Behind Lies Eternity

Harry had no intention of fretting over the OWLs again. He didn’t study, didn’t bother to lift his dismal grades, dismissed lectures from Callahan and Slughorn, and even a tête-à-tête with Dumbledore left him unmoved. The anniversary of his time-travel to the past loomed, and he hadn’t fixed a thing. In fact, he seemed to have only made matters worse. Exams? What bloody exams? “Mr. Selwyn, I understand your predicament, but you must consider your future!” The dean animatedly proclaimed during a career consultation. “What on earth is going on with you? Do you require assistance?” “No, Professor,” Harry sighed heavily. “I don’t need assistance. I just don’t see the relevance of grades. Why bother with them? I have no plans of taking up a job.” “You were soaring high, Gordian. The best in your year. Can’t you recall?” The dean pressed on. “I haven’t, and I won’t. I’m a changed man now, sir. It’s unjust to gauge me by past achievements.” “I’m truly flabbergasted,” the professor exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “Perhaps you need some… guidance? Mr. Riddle gave me his word that you two are on good terms. Maybe confiding in him might help? I believe he’d be instrumental in your studies…” A laugh erupted from Harry, much to the dean’s bewilderment. “Professor Callahan, do you earnestly take Tom at his word?” Harry said, still grinning. The sheer absurdity was draining. He had hoped Callahan could be an ally, but like the rest, he was blind to the reality. Harry was pained that no one seemed to truly hear him. “Whatever tales he’s spun you, they’re far from accurate. Our rapport is anything but good. His idea of support would be to a dance partner, but only if she’s pureblooded enough for his esteemed self.” Predictably, Callahan simply sighed in disappointment, as if Harry had just shattered his grand illusions. “Gordian, it’s high time you move past this pureblood and half-blood rivalry. Tom is aware we must stand united…” “Wake up!” Harry snapped. “Right under your watchful eye, he’s rallying a band of Muggle haters!” “Watch your tone, young man!” The typically serene dean was suddenly ablaze with anger. His face twisted, cheeks a stark red. “You dare…” “It seems the only way to get through to you, sir!” Harry shot back, equally passionate. “Look around! Can’t you see the division within our House? We’re on the brink of an upheaval! Walburga Black aligning with Tom doesn’t ring any bells? She’s the fiercest Muggle hater you’ll ever meet!” “You…” The dean began, voice thunderous, but then faltered, his visage clouding with dismay. “I was under the impression I held some sway over her…” “Professor,” Harry’s fervor dimmed in sync with the dean’s, “Walburga is unhinged, much like most of her family. Riddle might have her under his spell, but she’d never cozy up to him unless he resonated with her mission to purge the world of mudbloods.” “Mr. Riddle gave me his word that my approach was bearing fruit,” the dean confessed, visibly shaken. “I had assigned Miss Black and her clique detentions, made them delve into recent studies on wizarding ancestry, and pondered over the link between magical prowess and blood purity…” “They don’t give a damn about any of that, sir,” Harry sighed. “All you did was convince them that, as long as they keep mum, folks like you will preach what they regard as heresy. And Tom? He astutely seized the opportunity, luring them to his fold.” “I can’t believe it,” the dean said, pounding his fist on the table, causing brochures on magical careers to flutter in disarray. “Why on earth would he? He’s a half-blood himself. Miss Black used to ridicule him; you both did!” “He craves power, come hell or high water,” Harry retorted, a sardonic smile touching his lips at the dean’s visible frustration. Just a week prior, when he’d observed Walburga settling beside Riddle at the Slytherin table, a surge of unease gripped him. It had been ages since he’d felt such a sense of foreboding. Alphard had paled, his fists clenching in suppressed anger, before bolting from the hall. Harry had promptly given chase. “I’ll write a letter to my father!” Alphard declared, storming into his room, sweeping aside his OWL revision notes in a frenzy, fishing for an untouched parchment. “It’ll be in vain,” Harry cautioned, seizing his wrists, preventing further onslaught on Alphard’s treasured notes. “If she’s aligned herself with Riddle, it’s clear they’re sharing the same views. Tom will spin tales that’ll sway your father, mark my words.” “How can a half-blood possibly curry favor with my father?!” Alphard bellowed. “By claiming he’s the heir of Slytherin,” Harry revealed. In his ire towards Riddle, he’d unwittingly spilled the beans to Alphard. “What!” Alphard struggled, but Harry’s grip only tightened. “Have you joined his cult? Next, you’ll say he’s Merlin’s descendant!” “Disturbingly, he is,” Harry confessed. “He’s the heir of Slytherin and speaks Parseltongue. Share this with your father, and he might yearn to inject that rare gift into your lineage.” “Nonsense,” Alphard muttered, slackening, eyes fixed on their clasped hands. “We need tangible evidence…” “He has it,” Harry assured, running soothing fingers along Alphard’s wrists, reminiscent of how he’d once comforted Riddle. “You’ll have to deter your father from buying into Riddle’s spiel. Else, Riddle might just snatch up the entire Black fortune.” “It feels as if…” Alphard whispered, extracting his wrists and capturing Harry’s hands instead. “He’s taking everything from me.” “Everything?” Harry queried, realizing their seemingly chaste contact was awakening forbidden desires. He promptly let go of Alphard’s hands and stepped away. A forlorn look from Alphard struck Harry, making him wince. Such profound pain was rare on Alphard’s usually buoyant visage. “Everything I cherish,” Alphard murmured, pivoting away. That night, Harry lingered, awaiting Riddle’s return. After their awkward encounter Riddle was absent the entire weekend. Yet, come Sunday, he graced the dining hall, flanked by Miss Black and their joint cohort. Harry felt like he was teetering on the edge, clinging to a vanishing hope. He believed he could sway Riddle, guide him towards redemption. Another Harry Potter had succeeded. Why was he failing? “I warned you about Walburga!” Harry, wand drawn, confronted Riddle the instant he entered. “I cautioned you!” “And I never promised to heed your advice,” the arrogant jerk shot back with signature conceit. “You can’t hex me. Put your wand away before you set the carpet ablaze.” “You think this is some joke?” Livid, Harry lunged, grabbing Riddle by the collar, pressing the wand’s point to his jugular. Riddle’s eyes widened in surprise. He met Harry’s fierce gaze, licked his lips, and audibly gulped. “You better not get close to me, remember?” he muttered, averting his gaze. The memory of their encounter two days ago flashed in Harry’s mind, and he stepped back. “Yes, but um…” Harry also looked away, torn between embarrassment, anger, and awkwardness. “Don’t change the subject!” “I have no intention of explaining my actions to you,” Riddle replied calmly. He took off his robe, hung it neatly in the closet, and began reaching for his pajamas and towel. “I do what I see fit.” “You’ve got a girl smitten with you and you’re planning to use her, you think that’s okay?” Harry pressed. “You’re using the brother of said girl, who’s smitten with you, just to escape a dreaded marriage. You’re engaged to him, remember. Funny, isn’t it? Now we both have an infatuated Black to deal with,” Riddle retorted with a bite. “You little—” Harry moved towards him again but quickly caught himself. “If it weren’t for my unfortunate condition, I’d smash your face so bad, no one could put it back together.” “Everything heals without a trace on me, as you’ve seen,” Riddle smirked. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m off to the bathroom. It’s been a long day. You always said rest is important and one should be wary of sleep deprivation.” Harry growled, hurling a pillow at him, which Riddle effortlessly caught and tossed back. From then on, Harry didn’t speak to Riddle for an entire week. He didn’t greet him, respond to his questions, or even look his way, trying his best to ignore him altogether. Just when he thought Riddle might be someone different, he just had to go and spoil it all. “You’ll have to talk to me sooner or later,” he said, “You’re acting like a child.” “It’s just ridiculous.” Harry remained silent. What could he say? Riddle was right: he was behaving like a child, trying to get his way through a silent treatment. But irrationally, he didn’t want to stop. That’s why he snapped and yelled at the dean. That’s why he told him the truth. If Riddle was going to play dirty, then Harry was determined to give as good as he got. Upon leaving Callahan’s office, Harry made a beeline for the Quidditch pitch. Behind the stands, so as not to disturb the players, he’d set up a small training ground with obstacles and moving targets, with permission from the Headmaster Slughorn and under the watchful eye of Professor Wilkost. Occasionally, some senior students would try their hand at it, but few had the skill to handle its complexity, so their interest quickly waned. Throughout the week, Harry had been venting his frustrations there, blasting targets with his most powerful spells and dodging the retaliations too, as some were enchanted to reflect any magic back at the caster. Of course, he wasn’t supposed to do this without teachers around, but Harry didn’t give a toss about the rules, and he’d never been caught. He shrugged off his robe, wearing just his shirt since it had warmed up outside, and poured all his pent-up fury into the targets, pushing every other thought aside. He finally stopped when dusk began to settle. Sweaty and exhausted, he grabbed his robe and made his way to the Quidditch players’ showers, reflecting on whether he had been too harsh with the respectable professor and genuinely decent man. Callahan had the best intentions; it wasn’t his fault Riddle had deceived him. Everyone in the school had been fooled by Riddle, except Dumbledore, who saw right through him. The locker room was open, and some Slytherin players were just leaving. “Well, look who’s here!” exclaimed a blond boy whose name Harry had never bothered to learn. “The captain’s little bitch!” added another. They erupted into laughter, high-fiving each other. “Bugger off,” Harry said, barely sparing them a glance. “Whore,” the first one sneered. “We all know what kind of whore you are.” “Sure, jot that down in your little notebook, so you don’t forget.” Harry dismissed them instantly. He’d grown accustomed to frequent insults, having faced them in the past. Though, no one had ever called Harry Potter a “whore.” Times must have changed. If rumors had started circulating about his relationships with Gaspard, Alphard, and Tom, it provided many an excuse to make assumptions about him being easy. With relief, Harry entered the steamy locker room and spotted Alphard. The latter was deeply engrossed in sketching something on a large chalkboard. On closer inspection, Harry recognized it as an attack strategy for beaters and chasers. “Do you realize everyone’s gone?” Harry’s loud chuckle caused Black to jump. “Yes,” Alphard replied thoughtfully, turning back to the board. “I needed some alone time to think things through.” He paused and looked at Harry. “I saw you training. Impressive. You’ve got the reflexes of a quidditch player, you know? You could’ve been on the team.” “I wouldn’t mind flying with you, but playing…” Harry said wistfully, remembering his first and last Quidditch matches. “Not really my scene.” He quickly shed his clothes, grabbed a towel from a fresh pile in the locker, and shuffled into the shower, too drained to be suspicious. So, when Alphard, nearly naked, slid into his shower stall, Harry yelped. Slipping on the wet tiles, he banged his head against the wall. “Easy there!” Alphard chuckled, catching Harry before he landed flat on his backside. “I just wanted my shampoo. You took the captain’s stall.” Water cascaded from above as warm, wet hands held him against a muscular chest, and the towel wrapped around Alphard’s waist quickly became soaked, clinging to the firm bulge beneath. Harry’s body reacted immediately. “Sorry!” he exclaimed, pushing Alphard away. “Out of habit, I…uh.” Panicking, he almost blurted out that he too had been a captain and had used this stall before. “No, I like it,” Alphard suddenly said, casting a look over Harry’s body that Harry had never seen before. Slowly moving closer, he cornered Harry against the wet tiles. His eyes were alight with a wild intensity, and wet dark strands framed his pale face, flushed on the cheeks. “I’m lucky to have you as a fiancé. So beautiful…” He trailed his hand down Harry’s wet chest, pressing his thumb against a nipple. Harry let out an involuntary gasp. The cocktail of recent adrenaline, anger, and arousal hit him like a shot of strong whiskey. “S-stop,” he whispered, lowering his eyelids to avoid Alphard’s eyes. There was an unsettling gleam in them, reminiscent of the fervor he’d seen in Bellatrix’s eyes when she gazed at her Dark Lord. “I just want to help you,” Alphard whispered into Harry’s neck, and Harry felt an unfamiliar hand wrap around his aroused cock. “We’re engaged, Harry.” The hand slid up and down several times, making Harry moan loudly. His muscles turned to jelly, and he practically hung onto Alphard’s other arm, which had encircled his waist. “What’s wrong with me touching you, huh?” “You’re crossing a line, Alphard, ah!” Harry gasped, gripping onto his shoulders. “Let go, now!” Despite his better judgment, Harry couldn’t pull away. Pleasure wrapped his body, making it impossible to obey his rational mind, yet his mind screamed at the sheer wrongness of the situation. This couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening! Alphard wouldn’t do this to him, especially knowing about Harry’s issue! Alphard’s hot breath tickled Harry’s neck as he showered it with kisses and hastened his strokes, shifting one hand to firmly grip Harry’s ass. “Please, let go!” Harry pleaded, finding the strength to push against him. But Alphard barely noticed the feeble attempt. “I won’t let go,” he growled, thrusting forward to let Harry feel his own arousal. “You did this to me, Harry!” he exclaimed, sealing their lips in a rough kiss. The soaked towel dropped to the floor. “I wasn’t like this before!” “Please, stop! Stop it! Don’t!” Harry shouted, digging his nails into Alphard’s neck. He’d gladly tear at the flesh just to end this appalling act — a cruel juxtaposition of his body’s satisfaction against his mind’s horror. Yet his fingers were uncooperative. “You’re supposed to be my friend!” “And I’ll help you out. Like a friend would,” Alphard retorted, moving his hand from Harry’s ass to pin him even harder against the wall. “You want it, don’t deny it. Don’t lie, Harry.” He grabbed Harry’s wrist, yanking it from his neck. “Stop resisting.” “I don’t want this! Bloody hell, Alphard, let me go!” The sheer incredulity of the situation felt like a Confundus Charm smacked straight into his brain, leaving Harry gaping and twitching, even as his body melted in pleasure. He felt detached as he watched the scene unfold, his thoughts flitting about like small fish battering against thick glass, unable to break through. This isn’t real, right? This can’t be happening! “You want it; otherwise, you would’ve pushed me away by now,” Alphard said, running his tongue along Harry’s neck and biting down painfully. Harry moaned loudly, his neglected body betraying him in a rush of pleasure. He climaxed into Alphard’s hand, arching back so violently that he hit his head again. He felt simultaneously elated and repulsed. He watched in a daze as Alphard smeared Harry’s release over his hand and started stroking himself, greedily ogling Harry’s body. He finished moments later, presenting an intoxicating view: water cascading over his broad shoulders, chiseled chest, and tilted face, droplets catching on his slightly parted lips. Harry had never seen anything so enticing, except maybe that time in the room, looking into those dark, almost demonic eyes… He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and shook his head. The realization of what had just transpired hit him like a tidal wave. Where moments ago passion had simmered, now anger began to flare. What the fuck?! “Have you lost your mind?!” Harry roared, delivering a powerful punch to Alphard’s jaw. “What the fuck are you doing?!” Alphard staggered and slammed into the wall. “I just…” he stuttered, rubbing his cheek, sounding more like he was mooing. “I think you knocked a tooth out.” The insanity that had danced in his blue eyes moments ago was gone, and standing before Harry was Alphard Black, the same guy who loved to draw and fly on a broom. “Be glad I didn’t break your jaw!” Harry snarled, storming out of the cubicle like a released Snitch. Pulling on his clothes over his damp body, he darted out of the locker room. His thoughts buzzed around like a swarm of agitated bees. Of all people, he least expected this from Alphard. He knew about Harry’s issues! Harry had trusted him! “You did this to me, Harry. I wasn’t like this before,” he had claimed in a moment of wild, desperate passion. “And what did I do exactly?” Harry wanted to ask. But if he went back, something terrible would happen, because he felt the overwhelming urge to both hex Black and fuck him. Dashing through half the castle at a sprinter’s pace, he barged into his room, slamming the door shut as if cutting himself off from the complicated and hostile outside world. He paced around, restless. Grabbing a clean cloak, he then found his pajamas, realizing he hadn’t actually cleaned up and rushed to the bathroom. He had a burning desire to drink, but Riddle had ensured no alcohol was available to him, not even from the most unscrupulous Gryffindor seventh-years. So, he practically drowned himself in ice-cold water, trying to wash away memories of foreign hands, audaciously grabbing his ass, and of a beautiful body pressing him against the wall. This duality was killing him. The memories aroused him, and he loathed Gordian’s body for it. He began to despise himself for being too weak to resist these wild, unnatural desires. It was all his fault. He was to blame alone. As punishment, he doused his body with icy water until he was completely drained, wishing only to fall into a deep, forgetful sleep. But when did things ever go his way? Riddle was already waiting for him in the room, and even without looking, Harry could sense the fury radiating from him. “Save your words for later,” Harry muttered wearily, not even realizing it was the first thing he’d said to Riddle in a week. He collapsed onto the bed, burying his face into the pillow. “You… okay?” Against all odds, Riddle wasn’t shouting or threatening. He spoke with a calm as if anger didn’t boil within him. The mattress dipped as he sat next to Harry, a warm thigh pressing against his chilled side. “You felt it, didn’t you?” Harry moaned into the pillow, clenching his fists around the pillowcase. Shame, disgust, and revulsion welled up in him. He had been betrayed, and he had betrayed himself. It was all his fault. “Yes,” Riddle’s voice wavered. “Black took advantage of your state.” “What makes you think it was him?” Harry became wary. “I saw it. Through your eyes.” Harry recalled with horror how he’d delved into Voldemort’s mind, seen through his eyes. Had it all returned? “Were you asleep?” he asked cautiously. “Yes, I dozed off in the library because I hadn’t slept for a day. At first, I thought it was a dream, but… I know that I saw what you saw. You don’t have to blame yourself…” “Shut up!” Harry shouted, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “Just… don’t say anything. I never want to discuss this. Ever.” “Alright,” Riddle replied, his tone surprisingly compliant. “Sit up. We need to get rid of these marks on your neck.” “What?” Harry lifted his head to touch his neck, but Riddle immediately grabbed the collar of his pajamas, pulling him face-to-face. “I told you to back off!” He didn’t have the strength to fight him either. “Just sit still for a moment, I’ll remove these… disgusting marks,” Riddle whispered, his lips turning white, and somehow, Harry understood it might be a good idea to stay silent since the man in front of him seemed on the brink of exploding, ready to drag everyone else down with him. He froze and held his breath as Riddle moved his wand over his neck, casting a non-verbal spell that sent tingling sensations across his skin. “Don’t do anything to him,” Harry pleaded when the wand paused, pressing painfully against his collarbone. “It’s my fault.” Riddle just shook his head in silent disagreement. “It’s true,” Harry said, unable to meet his gaze and staring at his intertwined fingers instead. “I feel your anger. But it’s none of your business. Just like it’s none of my business what you do with Walburga.” “Walburga didn’t rape me. And I never laid a finger on her,” Riddle spat through clenched teeth, his hatred palpable. “What he did to you…” “He didn’t rape me, and it’s still none of your business,” Harry retorted, turning away. Somehow, Harry felt that Riddle genuinely cared for him. But that had to be nonsense. It was just the connection. Riddle was angry because he saw and felt it too. “It’s called rape,” his voice roughened, carrying a guttural undertone. “You were trying to stop him. I felt your shame, your disgust! You said no, and he didn’t stop!” “Enough,” Harry said wearily. “It’s my fault. You warned me he was infatuated, and I just brushed it off. Pretended not to notice his advances. Avoided him.” “I’ll kill him,” Riddle suddenly declared, trying to rise. Harry gripped him with both hands, pressing his chest to Riddle’s back. “Riddle, calm down!” Harry exclaimed, his hands interlocking as if in a clasp. “Stay out of it! Just… cool down before you do something rash.” Riddle froze, his body taut. After a moment’s hesitation, Harry leaned in, pressing his face to the curve of Riddle’s neck. He was so overwhelmingly tired. “Please,” he whispered, “Don’t leave, Tom.” It was the first time he’d uttered his name aloud. Their bond resonated, enveloping them in a fluffy warmth and tentative hope. Riddle’s shoulders relaxed, and he leaned back slightly, letting out a soft sigh. Harry shifted from holding him down to just embracing him. Feeling his heartbeat, sensing the storm within him calming down. It was as if he had caught an Obscurus in his hands. All of Harry’s worries melted away. He inhaled the scent of Riddle’s hair, clinging to him as if the past hour never occurred, as if it all belonged to some distant, imagined world, and the real world was right here, in this room. Tom Riddle was the lone constant amidst the chaos of Harry Potter’s life, and now he lay tamed and familiar in Harry’s embrace. Time seemed to stretch around them, and it was hard to tell whether a moment or an hour had passed. His mind wasn’t filled with nagging thoughts, but instead basked in the peace and the presence of another beside him. He wished this moment would last forever. Harry was pulled from his reverie by a soft snoring. Riddle had fallen asleep. Feeling the pull of exhaustion himself, he gently called Riddle’s name. Riddle stirred. “Time to sleep,” Harry whispered, reluctantly loosening his grip. “Mhm,” Tom mumbled sleepily, laying down on Harry’s bed after kicking off his shoes. “Turn off the light.” Too tired to move again, Harry simply waved his hand to extinguish the overhead lamp, then fell down beside him, pulling a corner of the blanket over them. ***   At dawn, the small enchanted window overlooking the Forbidden Forest bathed the room in a red hue, casting eerie crimson shades all around. Tom jolted awake, immediately confronted by the image of Harry’s blood-streaked face. “No!” he exclaimed, sitting up abruptly on the mattress. Slow realization dawned upon him: it was just the break of dawn, and Harry was very much alive, softly snoring into his pillow, curled up cozily on his half of the bed. Nightmares had plagued him, filled with nothing but pain, moans, and screams of despair. Over and over, he’d lost Harry, who would then rise from the ashes only to burn again. Tom took a deep breath, placing a hand over his pounding heart, willing it to calm. His groggy mind began to grasp the situation he found himself in. He had fallen asleep in someone else’s bed, held in an embrace. “Please, don’t leave, Tom,” he seemed to hear the pleading whisper as if it were real. For some reason, he was reminded of himself as a little boy gripping the steel bars of the orphanage gate. How he hadn’t wanted to leave, always hoping someone would come for him. And Tom couldn’t leave Harry. He had allowed himself to melt into those arms, finding solace for a few blissful hours in a place where he felt welcomed, where someone had come for him. If he could ever call a place home, that home would be with Harry. Carefully swinging his legs off the bed, he noticed his boots haphazardly strewn on the carpet. The enchantments were fading, revealing scuffed toe caps and worn-out laces. Beside them were Harry’s boots, looking brand new thanks to their magical enhancements. These were the only ones he wore, even though Gordian Selwyn had a whole shelf of others. Tom waved his wand over the boots, covered shivering Harry with a blanket, and trudged to the bathroom, contemplating the situation. The anger that had consumed him yesterday lay dormant, but it hadn’t vanished. By his outburst, he’d put both himself and his cousin in an awkward position. They had now shared such an intimate moment that nothing could ever remain the same. Both knew there was more between them than just a magical connection. They needed each other. Tom saw the world through Harry’s eyes, felt his despair, the tortured pleasure, the fear, the guilt, the pain of betrayal. He couldn’t just let it go. Only he could protect Harry from others and from himself. By the time he had freshened up, the sun was fully risen, and a plan had formed in his head on how to break off the loathsome engagement and get back at Black, who wasn’t the saint he pretended to be. He wouldn’t harm him directly, no. The week of boycotting, when Harry refused to speak to him, had been the most torturous since the beginning of the school year. If Tom tried to harm Alphard openly, Harry would lose it again. He couldn’t get a decent night’s sleep, the memory of their last quarrel incessantly playing in his mind. He missed Harry’s evening chats about ‘light’ feelings and love, his touches, his stubbornness, his snaps, taunts, and sarcasm. He missed having his attention. This couldn’t just be blamed on their connection. Tom had simply integrated Harry into his life, becoming accustomed to the emotions he had previously been deprived of. All this brewed in his head, forming a volatile potion that threatened to spill over with scalding toxic drops. The Tom Riddle from the start of the school year vowed he would kill Harry. The current Tom Riddle was paralyzed with fear of losing him. These two facets of him grappled, each occasionally gaining the upper hand, and he couldn’t predict which would prevail. He would muster arguments for keeping him alive, but then thoughts of betrayal, lies, and seeing Tom torturing himself, miserable and vulnerable, would resurface. Could Tom really let him live after witnessing that? Yet, being with him felt so indescribably good. Just a simple touch from Harry could ease all worries. Torn between these conflicting thoughts, he headed to breakfast, absently nodding to his fellow Slytherins. He didn’t feel like conversing with anyone, so he didn’t wait for Lestrange and ignored Dolohov, who tried to join him. His thoughts remained consumed by his cousin. After navigating the long main corridor and slipping into a shortcut that considerably shortened his journey to the Great Hall, Tom suddenly felt watched. He turned around, but no one was there. “Who’s there?” he asked evenly, drawing his wand. His intuition never betrayed him, and he felt someone observing. “Show yourself!” There was no reply, but Tom felt the lingering presence. For a moment, his neck hairs stood on end, sensing impending danger. Whoever it was, they meant Tom harm. He raised his wand higher and stepped back, but suddenly, hands clamped over his mouth and painfully twisted his wrist, causing his wand to drop with a loud clatter. He muffled a protest, tried to kick the attacker, but his assailant was bigger and sturdier, so the kick didn’t land. He was being dragged away. Tom heard nothing, realizing he was under a Silencing Charm. Suddenly, distant shuffling footsteps and a cough echoed. Tom went limp, putting all his weight onto his captor. This caused a momentary slackening of the grip. Tom quickly slipped away, landing on the floor, rolled over, and quickly turned around, raising his hand, only to find the corridor empty. “What the hell?” he murmured, summoning his wand. “Revelio!” The spell revealed nothing; the corridor remained empty. It was as if he’d been pranked by a ghost. Or Peeves. “Mr. Riddle?” Shuffle steps drew nearer, and around the corner emerged the new Potions professor, Colhepp. “Is everything alright?” “Good morning, Professor,” Tom replied, effortlessly rising to his feet with a smile. “I was just exploring some secret passageways. Who knows what else this castle hides, right?” Colhepp enthusiastically nodded, launching into tales of his own student days searching for hidden corridors at Hogwarts. Tom half-listened, following Colhepp to the Great Hall, while pondering who could be daft enough to play such a prank on him. Burke immediately came to mind: taller, bulkier, reliant on brute strength, and begrudgingly accepting Tom’s leadership. He might know about secret passages Tom was unaware of from his family members who all studied at Slytherin. This could explain his sudden appearance and disappearance. Tom decided he’d keep an eye on him. Only a few Slytherins and a handful of Ravenclaws, frantically flipping through textbooks, were in the Great Hall so early. Exams were driving students mad, making them study day and night. Tom studied too, but not so desperately. He knew not just the OWLs syllabus but the NEWTs as well. He was hardly concerned about exam prep now. Taking a plate of pumpkin porridge, he pulled out a book, blending in with the cluster of student bookworms. However, beneath the cover of “Advanced Potion Making” was something entirely different. He navigated the old English prose, delving into the story of Gilbert Malcolm, a wandering scholar who compiled magical tales from all over England in the 15th century. A specific chapter in the book was dedicated to the fortress of Azkaban and its first master, the dark wizard Ekrizdis. Malcolm claimed that the necromancer remained invincible as long as his castle stood, having performed dark magic so horrific that no living being could even fathom it. This book wouldn’t have been among the ones Regulus had sent him if it hadn’t frequently mentioned the word “soul.” Malcolm asserted that Ekrizdis had “mutilated” his soul, thus anchoring himself to the earthly realm for eternity. Tom was deeply intrigued. Malcolm insisted that the souls of wizards weren’t just mythic embodiments of magic but were real entities, reborn over and over. Death, in essence, didn’t exist for wizards; there was only the death of the body followed by a cycle of rebirth. Ekrizdis somehow disrupted this cycle, trapping himself amongst the living forever. This revelation was far more valuable than any potential knowledge of his connection with Harry. Tom had never come across such knowledge in the restricted section. He instantly saw a correlation between Harry’s sudden resurrections and this tale. Harry couldn’t die because he mutilated his soul and trapped himself in the world of the living… Harry hadn’t taken any potions, except those to suppress his libido. Gordian’s killer could find Harry anywhere, which was only possible through blood and other traces of its carrier. What if the body truly belonged to Gordian, but the soul… “Advanced Potions?” Walburga suddenly plopped down next to him, and Tom jumped. Looking around, he realized the Great Hall was already half full of students, and he’d only managed to eat two spoonfuls of porridge. “Potions is the first exam,” Tom replied with a nod. “You prepared?” “We still have two weeks!” she brushed off, unceremoniously heaping a mountain of bacon, eggs, and beans onto her plate. “I’ll get prepared.” It was astonishing how quickly she’d adapted to the new situation. As if she’d just been waiting for a chance to latch onto him for good, as if she hadn’t scarred his face, poisoned and bullied him before. Now she listened to him, and only him, defending him fiercely like a Cerberus. Those Blacks were definitely barking mad. From Alphard with his Harry obsession to her. They should’ve been exterminated like rats, but they were invaluable allies. Checking the clock above the teachers’ table, he smirked to himself. It was time. “By the way, since we’re alone, there’s something confidential I wanted to discuss,” he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. Her fingers tightened around her fork, and her breathing quickened. “I’m listening,” she rasped. Tom was suddenly reminded of a similar moment he shared with Harry. It didn’t seem as repulsive back then. She smelled of sickly sweet perfume and wealth. “You know I live with Selwyn,” he whispered in her ear. “After getting engaged to your brother, he’s been acting… odd. I hadn’t noticed before, but now, the way he commands Alphard, ridicules him…” “What?” Walburga gasped loudly, quickly covering her mouth with a napkin. “You’ve seen this?” “He doesn’t even try to hide it,” Tom snorted. “I think Selwyn manipulates your brother to his every whim. They’re engaged, and Selwyn is almost seventeen, which means…” “He’ll become Alphard’s guardian for a year,” her teeth gritted so loudly Tom wished he could puncture his eardrums. “I think I see now why he’s been so snake-like around him. His family’s broke. He’s ensnared my naive little brother and now plans to put him firmly under his thumb!” Tom mentally applauded himself because Harry walked into the Great Hall right on cue. He stepped in and immediately looked over at Black, who was seated in their usual spot. The asshole lifted his head, his gaze pleading, but Harry just shook his head, opting to sit beside some third-years instead. Walburga, having witnessed the whole scene, hissed like an infuriated cat. “He’s been treating the mudbloods kindly on purpose, for soft-hearted Alphard to get feelings for him,” Tom could almost see his poison seeping into her brain through her expression. “Then he convinced him that we’re all fanatical nutjobs. He alienated him from his family and now has turned him into his obedient lapdog. Just look at Alphard. The master told him ‘Sit.’” Black did indeed look like a beaten dog left sitting on a porch by its owner. “I’ll write to my father…” “You’d do better to talk to him in person over the holidays. A letter won’t convince him.” “What are you two whispering about?” Malfoy dropped onto the bench next to them. “Exams. Walburga doesn’t want to study for Potions,” Tom flashed an innocent smile, turning away from the girl. He had played his cards just right. “You don’t have to worry; Lord Black would never disinherit you,” said gloomy Abraxas. “But my father warned me if I get even one ‘Acceptable’, he’ll strip me of my heir status.” “It’s just blackmail,” Black retorted. “You’re the only son, the beloved and handsome one, mummy’s pride, and daddy’s joy.” “Walburga!” The table’s conversation quickly shifted to grades. More members of the Red Phoenix kept streaming into the hall, surrounding Tom with their incessant chatter. He responded with a feigned smile, but his eyes kept drifting to Harry. He yearned to pull Harry out of the Great Hall and hide him somewhere in the Chamber of Secrets, ensuring neither Black nor Crouch could touch or hurt him. Harry looked dejected again, head lowered, barely eating. It’s alright; Tom would deal with anyone who dared threaten his family. “Druella, isn’t your brother named Hector?” he inquired casually, amidst the ongoing debate about Malfoy’s inheritance. “Yes,” she replied, frowning slightly. “He’s my elder brother.” “You seemed a bit down mentioning him,” Tom said sympathetically. “Are you two not close?” “Not really. He doesn’t live with us; had a fallout with our father,” Druella irritably brushed a dark lock of hair off her forehead. “Our grandfather left him a manor, and he just stays there all the time. Yet, father will still name him the heir instead of me because he’s older!” “That’s so unfair. Some people just can’t handle the responsibility of being Head of a House,” Tom comfortingly patted her hand. “You’d be a much better leader. So, you don’t get along?” “Can’t stand him! Why’d you ask?” Druella caught herself. “I…” “Look!” Lestrange whispered loudly, leaning over the table. “Callahan’s giving us the dirty look. Don’t all stare at once!” They all pretended to chat while Tom stole a glance towards the staff table. Callahan was indeed giving him the stink eye. Did the dean figure it out? Too late now. Callahan lost this round. Tom had spent months leveraging the dean’s detentions to shape the purebloods’ views, insinuating that Callahan was trying to brainwash them, recruit wealthy students, alienate them from their families, seize their inheritance, and wage war against pureblood lines. It was a brilliant game, and once again, Tom emerged victorious. Owls swooped into the hall with the morning papers, conveniently blocking Tom from Callahan’s glare. “Mum sent money! Tomorrow’s Hogsmeade trip is on me!” roared Burke, waving a hefty pouch of coins. He acted normal, but suspicions about him lingered. Any wizard would’ve just magically attacked Tom, not gagged him. Any wizard, except clumsy Burke and… Anyone, except Harry. He was more the fist-fighting type, but… Why would he? Tom was puzzled. All the events meshed in his mind, forming a huge question mark. Harry loved to twist wrists, but he was way smaller than the attacker. He should’ve been in bed when the attack happened. “If you didn’t blow all your allowance on the first day, you wouldn’t have to mooch off Sophie and me!” someone scolded. “That’s called living luxuriously, buzzkill!” “Quiet!” Malfoy suddenly paled, holding up the fresh issue of the “Daily Prophet.” Other students, with their newspapers, were also silently staring at the front page. Malfoy passed the newspaper to Tom, revealing a large photo of a burning building with wizards fleeing. “GRINDELWALD SEIZES GERMAN MINISTRY OF MAGIC. CONFEDERATION DECLARES WAR.” “No way!” exclaimed Walburga. “War?” The hall erupted in noise. Teachers and students shared, copied, and loudly discussed the news. “England won’t join the war,” Regulus assured. “There’s strong support for his ideas here. The Wizengamot won’t approve.” “He’s mad from dark magic,” Malfoy blushed awkwardly. “He kills anyone standing in his path. He doesn’t care about purebloods; he wants power over Europe. He’ll exploit us all, just like the ancient German families, and then he’ll kill us!” “Should we go to war, I’ll volunteer,” Burke announced proudly, puffing out his chest. “I won’t let some German nobody spill blood on my ancestors’ soil!” “I’ll go too!” Travers chimed in excitedly. “No one will draft you; you’re only sixteen,” Walburga retorted. She then turned to Tom, “And you, Tom? What do you say?” All eyes turned to him, anticipation hanging in the air. “If war comes,” he stated gravely, squaring his shoulders, “The Red Phoenix will defend England’s sovereignty and its ancient bloodlines. We’ll prepare. I call for a meeting tonight.” This played right into Tom’s hands. It was an opportunity to further cement his authority, training them in various curses and dark magic under the guise of war preparation. “Yes!” Regulus banged on the table with his fist, but his gesture was drowned out by the excited chatter around them. Tom glanced at his little cousin and noticed him paling, clutching a newspaper. Through their bond, Tom felt his panic. “What’s up with this??? What have you gotten yourself into?” ***   As if Harry’s problems with Riddle and his murderous aspirations weren’t enough. As if having Alphard gaze at him like a lost puppy with its ears drooped down wasn’t enough. As if enduring the renewed stalking from Crouch and his annoying single eye, which gave no insight into his thoughts, wasn’t enough. Fate decided to throw in Grindelwald as a bonus surprise. He’d never overtaken the German Ministry in Harry’s original timeline. Grindelwald operated with supporters across the continent, never settling in one place. He’d never brazenly declared war, never challenged the International Confederation of Wizards. But in this reality, things were different. Frozen with fear, Harry didn’t know where to run or what to do. Should he seek Dumbledore? Rush to the Ministry? Head to the Department of Mysteries? He had become accustomed to the idea that the main villain was his own roommate who occasionally snored cutely into his pillow. He’d completely forgotten that Grindelwald was once the second most powerful dark wizard. Grindelwald was supposed to be far from England, unable to affect the future. At least, that’s what Harry thought. He was wrong. Harry skipped his classes and locked himself in his room, frantically mulling over his options. He desperately wanted to peer through the black door, but it would require dying, and using the Killing Curse on himself at school was a no-go; he’d be discovered immediately upon returning from King’s Cross. Staring at his hands, he pondered slicing his wrists, but the thought of truly dying and leaving the world defenseless held him back. “Shesmetet!” He pleaded, falling to his knees by the bed. “Please, undo all of this! You’re a goddess; can’t you take me back to the last day I went to sleep in my world? I’ll do anything! Want me to find a way to free you from the statuette?” The goddess didn’t giggle this time. “You can’t set me free,” her voice whispered, like leaves rustled by the wind. “I will only be free when the last drop of blood from those responsible is shed.” “Last drop of blood?” Harry mused. “What do you mean?” But Shesmetet only swished her tail against his legs and remained silent. “Dumbledore was right; she’s gone bonkers from boredom after all these centuries,” he sighed deeply. If only he could talk to someone! Seek advice, know what’s next… “The guests from the mirror!” The idea struck him. They’d witnessed many worlds, even experienced a war with Grindelwald in their own. Surely, they could help him handle both the current Dark Lord and the future one. But without the mirror, he couldn’t communicate with them. And they couldn’t reach him since the house he’d buy in the future wasn’t built yet. Plus, there’s no guarantee they’d be allowed to peek into the past. Shesmetet seemed to be having her fun. His only option was to somehow end his life and peek into the future to figure out a solution. Leave the school and fall prey to Gordian’s abductor? What if this time he will behead him? Run into the Forbidden Forest beyond the protective charms and attempt Avada Kedavra on himself? What if some monster devours him, or centaurs trample him underfoot? Harry paced the room, weighing all options. The Room of Requirement? He wasn’t sure if there were any signal charms there. It was still part of the castle, after all. Ask a house-elf to kill him? Poison himself? Suddenly, he realized he was standing before Riddle’s desk, studying his neat handwriting with perfect flourishes on the letter “D”. “The Chamber of Secrets!” he exclaimed. The real Chamber was still intact, and certainly no signal charms would be triggered there. Complete safety and solitude, except for the basilisk, but he’d need to eliminate the beast just to be safe anyway. His first impulse was to rush there immediately, but he quickly came to his senses. The school was filled with students, and he needed a meticulous plan to slay the ancient serpent. Nevertheless, once he had a semblance of a plan, the gnawing anxiety that had been consuming him subsided slightly. ***   He sat at the far end of the library all day, hiding from Alphard and Riddle, like some guilty child. He didn’t want to confront either of them; he had bigger fish to fry: panicking and looking for spells that might keep him from getting killed by the basilisk within seconds. He wasn’t sure if the beast would obey him or recognize him as an heir just because Harry spoke Parseltongue, and he didn’t want to find out. He knew about the rooster’s crow and the rue. But there wasn’t a real rooster in Hogwarts, and the books didn’t mention if transfigured ones would work! And where to find rue? Coming up empty, Harry trudged to his room, anticipating yet another badgering. He could’ve hidden in the Room of Requirement. But he didn’t want to go there. The memory of the Fiendfyre that consumed Goyle, the scalding flames licking at his heels, kept him at bay. Riddle caught him on the approach to the Slytherin common room. He popped out suddenly, like Peeves from behind a curtain, and grabbed Harry’s wand hand. “Where have you been?” he asked sternly, eyebrows knitted. “Trying to save the world,” Harry replied honestly. “Didn’t work.” Riddle rolled his eyes, a comical gesture coming from him. Imagining his older, noseless self doing the same was hilariously absurd. “Curfew was five minutes ago. Let’s go,” he said, pulling Harry along. Harry followed obediently, recalling waking up wrapped in a blanket with the canopy closed to shield him from the sun. What was he to do with Riddle? It was like he had a split personality. Harry liked one version and loathed the other. Harry wrenched his hand away and entered the common room first, ensuring no one thought they came together. Rumors of his supposed infatuation still swirled around the school, embellished with absolutely wild details. Alphard sat by the entrance. He spotted Harry immediately, standing with intent, but confronting him wasn’t on Harry’s to-do list. He dashed into the corridor and zipped through, slamming the door right in Alphard’s face. Black pounded on it, seemingly with his feet. “Harry!” he yelled. “Open up!” “Go away! Now’s not the time!” Harry shouted back. The events of the previous day were underscored by a big red line labeled “I’ve messed up the whole bloody world.” He was still angry at both of them, but the fear of ruining decades of others’ lives weighed heavier. “Harry, I’m sorry!” a desperate voice called from the other side. “I swear, I never…” “Get lost, and I better not see you here again,” chimed in the third member of their complicated love quadrangle. “Riddle,” Black growled. Judging by the sounds, a scuffle had broken out behind the door. “Fuck, why is this happening to me?” Potter exclaimed, flinging the door open just as Riddle pinned Black to the wall, his wand pressed against Alphard’s throat. “Tom, let him go. Alphard, I don’t want to talk to you right now. Clear enough for everyone?” Both stared at him, seemingly caught off guard by his authoritative tone. “But…” “I…” “Both of you, shut it!” Harry shouted. “Enough! Alphard, off you go. Riddle, calm down. Aren’t you a prefect?” To his amazement, both complied. Black shot him a look resembling a drenched puppy before trudging off, while Riddle nonchalantly adjusted his disheveled tie and entered the room, slamming the door behind him. “You’re defending him…” Riddle began, but Harry let out a loud groan, covering his ears. “Enough, enough, enough!” he yelled. “I’ve said all I’m going to say! Leave him be; I’ll handle it.” “Alright,” Riddle replied, a hint of something unusual in his dark eyes. Gently, he placed his hands over Harry’s and pulled them away. “How are you? You missed class and hid all day.” “I’m fine,” Harry lied briskly, brushing Riddle’s hands away. “Did I cause you any trouble? Did you feel anything?” “Like what?” Riddle responded with a warm, placid smile, yanking off his cloak and tossing it on the floor. “That you’re in utter panic?” His tie followed suit. “That you’re on the brink of hysteria?” The top buttons of his shirt barely stayed in place as he yanked at his collar. Harry grew uneasy. The innocent smile sharply contrasted with Riddle’s jerky movements, creating an unsettling image. Backing away, Harry discreetly felt for his wand in his pocket. “I was a bit upset, but I’m okay now,” he replied with a forced smile. “Let’s skip the part where you lie to me, and I pretend to be polite,” Riddle said, tilting his head and extending his hand. Harry mentally groaned but recognized arguing with this version of Riddle could be dangerous. Reluctantly, he grasped the outstretched hand. “You’re scared of something, you are anxious. The uncertainty of the future is killing you,” Riddle said after a minute. “Spot on, you’re a quick learner,” Harry remarked approvingly. “It’s because of this morning’s newspaper,” Riddle declared without a hint of doubt. His eyes were shut, a furrow lodged between his brows. Holding Harry’s hand with long, strong fingers, he appeared deeply focused, like a healer diagnosing a complex case. “Yes, the war…” Harry choked out, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You’re scared?” Eyelashes fluttered open, revealing unnaturally dark eyes with dilated pupils. “Yes,” meeting his gaze suddenly felt overwhelming, and Harry looked away. “Let go, please. For reasons you know. Better safe than sorry.” A familiar pull churned heavily inside him, but it was different from what he’d felt the previous day when Alphard had brazenly cornered him in the shower. This was something far more unsettling. Riddle immediately let go of his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he sincerely said. “Yesterday… Everything was fine, and I…” “Yesterday, I was drained and emotionally gutted. Today isn’t much better, but I don’t want to take chances,” Harry explained with evident strain. “Right, you shouldn’t,” Riddle agreed. They stood still, avoiding each other’s gaze, looking everywhere but into each other’s eyes. “Ahem, if the war scares you so much, shall we discuss it?” Riddle suggested, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. It looked absurd since they stood in the middle of the room, an arm’s length apart, motionless. “No need. I’ll just go to bed.” The awkwardness reached such a pinnacle that one could almost expect someone to step out of the shadows, applauding loudly and shouting, “Bravo!” “Yes, some sleep wouldn’t hurt,” Riddle responded, as if they were at a posh soirée. His robe and tie were scattered on the floor. Harry yearned to lean into him, to embrace him like the day before, to feel that glimmer of hope that not all was lost. “Well then… I’ll be off.” With legs feeling like timber, Harry trudged into the bathroom, only managing to take a deep breath there. With each passing day, their relationship grew more peculiar, tense, and confounding. Harry lay down, but sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned, racking his brain on how to tackle the basilisk. At some point, he drifted into a fitful sleep, filled with delirious visions. In one, the basilisk transformed into a worm, only to be pecked by a phoenix that, oddly enough, resembled a chicken. He woke up abruptly, realizing he could hear soft snoring from the neighboring bed. Riddle was asleep. And suddenly, Harry felt like a complete idiot. The basilisk had been sleeping too! It was Riddle who woke it up, and before that, it had been in a slumber for centuries. Silently, Harry slipped out from under his bed canopy, put on his shoes, threw his robe over his pajamas, and slipped out the door. The clock in the common room showed it was four in the morning; the castle was asleep. Portraits weren’t whispering, ghosts didn’t fly about so as not to disturb the living, even the caretaker must have long been dozing off. Under the Disillusionment Charm, Harry sneaked into the girls’ bathroom on the second floor. He cast repelling and silencing charms on the door and dashed to the sinks. “Open up!” he commanded the invisible snake. The sinks began to move, the pipes hummed, and just like many years ago, an ominous dark abyss opened in front of him, reeking of dampness and decay. “Damn it!” Harry slapped his forehead. He had totally forgotten about his broom. Escaping from that pit without a phoenix or broom would be tricky. He looked around and saw a soap dish on the edge of one of the sinks. It took some time – because he had failed the portal creation exam in the Auror training multiple times – but eventually, he managed to create a local portal that would return him to the bathroom. Pocketing the soap dish, he wished himself luck and jumped into the dark void. The Chamber of Secrets was still the same dark, slippery, and foul-smelling hole, filled with bones, remnants of shed snake skin, and scales. Harry quickly reached the round hatch with snakes and, with his heart pounding loudly, opened it. The darkness was so dense that Lumos couldn’t penetrate more than a foot into it. Water murmured softly, rats rustled in the corners, but there was no sign of the basilisk. It probably slept in its nest in the mouth of the giant Slytherin statue. Harry was hesitant to produce more light. He reached the nearest pillar and lit a single torch. That was all he needed. The cold was incredible, and his breath was visible. He had to cast warming charms on himself because the idea of catching a cold didn’t appeal to him. Taking a deep breath, Harry placed his own wand on his temple. Killing himself was terrifying beyond belief. He breathed heavily, convincing his brain to believe he wouldn’t die permanently, that everything would be okay. He had to die to know the future. “Merlin, help us all,” he muttered, squinted his eyes, and yelled, “AVADA…” “Expelliarmus!” The wand slipped from his fingers, and stunned Harry opened his eyes wide. “Well, fuck,” he groaned in resignation.