A Thread of Time

Chapter Four

Blearily he pushed himself up into a sitting position, elbows leaning on bent knees. “What time is it?” he asked, voice roughened by sleep.

Dorian was sitting casually on the end of the bed, the curtains half drawn to allow him access. “It is approximately seven o’ clock on a Sunday,” he answered with a bored expression, habitually twirling his wand in one hand while the other leant against the bed.

Harry said nothing as he attempted to process the thought of waking at such an early hour on a Sunday. In slight embarrassment he noticed Dorian’s eyes trailing unashamedly down his bare chest. In the end, he cleared his throat and managed, “do you always get up so early?”

Dorian raised a brow. “We are the last ones in here, actually. I have orders to wake you up.”

Confused, Harry rubbed his eyes. “Orders…? Oh.” Tom. “Maybe later,” he said, and lay back down with a yawn.

Dorian gave a soft snort. “Well, I refuse to leave without you. I rather value my private parts.”

Harry snickered and threw an arm over his eyes. When he opened them again a moment later, the other boy was still watching him expressionlessly.

“Do you plan on sitting there all day?” he asked curiously.

“My intention was to wait until you bother to get up. However I could result to physically forcing you, if you would prefer.”

Harry gave him a sleepy grin. “Just say you couldn’t wake me up.”

“You expect our dear Tom to believe that?”

“Well, no, but it would give me a few more minutes sleep.”

“Very well, physical force it is.”

Harry pushed himself up again. “Fine, fine,” he said, and slumped tiredly against the wall, watching Dorian from through lidded eyes.

“This morning, please,” Dorian said with amusement.

“But ‘m tired,” Harry complained, eyes falling shut again.

“And I’m sure you can have plenty of sleep later.”

“But…”

“You’re worse than I am. What must I do to make you get up?”

Harry smiled but said nothing. When he began to doze off again he was surprised to suddenly find himself forcefully pushed onto his back.

“Wha..” he managed before he found a mouth over his own. It was with a sleep-ridden mind and muddled thoughts that Harry did not realize what was happening as he moaned softly and pulled the boy completely on top of him.

A second later the blanket was tugged aside and Harry experienced the newfound pleasure of sliding his boxer-clad hardness against Dorian’s thigh. They broke the kiss gasping and set a rhythm once Harry discovered the other boy’s erection pressing into his side.

A few intense moments of moaning, thrusting and kissing followed and left them both lying on the bed panting.

“Well,” Dorian murmured as he pushed himself off Harry. “That was one way to get you up.”

After a pause, Harry laughed at the innuendo and pushed himself up. “You could have just spelled water over my head or something. I can’t believe we did that.”

He looked down at Dorian who was reclining against the pillows. He received a lazy smirk. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

Harry rolled his eyes, cleaned away the mess with a flick of his wand, and finally staggered out of bed.

*

When discovering the common room to be empty, Harry and Dorian came to the conclusion that Tom had become bored with waiting and had already left for breakfast.

It was on their way up from the dungeons to the Great Hall that they came to a halt upon what looked like a gang of giggling Slytherin girls cornering a second or third-year Ravenclaw student.

“What’s going on here?” Dorian asked vacantly, and immediately had the attention of the six Slytherin students.

“Nothing,” the tallest of them answered sweetly, eyes narrowing. Her light hair and grey eyes immediately screamed Malfoy, Harry realized. This would be Claudia Malfoy.

He frowned once he saw who the victim was. Messy dark hair and hazel eyes; it had to be Henry Potter, Charlus’ nephew.

Harry took a step towards him and immediately wands were pointing at him.

“Harry, let’s be on our way,” Dorian said indifferently, clearly not bothered about the Ravenclaw student.

“No,” Harry said. “You go; I’ll be there in a minute.”

Dorian looked at him uncertainly, while Claudia gave a slight giggle. “Go on, Rosier. I should like to talk to the new boy.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, and, with an elegant shrug, Dorian strolled away without a backward glance.

He turned to the group. The other girls were silent, staring at him through narrowed eyes. Henry Potter was staring defiantly at the floor, clutching his school bag and saying nothing.

“I suggest you stop whatever it is you’re doing,” Harry said quietly, fixing his eyes on Claudia. His wand was still in his pocket, but he was hardly bothered by that.

The girl flashed her eyelashes at him, a smirk forming on her face. “And why would we listen to you, a half-blood?”

“Perhaps because you don’t yet know what you’re up against.”

She snorted. “There is nothing you can do. You may be a sixth year but you are outnumbered. Will you run to the nearest professor?”

Harry was annoyed now. Calmly he took out his wand and pointed it directly towards Claudia.

Absently he blocked a hex that flew at him from one of the other girls.

“Take yourself elsewhere,” Claudia said, clearly irritated but wary. “This is none of your business.”

“Maybe the fact that he is my cousin makes it my business. Put away your wands and leave him alone.”

The girls began to giggle spitefully at him.

“How sweet,” Claudia said, before snapping a curse at him. Harry countered it and quickly formed a strong shielding charm around Henry.

Instantly hexes were being hurled at him.

Quickly racking his brains for a plan, Harry decided to settle on defense, for now. He could block their petty spells easily but had no idea as to when they would grow tired of their current entertainment.

A minute of firing and dodging spells followed, and finally Harry decided that he had had enough. “Expelliarmus,” he murmured, followed by a “Silencio.”

All six wands flew into his hand.

The girls glared at him viciously, both wandless and speechless.

“I think it’s about time you gave up,” Harry said irritably. “Approach him again and next time you won’t be the only ones throwing curses. Now get lost.”

With silent glee he turned their wands into candy sticks as he returned them. The spell had been an invention of Fred and George’s.

Claudia gave him a furious expression and stomped away followed by her little gang.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked the Ravenclaw boy. Henry simply nodded his head, still clutching his bag to his chest, refusing to look up at Harry.

Harry was at a loss for words. The boy was so quiet. “Do you… need to visit the Hospital Wing?”

Again, the boy shook his head.

Harry sighed and took a firm hold of Henry’s chin, forcing him to look up. He was surprised to find fear in the younger boy’s eyes.

“What’s your name?” Harry asked, just in case.

“Henry,” the boy said, so quietly that Harry had to strain his ears to hear. “Henry Potter.”

Harry smiled at him and released his chin. “I’m Harry. Why don’t we walk to breakfast together?”

Henry nodded, his eyes returned to the ground, and moved to walk beside Harry along the corridor.

“You’re very quiet,” Harry commented. When he received no answer he asked, “Are you afraid?”

Henry shook his head, no, and they continued walking.

Harry sighed as they approached the Great Hall. “Let me know if they do it again,” he said when the boy finally looked up at him. “Or, better yet, tell Charlus.”

That comment made Henry look away. Harry frowned. There had to be something going on, here.

“I’ll talk to you again sometime,” he said, and when he received a nod, headed for the Slytherin table.

*

“Good morning, Potter,” Cedrella said as Harry claimed the space beside her.

“I see nothing good about it,” he said absentmindedly, piling food onto his plate.

“You certainly took your time in coming down,” Bulstrode remarked across from him.

Harry scowled. “If I realized it was custom to get up so early on a Sunday morning, I would have refused to come to Hogwarts at all.”

The witch snorted. “Why waste the day away sleeping when there are so many-”

“Did you sort out your little ordeal, Harry?” Dorian interrupted uncaringly. He was sitting on the other side of Cedrella, next to Tom.

Harry didn’t reply. Instead he began to tap his fork insistently against the table, feeling restless all of a sudden.

“Are you ill?” Cedrella remarked, eyes glued to the book in her lap.

Harry sighed. “I’m not hungry,” he decided suddenly, and stood.

As he wondered what to do, Anton decided to slide up and curl round his neck.

“Hello,” the snake said cheerily.

“Why are you so happy all of a sudden?”

“I enjoyed that little incident this morning,” Anton replied, tongue flicking in Harry’s ear. Harry shifted uncomfortably, hoping that Anton was not referring to the little… episode with Dorian that had occurred earlier.

“Potter, sit down,” Cedrella said mildly, and Harry sat.

“Incident?”

“What incident, Harry?” Tom spoke up, eyes dark and expressionless.

Harry felt extremely uncomfortable as questioning eyes fixed on him. He looked at Dorian who was staring with a mixture of amusement and disgust at something by the Gryffindor table.

“Can we hunt now?” Anton said suddenly, breaking the awkwardness.

“Sure,” Harry said and rose once again.

“Wait, Harry, I’d like to speak to you,” Tom said, rising.

Harry frowned but nodded, and together they left the Hall.

“Are you attempting to hide something from me?” Tom questioned eventually.

“Like what?” Harry said, and turned so that they were heading towards the Entrance Hall. If Tom had any idea of what happened…well, it didn’t matter. Harry had nothing to be ashamed of. There was nothing between him and Tom, just as there was nothing going on between Tom and the number of people he had used. Harry assured himself that he had no reason to be guilty whatsoever.

“I don’t know exactly, but from what I can tell, something happened between you and my lovely Dorian. Something that you don’t wish to share.”

Harry sat on the steps outside, as he had done the day before with Chris. Tom followed suit.

“Why would I share it?” he said defensively, staring unseeingly at the lake. He owed Tom nothing. The couple of kisses they had shared were nothing. So why did he feel as though there was something eating at him?

“Why not? I am curious, and I see no harm in you telling me.”

Harry frowned. Why was Tom pushing? It was none of his business. Had Dorian told him? “It’s so trivial and insignificant that it hardly matters. What time is that meeting?”

“It is at six in a hidden room in the dungeons. I’m to tell you the password when we get there.”

Harry nodded.

“Harry,” Tom said quietly. Harry could feel those dark eyes staring at him. As though by force he turned to meet their intense gaze, and met the lips that kissed him.

“Did you enjoy Dorian’s kisses as much as you enjoy mine?” Tom murmured, moving so that they were sitting right beside each other, thighs touching.

Harry didn’t answer, not knowing what to say. His momentary restlessness had vanished; now he was simply tired.

“What does it matter,” he murmured, fixing his eyes upon a couple of birds fluttering by a clump of leafless trees near the unmoving lake.

It was not cold, he noticed. The weak sun shone through gaps in the puffy clouds and made the droplets of leftover rain on plants glitter.

“Are you… were you in a relationship in the future?” Tom asked, following Harry’s gaze.

“No. Well…” Harry decided not to think of Ginny, who had become more and more annoyingly tearful and desperate. It hadn’t helped that Ron and Hermione had spent half their time trying to convince Harry to date her again and adamantly refused to understand that he didn’t want to; that he wasn’t interested in her and never really had been. “No. What about you?”

Tom raised an eyebrow at him. “What about me?”

“Don’t you do relationships?”

“I am… not usually acquainted with anyone who I would consider having a relationship with.”

There was a pause. “Dorian says that you’re permanently horny and tend to fuck anyone you like,” Harry blurted out, then mentally cursed himself.

To his surprise, Tom laughed softly.

“That’s not quite true,” he mused, staring off at the lake. “Well, perhaps it is. You’ll find that most Slytherins view relationships as complications. Instead we take joy in… paying each other favors, so to speak.”

“I guess that excludes Bulstrode, then,” Harry said, watching Tom’s moving expressions with fascination. Most of the time the boy’s expression was closed and dark. Making him smile, or even laugh, was a challenge that Harry was happy to uptake.

“She was meant to be in Ravenclaw, you know. But of course the mere idea was scandalous; her parents came in that very day and had her resorted in Dippet’s office.”

Harry stared at him. “But she’s so…”

Tom turned to give him a wryly amused look. “Obsessive? Yes, she spitefully dived into the dark arts in some form of rebellion and corrupted herself.”

Harry leant his head in his hands. From what he could tell, Slytherin in the future, in his time, was far more corrupt than they were here. Most of the Slytherins here treated him with some form of mild neglect; as though he were an unwelcome guest. While it wasn’t very welcoming, it was far less harsh than Harry suspected, being a ‘half-blood’ and all.

In the future he would have been ripped to pieces.

“What are you thinking about?” Tom asked, leaning over slightly and placing a kiss on Harry’s forehead.

Harry decided then to ignore Tom’s random bouts of affection. He sighed and stretched, before saying suddenly, “When is your birthday?”

Tom’s only show of surprise was to blink and raise an eyebrow. “On New Year’s Eve,” he said shortly.

Harry made an incoherent sound and smothered a yawn.

They sat in a peculiarly comfortable silence for a few moments, before Harry murmured, “I want you to stop.”

Tom looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed. “Stop what?”

“Stop… this. I don’t want to do this… favor-sharing thing you do. No more kisses or anything.”

Tom frowned slightly in response. “I have not been with anyone since you arrived. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Harry gave him an uncertain look.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I refrained from seeing other people in the meantime?”

“You just said you don’t do relationships,” Harry said flatly, staring at him.

“ I said I’m not usually acquainted with anyone that I would want to be with.”

Harry frowned and moved away slightly. He wasn’t stupid; clearly Tom wanted something or he wouldn’t bother.

“I don’t trust you. You killed my parents.”

“I don’t expect you to trust me. I hardly hold trust for you.”

Harry gave him an incredulous look. “That’s hardly the means to start a relationship with.”

Tom smiled. “It is if we can both trust each other not to be trustworthy.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He looked away. Joke over, he asked quietly, “what is it you want?”

“You, obviously.”

Harry scowled at him, ignoring the small flip in his stomach. “Very funny. Spit it out; Slytherins always want something one way or another.”

“I didn’t think you were the judgmental type, Harry.”

“I’m not. But the only Slytherins I really knew were selfish arseholes.”

“People are different. Is this a no, then?”

Harry looked at him painfully, and then dropped his gaze to his feet.

“It is.”

He heard Tom sigh and felt a hand run affectionately through his hair.

“Next time let me know when you decide to have a little fun with Dorian, then.”

Harry laughed softly. “I don’t expect that to happen again.”

After a while, he said, “What time will the meeting end?”

“At seven. It is only an hour or so long. Why?”

“I’m meant to be meeting Chris here at eight. I don’t know his surname…”

“That would be Christopher Doyle,” Tom said expressionlessly. “He is the Slytherin Quidditch captain.”

“Really?” Harry asked, delighted at that information. “Feels like I haven’t played in ages…” he gazed off towards the direction of the Quidditch pitch and wondered how his Firebolt was doing.

“Were you in the team?”

“Yeah, seeker.”

“I’m sure Doyle will be able to get you a place, if you can prove you’re any good.”

Harry shrugged. “Won’t be much point, really… I should be returning soon. Oh, bugger… I was meant to see Dumbldore.”

With a sigh he stood up.

“Would you like me to come?” Tom asked, rising.

Harry blinked. “No, it’s alright… do you think they’ve found a way to send me back?”

Tom looked at him for a second.

“I hope not.”

*

“So, Harry,” Dumbledore began, once Harry had placed himself in a chair in Dippet’s office. The old man unwrapped a brightly coloured muggle sweet and popped it into his mouth. “Quite simply, as we have very few concepts of time-travel and, ah, time-turners, it may be useful for you to start telling us what you know so far.”

Harry shifted in his seat, a frown skipping across his face. “Well,” he said, and paused. “I don’t really know anything that could be of use. I mean, I don’t remember doing anything specific before I woke up in-“

“So you were unconscious when you arrived?” Dippet interrupted.

Harry glanced at him. “I guess so. I was lying in the middle of a corridor near the Astronomy Tower, so I don’t imagine I had lain down for a nap.”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. “And you don’t recall doing anything before that?”

“The last thing I remember was my scar bleeding – which is completely normal – so I was about to clean it up. The rest is just blank. When I woke up my robes were still covered in blood, so...”

“Covered in blood, you say?” Dippet remarked. “Exactly how much blood do you lose when the scar bleeds?”

Harry hesitated. “See, that’s the thing. It only bled a bit, but my robes were entirely soaked.”

Dumbledore frowned slightly. “And you weren’t injured in any other way?”

“No, not at all.”

“When these… deliberate time-travelling incidents occur,” Dippet said, “is the traveller prone to receive any painful side-effects?”

“I’ve only used a time-turner before, which is entirely harmless. I don’t know if there are any other forms of time-travel around.”

Dumbledore said, “How often does your scar bleed?”

“Lately it’s bled every couple of days.”

“And how long does the bleeding last?”

“A few seconds, mostly.”

“Is it painful?” Dippet wondered aloud.

Only when I have a vision, Harry thought. “Not really, no. Sometimes it burns a bit, but that’s about it.”

Dippet sighed. “So, it is likely that the copious amount of blood was due to something that had occurred shortly before the time-travel.”

He paused thoughtfully.

“Mr. Potter, do you think there is any likely motive for your being sent back in time?” Dumbledore asked, the expression in his eyes strangely intense.

Harry thought about it. The time-travel had either been caused by himself, which he doubted, or someone else, although for what reason he could not decide. Why would someone want to send him fifty years in the past? To get him out of the way, maybe? Out of the way of Voldemort and his far-fetched plans, perhaps. But why…?

Harry shook his head, meeting Dumbledore’s gaze. “I don’t know. Well. I’m quite well-known, in my time…” he frowned. “I can’t think why anyone would want to send me here, other than to, well, get me out of the way. And if I had done it myself, I doubt there would be any blood or loss of memory involved.”

“What are you well-known for?” Dippet asked interestedly.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “I can’t really say.”

“Fair enough, but it seems fitting to point out that you don’t appear very keen to return,” Dippet stated.

Harry looked down at his shoes. To be honest, he wasn’t keen on leaving at all. “I have to go back,” he said after a pause. “It’s just… well; my life in my own time isn’t that brilliant. Here, no one really knows who I am. No one stares…” He shifted uncomfortably and looked up to find Dumbledore looking at him with something akin to understanding.

Dippet sighed, and looked at Dumbledore. “What are the available options?”

A thoughtful look returned to the Professor’s face as he unwrapped yet another sweet. Finally he mused, “I think we would all agree that there is very little information for us to make any standing decisions. Perhaps you should carry on here, Harry, as you have been doing, and we shall see whether magic will work itself on this issue once again.”

Harry nodded slowly, somewhat relieved but still wary. He had to return eventually. He was the only one who could defeat Lord Voldemort, after all. And Merlin, what if the bastard had already attacked Hogwarts?

Suddenly he looked up at Dumbledore. “Can you help me perform a temporary unbreakable vow?”

“A vow?” Dippet remarked, incredulity creeping into his voice. “Whatever for?”

“To keep yourself from revealing too much about the future, I suppose?” Dumbledore mused.

Harry nodded.

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Dumbledore said, twirling his wand and looking at Dippet.

The Headmaster frowned slightly but said, “Very well, if you must.”

“Come, then,” Dumbledore stood. Harry followed and placed himself in front of the Professor.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.” Dumbledore directed his wand at Harry. “Do you, Harry James Potter, swear an oath to protect any information from the future that may indirectly harm yourself and others?”

“I do,” Harry said, and was blinded momentarily by white light.

“Now that that’s done,” Dippet said impatiently. “It would seem ideal that you get settled down until we can come up with a solution.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, acknowledging the dismissal.

“Good luck on starting your lessons tomorrow,” Dumbledore commented as sat once again. “I believe you will be having me for Transfiguration at one point or another.”

Finally Harry thanked them and left, heading automatically for the dungeons. His mind was a tumble of thoughts, but strangely he did not feel as worried as he knew he ought to be. He feared for his friends and of course the Order, but at the moment there was little he could do to help them, other than fish around for information. He could even try and enjoy himself, for once.

It was true, what he had told Dippet. No one stared like they used to; no one goggled at his scar, gossiped about him, read ridiculous articles about his love life, or lack thereof. It was as though Harry was in a completely different universe - a brilliant one, with no Lord Voldemort, no prophecy and no death eaters. While Tom Riddle existed, he was not nearly quite as insane and revenge- obsessed as his future self.

When Harry entered the common room, Dorian gestured for him to join the group lounging in the corner.

Tom, sitting on a couch by Cedrella and leafing through a book, looked up as Harry approached.

“Any luck?” he asked expressionlessly, moving over so that Harry could slide in between them.

“None,” Harry stated, before hissing a greeting at Anton and watching Dorian sprawl on a pile of cushions at his feet.

“Are you staying here for good then?” Stefan asked suddenly. He was leaning back on a wooden chair at a nearby table, doodling on a piece of parchment.

Harry kicked his shoes off, drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, feeling Tom’s warmth burning into his right side. “I don’t know,” he murmured, stroking Anton’s head. The snake was trapped comfortably against his chest.

“Are you going to keep leaving me often?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Harry replied, a quick glance at his watch telling him that it would be time for lunch in an hour or so.

He looked up when Cedrella snapped her book shut and it disappeared with a small puff.

“How do you plan on spending the rest of the day?” she asked him, pulling her legs up and mimicking his position on the couch.

“Until six o’ clock, you mean? I don’t know. What do you usually do on Sundays?”

She looked thoughtful.

“Read intricate drafts on the extended magical configuration of ancient runes,” Dorian suggested for her, flicking through a book on the floor.

He received a face full of cushion in response. Harry snickered at him. “And you?” he asked.

“He usually has someone to irritate,” Cedrella remarked.

“Don’t be absurd,” Dorian said. “How is dear Septimus, by the way?”

Harry watched interestedly as Cedrella frowned, her grip tightening on the cushion in her hands.

“He is… unsure of himself,” she murmured, staring at some invisible form in front of her and speaking more to herself than the rest of them.

Dorian pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning back on his hands, and Tom closed the book he was reading to observe her.

“He’s finally backing out?” Stefan said, not removing his eyes from the parchment.

Cedrella narrowed her gaze at him. “He doesn’t want to cause further problems with my family,” she snapped.

“You mean he doesn’t want you to get disowned,” he muttered.

“And what do you want?” Harry asked her mildly, surveying the complicated markings painted along Anton’s scales. Her problem had to be similar to the ordeals that Sirius went through.

When he turned his head to look at her, she had a slightly taken aback expression, as if no one had considered her needs worth noting. She then sighed, and said softly, “I would be happy to just have him.”

There was a pause.

“Then what’s the problem?” Harry said, looking at the floor and feeling lonely all of a sudden. He wondered what it would feel like to have what Cedrella shared with Septimus, or what Bulstrode shared with her ‘fifth year cretin’ as Dorian put it. To have what Hermione and Ron had. The only people who had ever wanted to be with Harry that way were either after the attention or wanted to use him. Like Tom.

Cedrella didn’t answer, following Harry’s gaze to the empty dot on the floor.

“She fears Bulstrode,” Tom commented, carefully taking Anton from Harry’s lap.

She snorted in response. “Hardly. It is just… he doesn’t appear to realize that I no longer care about their… their ways. He…”

Harry bumped his shoulder against hers, playfully. “Why don’t you go and tell him that, then?”

She stared at him for a long moment. Harry swallowed silently as he stared back into her dark grey eyes. Sirius’ eyes.

She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. “Perhaps I will,” she said softly, and abruptly stood and left the common room.

Harry was quick to steal the free space on the couch, letting himself sprawl and acknowledging Dorian’s appraising look.

“You were just after her seat,” Stefan accused without actually looking up.

Harry smiled at him, but didn’t answer. A wave of tiredness suddenly hit him, even though he had slept well the night before. He curled up and closed his eyes, hoping that no one would take the opportunity to hex him. This was the Slytherin common room, after all.

“You shouldn’t have gotten up so early,” Dorian observed with a smirk. Harry glared stonily at him, which only resulted in widening the boy’s smirk.

He wondered briefly whether Tom was always this quiet. It certainly seemed that way. Another wave hit him. Groaning, Harry stood and swayed slightly.

“Don’t fall on me, please,” Dorian said, moving away slightly.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Wake me in time for that meeting,” he muttered, stealing Anton back and heading for the boys dormitory.

*

Harry felt a warm hand on his forehead, and then in his hair. He opened his eyes, tired, to find Tom sitting by him. A quick flashback of that morning flittered across Harry’s mind and he closed his eyes in some form of dismay.

“Wake up, Harry. We need to go, now.”

“Tom,” Harry muttered. He reopened his eyes, and could see that it was now quite dark outside.

The hand caressed his cheek. “Come on, Harry.”

Harry sighed and sat up, stifling a yawn and not understanding why he was so dramatically tired.

Ten minutes later he and Tom arrived at an unimpressive timber door, far deeper in the dungeons than the common room.

Tom murmured something and the door creaked open on its own, revealing a huge well-lit room full of murmuring students and the odd pop of a school house-elf appearing.

Behind the small crowd Harry could see a long mahogany table similar to that of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. It sat between a row of pillars, and at the end wall there hung a few large, immensely surly-looking portraits.

Harry allowed Tom to take his hand and lead him into the room, gaining the stares of the nearby students.

“Harry,” Dorian appeared beside him. “Welcome to the Slug Club. Well, part of it, anyway. The rest have deigned to arrive yet.”

“This way,” Tom said, and led him through the gathering to Slughorn, who stood beaming at, Harry recognized, Abraxas Malfoy. The boy had an empty expression of complacency as he looked up at his professor. He wandered away when they approached.

“Harry,” Slughorn greeted, his smile widening. “How are you today? Made lots of friends? I’m sure Tom has been looking after you well. Come, we are about to eat. You can sit by me, and we’ll wait for the others to arrive.”

He left no room for answer. He went and sat at the head of the table, and a quick nudge from Dorian told Harry to follow. He sat in the seat to the side of the professor, while Dorian took the place beside him and Tom sat opposite.

The students began to follow suit, taking their places at the long table.

“What happens when you run out of seats?” Harry asked Dorian amidst the chatter.

“The table extends itself when room is needed. You should have seen it when the club started off.”

“How long has it been going?”

“Three years next week,” Slughorn announced cheerfully, listening in on them. “Which is why we will be having a party on Saturday. But we will talk about that after the food.”

Harry glanced up when three more students entered the room. He didn’t recognize them. The table was now half full.

“Shouldn’t Cedrella be here?” he mused.

“We have not seen her since you sent her away from the common room,” Tom said with an arched eyebrow.

“Oh,” Harry said. “I wonder how that’s going.”

“Well, your answer has arrived.” Dorian supplied. Harry followed his gaze to the door and blinked in surprise.

Cedrella entered, hand-in-hand with a tall, mature-looking redheaded boy, obviously from Gryffindor. She was smiling.

“Well done, Harry,” Tom mused, watching them approach.

There was a quiet hush when the pair reached the table, as though the Slytherins were attempting to become adjusted to the fact that a Slytherin girl was interested in a Gryffindor. A Weasley, no less.

The pair seemed unconcerned. Either that, or they were ignoring it.

“Harry,” Cedrella smiled at him. “This is Septimus.”

Harry returned her smile, pleased to see someone so happy. Septimus had his own dark smile, one that didn’t suit a Gryffindor but made him look good nevertheless. Harry thought he looked very much like Bill Weasley, just without the wild rugged look.

“Pleased to meet you,” he smiled.

“The pleasure is mine,” Septimus returned.

“Jolly good,” Slughorn said cheerfully, pride adorning his voice. “Please take a seat. The last ones should be here any minute now- ah, here we are.”

Stefan Avery entered the room, followed by a group of students talking in hushed whispers. Harry saw Chris with them.

When everyone was seated, Slughorn stood and a hush descended upon the table.

“Announcements come afterwards. Now is the time to feast.” He clapped his hands twice together and plates appeared on the table, followed by steaming dishes of food. The students voiced a general cheer and began to dig in.

Harry was about to pile food onto his plate when he noticed Anton sliding up onto Tom’s shoulder.

“Yum,” the snake hissed.

“He likes you,” Harry noted mildly.

Tom smirked and took Anton down. “Of course. Take him, he keeps pestering me.”

Harry took the snake and gave Tom a suspicious look. “He’s not still going on about mating, is he?”

Dorian snorted beside him. Harry elbowed him in the ribs.

“It is customary, Harry. He finds it odd that you haven’t chosen a mating partner this year.”

Harry frowned. “Don’t snakes hibernate in winter?”

“They do, but Anton doesn’t need to, since you have adopted him. He has all the food he can eat.”

“He’s called Anton?” Dorian said, amused.

Harry gave him an odd look. “Didn’t you know?”

The boy rolled his eyes and refrained from answering.

“About that, Potter,” Slughorn interrupted. “How did you come by Parseltongue? It is a rather rare gift, after all.”

Harry opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out. He frowned. Oh. The vow. Phew. He noticed Tom narrow his eyes slightly.

Slughorn cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered. “I don’t know why.”

The man frowned, and then suddenly an intrigued expression crossed his face.

“Perhaps you are connected with Tom in some form,” he mused.

Harry tried not to choke on the food in his mouth.

“How is that potion progressing, Professor?” Tom interjected, watching Harry carefully.

Harry frowned and noticed Dorian watching the whole reaction from the side.

“Quite, quite well, thank you Tom. I may need a couple more ingredients eventually, but all in good time. All in good time.”

They went into a complicated discussion about the potion and Harry down looked at Anton, eating chicken on his lap.

“How are you?” he hissed softly, stroking the scaly head.

“Good. I can smell him.”

“Huh?” Harry said, confused. He looked up at Dorian, who was watching him.

“Oh.” He laughed.

“What is it this time?” Dorian asked.

“Nothing,” Harry said evasively, and reached for the potatoes.

“Oh, come now. Mating partners again?”

“Not this time. He likes the way you smell.”

Harry received an incredulous look.

“The way I smell? Interesting.”

Harry grinned at him.

“And do you share his opinion?” Dorian said casually, twirling his knife in one hand.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Hey, Potter,” someone called from down the table. Harry looked up.

“Say something in Parseltongue, if you’re really a Parselmouth.”

Harry frowned. He stabbed his fork in the meat on his plate. Dorian snickered at him.

“I’m not, really,” Harry answered. “It’s all a lie.”

Anton ruined the effect by slithering up to his shoulder. There was a collective draw-in of breath. Harry sighed.

He looked at Tom. “Do you ever get this?”

The boy raised an eyebrow.

“Not unless the questioner wants to be hexed to pieces,” Dorian said.

“Ah,” Harry said.

The meal soon ended. Slughorn rose, clapped the table clean and waited for the students to be silent.

“As you all may well know,” he began, “there is an upcoming party next weekend at seven. We will be celebrating the third year of our dear Slug club.”

There was an all-round cheer from the table.

“Secondly, I would like you all to welcome a certain newcomer. Mister Harry Potter has joined the school and our little gang. I hope you will all make him welcome.”

At his words there was a collective greeting. Harry just nodded as he prevented Anton from pouncing on Dorian.

“And lastly-“

Harry had no idea what the third thing was as the words of the voice seemed to merge and become incredibly loud.

An abrupt weakness seeped into his bones. He swayed and gripped the edge of the table with a hand, looking down at his lap as his vision blurred.

He felt a hand take a firm hold of his elbow.

“Tired,” he attempted, before blackness filled his vision.

*

Harry woke up in his four-poster, feeling exhausted all over again. With a weary groan he pushed himself up and checked his watch. It was around half seven. And he had promised to meet Chris at eight.

He forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom. The dormitory was deserted. He quickly washed, dried, brushed his teeth and went in search of clothes. He pulled on a pair of black jeans and a dark blue jumper, attempted and failed to smooth his hair down, and left for the common room.

“Harry,” Dorian approached him the second his finished descending the stairs. “How are you feeling?”

Harry looked at him searchingly. “Tired,” he said finally.

The boy frowned at him, but had no time to answer as Tom appeared.

“Harry. You seem a bit better now. Aren’t you due to meet Doyle at eight?”

Doyle. Christopher Doyle. “Yes,” Harry murmured. It was a quarter to.

“Why are you meeting Doyle?” Dorian asked, frowning.

Harry shrugged tiredly and went for the nearest chair. “Why not?” he said, slumping and tugging at his hair.

“Perhaps he will allow you to apply for the Quidditch team,” Tom said expressionlessly, taking the seat next to him.

“Maybe,” Harry said. The sound of Quidditch alone sounded exhausting to him right now.

Fifteen minutes later his eyes scanned the common room and landed on Chris, who was standing by the door talking to a girl Harry didn’t recognize.

Harry stood. “Ill see you later,” he said, smiling when Anton moved and curled up on the warm spot Harry had left on the chair.

“Enjoy yourself,” Dorian said warily.

Harry didn’t know what the problem was, but he shrugged it off and made his way towards the Quidditch captain.

“Harry,” Chris said, smiling. “Are you feeling better now? I saw you collapse earlier.”

“Was it really that bad?” Harry asked, rubbing his eyes but returning the boy’s smile.

“Well, you did rather surprise everyone, including Riddle. Shall we go for a walk?”

Harry agreed and they left the common room together, heading ultimately in the direction of the Entrance hall.

“Tom tells me that you’re the Quidditch captain,” Harry mentioned.

“He was right. What else did he say about me?”

Harry laughed. “Nothing.”

“Are you fond of Quidditch, then?”

Harry smiled brightly, suddenly remembering the thrill of riding his Firebolt. “Yeah,” he murmured.

“We can go for a fly now, if you’d like,” Chris suggested, watching Harry as they walked.

Harry looked at him. “Really? I haven’t flown in ages.”

“Come on, then.”

They chatted easily on the way to the Quidditch pitch. Harry marveled at how effortless it was to talk to Chris, and wondered once again why Tom and Dorian seemed somewhat averse to him.

When they reached the broom shed he realized with reluctance that he would have to fly one of the slowest brooms in existence. Oh well, he thought. Better than nothing.