Behind Lies Eternity

“What an utter lack of taste,” Riddle drawled, a tone uncharacteristic of him, as he surveyed Gordian’s room. “Yeah,” Harry busied himself between the wardrobe and the fireplace, holding up another clothing item to Tom’s head peeking out. “This one’s labeled ‘Milano Shelly.’ Will this work?” “That’s a top-tier French designer. Anything with that label is worth a fortune. One could rent a high-end hotel room for the price of that vest,” Tom nodded, the flickering flames casting an enchanting glow on his face. “I don’t need a room; I need a secure house with strong wards,” Harry replied briskly, darting back to the wardrobe and tossing the vest into an already growing pile on the floor. “Then we’ll have to sell the jewelry. See what other treasures he’s hoarded,” Riddle instructed. Slughorn, predictably, had allowed his star pupil to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. Riddle, having achieved the highest OWL scores in fifty years and secured his name in the Trophy Room, seemingly had the headmaster wrapped around his finger. He was granted permission to live alone at the school (with the House staff away for the holidays and only the caretaker present), use the library without Madam Shi’s watchful eye, access the Potion room, the Great Hall, and to come and go from Hogwarts as he wished. This privilege sparked an uproar, as many other students in challenging situations wished to stay as well. Dumbledore had extensive discussions with Slughorn, but the latter stood firm. He had blind trust in Tom, the fool. His favoritism was glaringly obvious. Thus, Tom freely used the fireplace for communication with Harry. This was essential to maintain control over Gordian’s body through Potter. Harry himself excelled in Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, only just scraping by with an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Potions and failing History of Magic. Overall, he was satisfied; his performance on the OWLs was significantly better than his first go-around. Not that grades were of paramount importance to him, but it was reassuring to know he still had the knack for it. “Cufflinks with emeralds, rubies, and diamonds,” Harry listed items. “A collection of watches, and what’s this? A necklace? Merlin, Gordian, you had quite the stash…” “The cufflinks,” Riddle called out from the common room’s fireplace. “The gems are more valuable. Take a few pairs.” “There are earrings here too.” “Leave the earrings. They might be enchanted with protective spells. You could wear them.” “I’m not parading around in earrings!” Harry’s voice boomed in response. “I’m already fed up with these fucking shirts!” “Too bad, I would have liked to see you in them,” Riddle chuckled. Naturally, upon his return, Harry had to adapt to the high fashion favored by the wealthy. The very day after he got back from Hogwarts, Gordian’s grandmother dragged him through all the French boutiques, insisting, “You’ve grown and become more manly; you need a new wardrobe!” “Why not just stay in this house?” Harry reentered the living room, only to be met by an unwelcome, piercing gaze. “It’s safe here, and it would be easier to dig up dirt on Marius.” “I get it,” Harry settled onto the carpet among a pile of colorful rags. “But I can’t. This place… it’s maddening. I’m plagued by hallucinations and nightmares. Initially, I thought it was my memory returning. But I’ve remembered everything for a while now, and still, the nightmares persist. Last holiday, I noticed there’s something oppressive about the air here. And Grandma… she’s even more unhinged. Constantly talking to someone, just like I talk to Shesmetet.” “You think so because you’ve learned about the terrible events that transpired here,” Tom replied gently. “Maybe. But I scrutinized the family tapestry and noticed that all recent Selwyns died young. None lived past forty! Except for the grandmother, who went insane. It’s peculiar, isn’t it? Mother took her life when Gordian was six. Father committed suicide. His brother, Marius’s dad, died at thirty-three. His wife at twenty-five. Grandma’s husband at thirty-six,” Harry shrugged. “In my time, only one Selwyn was left. He served you, and he was utterly deranged. I caught him myself after your death. He was homeless, penniless. What the hell happened to them? Where did all the artifacts go?” Initially, Harry couldn’t recall Selwyn, but memories gradually returned, including the episode of escaping Death Eaters with Hagrid on the motorbike. Selwyn was the man from whom Voldemort took the ward in his attempt to kill Harry. “What are you suggesting?” Tom scoffed. “If Lady Selwyn was Marvolo Gaunt’s sister, perhaps she brought a curse upon the family. Consider this: instead of parseltongue, the Selwyns were burdened with cruelty, insanity, and a propensity for squandering their fortune. That’s the whole mystery. They squandered their wealth, sold the collection, the manor. The Selwyn you knew could’ve been Marius’s son, born into decline.” “Likely,” Harry grimaced. “But I still despise this house. I want a true sanctuary.” “Fine, as you wish,” Riddle relented. “Ship the items, I’ll find buyers. I know a few places…” “Just don’t venture into Knockturn Alley alone!” Harry warned sternly. “I’m serious, don’t…” “And what do you suppose will happen to me? You said I could cast spells in such places.” “That doesn’t change the fact you’re only sixteen. There are people there who’d tear you apart,” Harry’s brows knitted in concern. “Don’t go without someone familiar with the safe spots.” “Worried about me?” Riddle smiled, his emotions warming Harry’s heart. “Do you really think the great Dark Lord would fall to ruffians in an alley?” Privately, Harry thought that might not be the worst outcome, but he couldn’t help feeling a strong internal pushback against the idea. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind getting rid of you,” Harry replied with deliberate gruffness, turning away. “But your time hasn’t come yet, and I still hope to gain something from you.” “You do realize I can tell you’re lying, right?” Tom asked, sounding skeptical. “You’re just a head in a fireplace; you can’t really tell if I’m lying,” Harry shot back, returning to the wardrobe and flinging open the right bottom doors. “But I can feel it,” Riddle insisted. “So, what else do we have? Shoes can be valuable too, especially those made from rare animal hides.” “I wish I could make shoes out of you,” Harry muttered under his breath, half-joking. Riddle had really come into his own over the last month. He was like a smug gigolo, confident that his next conquest would inevitably succumb and fall into his bed. This persona suited him shockingly well; he looked so irresistible that Harry felt his pants practically smolder every time he gazed at him. Unfortunately, Harry wasn’t the only one affected. Glendale had established the Tom Riddle Fan Club. An actual club! Around forty students met weekly to earnestly discuss Tom’s latest haircut, his relationships with friends, Harry, Walburga, teachers, and the headmaster. Shion, the main gossip, had spilled the beans after attending one of their meetings. Realizing his sex appeal had a magnetic effect, Riddle began to actively exploit it. He skillfully blended the images of a stern prefect, a sensitive romantic, and a sexual alpha male. Though he would never admit it, Harry observed that Tom’s circle had swelled with new admirers. Of course, Harry couldn’t help but speculate about Riddle’s endgame. Why was he amassing followers? What was he preaching to them? Harry tried to find out, but got nothing from Tom himself, and his followers, naturally, remained tight-lipped. A man with so many admirers could sway them at any moment, and Harry was utterly terrified that the Red Phoenix might rise. In this context, Riddle’s demise at the hands of thugs in Knockturn Alley seemed almost favorable. But… that notion felt inherently wrong. “I’ll include a Galleon in the package with these items,” Harry showed Tom a gold coin once all of Gordian’s belongings were collected. “See the letters on the side? My coin has the same letters. If we need to urgently connect, just change the text. My Galleon will heat up, and I’ll be able to read your message and respond.” “Protean Charm,” Tom acknowledged. “Merlin, just for once, you could praise my ingenuity instead of acting like you know everything about the charm,” Harry resisted the urge to hurl the coin at his forehead. “Did you figure this out yourself?” Tom inquired, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Just get lost,” Harry grumbled, unwilling to admit that the idea was actually Hermione’s. “Alright, it’s a very good idea. Don’t be upset,” Riddle’s smirk softened into a small smile, which suited him better than his wider grins that made him look more like the future Voldemort. “Will you contact me tonight?” “You’ll manage,” Harry said, beginning to pack all the items into one of the wardrobe’s suitcases. “In three days, there’s a ball for Gordian’s coming of age. I’ll write to ensure you’re prepared. Once Rosier gets drunk, I’ll open the manor gates. You, disguised as Alphard, will enter the house. I’ll lure Rosier to my room, and then you can do whatever you want to his mind – make it as painful as you please.” “I’ve heard this a thousand times, can you just stop?” Riddle was completely calm, as if such escapades were routine for him. “I’ll handle everything properly. Just don’t lose your cool. Better think about how to break into Marius’s office. He’s involved too, but attacking him in his own house won’t work.” “Why not? The house-elves hate him; they’ll listen to me,” Harry argued. “House-elves aren’t the main issue. In case you didn’t know, in ancient manors, the protection is tied to the Lord. The house itself can protect him in dangerous situations,” Riddle explained. Harry recalled Lucius Malfoy and his manor, where Lucius had been tortured without any issues, and just snorted dismissively. “I don’t think the house will shield Marius from Legilimency. But since you’re concerned, let’s leave him alone for now. Our target is Rosier,” he concluded. The coming-of-age ball promised to be a grand affair. Marius had sent out invitations to all the somewhat important wizards, and Grandma was spending her days ordering house-elves around and splurging huge sums they couldn’t afford, as Harry well knew. He also needed a safe haven, especially after breaking off the engagement with Alphard. Either Lord Black or Marius might curse him. Harry didn’t want to risk leaving the manor unprotected, so Riddle agreed to sell some of Gordian’s belongings to get gold. The previous Lord Selwyn hadn’t cared for his son’s comfort, hadn’t written a proper will, nor set up a trust fund, so after his death, all the family property passed to the eldest blood relative – Marius. Lady Selwyn also had savings, but she had recently deteriorated mentally, so relying on her for financial support was out of the question. That’s why Harry was rummaging through someone else’s belongings, looking for items to sell at a higher price. He shrank the suitcase, personally went up to the small tower in the right wing of the manor where the owlery was located, and sent the package off. Returning, he accidentally took a wrong turn and found himself in a long gallery with statues. He hated this place and had intended to take another route, but something suddenly caught his attention, drawing him forward. It was an unclear feeling, like a long-forgotten memory. Striding swiftly, he examined the statues and display cases with artifacts, then suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. One of the statues, made of black marble, seemed to be staring right at him. With growing astonishment, Harry shifted his gaze from the intricately sculpted face to the neck of the unknown creature and recoiled. The fucking symbol of the Deathly Hallows, in the form of a pendant, was hanging on a cord around the statue’s neck. “Look what we have here!” Harry couldn’t help but exclaim aloud. He thought he heard laughter, but it wasn’t Shesmetet’s usual sinister cackle; this was another sound, more pleasant and unfamiliar. When he first passed through here, his memory hadn’t fully returned. He didn’t recall seeing the symbol of the Deathly Hallows and hadn’t recognized it immediately. Overcoming a silly fear of the statue, which seemed to turn its head at will (Harry distinctly remembered it looking in a different direction last time), he crouched before the massive pedestal and scrutinized the inscription on the plaque. “Statue of the King with the Empty Crown, creation date unknown. First mentioned in the diary of a monk from the Damian Order in the thirteenth century, discovered in Salisbury.” Harry tried to recall when his distant ancestors, the Peverells, lived. It seemed to be after the founding of Hogwarts, so after the tenth century. Could their tale of the three brothers have been based on an even older legend? In the next display case lay the monk’s diary itself. The plaque indicated that its translation was stored in a cell in the Selwyn library, and Harry hurried there. With nothing much to do, he decided to read the monk’s diary. The old tale beckoned, tempting him to learn more. Harry had gathered all three Hallows in his time but didn’t become the Master of Death because he hadn’t fulfilled one of the necessary conditions for activating the Hallows – he hadn’t purposefully killed anyone by that time. Now, it seemed to him that it was simply impossible. Death cannot be commanded; it reaps its harvest one way or another. In the library, he found Grandma Selwyn. She sat in a comfortable chair, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Gold-rimmed rectangular glasses glittered on her face. “My dear, what brings you here?” she asked warmly, tearing herself away from her reading. “I wanted to ask about that statue of the King,” Harry settled into the adjacent chair, and a tray with tea and cookies appeared before him. “Do you know what the symbol around his neck is?” “Oh, that,” she waved the book nonchalantly, instantly putting Harry on alert. “Many think it’s Grindelwald’s symbol, but it’s actually from an old tale about the Deathly Hallows. The symbol has appeared in various places over centuries; wizards have long been fascinated by this legend.” “Yes, but have you read the monk’s diary? Who is this King it mentions? Could the sculptor have depicted Death itself?” Grandma suddenly smiled, an uncharacteristic change that unsettled Harry. An eerie gleam appeared in her dark eyes, reminiscent of those moments when she conversed with the portraits. “From the diary’s remaining fragments, we learned that this statue was inspired by a legend so ancient that even its memory has faded. Long ago, this King sought to annihilate all wizards. He believed we had stolen magic from his people. He waged a merciless war, devastating magical cities and settlements, until the wizards managed to kill him. My theory is that he was the creator of the Hallows. Centuries later, the Peverell brothers based their own legend on this, which Beedle the Bard eventually popularized.” “What era did this King live in? What kind of people were they?” Harry asked, his curiosity piqued. “We may never know. The diary was badly damaged; only fragments were translated.” Harry reflected on this, gazing into the fireplace. Despite the heat outside, the mansion maintained a coldness that necessitated constant heating. His knowledge of magical history was limited, but he was certain he’d never heard anything like this. The idea of stealing magic seemed as absurd as Voldemort’s claims when confiscating wands from Muggleborns. “And where did they discover this statue?” he inquired. Grandma, momentarily distracted from her book, regarded him thoughtfully. “In the ruins of the Gaunt manor,” she revealed with a smile. “It was demolished in the nineteenth century, left in ruins, but during excavations thirty years ago, they unearthed this statue. Miraculously, it had remained intact. They found the diary there too, but it was nearly destroyed.” “You’re a Gaunt, aren’t you?” Harry asked directly. “And how did you guess?” the woman responded without denial. “I met a cousin. His name is Tom Riddle; we share a room,” Harry nonchalantly said. “So, am I correct? You must be Marvolo’s older sister?” “The older sister, yes,” Grandma acknowledged, setting her book aside and closing her eyes. The wrinkles on her face seemed more pronounced in the firelight. “I was taken away at five. Presented as a distant relative of the Selwyns. They hoped for offspring with Parseltongue, but didn’t want the stigma of association with the Gaunts. My father was a lunatic, a scoundrel, a drunk. He sold me like a pedigree dog, and I never saw my family again. I don’t want to know what happened to my younger brother.” “Well, he did have children, one of whom gave birth to a future great wizard,” Harry said, bending the truth slightly. “He’s a genius. So Marvolo’s lineage wasn’t in vain.” “You’re not my Gordian, are you?” Lady Selwyn suddenly wept. Tears streamed from beneath her closed eyelids. “My grandson died, and you took his place. I can no longer deceive myself. My boy died in agony, and what was left of him crawled out of the grave into my home.” “Then who am I, Grandma?” Harry attempted to comfort her. “The dead don’t eat, sleep, use the bathroom, talk, or think. I’m not a corpse.” “I don’t know who you are, but I’ll find out soon enough,” she said with a tired smile. “Soon, we’ll all be in a place where secrets hold no power.” “What?” Harry leaned forward, accidentally spilling his tea. “What do you mean? Where are we going to be?” The woman’s expression shifted to confusion. “Gordy? What are you doing here?” she asked, blinking dazedly, her gaze settling on her teacup. “Did you come to sit and chat with me, like in the old days?” “No,” Harry said, gripping the armrest of his chair as he stood up. “I have to go now.” He had hoped to uncover the secrets of the Selwyn family from her, but the woman was clearly unwell. He felt a pang of sorrow for the elderly lady who had lost nearly everyone dear to her. So, he left the library, his mind swirling with thoughts of long-gone centuries, ancient mysteries, and enigmatic future prospects. ***   Alone in Hogwarts, Tom found himself experiencing an unexpected sense of happiness. He relished the freedom to roam as he pleased, to read in the common room by the fireplace, to relax without the responsibility of overseeing students or attending to his followers. These holidays were shaping up to be the best of his life. That’s what he thought for the first three days. It took just that long for him to feel the pangs of loneliness, for the growing emptiness in his chest to become unbearable as he lay in bed each night, staring at the empty bed opposite his. Without Harry, he felt restless, almost on edge. He had no way of knowing if Harry was safe, whether he had attempted anything drastic, gotten into trouble, or fallen into the clutches of Rosier or some other scoundrel. There was no one to retort to his comments, to look at him suspiciously, to greet him, grumble, laugh loudly, smile, or chat. Tom had forgotten what profound solitude felt like. He endured as best as he could, convincing himself not to call Harry through the fireplace every morning and night. He missed Harry. It sounded absurd and felt even stranger. He yearned for Harry’s return. With this newfound free time, Tom immersed himself in researching soul bonds and methods to strengthen them. Harry had presented him with a magnificent opportunity to study long-lost manuscripts in the Room of Hidden Things. Day after day, Tom sifted through piles of junk, searching for those rare pearls of wisdom. It was in one of these ancient texts that he encountered the unfamiliar term “Horcrux.” After narrowing his research focus, he quickly deciphered its meaning and realized that the Tom from the future had employed this exact ritual. He had split his soul, shed most of his emotions, and disturbed his mental equilibrium, much like the infamous Ekrizdis. Naturally, he thought he could utilize this ritual more effectively than the other Tom. But with the looming preparations for the ball at the Selwyns’ manor, he had little time to spare. For the moment, Tom tucked the essential books away in an old cupboard, focusing on more immediate concerns. Unbeknownst to others, Tom’s comings and goings from Hogwarts went largely unnoticed. The caretaker was indifferent, and the house elves even more so. Slughorn had left him on his honor, and Tom, true to form, had cunningly exploited the vagueness of this agreement. He located a pawnshop in Hogsmeade, offloaded the expensive clothes in Knockturn Alley, and eyed a few potential houses near the valley close to Hogwarts. Now proficient at Apparating and emboldened by Harry’s revelation that he couldn’t be traced among other wizards, Tom embraced this newfound liberty, engaging in several of his own schemes. July 10th marked what would have been Gordian Selwyn’s seventeenth birthday. Fortunately, the cousin had passed away, leaving behind a body for someone far more interesting. “Feeling nervous?” Tom peered through the fireplace, observing Harry getting dressed, his amusement thinly veiled. Harry was in disarray, scattering shirts, ties, waistcoats, and shoes all over the couch, flitting between them, trying one after another. “Yes, I am,” Harry retorted, tossing aside a beige shirt. “Gordian’s grandmother is acting weird, Marius is unusually gleeful, and Alphard hasn’t responded to my letters. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” “Relax, everything will go smoothly,” Tom reassured him. “Once they’re all drunk, their guard will be down. Have you briefed the house elves?” “Yes,” Harry replied, slipping into a purple shirt and spinning before a large floor mirror, only to frown at his reflection. “They’ll be serving extra alcohol. Merlin, what do I wear? All these outfits are so… girlish!” “Try the blue one,” Tom suggested, not hiding his appreciation of Harry’s exposed back. “And pair it with a lighter vest that has patterns.” Harry quickly hid his bare chest and small pink nipples under the shirt, causing Tom a flash of sharp disappointment. “That’s much better!” Harry exclaimed. “Thanks, I have no idea about this stuff.” “I once dreamt of being a stylist,” Tom shared, causing a look of astonishment on Harry’s handsome face. “Really?!” Harry blurted out. Tom erupted into hearty laughter. “No, actually, I considered becoming a hitman for the Italian mafia,” he joked again, prompting Harry to join in the laughter. In Harry’s chest, tiny magical fireworks ignited, a longing to be closer to Tom, to touch and share his emotions. “That sounds more believable. But seriously, what did you dream of becoming as a child?” Harry inquired, still laughing. “Nobody in particular,” Tom confessed with ease. “I just wanted to break free, to become the strongest, wealthiest, and most influential, by any means necessary. How about you?” “Oh,” Harry pondered with sincerity. “I never really had a specific dream either. I just wanted to grow up and escape my relatives.” “So, your time with them was just as terrible as my days in the orphanage,” Tom surmised. “Enough talking, try on different shoes; those don’t match at all.” Sharing childhood details was a rarity, but he was gradually adapting to it. “Is it true you killed Billy Stubbs’s rabbit?” Harry asked, removing his shoes. “Is that fact about me widely known?” Tom mused. “Yes, it’s true. I can control small animals.” “What had the rabbit done to you?” “Nothing. It mattered to Billy. And Billy took something dear from me — my book. Its content escapes my memory now.” “A rabbit for a book? Do you grasp the disparity in that exchange?” Harry’s voice was thick with moral outrage. “It was merely a rabbit,” Tom dismissed. “They’re farmed for fur and meat. You’ve likely eaten rabbit yourself. The book held greater value.” “You did more than take meat and fur; you tore a cherished pet from a child’s heart.” Harry selected a pair of brown boots with blunt tips and laces. “That was precisely my intention,” Tom said patronizingly. “No one takes what’s mine without consequences. I neither forgive nor forget. The retribution is always severe.” His eyes dwelled on the slender figure, accentuating the exposed collarbones from the open shirt, lingering on the full, tempting lips, before locking with Harry’s intense blue eyes. “Sometimes, I forget who you really are,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. “When you reach out to hold me, it’s easy to overlook your cruelty.” “It’s not cruelty,” Tom countered softly, his gaze steadfast. “I refuse to be treated like garbage. I don’t believe in turning the other cheek.” “Yes, you may be right,” Harry conceded, looking away and focusing back on his clothes. “Enough of this. I must prepare; guests will soon arrive.” Tom was reluctant to end their discussion or leave Harry’s presence. He felt such a strong resistance that it caused a nervous knot in his stomach. A chilling thought struck him: could this be the last time he saw Harry? “Harry,” he called gently. “Come here.” Sensing something amiss, Harry approached and crouched by the fireplace. “Yes?” “Touch my cheek,” Tom asked, committing every detail of Harry’s face, each mole, to memory. Cool, slender fingers tenderly traced his cheek, warmed by the fireplace’s glow. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked, his voice tinged with concern. “Nothing. Just promise me you’ll be careful,” came the soft reply. Harry’s blue eyes widened, his lips parted slightly in surprise. He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against Tom’s. “I promise. And you be careful too,” he whispered. Their time was running short. Tom leaned forward, pressing his lips to Harry’s in a fleeting, tender kiss, before stepping back into the fireplace in his own room. His knees and back ached from the half-hour ordeal, but he pushed the discomfort aside. He would endure much more. For that kiss, Tom knew Harry would later whine, driving him crazy. But who cares about that now? The mounting sense of an approaching tsunami was pressing down on him, just like back in the orphanage, almost a year ago. ‘No one can take him away from me,’ Tom reassured himself, his resolve steeling. As hours dragged on, Tom paced his room restlessly, clutching a galleon tightly in his fist. His anxiety was palpable, almost driving him to madness. He longed to rush to the cursed manor to ensure everything was proceeding as planned, but he restrained himself. Any premature action could alert the elves and jeopardize their plan. The bond with Harry was faint due to their distance, transmitting only muted echoes of Harry’s usual emotions. Finally, at half past two in the morning, the galleon heated up in his hand, signaling ‘NOW’ on its edge. Tom knew he couldn’t leave the school through the main gates. He sneaked through a secret passage leading straight to Hogsmeade. Unfortunately, near the passage’s exit, hidden in the bushes, he spotted a merry group of young wizards in the grove. Tom cast Disillusionment charms on himself and crawled past them, emerging at the forest’s edge. He sprinted to the nearest building, seeking cover from the moonlit night.  Ensuring he was alone, Tom pulled out a bottle of Polyjuice Potion. He downed the scorching red liquid in one gulp, immediately convulsing in spasms. A muffled roar of pain escaped him, followed by a string of curses for not casting a silencing charm. The pain was more intense than he had anticipated! ‘Who’s there?’ a voice called out. Tom recognized Dean Callahan’s silhouette against the moonlight. ‘Riddle? You look terri… Is that Polyjuice?’ The transformation completed quickly. Tom, now facing Dean with his wand drawn, stammered, ‘This isn’t what you think, sir! It’s just a joke…’ ‘Don’t try to deceive me,’ Dean replied, his tone fierce. ‘I believed you once; now I see your true nature. You will answer for your actions. We’re going to the school, right now! I’ll wake up Slughorn, and we’ll discuss your midnight escapade with Polyjuice Potion and a hair from Alphard Black!’ Realization dawned on Tom as he grasped the gravity of his situation. Retired military officer Callahan, renowned as an excellent duelist and experienced wizard, posed a serious threat. Attacking him meant certain expulsion for Tom. Yet, if Tom accompanied him to the castle, Harry would be in danger. The realization hit him with the weight of the fear he had both dreaded and anticipated. A surge of desperate determination ignited in Tom’s heart. He would even attack Dumbledore, erase his memory if needed, to protect Harry. First, he had to lower Callahan’s guard. “Let’s go, I’ll explain everything,” Tom said, raising his hands to show he meant no resistance. “Good,” Callahan replied with a smirk. ***   Harry found few dance partners. His tarnished reputation and engagement to Alphard had deterred most, leaving only kindly old ladies and bold young seducers from less influential families. Alphard, ever the attentive fiancé, monopolized Harry’s attention. He gracefully accepted congratulations, engaged in all conversations, invited Harry to dance, and clung to his side, acting every bit the head of the family. This, Harry found increasingly repugnant. The touch of another now repulsed him. He realized, with a kind of cold surprise, that Alphard’s embraces no longer stirred any desire in him. Alphard seemed just a child, mimicking adulthood, untouched by the trials that had hardened both Riddle and Harry. His world was simpler, yet in a way, more complex. It was as if a veil had been lifted from Harry’s eyes. What was he thinking, allowing Alphard such closeness? Yes, he felt lonely, saw traits of Sirius in Alphard, cared for him, and didn’t want him to fall into trouble. But he shouldn’t have pitied or fussed over him like a fragile fledgling! “Alphard, I’ll break off the engagement, no matter what you do,” Harry declared firmly during a waltz. “Stop pretending we’re a happy couple.” “No need to rush,” Alphard retorted, chin jutting out stubbornly. “Ending an engagement takes time. We need to find valid reasons for society, to avoid damaging our reputations.” “Valid reasons?” Harry’s eyes narrowed. “How about this: you raped me. Isn’t that reason enough?” Alphard’s complexion turned ashen, and he stumbled. It was the first time Harry had confronted him about the incident. “I didn’t rape you,” Alphard whispered, shame coloring his voice as he averted his eyes. “You wanted it. I saw.” Harry’s response was icy. “I told you about my libido issues. I didn’t want it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I felt degraded, like a cheap whore, ready to do anything for a hint of that elixir. I said ‘no’, but you used me. That’s rape, isn’t it?” Alphard, gasping for breath, clutched at Harry as if drowning. Guilt was no longer part of Harry’s equation. Riddle was right; he had allowed others to treat him like trash. He always prioritized others’ feelings over his own. He did nothing to Walburga who could have ended killing someone. He tolerated Riedale’s incessant and outrageous insults. He overlooked Crouch’s deception and his attempt to lure him into an orgy. He had forgiven them all, always offering second chances. It was time they learned their lesson. What Alphard did, however, was beyond forgiveness. “Forgive me, Harry, please!” Alphard whispered feverishly into his ear. “I lost my senses when I saw you in the shower. Your beauty is overwhelming, it hurts to even look at you. I love you so deeply, Merlin, you can’t imagine! Please, forgive me, I’ll never dare…” “And yet what are you doing now?” Harry hissed. “You’re scrambling to prevent the engagement from ending. You’re forcing me once again. You call this love?” “Yes, it is love,” Alphard insisted fiercely. “It’s love because with me, you’ll be safe! Safer than with Riddle. I won’t give up; I’ll fight for you!” “What does Riddle have to do with this?” Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re just jealous and trying to control me.” “You’re in love with him; don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Alphard responded desperately. They stood motionless among the dancing couples in their stunning attire. “I see how you only look at him, touch only him, speak only to him! I remember how he embraced you near the bathroom where Myrtle was found. You trust him but push me away. To you, I’m nothing but an annoying pest. Don’t you see he’s manipulating you? Just like he did with Walburga! She became obsessed with him, and now so have you. He’s like a toxin, seducing people’s minds. I’ll make you see the truth; I’ll rescue you from him, no matter the cost.” “I’m not in love with him. And a warning: if you conspire against me, you’ll regret it,” Harry declared, pushing Alphard away and leaving the dance floor. He made no effort to conceal that their dance had ended in a dispute. Let everyone witness it. It would raise fewer questions later when the engagement was terminated. “Have you lost your mind, you fucking whore?” Marius confronted him at the balcony exit, seizing Harry’s elbow and pulling him outside. But Harry swiftly twisted free, wrenching Marius’s wrist so forcefully the bone cracked. “Listen, scum,” Harry whispered with a cold smile. “If I hear one more insult from you, I’ll plaster you against the wall, right next to that grotesque six-foot portrait of yours.” Marius, stunned, struggled to form a response. “What?” he stammered. Harry yanked him forward, showing no mercy as Marius whimpered and followed helplessly, unable to even draw his wand with his injured hand. On the balcony, Harry quickly ushered a couple away from a bench and firmly shut the glazed doors. “I said, if you insult me again, I’ll paint your guts across that tasteless portrait,” he reiterated, then abruptly let go of Marius. “By the way, the size of that painting almost suggests you’re compensating for something.” “How dare you?!” The cousin, recovering from his shock, drew his wand. “How dare you speak to me like that, you bastard?” “Wrong answer,” Harry swiftly hit him with a Stinging Hex, which the cousin failed to block. Clutching his groin, he fell to his knees, whimpering in pain. “I’ll get you…” he managed through clenched teeth. “What will you do? I’m of age now. I don’t need your money. Nor the manor. What can you possibly do to me? It’s you who needs me, especially for my engagement with Alphard. You’re bankrupt!” The cousin fell silent, his blue eyes seething with hatred as he glared at Harry. “And what do you want from me?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice even. “I want you to tell me why you sold me to Rosier,” Harry demanded, feeling a rush of adrenaline. He was done being patient and forgiving. “How did you find out?” Marius’s face lost its color in shock. “I’ve been investigating. So, why did you do it? Were you that desperate for money? What about the money from Lord Black? Wasn’t that enough?” Harry had to fight the urge to pummel Marius’s face. “You brought this on yourself,” Marius hissed, rising to his feet. “You exposed your father’s secrets and brought shame upon him. He couldn’t handle it and took his own life, leaving me with a failing business and a tarnished reputation. I was just a boy! I had to pay off huge debts to keep afloat. You were working off your own debt. Hector offered a fortune for you. It was all fair, Gordy. Marry Black, and you’ll be free of your obligations.” “What did I do? Why did father kill himself?” Harry pressed for answers. “I won’t go over it again,” the cousin shrugged dismissively. “We’re both on thin ice with powerful wizards involved. We need to work together to survive.” “Work together?” Harry burst out. “You SOLD a CHILD into sexual slavery! A twelve-year-old boy, paying for his father’s mistakes! And you expect us to be a team?” He spat in Marius’s face in disgust. “I’ll clean up your mess, but that’s it. We’re not a team.” “Try your luck,” Marius said coolly, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “You’ll need my help eventually. That’s what families do – help each other.” “Oh, you scum,” Harry growled. “You too, Gordy. You too will be just like me. You already are,” the cousin said with a sudden smile. “I never expected such resolve from you. There’s hope for you yet.” He turned and left the balcony with feigned dignity, as if he hadn’t just been whimpering in pain moments before. “Madhouse,” Harry muttered, smashing a floor vase with peonies in frustration. He leaned on the balcony railing, gazing blankly at the moonlit labyrinth below. If Riddle was right and confronting Marius in the mansion wasn’t an option, then Rosier was his only target left. But Rosier hadn’t come to the ball, still holding a grudge. What now? “Grandma Selwyn!” Harry realized suddenly. The old lady must know the truth. As the manor’s oldest resident, she couldn’t be oblivious. Even with a failing memory, she might remember something crucial. Harry returned to the hall, seeking refuge in a quiet corner near the buffet table, deliberately away from the alcohol. He observed the scene quietly. After one in the morning, the guests began to depart in droves. Only the most resilient remained, and even they started to bid their farewells. At half-past two, Grandma Selwyn retired to her room, followed shortly by Alphard’s departure from the manor. Marius’s closest friends lingered, retreating to an adjacent room for a card game and firewhiskey. Harry stayed hidden in his spot for about half an hour, watching as house-elves efficiently cleared the leftover food, washed the floors and tables, and then, finally, he sent the long-awaited “NOW” to Riddle. Using powerful disillusionment and distraction charms, he quietly slipped out of the house through a gallery window and made his way along the labyrinth towards the gates. The cool night air, infused with the scent of freshly blossomed peonies, helped to soothe his troubled mind. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, evoking memories of the Triwizard Tournament, a time when Harry Potter thought his life couldn’t possibly get any worse. He was wrong. Lost in thought, Harry was jolted back to reality by a loud scream. His body shuddered violently as he momentarily froze. The garden had erupted into chaos. Wizards’ voices and ululations filled the air; bright torches illuminated the night, dispelling its darkness and chill, while several girls screamed in terror. Harry, recovering from his initial shock, recognized the border of enchantments of stupor and silence. He had inadvertently crossed into this area. Moving cautiously, he kept low behind the peony bushes for cover. As he neared a sharp corner of the hedge maze, Harry peered out from his hiding place. Around ten wizards, all wearing golden masks of various magical creatures, stood in front of a fountain. Among the creatures represented were a dragon, a wyvern, a crup, a demiguise, a thestral, and others Harry couldn’t identify. Five young girls, aged between thirteen and eighteen, were chained to the mermaid statue in the fountain’s center. They were clad only in semi-transparent togas, offering little coverage, and wore white masks of crying nymphs. They writhed and screamed, their hands bound by heavy shackles to the mermaid’s spear. “Friends,” Marius’s voice rang out as he approached the fountain, waving his wand. The girls’ screams abruptly ceased, their mouths opening in silent cries, tears streaming down from under their masks. “Tonight is a special night, a night of initiation!” Marius proclaimed. The group erupted in loud hoots and clapping. “Our esteemed leader has brought his son to us!” Marius declared. Two figures stepped forward: a burly man in a werewolf mask and a slim, lean boy in a bull mask. A wave of recognition hit Harry hard. He crouched under the bush, biting his fist to stifle any sound. “Gentlemen,” Lord Black announced, his arm around Alphard’s shoulder. “Today, my eldest son becomes a true man, a pillar of the Family, a true pureblood warrior!” The group howled uproariously, their wands raised high into the air. Alphard stood frozen, motionless in his bull mask. “It’s time for him to learn that true pureblood gentlemen prefer… to kill mudbloods!” villainous bastard shouted triumphantly, patting his immobile son on the back. “Look, son, at who I have prepared for you,” he said, turning Alphard to face the fountain and waving his wand. The masks on the girls cracked and fell into the water, revealing their youthful, terrified faces. Among them, Harry noticed Joanna Collins. Cheerful, optimistic Joanna, who dreamed of becoming a journalist to fight against injustice. “This mudblood, as I was told, is infatuated with you,” Pollux laughed, pointing his wand at Joanna. “Killing her first will be amusing, right? Show this mudblood mutt her place! Mudbloods are not our equals; they exist only for our amusement!” Harry was in disbelief. Pollux was spouting these abhorrent words, and the crowd was actively encouraging him. Harry recognized several figures among the onlookers: the flamboyant robe of Deputy Minister Rowley, the stooped figure of old Crabbe – Gideon’s grandfather, and the ghastly purple cravat of Wizengamot Chairman Albot. The elderly wizards were ecstatic over Lord Black’s words. They began to disrobe, rolling up their sleeves, eagerly debating who would claim each of the remaining girls. “Last time, a girl wounded you with a mere Diffindo, old coot!” Rowley chuckled, nudging Lord Crabbe. “Take this one; you like them young!” “Gentlemen, tonight we have five to entertain us, plenty of fun for all!” Marius exclaimed. He pulled out a vial of potion and handed it to Pollux. “This will awaken the hunter’s instinct.” Pollux, seizing Alphard’s jaw, forced his mouth open and poured the potion in. “I know you despise me now, son, but this is for your own good. You can’t be submissive forever. You must be a master in life, defend our pureblood heritage against mudbloods and traitors. Rape this bitch to death, tear her throat out, let all her filthy blood drain from her body!” Harry was paralyzed with indecision. Overcoming so many dark wizards was impossible, especially with Alphard and five hostages nearby. His only option was to stealthily pick them off one by one from within the maze. Joanna! Alphard! The true nature of these masked monsters was now horrifyingly clear. Harry felt a newfound readiness to kill, a readiness he had never experienced before. The discussion continued, and as Marius laid the hostages’ wands at the maze’s entrance, Harry nearly revealed himself. A wave of despair, hatred, and fear overwhelmed him. He fell onto his back, gasping, suddenly engulfed by these emotions. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself chained to a chair, alone in a classroom. “Harry! Harry! Harry!” he screamed internally. “Save me, Harry!” Then the vision dissipated, and Harry coughed, finding himself back in the garden. The masked villains were still arguing in the distance, and his heart ached with agony. Tom. Harry peeked out from behind the bush, noticing that Alphard had been released from the Imperius Curse. He was agitatedly pacing, growling like a madman, to the amusement of the others. The hunt was imminent. Alphard and Joanna, or Tom Riddle? “If Tom dies now, I’ll be free of so many problems,” Harry mused, briefly considering the option of letting Tom die. But their bond would remain… “What are you thinking!” Harry suddenly chastised himself. “You can’t abandon him, he’s… He’s relying on you. He needs you, he’s waiting for you!” His heart constricted painfully, Harry gasping for air, torn by conflicting emotions. Alphard and Joanna, or Tom Riddle?! “Harry,” he recalled Tom’s soft whisper, laden with emotion. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.” And the fleeting, yet sincere touch of their lips. He couldn’t hesitate any longer. Harry sprinted, staying low until the peony bushes gave way to roses. He circled around the group of scoundrels, then broke into an open run towards the gates, clutching the badge he’d kept since the beginning of the holidays. The moment had arrived. “Captain Shacklebolt, Captain!” Harry shouted, his voice piercing the silencing charms. “Gordian?” Shacklebolt responded quickly. “What’s happened?” “Captain, this will sound unbelievable,” Harry began, voice steady despite his rush. “But high-ranking wizards, including Lord Pollux Black, Lord Crabbe, my cousin Marius, Deputy Minister Rowley, and others, are currently at my manor, engaging in a ‘hunt’ in the Selwyn garden. They’ve targeted Muggleborn girls, including my classmate Joanna Collins, and are coercing Alphard Black into killing her. Captain, you must believe me! They’ve abducted five witches and plan to hunt them down!” “Are you certain, Gordian?” Shacklebolt asked, skepticism evident. “I swear by my magic, Captain! I am sane and recall everything clearly. Everything I’ve said is the absolute truth! If we don’t act now, five innocent girls will die, and Alphard’s soul will be forever tainted. This is no joke, I swear!” Harry implored. “There’s a traitor in your department covering for these criminals. Please, assemble a strike team and come to the Selwyn manor. I’ll open the gates!” Harry felt the weight of his plea. If he were Shacklebolt, he might doubt such an outrageous claim from a wealthy amnesiac boy. “Captain, if I’m lying, you can arrest me for six months. But if I’m not, you can save six lives. Please…” “Mordred!” Shacklebolt cursed. “Alright. Open the gates; we’ll be there in five minutes.” “Thank you!” Harry exclaimed, overwhelmed with relief. “They’re in the garden maze. There are enchantments around it; approach the fountain at the entrance to break their barrier!” The badge went silent, and Harry quickened his pace. As the gates opened silently, only the gargoyles atop the pillars growled ominously. Harry left the gates ajar and stood outside. He intended to wait for the squad, but the bond in his chest—a mix of pain and yearning—compelled him. He needed to reach Tom; he had to save and protect him. “Merlin, please, guide me to him!” Harry implored, raising his wand, closing his eyes, and stepping forward, following the bond’s call. Suddenly, the world around him seemed to shatter. Pain coursed through every fiber of his being as he was violently pulled toward Tom, feeling as if his bones were grinding to dust. “No,” Harry internally screamed with determination. “I can do this!” A surge of power erupted from the depths of his soul, from a part that seemed foreign to him. Embracing this newfound strength, Harry pushed forward, driven by an unyielding need to reach Tom. He burst into a brightly lit room, battered and bleeding, a chunk of flesh torn from his left shoulder, an ear missing, yet he was alive. The adrenaline dulled the pain. “Tom!” he cried out, rushing to Riddle, who was suspended by his arms on the wall. “Tom, it’s okay, I’m here. Do you hear me? I’ve come! I won’t leave you!” In Tom’s black eyes, a flicker of profound happiness shone through, so intense it was almost painful. “I hoped…” Tom smiled weakly, blood trickling from his mouth. “Hoping was so… unpleasant.” “Fool!” Harry’s eyes clouded with emotion. “Of course, I came. I am…” “Gordian?!” The door burst open, and Harry, instinctively shielding Tom, faced Dean Callahan on the threshold. “You!” Harry realized in shock. “It was you! You son of a bitch!” Harry had never suspected the dean, the thought simply inconceivable. “How did you get in here? Insufferable boy, you’re nothing but trouble,” Callahan expressed his shock at finding Harry in his torture chamber. “I came for Tom,” Harry growled, his voice filled with contempt. “Your time is up, monster.” “Gordy, Gordy,” Callahan shook his head, unfazed by Harry’s fury. “You’re a persistent troublemaker. I’ve tried to kill you three times already! But this time, I’ll make sure of it. How fortunate that my two most troublesome targets are together,” his face twisted into a malicious grin as he switched his gaze between Harry and Tom, wand in hand. “But why? Why do this?” Harry demanded, his wand crackling with anger, yet seeking an explanation for Callahan’s heinous acts. “What’s there to understand, boy?” Callahan sneered. “I’m ‘protecting’ others from the likes of you. You freaks bully and break others with your hatred! Someone needed to put you in your place!” he laughed maniacally, gesturing around the room. “You’re the real monster. The medical records don’t lie; they show how you tortured Gordian, breaking his bones, setting him on fire. You’re a pervert and a sadist!” Harry accused, his voice thunderous. “You wanted to subject Tom to the same fate, didn’t you?” Rage overwhelmed Harry, his vision clouding as if veiled in blood. “Shut up, you little bastard!” Callahan shouted, launching a curse at Harry, but in his fury, Harry deflected it with a mere wave of his hand. “I want you to confess. Admit what you are,” Harry growled. “You’re a sick pervert and sadist. Confess!” “I am the guardian of justice,” Callahan retorted bitterly. “I protect the world from scum like you! I tried to re-educate you, but you’re rotten to the core. You’re a disgusting fascist, pretending to reform. Families like the Blacks, the Malfoys, the Rosiers—they must be eradicated! And Riddle, he will regret deceiving me. I’ve prepared nine circles of hell for him.” “But why him? Why stop hunting me?” Harry asked, driven by a torturous curiosity about the dean’s motives. “It seems I couldn’t let you go so easily, Gordy,” Callahan said, a greedy glint in his eye. “I couldn’t kill you with Avada, which means I didn’t truly want to. So, I decided to wait. You seemed calmer after my… ‘training.’ But Tom Riddle, he was the worst. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him…” “It was you,” Tom rasped, “You attacked me in the corridor.” Harry, unaware of Tom’s attack, resolved to ask about it later. “Yes, and I almost made a mistake,” the dean sneered, aiming his wand at Tom. “You were so smug, thinking you outsmarted me. I couldn’t use magic on students, so I decided to kidnap you. But you were lucky this idiot Colhepp passed by. However… I took some of your hair. Now, you and Gordian will understand what true education is! Heard our Gordy likes it rough? I think the three of us will work on that!” Harry stared at Callahan’s hate-filled face and realized the man was beyond redemption. He would never acknowledge his true nature. Harry made a decisive choice. He would protect Tom and others from this monster. “Diffindo, Incendio, Tarantallegra,” Harry cast a combo of spells. Callahan laughed, leaving Harry just a moment to react. “Wingardium Leviosa,” Harry shouted resolutely. Callahan’s laughter was cut short as he was violently thrown against the door, his head impaled on a sharp iron corner. “You can kill with tickling charms, if you’re aware of your surroundings,” Johnson always said. Harry had taken those lessons to heart. Blood and flesh splattered the walls as Callahan’s lifeless body hung grotesquely on the door, like a lifeless, fat salmon. A former soldier? Just a fool unaware that Protego doesn’t shield from Leviosa. “Tom!” Harry turned to him, greeted by a gaze of admiration. “Tom, hold on, I’m here.” Harry shattered the magical-suppression cuffs, caught Tom as he fell, and embraced him fiercely. His bloodied hands buried in Tom’s hair, he nuzzled behind Tom’s ear, feeling his pulse against his lips. “Are you okay?” Harry whispered, holding Tom tighter. “He didn’t manage to…?” “No, he didn’t,” Tom pressed into him with equal intensity, wrapping his arms around Harry. “I believed you’d come. I really did. And you did. Isn’t it miraculous?” Harry laughed hysterically, the images of Joanna chained to the statue and Alphard drugged flashing in his mind. “How could I not come? You’re my pain in the ass, only I get to hurt you, not that nobody,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of humor and seriousness. Something in Harry’s mind had snapped when he broke through Callahan’s defenses. He couldn’t explain what he did next. His lips instinctively moved up Tom’s neck, his hands pressing on the other’s head, as he pressed his own lips against Tom’s, tasting the metallic tang of blood. The kiss lasted only seconds, but around them, an illusory warm glow formed, isolating them from the surrounding dirt and blood. In that moment, they merged as one, like two rivers joining, driven by a force greater than magic. Harry jolted back to reality when the door creaked and Callahan’s corpse thudded against the wall. He reluctantly stepped back, regaining his senses. Why had he done that? “How did he catch you?” Harry asked, clearing his throat awkwardly, turning to glance around the room. The room was small, dark, and windowless. In one corner, there was a child’s bed with blue floral sheets, and beside it, a lidless toilet. On the opposite wall, a school blackboard and a grade chart hung, reminiscent of those in Hogwarts during exams. Harry approached the chart, reading the names listed: “Gregory Bellamy - Satisfactory. Shlame Graham - Exceeds Expectations. Gordian Selwyn - Dreadful.” And freshly inked at the bottom was the name Tom Riddle. “He thought he was re-educating them,” Harry murmured. “That bastard tortured boys and justified it as justice…” Tom’s soft voice came from behind Harry. “He ambushed me in Hogsmeade. I didn’t suspect his presence in that alleyway at three in the morning. I was hurrying to find you, fearing for your safety, and that’s when I made a mistake. I raised my hands, pretending to surrender, but he was the one deceiving me all along.” Harry shuddered, repulsed by the thought of that monster doing to Tom what he had done to Gordian. He wanted to embrace Tom again, to protect him from the world’s horrors. Tom had endured so much, yet fate kept casting him into treacherous situations, as if testing and tempting him towards becoming Voldemort. Tom stood resolutely, wand in hand, his gaze fixed on Callahan’s lifeless body, seemingly unable to grasp the reality of the moment. Harry moved towards him, then hesitated, his fists clenched. Why did everything have to be so hard? He desperately wanted to… “We need to inform Shacklebolt,” Harry croaked, resisting the urge to turn around and embrace Tom. “He’s currently storming the Selwyn manor. He might not answer immediately, but it gives us time to craft a plausible story.” “Storming?!” Tom exclaimed. “I’ll explain. First, let me move this corpse from the door; it’s unsettling,” Harry muttered, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. What a way to come of age. Harry thought he was beyond surprise, yet here they were. ***   Harry and Tom were held at the Auror Office until dawn. When they returned to the Selwyn manor, about fifty wizards were there. Some were examining the garden with spell cameras, others were aiding the terrified girls, and a third group was investigating the area for artifacts. The apprehended gentlemen lay bound on the ground, resembling grotesque, oversized caterpillars. Relieved to see Alphard, Harry noticed the boy was still growling and resisting due to the potion. They informed the healers and Aurors about his drugged state to prevent his wrongful detention. Seeing Harry covered in blood and missing an ear, the medics insisted on sending him to St. Mungo’s, but he resisted. They managed to provide basic medical care on site. The events unfolded rapidly. Harry informed Shacklebolt about Callahan, leading to more Aurors being called. Some headed to Callahan’s house, while others continued searching the Selwyn manor. Harry led the Aurors to Lady Selwyn’s room, claiming he needed to open the door due to blood wards – a lie to see Lady Selwyn first and gauge her knowledge of the events. Upon opening her room, they found it dusty and neglected, with broken furniture – clear signs that house elves hadn’t been permitted inside. “She’s got mental issues,” Harry explained to shocked Shacklebolt as they moved to the bedroom. “Fuck,” Harry swore under his breath at the bedroom threshold. Lady Selwyn lay in her nightgown on the bed, which had white sheets that now seemed colored in comparison to her snow-white skin. Her throat was slit from ear to ear, the cut so deep it revealed bone. She still clutched a bloody dagger in her hand. “She knew,” Harry realized, recalling their odd conversation in the library. “She predicted this. She told me.” ‘Soon, we’ll all be in a place where secrets hold no power,’ she had said. Now she must have known about her grandson’s demise. Perhaps they were together in death. “Search the bedroom,” Shacklebolt commanded. The bedroom was as dusty and neglected as the living room, except for a clean dressing table with a portrait of a young Lady Selwyn with her family. As Harry approached the bed, observing the lifeless body, he noticed a parchment clutched in her other hand. “Captain!” Harry called, gently prying the piece of paper from Lady Selwyn’s icy fingers. Unfolding it, he found just one line written in elegant handwriting: “The King will return, and rivers of blood will flow.” “Well, she was clearly unwell,” the captain remarked, shaking his head. The searches began, and by the time Harry and Riddle were escorted to the interrogation room, Potter could barely keep his eyes open. “For the third time, how did you end up at the crime scene?” Shacklebolt asked wearily. Harry understood his persistence. Despite all the evidence, the Auror needed to confirm that neither Tom’s nor his story changed. Shacklebolt continued to probe with the same questions, albeit phrased differently, clearly fatigued by the procedure. “I agreed to meet Tom in Hogsmeade at night while everyone was asleep,” Harry began once more, leaning on the reflective table surface, his head resting in his hands. “As I headed to the gates, I encountered… what you know. I called you and waited by the gates to meet the squad. Then I received a message from Tom on the galleon and rushed to his aid.” Harry had enchanted the galleon given to Riddle earlier to transmit apparition coordinates and had deliberately weakened the protective wards on Callahan’s house, making it plausible for the Aurors to believe a teenager could breach them. “How were you able to send a message with your hands bound?” Shacklebolt asked Tom, seated next to Harry. “I managed it before he chained me,” Tom answered with composed confidence. “I squeezed the coin in my pocket, and it worked. I was very scared.” “Merlin, you two are the luckiest guys I’ve ever seen,” the Auror said with a faint smile. “If the house’s charms hadn’t been damaged, Harry, you’d have been torn apart,” he gestured towards Harry, then turned to Tom. “And you, Tom, got off with just a scare. You should thank magic for your luck. Do you realize the danger you were in? You both could have died horribly. Why meet in Hogsmeade at night, anyway?” Harry sheepishly averted his eyes, placing a hand on Tom’s. “I see,” Shacklebolt remarked with a hint of amusement. “Cheating on your fiancé?” “There won’t be a wedding,” Harry interjected. “How is Alphard, do you know?” “Frightened and angry, but unharmed,” Shacklebolt replied, taking a sip of coffee. “We arrived in time; he hadn’t caught up to the girl. If not for you, five young witches would have died. I’m relieved I was on duty today and that you convinced me to take action. “What will happen to those wizards now? Have they said anything?” Harry asked, craving something stronger than coffee. “Not a word,” Shacklebolt sighed. “They’re all bound by the Vow. Only your memories and the victims’ statements can help us corner them. So much work ahead… I was nearly retired. A gentlemen’s club, my ass…” “Once I’ve rested, I’ll provide plenty of statements,” Harry offered reassuringly. “There must be evidence in the manor: victims’ clothing, personal items, maybe remains.” “It’s not just about evidence,” Shacklebolt grimaced. “When we wake up today, our world will have changed. This incident will alter society forever. In the shadow of Grindelwald’s crimes, these men have only harmed themselves. I fear we’re facing a major societal shift, and in my experience, such changes rarely end well.” When they were released from the Auror office, the sun was shining brightly outside. Oblivious to the old telephone booth and the two rumpled, worn-out guys in odd clothes, Muggles bustled by. “I don’t want to go back to the manor,” Harry declared. “I’ll head to that house in Hogsmeade. Felt like it might come in handy.” “No,” Riddle firmly gripped his wrist. “I’m coming with you.” Too tired to argue, Harry simply apparated them both to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, near the Three Broomsticks. He was exhausted from the effort of breaking through the wards and yearned for rest. His mind was blissfully empty. Riddle led Harry to a small stone house near the forest, resembling a barn but with excellent charms. “An old Auror instructor lived here,” Riddle explained, touching a large rusty key to the gate, which opened immediately. “I don’t care if it’s a doghouse,” Harry muttered, following Riddle inside. “Is there any food?” “No, but there’s a bakery nearby.” “To hell with it,” Harry surveyed the shabby interior. “Is there a bedroom? A bed?” “There is, this way,” Riddle said, revealing a hidden passage behind a picture on the wall. “There are no linens, but the mattress will do. I could sleep on the floor right now.” “Well then, sleep on the floor. You’re not planning to sleep with me, are you?” Harry yawned, eyeing the old, high mattress covered with a purple blanket as if it were a king’s bed. “With you, of course,” Riddle said, wrapping his arms around Harry. “Won’t you share the bed with me?” “Tom,” Harry tensed, feeling Riddle’s heartbeat against his back. “What I did after… I wasn’t myself. It didn’t mean anything…” Before he could finish, Riddle turned him around and kissed him. Devoid of strength to resist, Harry succumbed to the warmth and tenderness flowing from Tom. He let himself be pulled onto the bed, allowing Tom to lie on top. “I’m happy,” Tom whispered between kisses. “You came for me. I’ve never been happier. You chose me over Collins, over Black.” “Tom…” Harry embraced him, fingers weaving through Tom’s hair, overwhelmed by emotion. “Don’t say anything,” Tom whispered, their lips meeting again. “Later. Just let me…” He didn’t deepen the kiss. Instead, he gently caressed Harry’s lips, eyes squinted, pressing his body close as if it were the most important thing in the world. He trailed warm kisses down Harry’s neck, capturing the pulse with his lips, then suddenly froze, holding Harry tightly by the waist. “It’s nice – to kiss you,” Tom breathed hotly against Harry’s neck. “I didn’t know it could be so nice. You like it too, I can feel it. Don’t push me away.” Harry, in genuine shock, found himself unable to object. Even discovering their dean was a maniac hadn’t shocked him as much as the unbearable tenderness emanating from Tom, like a spring gushing in the mountains. He had expected greed, passion, impatience, possessiveness from Tom, but not this pure, almost innocent caress expressing gratitude and blinding happiness. It lacked vulgarity or a desire to possess. It was as if Tom had opened his heart, inviting Harry to accept him as he was. Pushing Tom away was impossible. Harry wanted to prolong this moment, to freeze time and stay in this bed forever. With Ginny, he had never felt anything like this. She remained a stranger to him despite their years together. But Riddle, in just a couple of months, made him feel like they were family, finding a soft spot and pressing on it. “I won’t push you away,” Harry sighed. “Just don’t push your luck.” “I won’t,” Tom quickly kissed him under the jaw, nuzzling into the base of his neck. “I think I’m about to pass out. It’s been a tough day.” “Let’s sleep,” Harry suggested, pressing his cheek to Tom’s crown and continuing to stroke his nape. “Tomorrow, as Shacklebolt said, we’ll wake up in a different world.” “Who cares. The main thing is, you’re in this world,” mumbled Tom, settling his head on Harry’s shoulder, and soon began to snore softly. “I’m really in deep,” Harry whispered to himself, lightly kissing Tom’s hair. Today, he almost lost Tom. For a moment, he imagined leaving him in the maniac’s lair to die, and the thought was unbearably painful. Tom had hoped for someone, believed, waited for Harry to come for him. And Harry had risked his life for Tom. His chest tightened with recognition of his feelings. It didn’t bode well because he liked lying here with Tom. He wanted to believe in Tom’s sincerity, in the tenderness and need he showed. He wanted to believe this was the real Tom. What was he to do with these feelings? After all, Tom Riddle never did anything without a reason.