking a vow of silence?” “And you clearly didn’t engage your brain before getting engaged,” Riddle shot back. As they continued their bickering, they reached the classroom just as the bell sounded. Harry slid into his usual seat beside Alphard, only to be met with an icy glare instead of the typical friendly look. “What’s the matter?” Harry murmured. “Nothing,” Alphard replied tersely, directing his attention to the blackboard where Professor Babbage had already begun sketching a complicated diagram. Choosing not to be weighed down by Alphard’s sudden coldness, Harry momentarily shut his eyes. He already had his hands full with Riddle’s antics. ***   The news that his cousin was engaged to Black unexpectedly sent Tom into a fit of rage. Deep down, Tom had hoped Harry would turn to him for assistance. It would have been logical: Tom was his cousin, arguably the most brilliant student at Hogwarts, and he was friends with Druella Rosier—Hector’s younger sister. Tom could have dealt with the matter discreetly. Yet little bro chose to confide in Black instead. A flash of anger, the fiercest he had felt in weeks, sparked an intense revulsion in Tom, amplifying his fury. He yearned to draw his wand and blast Black’s head into oblivion, but the only thing he could punish was his own clenched fist. Tom made a beeline for the nearest bathroom, but Harry, seemingly sensing the tension, attempted to intercept and make amends. With a barely controlled tremor in his hand, Tom caught Harry, finding solace in the familiar warmth of their connection. It had been a long time since they had any physical interaction, barring that brief moment in Potions when their fingers brushed as Tom passed him the Rudbeckias. The anger slowly ebbed away, overshadowed by the piercing intensity of Harry’s bright blue eyes. For a fleeting moment, Tom let his guard down, pressing so closely against his cousin that they both felt a tinge of discomfort. But that awkwardness paled in comparison to the profound serenity that surrounded him. From that significant day in the bathroom, Harry became the epicenter of Tom’s thoughts. Being near Harry, attuned to the rhythm of his heartbeat, breathing in his scent, and feeling his emotions seemed like the most natural thing to do. He chastised himself for longing for that intimacy once more, yet couldn’t help but observe Harry from afar, reminiscing and yearning. Those memories were a sweet torture. Tom held out for an entire month. However, there came a moment when he pinned Harry to the wall and acknowledged his own desires. Harry was right; there was no shame in seeking pleasure. Wasn’t that the core of human nature? He reassured himself that, in due time, he’d rid of Harry, ensuring no one ever learned of his weakness. So, when Harry willingly agreed to further explore their connection, Tom could hardly contain his surprise. As he gazed at Harry’s proffered hand, he envisioned pulling him close, wrapping him in a tight embrace, with Harry comforting him, whispering that all would be well. Taking a few seconds to shake away these intrusive daydreams, Tom finally grasped the outstretched hand. He’d seize what he desired, and when the time came to dispose of the traitorous relative, he’d reminisce about these moments with a smirk of satisfaction. As Professor Babbage lectured, preparing them for the OWLs, Tom’s focus was elsewhere—specifically on the back of Harry’s head, lost in thoughts about their upcoming evening. Realistically, most of these daydreams wouldn’t come to fruition. It seemed improbable that Harry would willingly serve as a mere cushion for Tom, letting him immerse himself in sensations. Yet, hands? They could certainly hold each other’s hands. Perhaps pin him against the wall once more. Caress the smoothness of his cheek. Probe into his thoughts and unravel all his hidden truths… A former alcoholic, who could have imagined? Tom himself had dabbled in overindulgence that summer he spent gathering human remains around London. He’d drown himself in shoddy homemade whiskey, attempting to evade the nightmarish visions of mutilated, rotting corpses that invaded his sleep. Recognizing the liquor would claim his life sooner than any explosive, he swore it off. When Harry confessed he had similar issues, Tom couldn’t hold back his laughter. Harry witnessing the depth of Tom’s past despair, his fragility and powerlessness, no longer sparked resentment in Tom. The cousin had his own demons: battling addiction and bouts of unbridled fury. He wasn’t superior to Tom, quite the opposite, he was more fragile. And Tom would still kill him. Thus, he could communicate without the ghosts of past weaknesses looming over him, without the biting resentment, and without the fear of someone unearthing his buried secrets. Merely thinking of Harry inexplicably brightened Tom’s mood. It was barely a few months since Tom had been paralyzed by dread. Merlin’s beard, he’d convinced himself that his roommate was a werewolf or some enigmatic, supernatural being. The reality? Harry was just his naive younger cousin: exasperatingly righteous, sickeningly principled, obstinate, temperamental, and slightly dull-witted. Not as dense as most Hogwarts students, but in Tom’s eyes, decidedly missing some brain cells. However, blood was thicker than water, and he had no other family. “Mr. Riddle?” Tom snapped back to reality, startled. Professor Babbage was standing in front of him, her face reflecting genuine astonishment. “I apologize, Professor. I was considering optimizing the wand gesture for Petrificus Totalus; the current one feels inelegant.” “Oh, Tom, for a second I thought you fell in love,” the old hag chuckled. “I had to address you thrice before you acknowledged. Such distraction is uncharacteristic of you.” Tom’s initial urge was to glance at Harry, to ensure he was observing him too. But logic prevailed; such a move would be too revealing. Harry would immediately realize that Tom had been musing about their connection. “I’m truly sorry, Professor, it won’t happen again,” he replied with an apologetic expression, and Babbage moved on. However, now that he was more in tune with his surroundings, Tom couldn’t help but notice Black’s knee nudging Harry’s beneath the table. To Tom’s surprise, Harry didn’t pull away. Instead, he was blushing, murmuring something into Black’s ear. For Tom, physical touch had always been profoundly intimate. In the past, witnessing his cousin allowing others into his personal space had been unsettling, as if they held a place closer to Harry than his own flesh and blood did. But after uncovering the existence of their connection and experiencing its might through touch, observing others share such closeness with Harry became utterly insufferable. “Your sister will pay for your audacity, Alphard,” Tom seethed inwardly, attempting to dismiss the bitter taste forming in his mouth. “Because you’re trying to woo MY cousin.” Betrothal! Only the blind portraits, and Harry himself, seemed oblivious to Black’s evident infatuation. The touches, looks, grins, and reddened cheeks were telltale signs. Every lovestruck fool acted in a similar, predictable manner, and Black was no different. He stood no chance — Harry seemed disinterested in such affairs, much to Tom’s relief. But the very fact that this goody-two-shoes managed to get a ring on Harry’s finger was maddening. Could Harry see something in him? They did have a lot in common, and Black was undeniably the most eligible bachelor in the country. “What in Merlin’s name are you thinking?” Tom mentally chided himself, realizing he was deep in thought about someone else’s engagement and contemplating strategies to break it. “Focus! So what if Rosier gets him? He’s as good as dead anyway.” However hard he tried, Tom’s eyes kept involuntarily darting to that particular spot under the table where knees touched just a tad too intimately. “Fine, it’s a matter of principle,” Tom conceded internally. “I just need to open Harry’s eyes, and he’ll repent and regret his hasty decision to commit to someone so blatantly infatuated with him.” “Mr. Riddle, you’re not listening again!” Professor Babbage exclaimed, forcing a strained smile from Tom. “I apologize, Professor. It seems you were right. I have fallen for someone, she is a year my senior, which makes me slightly apprehensive,” Tom confessed with a disarming smile, immediately picking up on Harry’s surge of indignation. “The thrills of youth!” Professor Babbage remarked with a nostalgic grin. “Fear not, Tom. I’m confident you have the charm to captivate anyone’s heart!” A ripple of giggles spread across the room, with many girls, especially Shion, craning their necks for a clearer view of him. “I certainly hope so, Professor,” Tom responded with a nod, silently gloating. Although it was a tad immature and he wasn’t ready to confront Walburga, Tom felt that Alphard was practically asking for it. ***   By eleven o’clock, Tom had managed to ruin his Charms essay with a massive ink blot, brew a potion that received Exceeds Expectations (which was sheer nonsense), dock points from ten younger students, burn his tongue on hot tea, and stub his toe against a nightstand. He couldn’t focus on anything and had already resigned himself to imagining what he’d do to his little cousin. He even considered binding him with a spell, but he knew better than to think that would work. Harry, the experienced combat wizard that he was, would surely break out of any charm Tom tried. Tom had seen him train in the field; for now, Harry was out of his league. To finish him off someday, Tom would need to unleash all his creativity and aptitude for curses. By eleven sharp, he was seated at his desk, pretending to do homework, though he couldn’t make out a single line in the counter-spells book – the words just blurred before his eyes. The hands of the pocket watch on his desk, placed beside the inkwell, moved too slowly for his liking. “You won’t do anything rash; you won’t use force,” Tom kept repeating to himself, lulled by the rhythmic ticking of the clock. As time ticked on, the minute hand hit twelve, but Harry was nowhere in sight. “He’s deliberately being late, the little shit,” Tom muttered to himself. “He’s asking for it.” Frustration was mounting. Had Harry changed his mind? Or was he so engrossed in chatting with Black that he’d forgotten? At twenty past midnight, Tom slammed his book shut and angrily crumpled his notes. They were all blots anyway. He abruptly rose, ready to throw on his cloak and hunt down the imposter, when the door finally swung open. He instantly noticed something was off with Harry. “What happened?” Tom inquired, hoping his simmering rage wasn’t evident. Missed spots of blood on his tie and shirt, the telltale swelling on his nose, scuffs on his shoe’s toe, but most telling of all was the pulling pain in his lower back, which Tom felt the moment he looked at him. It wasn’t hard to piece together the morning’s events with these clues. “Sorry, I intended to be late on purpose, but I ended up being late by accident,” Harry said with a carefree smile, revealing a slightly chipped upper tooth. “Misjudged a moving staircase jump.” It all added up. He’d hit his face on the banister, strained his back, and scraped his shoe during the fall. “Someone pushed you,” Tom deduced. “Why’d you let that happen?” He’d seen how lightning-quick Harry was in a duel. His reflexes were exceptional. How did he let someone get so close? “You’re too observant,” Harry snorted. “And where did I mess up?” “You’re agile. If you hadn’t been sped up, you’d have landed gracefully and not been so banged up,” Tom listed out his observations, and Harry ruefully ran his tongue over the chipped tooth. “Well,” Harry sighed, “I went soft. Got distracted thinking about your cheeky mug and missed a curse to my back. In my defense, I didn’t expect such a treacherous ambush at school, especially after lights out.” “Was it Burke? Or Walburga herself? I’m guessing the latter. Only she would be brazen and foolish enough,” Tom, already not fond of the twit, now wanted to throttle her with his own hands. “Did you retaliate?” “If you used your brain for good,” Harry grumbled, shuffling to his bed, “you’d make an excellent detective, you know? If you were the Head of the Auror department, England would be the safest country in the world.” [1] “Don’t change the subject,” anger swirled beneath his ribs like a tornado’s funnel. “Did you retaliate? Curse her? You can’t let such things slide.” He knew Harry well enough to guess his reaction, but hoped there was still a smidgeon of self-preservation left in him. Harry flopped onto the soft mattress and leaned back on the pillow with a sigh of relief. “Cursing a sixteen-year-old girl who is going through a tough phase in life?” He tiredly asked, closing his eyes. “I didn’t do anything to her, Riddle. And I won’t. I pity her.” Tom closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, then determinedly moved to sit on the edge of Harry’s bed, thigh pressed to thigh. Harry’s nose had been mended but the swelling remained, meaning it was done incorrectly. Tom had fixed his own nose countless times, so he knew the drill. “You idiot. Stay still. I’m going to set your nose right,” he said, annoyance evident, and gripped Harry’s poor injured nose, giving it a sharp tug downward. “Ouch!” Harry grunted, and landed a painful punch on Tom’s side. “I told you not to move,” Tom hissed, making intricate wand movements. A spell flashed, and the nose realigned itself, the swelling visibly reducing. “There, that’s better. You aligned it wrong. There was a dislocation and you just healed it. Could’ve ended up with a crooked nose like Dumbledore.” “I was going to visit the infirmary in the morning,” Harry grumbled, touching his face gingerly. “You could’ve been gentler! I nearly knocked you out.” “Me? But you didn’t want to knock out Walburga? That girl thinks she’s untouchable,” Tom said, grabbing Harry’s wrist, trying to grasp his feelings. “And what should I have done?” Harry’s voice softened, not resisting the grip. “Attack a schoolgirl? Run to the Dean? She’s just lost, consumed by her own anger. I get that.” The connection relayed Harry’s feelings, but they were foreign to Tom. They made his insides turn cold, urging him to drown his sorrows in alcohol. “You don’t get it, do you?” Harry’s blue eyes seemed to pierce right through Tom. “You’d definitely retaliate. You can’t put yourself in someone else’s shoes…” “I know you can’t let someone trample all over you! She’s just a crazed, idiotic bitch who thinks she’s above all because she’s a Black!” Tom’s anger now turned to Harry, baffled at how his cousin could be so forgiving. “I once knew a monster I wanted to kill,” Harry lifted slightly on his pillows, placing his hand over Tom’s. “Because I didn’t understand who he truly was. I thought like a child, seeing only black and white. But we all have so much inside us. You can’t just blindly punish people and hope things get better, you see? If I’d retaliated, she wouldn’t have learned. She’d just become angrier. You can’t change someone with brute force. Please, hear me out, think about it!” The connection exploded in vibrant colors, showering Tom with fragments of raw emotions. Harry believed so deeply in his words, yearning desperately to be understood. The intensity was so overwhelming that Tom released his hand, wanting a barrier, wanting to cease feeling what Harry felt. “And who exactly did you want to kill?” he asked softly, turning away. There were countless possibilities, but for some reason… Tom felt there weren’t actually that many. “What does it matter?” Harry exclaimed. “I’m not planning on it anymore, so just forget it.” “Forget? You’ve just admitted wanting to kill someone. Even if you’ve changed your mind, who’s this monster?” “Merlin’s beard, why did I even bring it up?” Harry sighed, weariness evident. “Just leave it.” His emotions shifted. Now he felt frustrated, angry at himself, and there was something else Tom couldn’t quite grasp. Tom had never experienced such a broad spectrum of feelings, making it hard to equate Harry’s emotions with his own. “You’re feeling something I can’t fathom,” Tom said, tightening his grip on Harry’s wrist, his thumb caressing the delicate skin underneath. “It’s like you’re… hurting, and you want to make amends, but not in the usual way. I… I can’t even find the words; it’s so foreign to me.” “Not all emotions have names,” Harry mused. “Right now, I deeply regret my murderous intent and want to somehow help that wizard.” “Help the monster?” Tom couldn’t comprehend his logic. “I assume by ‘monsters’ we usually mean those who’ve caused us much pain and suffering. And now you want to help this person?” Tom was starting to suspect that Harry had become a tad unhinged, perhaps from alcoholism. “He’s not all bad,” a wave of sadness surged through their connection. “He had a tough childhood, never knew love or affection. As someone once said, only the strong can show mercy, because being cruel is so much easier. I could’ve killed him, proving him right in the process. That’s why… I want to do the right thing…” He was so genuine, so sincere in that moment. His eyes seemed to delve deep into Tom’s soul. Unable to resist, Tom lightly, akin to a whisper of a breeze, grazed the outer layers of his mind. With Harry, no wand or spell was needed; he simply glimpsed his thoughts. Within the tumultuous storm of memories, he identified a ragged old man, reminiscent of a wrinkled monkey. He shouted, droplets of spittle flying: “You see it? See it? This belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself!” The vortex swirled intensely, releasing fragments: a run-down hut in the woods, a snake affixed to a door, a soot-covered hearth with pots, and a girl in a drab dress. All appeared pitifully destitute and woeful. Then a face emerged — an elderly man with a long white beard and half-moon spectacles. The image was sharp, suggesting the memory was recent. The old man declared, “Marvolo, his son Morfin, and daughter Merope were the last remnants of the ancient Gaunt family, notorious for its instability and cruelty, recurring generation after generation due to prolific inbreeding. A deficit of common sense, combined with a love for extravagance, had diminished the family’s riches long before Marvolo’s time. He, as you’ve witnessed, resided in destitution and muck, with a volatile temper, pronounced pride, and a few cherished relics — to which he was as devoted as he was to his son, and much more so than to his daughter.” Jolted, Tom’s focus faltered, and he emerged from the vortex of memories. While it felt like a few minutes had passed, Harry continued speaking, unaware of the intrusion. “I’ll try, at least. Someone needs to end this cycle of pain and suffering…” Suddenly, Tom withdrew his hand and looked away. He couldn’t find the will to get up and leave or act as if all was well. It was as though he had slammed into a brick wall, his very core splintered into dust. Such memories couldn’t be contrived. He had yearned to see his family, and now he had. No splendor, wealth, or power, no enigmas or puzzles. Merely impoverished degenerates and inbreds, a disgrace to the great Salazar Slytherin. Marvolo, that simian old man, was, in fact, his grandfather. And that rather ugly girl in the gray dress, his mother, Merope? Tom buried his face in his hands, suppressing the laughter bubbling within. “Riddle?” Harry inquired. “What’s up with you?” He sat on the bed, attempting to touch Tom’s shoulder, but Tom sharply shrugged him off. He didn’t want to appear pitiable to Harry again. Perhaps that explained his twisted nature. The illustrious Gaunt legacy was one of madness, a product of inbreeding. And Harry’s struggles with alcohol could be traced back to this ‘legacy’. Just as Tom pondered this, Harry managed to grasp his shoulder. “You’re upset over what I said?” Harry inquired, genuine confusion in his eyes. In truth, Harry seemed relatively well-adjusted, especially compared to his grandfather, who appeared downright deranged and imbecilic. And as for Harry’s own appearance? Tom likely inherited his good looks from his Muggle father. What if Harry had resembled Marvolo? Or Merope? No, he had different parents. Surely not all the Gaunts were so repulsive? Such thoughts served as a good distraction. “No, I was merely thinking,” Tom responded, proud that his voice was steady. “Where do we draw the line between those truly monstrous and those simply starved of love and affection?” Marvolo didn’t come across as just a neglected soul; he seemed utterly insane. Did Harry genuinely believe he could help him? Why else would he think of him? There seemed to be nothing left to save in Marvolo; it might have been kinder to put him out of his misery. Did others view Tom in a similar light? Grasping at the fading glory of his ancestors, blind to the reality around him? The passion in the old man’s eyes when he displayed Slytherin’s heirloom hinted at a belief that it validated all the destitution and filth he lived in. Tom recognized that passion; he clung to the idea that the blood of the founder in his veins might somehow define his worth. “Interesting question ,” Harry murmured, his hands firm on Tom’s shoulders. The heat of his touch penetrated the fabric of Tom’s shirt. “I’ve met those who appeared wholly evil, devoid of any good qualities. Whether they were born that way or became so over time, they seemed beyond redemption. I once thought the same of that wizard, that he was inherently monstrous. But as I got to know him, I sensed there was more beneath the surface. A glimmer of potential.” The warmth from Harry’s hands seemed to suffuse Tom’s entire being. A familiar feeling of solace settled in his heart, pushing away the shadows cast by the Gaunt inbreds. “It’s curious,” Tom murmured, closing his eyes to savor the magic between them. “Who gave you the authority to judge who’s good and who’s not?” Harry’s grip wavered. “You’re right. Nobody did,” Harry replied softly. “Each of us has our own truth. Walburga, Alphard, you, me. Maybe it’s presumptuous to impose our beliefs on others.” “Indeed. We’re all self-centered,” Tom felt Harry’s presence close behind him and ached for him to draw nearer, to envelope him in his warmth. “In pursuit of our own goals, we are ready to risk shattering others’ worlds.” A sudden onslaught of guilt surged between them, feeling like tangible shards piercing Tom’s very being. Harry abruptly pulled away, and Tom gasped. The guilt was overwhelming, as if Tom was living it firsthand. “What have you done?” Tom demanded, spinning to face Harry. Harry curled up, lowering his head and drawing his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “Harry,” Tom called softly. “What. Have. You. Done.” “I’ve ruined everything,” Harry whispered into his knees. “I need to fix it all. I am a damned egoist.” Tom reached out, but his cousin noticed and smacked his hand away. “Enough,” Harry said. “The experiment’s over.” Quickly, he slipped from under the canopy and dashed to the door. “Where are you going?” Tom called after him but was halted by a hauntingly pained look from Harry’s blue eyes. “Gonna get drunk,” Harry smirked crookedly and slammed the door in his face. “Merlin,” Tom rubbed his eyes. “What an idiot.” The evening with his cousin turned out to be quite… painful. Again. Whenever they met, they were engulfed by a whirlwind of intricate, vivid, and sometimes baffling emotions. Tom couldn’t discern what had so upset Harry that he felt the need to drink again. Likewise, Harry couldn’t fathom what troubled Tom. Despite their connection, they seemed like two foreigners attempting to converse in their respective native tongues. Tom settled comfortably on the bed, rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal pristine skin, touched his forearm with his wand, and… Realized he no longer needed this. He was a half-blood. Always would be. But that wouldn’t stop him from becoming the most formidable half-blood the world had ever seen. Embarrassed by his emotions, he tried to emulate the ideal image he held in his mind. An image of a powerful pureblood wizard who never gets upset, never causes a scene, and doesn’t need family or support. But he wasn’t that. He was like Harry — impulsive, occasionally overwrought, and equally yearning for understanding and acceptance. Their blood was the same. Harry was right: to be ashamed of yourself is to be your own worst enemy. He repressed so much that he sometimes erupted like a volatile bomb. One couldn’t deceive either nature or lineage. Tom was profoundly affected by the Chamber of Secrets incident. He had a right to be; it was his dream since his first year. He wanted to impress his adversaries, to instill fear, because they had mistreated him. In his youth, he sought their validation. He was resentful towards Harry for turning to Black for help and not to him, as though Black were closer to Harry than his own flesh and blood. Tom longed for Harry’s attention. His feelings about the Gaunts also weighed heavily on him. He had imagined them as a prestigious pureblood family that might embrace and recognize him. He concocted reasons for their absence during his time at the orphanage and faulted his Muggle father’s heritage. Yet in truth, they were no better than wild animals. Harry had been right all along: Tom had every right to his feelings. He had always believed that if he made himself better — more reserved, smarter, stronger, grander — his family would accept him. That was misguided. Nobody else recognized his self-improvement. Only Harry. But Harry wasn’t looking for an icy, well-behaved, magnificent representative of a powerful family, like Abraxas Malfoy. He had a softer spot for the unrestrained, emotional Alphard Black. Harry valued authenticity and genuine emotions. Even if he and Tom didn’t always see eye to eye, he desperately tried to understand his cousin and hoped for the same in return. Tom unbuttoned his right sleeve and took off the leather bracelet that he had bitten for so long to muffle his own screams. “You’re no longer needed,” he stated aloud, looking at the teeth marks. He then placed it in his hand and set it alight. A blue, smokeless flame consumed the bracelet, warming but not burning his hand. It turned to ash, and with it went all the pain the bracelet had absorbed over the years. For a while, Tom simply lay there, gazing up at the bed canopy. “All these pureblood ideals are nonsense, just smoke and mirrors. It’s personal strength, self-control, and discipline that truly matter!” “You don’t need the validation of pureblooded jerks to be respected and revered!” “You could’ve changed.” “You’ll be okay. You’re strong; you’ll handle everything.” Harry’s words often echoed in Tom’s mind. They were phrases casually dropped in conversation, but they held weight for Tom. Sentiments he had never heard before. “You’re something else.” “You’re the genius here, find a way.” “If you were the Head of the Auror department, England would be the safest country in the world.” “How would I know? You’re the smart one, so you tell me.” It seemed like Harry had more faith in Tom’s abilities than Tom did. Even if Harry’s remarks sometimes carried a teasing tone, their connection didn’t deceive — Harry genuinely meant what he said. Sure, he could be exasperating, loud, and thoughtless at times, but… Harry had become an essential presence in Tom’s life. He seemed to exist in a different realm, thought in unique ways, and broached topics others their age wouldn’t dream of. Maybe he wasn’t the most intelligent, but in certain respects, he possessed wisdom that eluded even Tom. There Tom lay, reflecting on both his and his cousin’s life choices. The clock’s hands had moved well past midnight, nearing two, and yet Harry had not returned. “Fine then,” Tom muttered, getting up. He donned his cloak, scarf, and warm gloves before opening the door. Just considering where Harry might be, the connection gently guided him forward. Someone had to ensure that when Harry was intoxicated, he wouldn’t trip and break his neck, or worse, reveal secrets. The last time he’d been drunk, Harry had spilled enough information to prompt anyone in Tom’s position to alert the Aurors. Tom tried not to entertain the idea that his cousin’s demise might be somehow convenient for him. Walking through the empty hallways, he surmised the fool had headed to Hogsmeade. The connection guided him away from the castle into the cold, dark night, and Tom cursed under his breath. Even though he was a prefect, no one was permitted to leave the castle at night. “Merlin’s beard, you’ll pay for this,” Tom hissed as he approached a mirror that hid a secret passage to Hogsmeade. Few knew of this entrance, but in his search for the Chamber of Secrets, Tom had discovered many such mysteries. He reached the village within fifteen minutes. As he stepped out from the bushes that concealed the secret path, he felt something was wrong. The connection suddenly vanished, replaced by a bone-chilling sensation of loss, as if a piece of his heart had been torn out. “Harry!” Panic surged him forward, past houses with dark windows and muddy streets. Tom knew that at this hour, Harry could’ve drowned his sorrows at only one establishment, so he darted into the alley leading to the Hog’s Head. And there Harry lay. Sprawled out on the melting snow, looking like a child attempting to make a snow angel. His arms were spread out, reminiscent of a fallen bird’s wings. A red halo encircled his head, with his blond curls splayed out. “Harry!” Tom fell to his knees in the slushy mess, searching for Harry’s pulse. But he didn’t need to. The lifeless eyes staring at the sky told him everything. A void where Harry had once resided in his heart left Tom paralyzed. His cousin was dead.