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Chapter Text

As per usual, Harry Potter’s day began with a visit to Diagon Alley, as it had done for the past eight years, ever since he had moved here with his godfather. Whilst some people might have appreciated the routine, Harry found it very tiresome and longed for something interesting to happen, like a giant beanstalk growing in the middle of the town square or maybe a dragon flying over the roof of the Leaky Cauldron.

But of course, that sort of thing only ever happened in the stories that he so eagerly devoured, and as Harry approached the town, he only saw the usual hustle and bustle of the market. The baker with the same old bread and rolls to sell, the butcher with his alarmingly vicious-looking knife, the town physician hobbling around on her rounds…

“Good morning Mr Potter!”

“Morning Mr Ollivander!” Harry greeted the elderly carpenter.

“Where are you off to then, hmm?”

“Flourish and Blotts. I just finished the most wonderful story! It’s about a wizard who travels to a far-off land with a suitcase full of magical creatures -”

"Yes, yes that’s nice. Don’t go stuffing your head with too much nonsense now.”

Harry decided that he really didn’t like Mr Ollivander all that much as he carried on walking. Didn’t anyone here appreciate a good story?

Puzzling over this, Harry was oblivious to the strange looks and mutters that followed him around the town.

"What a strange boy.”

“Head in the clouds that one.”

“Shame he doesn’t fit in really. Pretty little thing.”

“Very odd young man…”

There wasn’t really a precise thing that set Harry apart from the residents of Diagon Alley. Perhaps it was the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead, or maybe the fact that he always had his nose in a book, or possibly just because whenever Harry was around, strange things seemed to happen.

Such as that time he’d accidentally set a boa constrictor on the butcher’s boy from the shop that sold exotic pets. Harry couldn’t explain exactly how it had happened - he’d only been looking at it, saying how horrible it must be, trapped in a cage all day with only stupid people rattling the lock for company, when the bars had simply… well, melted away he supposed.

“Good morning Potter!” Madam Pince waved cheerfully from her precarious perch on top of the ladder as he entered Flourish and Blotts.

“Hello!” Harry smiled up at her. “I’ve come to return the book I borrowed.”

“My my, finished it already have you?”

“Well, I just couldn’t put it down. Do you have anything new in?”

“Not since yesterday, I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright,” Harry went over to the shelves and ran his finger along each spine until he found the one he was looking for. “Can I take this one out please?”

Madam Pince chuckled. “You must have read that one ten times already!”

“It’s my favourite though! Far off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise -”

“Well, if you love it so much I don’t see why you shouldn’t just have it.”

“Oh!” Harry blushed. “No, I couldn’t possibly -”

“No no, I insist!”

“Well, thank you very much!” Harry grinned, and with the book safely in his hands, he retreated back onto the streets.

Little did Harry know that someone else was watching.

“That’s the one?” Crabbe wheezed in disbelief, straining under the weight of the antique mirror he was holding up for Malfoy to admire himself in. “The inventor’s godson?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?” Malfoy snapped.

“Well no, not as such, but -”

“Harry Potter,” Malfoy preened. “Is the only person in this village who can match my own beauty. That makes him the best! And don’t I deserve the best?” He snatched Crabbe up by the collar, shoving his sneering face up close.

“Of course you do! You’re the best hunter in the whole world! No beast alive stands a chance against you - and no person for that matter!” Crabbe gabbled, going very purple in the face.

“Exactly,” Malfoy dropped him back on the ground, coughing and spluttering. “And that is why I am going to marry him - just you watch!”

As Malfoy strode off down the street, Crabbe couldn't help but feel rather jealous of the way every girl practically swooned at the sight of him. But if you wanted to stay on Malfoy’s better side, thoughts like that weren’t very helpful, so he promptly squashed them and scurried after him.

Chasing after Harry was easier said than done. Even with his nose buried a book, he weaved his way through Diagon Alley with ease, dodging the owl droppings that rained down from the roof of Eeylop's Emporium and jumping nimbly over boxes. Malfoy on the other hand, had quite a job to keep up with him.

He’d just gotten to his favourite part - the heroine had met her Prince Charming, but she wouldn’t discover it was him until Chapter Three - when the book was ripped out of his hands and a smarmy voice was in his ear. “Hello Harry.”

“Good morning Malfoy,” Harry said politely, trying not to cower away in disgust. “Could I have my book back please?”

“How can you read this? There’s no pictures!” Malfoy sniffed.

“Well you see, some people have brains. For thinking.” Harry muttered under his breath.

“Anyway,” Malfoy tossed the book over his shoulder where it landed in a muddy puddle. At least, Harry hoped it was mud. “Shouldn’t a nice young man like you be concentrating on more important things?”

“Such as?” he asked lightly, kneeling down to try and retrieve it.

Malfoy blocked his path, baring his teeth in a wolfish manner. “Me.”

“Right…” Harry reached round and deftly snatched up the book, cleaning it with his sleeve as he got to his feet.

“Come on Harry. Get that pretty little head of yours out of that book and let’s have a drink together at the Leaky. I can show you my trophies!”

“Maybe some other time,” Harry said quickly. “I need to go help Sirius with, err, something.”

Crabbe, who had just caught up with them, started snorting like a pig. “That crazy guy! He’s as mad as a March Hare!” Malfoy was sniggering too.

“Don’t talk about Sirius like that!” Harry rounded on them.

“Yes Crabbe! Don’t talk about his godfather like that!” Malfoy smacked Crabbe around the head.

“Sirius is not crazy. He’s a genius!”

As if on cue, there was a loud bang! and smoke came billowing out of the windows of 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry began running towards it and Crabbe snorted with laughter again. Still sniggering, Malfoy promptly hit him again.

---

“Sirius?” Harry coughed, squinting to try and see through the thick veil of smoke that hung in the air.

“Ah! Harry,” came the reply. “Hang on a sec…”

There was another crash, several curses, and then a great swishing sound and the smoke began to clear, enough for Harry to see his godfather wafting it away with a newspaper.

“What happened?”

"Oh, the blasted engine’s playing up again,” Sirius sighed. “I’m telling you Harry, I’m just about ready to give up on this crackpot pile of junk.”

Ever since he had found an old motorbike lying abandoned on the side of the path, it had been Sirius’ dream to repair and improve it, so that it not only travelled like a normal motorbike but flew up in the air as well. Privately, Harry had his doubts about it, but he did his best to encourage his godfather whenever things weren’t going to plan.

“You always say that.” he said soothingly.

“I mean it this time!” Sirius kicked the motorbike very hard and then hopped around the workshop yowling for about a minute.

“Maybe you just need some more time,” Harry suggested. “The fair isn’t until next week, you’ve got a few more days.”

“Hm, I suppose, I suppose.”

But his heart clearly wasn’t in it.

“I believe you can do it,” Harry said stubbornly. “Don’t listen to what all the villagers say - especially Malfoy.”

Sirius laughed. “As much of a prat as ever is he?”

"Ugh, he’s awful! So full of himself, strutting around town, convinced that having a half-decent face gives him the right to do anything! No brains at all, and he’s a complete coward, he’ll go screaming and crying to daddy if anything doesn’t go his way! He’s even worse than -”

Harry’s voice seized up and a troubled look came over his face. He finished his impassioned speech in what was almost a whisper “... than - than the Dursleys.”

“Hey. You’re safe now, OK?” Sirius placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You never have to go back and live with those awful people again. You’ve got me now. And if they ever try and drag you back there then I’ll lock them in the oven and make them into sausages. That cousin of yours is basically a pig in a wig isn’t he?”

Harry giggled weakly. “I know. I mean, I’d never want to go back there obviously, it’s just… well, there must be more than this, right? I don’t want to live here forever, just cooped up in the house and Malfoy being a prat.”

“Don’t you worry about that. My invention will be the start of a new life for us, I’m telling you. We can move to the city, do a bit of travelling if you like - there’s a famous library in the north with over a thousand books in it!”

“But you’ve given up on it.” Harry said slyly.

“Give up? Is this my godson speaking? I never give up!”

And Sirius promptly set to work on his beloved motorbike again, with Harry helping out by passing him various screwdrivers and holding things into place as he hammered in screws and nails. They worked long and hard until the day was nearly over and the sky was turning pink.

"Right then!” Sirius rubbed his dirty hands together. “I think it’s time for a test run!”

“... in here?” Harry said doubtfully.

“Why not?”

“Sirius, I don’t think -”

But before he could finish, Sirius had mounted the bike and started the engines up with a great roar. It shot forwards, crashing through the door and out of the house.

"Sirius!”

Harry chased after the bike, but as he ran outside, he realised his godfather wasn’t in danger. In contrast, he was whooping loudly as the bike circled the house once, twice, three times and finally launched itself into the sky. It made several loop-the-loops around the chimney and rocketed towards the clouds.

Harry couldn’t believe his eyes.

“You did it!” he yelled, punching the air in triumph.

High above him, Sirius’ cackles of glee could be heard for miles around.

---

And so, several days later, Harry Potter waved his godfather off to the fair, bursting with pride and blissfully unaware of what was to come.

Chapter Text

"You know old girl,” Sirius said thoughtfully. He had developed a habit of talking to his beloved motorbike as he tinkered with it over the years - it did sometimes seem like it had a mind of it’s own. “I’m beginning to realise why they call this place the Forbidden Forest.”

It did indeed look very foreboding in the dark, with twisted shadows for trees, the rustle of nighttime creatures and a thick fog hanging over everything. The little red bike puttering through the forest looked as it if it would be eaten alive if any danger arose.

Sirius shivered, but he was a fearless man who would laugh in the face of death and resolutely continued on his way. He would do this for Harry - he would.

An owl hooted. Leaves crackled. Bats hissed. And was he imagining things, or could he hear a strange clicking sound, like insects?

Even worse, Sirius had begun to realise that he was lost. Very very lost indeed. And the cold was seeping steadily through his jacket, right into his very bones as icy rain began to fall.

Crack. Crack. Click-click.

The moon he was using as a lantern had disappeared. Sirius looked up to try and pinpoint it again.

And found himself staring at an enormous, furry spider, with eight glinting eyes and dripping fangs.

A yelp lodged in his throat as he slowly looked around and realised that there were half a dozen of them hanging silently above him in the dark, like black ghosts. Well, backtracking slightly on the fearless part, there was one thing he really couldn’t stand. Spiders. 

So of course he had run into a colony of them. Albeit, ones the size of a house.

Frozen in fear, Sirius didn’t move until one of the spiders twitched ever so slightly.

Adrenaline kicked in and Sirius tore away on the motorbike, heart pounding. He realised, with sickening horror, that the spiders were giving chase, scurrying along behind him. Click-click. Click-click.

The bike swerved this way and that, trying to lose them and Sirius held on for dear life.

It was no use. They were coming. They’d swallow him alive.

Suddenly, he was flung off the seat of the motorbike and flew through the air towards an enormous tree, which he hit with a thud! before collapsing at the base.

Of it’s own accord, the bike spun around and zoomed away into the forest.

“Hey! Come back! COME BACK!” Sirius bellowed.

He quickly shut up when he realised that the spiders would probably hear him - but they had gone, melted away into the night. Sirius found himself stood in front of two imposing iron gates, decorated with a crest depicting a lion, a snake, an eagle and a badger. Beyond the gates stood a great feat of architecture, a huge castle complete with turrets, clock towers, grounds, balconies… sprawling over acres of land. The sheer scale of it all was overwhelming.

Something clicked.

Surely this couldn’t be -

A sudden rumble of thunder in the distance distracted him. The rain was starting to fall more heavily and he knew he would need shelter for the night if he didn’t want to freeze to death.

Dubiously, he knocked at the gates and was surprised when they swung open quite easily. He ran through the grounds and up to the door. Again, it opened without resistance and Sirius wondered if anyone was here at all.

“Hello?” he called.

His voice echoed around the hall. It was bare stone, hung with torn and dusty tapestries. Suits of armour were rusting in corners, and cobwebs had draped over everything.

“Hello?” he shouted, louder.

“- he must have gotten lost in the woods, poor fellow.”

“Ssh! Perhaps he will leave.”

“Now now, Severus, have a heart.”

“Ssh!”

Hushed voices, certainly. Sirius looked around but he couldn’t see a soul. Were they invisible? “Is someone there?”

There they were again. “Not another word Albus, do you hear?

“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just walk in like this,” Sirius spoke to the empty hall. “But I was chased by these… spider things and I’ve lost my bike and it’s raining and I needed a place to stay…”

“Severus, don’t you think -”

“I most certainly do not think! It’s a terrible idea and you know it.”

“But -”

"SshOUCH!”

One of the voices cleared his throat. “Of course sir, you are most welcome here at Hogwarts School!”

“Who said that?”

“Why me, my dear sir!” said a ripped, fraying pointed hat, who hopped into view from the shadows. “Albus Dumbledore, and who might you be?”

Sirius could only gape.

“Oh now you’ve done it Albus,” snapped a cauldron, tottering towards his companion. “Splendid. Just peachyAARGH!” he yelped as Sirius lifted him into the air.

“How on earth -?” he began to examine the cauldron, who did not take to the attention at all kindly.

“Sir - sir! I demand you put me down at once! I order you - ooh, ooh, not there, it tickles, hee heeAARRGH! Stop it! Stop this shaking! Dumbledore, make him put me down!”

“Sorry,” Sirius apologised, setting the cauldron down again. “I’ve just… well I’ve never seen a talking cauldron before.”

Dear Lord, he was apologising to a cauldron.

“My name is Severus Snape actually.” the cauldron said icily.

“Come now sir,” Dumbledore interrupted. “You must be cold and tired. Come and sit by the fire in the Visitor’s Room, it will warm you up in a jiffy.”

“No no no!” Snape practically screeched. “I will not have this! You know what Riddle will do if he finds him here! I demand that you stop!”

In his haste to run after them, he tripped and fell down the staircase into the Visitor’s Room.

“Oh no, oh no,” he moaned. “Not his chair! Not his blankets! Albus, have you gone quite mad?”

A tall, pointy broomstick swept a tea trolley into the room. Sirius was so overwhelmed and bewildered by this point that he didn’t have it in him to think about how strange it was. “Would you care for a spot of tea sir?”

“No!” Snape was practically having a fit. “No tea, no tea Minerva!”

“Oh pull yourself together Severus," the broomstick snapped. "And if you keep squawking like that he'll definitely hear us, so shush."

As Sirius took his cup to take a sip, it squeaked. “Would sir like sugar with that?”

“Oh! Hello! And you are?”

“Dobby sir! Dobby the house-elf!” the teacup made a small bow - well, as much as a teacup can bow.

Suddenly, the fire went out. The room grew cold. Dobby rattled in Sirius’ hand as a looming shadow appeared in the doorway.

“Crucio!”

Sirius writhed and screamed as burning, twisting, agonising pain shot through his veins and boiled his blood.

“What is the meaning of this?” Tom Riddle snarled.

“Tom,” Dumbledore tried. “The gentleman was wet and cold -”

“Silence!” Riddle sent out a flash of red light, Sirius screamed again and the hat fell silent, toppling over in fear.

“I would just like to take this moment to say,” Snape began in a ruffled tone. “That I was against this from the start -”

He was cut short by another blast of red light.

“How dare you?” Riddle hissed, stalking towards the thrashing, whimpering figure on the floor. “How dare you trespass here? How dare you take advantage of my property?”

“I - I didn’t mean any harm!” Sirius jibbered as he gazed upon the man’s face, too terrible, too horrible to be true.

“What are you staring at?”

“N-nothing…”

Red light again, and Sirius was almost howling.

“That was a lie,” Riddle hissed. “I dislike people who lie to me.”

“I s-swear, I only needed a place to stay!”

"A place to stay?” Riddle sneered. “I’ll give a place to stay!”

He snapped his fingers. Two shadows crept out of their corners of the room and twisted themselves around Sirius’ twitching limbs, dragging him from the room.

“No! Please, no!

His screams echoed around the castle.

Chapter Text

"Yes, I know Hedwig,” Harry sighed. “I’m worried about Sirius too, but you can’t expect him to be back too soon.”

She twittered in response from her perch on the hen coop.

“Well he doesn’t get out of the house that often does he? It’ll be nice for him to have a walk around, talk to some people who don't think he's crazy for once…”

Hedwig pecked affectionately at his ear, then rather harder at his hand as Harry absent-mindedly tried to feed her the book he was reading instead of his handful of owl pellets.

A loud knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. Putting his book down reluctantly, Harry slipped through the back door inside the house and through to the hallway where he bent down to peer through the all-seeing eye they had installed in the door (another one of Sirius’ slightly out-there inventions).

It was Malfoy.

Harry groaned internally and opened the door, fixing the most polite expression he could muster on his face.

“Malfoy. What a… pleasant surprise.”

“Isn’t it though?” Malfoy strode through the door, his face even more pinched than usual in a high-collared black suit which, while admittedly handsome, looked very uncomfortable. “I’m just full of surprises.”

“... right.”

“You know Harry, there isn’t a person in town who wouldn’t love to be in your shoes,” Malfoy leered at him from his position draped over the dresser. “This is the day -”

He paused quickly to admire his teeth in the mirror, pulling such ridiculous faces that Harry had to smother his laughter. “This is the day I make all your dreams come true!”

Oh dear. This didn’t sound good. Harry tried to play it off as banter. “What do you know about my dreams Malfoy?”

“Plenty,” Malfoy drawled, following him through into the kitchen. “A rustic hunting lodge… my latest kill roasting on the fire… my dear husband massaging my feet…” He kicked off his shoes, releasing the rather foul stench of sweat and bad cheese. Harry wrinkled his nose.

“Do you know who that dear husband of mine will be?”

This really, really wasn’t very good at all.

“Well, let me think, I’m sure Zabini would love -”

“Oh, don’t play games with me Harry. It’ll obviously be you.” Malfoy smirked.

Harry fought the urge to shriek with horror and quickly backed up towards the door, fixing his features in a sickeningly adoring expression. As skin-crawling as it was to do this, he’d rather not get into a brawl with a man who could probably pick him up and twist him into a knot with one hand.

“Well… Malfoy, I’m - I’m, err, speechless. I don’t, um, really know what to say.”

“Say you’ll marry me, of course.” Malfoy leaned towards him, puckering his lips for a kiss.

“I’m very sorry Malfoy,” Harry scrabbled for the doorknob. “But - but I just don’t deserve you.”

The door flew open, he dodged under his arms - and Malfoy went flying out of the house and into a particularly muddy puddle, followed by his shoes. There was a muffled spluttering of "My father will hear about - !" and then the sound of the door slamming.

Harry stormed back through the house, scattering chickens as he stalked back out into the yard.

“Can you believe it?” he asked Hedwig in disgust. “Did he really think I'd say yes? He must be out of his mind!”

He kicked over the bucket of chicken feed. "Me! Married to that boorish, brainless - ugh!"

Harry wrenched open the back gate and ran all the way up the hill that stood at the back of the house, cursing the entire town under his breath until he reached the top. The forest and the mountains stretched out for miles towards the horizon, where Harry knew the city of Hogsmeade lay.

Normally the sight would bring him peace, but now he was simply filled with a sense of being trapped, like the snake in the cage, and a longing to be out there, a longing for adventure, for something worthwhile to do with his life rather than just sitting in this miserable town, dancing around egotistical huntsmen and feeding chickens, to have someone understand that he wanted so much more than this...

Smoke filled the air as Sirius’ motorbike screeched to a halt beside him.

“What the -” Harry jumped. “Sirius? Sirius? Where are you?”

But Sirius did not appear, even after he had called for several long minutes.

Anxiety began to mount in Harry. Where was his godfather? Had he gotten lost? Was he hurt? And how - he kept shooting puzzled glances at it - how had the motorbike come here on its own?

The sun rose still higher in the sky, and Sirius was nowhere to be seen. It was no use. He would have to go and look for him. He couldn’t lose his godfather, couldn’t lose another family, not now.

Very, very cautiously, Harry sat on the bike. It remained still. With a deep breath, he gripped the handles and started the engine.

The bike zoomed away immediately, but no matter what Harry did, he couldn’t steer it away from the path it appeared to be taking of it’s own accord, nor would it slow down so that he could get off. They travelled through the day and into the night until they finally lurched and stopped outside the iron-wrought gates.

Without the heavy rain that had been plaguing the castle when Sirius had been here, he could see the crest slightly more clearly, and managed to find the inscription that curled around it like a snake: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus.

Harry gulped. The castle looked very much like somewhere an evil witch would live in one of his books.

“Sirius?” he shouted feebly.

No reply.

Then, inside the gates, he spotted the red screwdriver he’d bought Sirius as a birthday present lying abandoned on the path. Now it was certain - his godfather must be here.

---

“But no, we couldn’t keep quiet could we?” Snape sneered, marching in circles around a forlorn-looking Dumbledore. “Just had to invite him to stay. Sit him in Riddle’s chair, serve him tea.”

“I was trying to be hospitable Severus.”

“Mistress McGonagall!”

Down in the kitchens, Dobby hopped along the table to where she was supervising the washing up. “Mistress McGonagall! Dobby has seen a boy in the castle, so he has!”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous Dobby.” she said briskly.

“But Dobby has seen him Mistress!”

“Not another word. Into the tub now.”

Dobby let out a squeak of protest as he landed with a splash in the soapy water.

“Minerva!” Professor Flitwick, a squat ink pot, came clattering in. “There is a boy! A boy in the castle!”

"It is as foretold! Did I not say only two days ago that I saw something!" Professor Trelawney, a wide-eyed crystal ball, tottered after him.

“Dobby did try to tell Mistress!” Dobby said shrilly as he resurfaced.

“Irresponsible,” Snape was insisting upstairs. “Stupid, Gryffindor, waxy-eared, slack-jawed -”

“Sirius?”

Both professors jumped as they saw Harry tiptoeing along the corridor.

“Did you see that?” Dumbledore was struggling to contain his excitement. They hopped down from their perch on the table and peered out through the doorway.

“It’s a boy!”

“Yes, I can see it's a boy you old fool.”

“Don’t you see Severus? He’s the one we have been waiting for! He has come to break the spell!”

Harry turned, sure he’d heard voices. “Hello? Is someone there?”

No one replied. Harry continued down the corridor, calling for Sirius in a hushed voice. Ahead, a staircase spiralled downwards into the shadows and he decided to follow it. The walls were lined with very peculiar paintings - where you would have expected to see human figures, there were household items, like clocks and dinner plates.

It wasn’t until he reached the bottom of the stairs that he heard the faint voice. “Harry?”

Harry glanced around. “Sirius!”

He knelt down by the door where his godfather reached for him through the bars with icy cold hands.

“How did you find me?” he wheezed.

“Is there a lock?” Harry whispered. “I can’t see much… and I have to get you out of here -”

“No! Harry, I want you to leave this place.”

“What? Why?”

“No time to explain,” Sirius looked around in fear. “You must go, now!”

“I’m not leaving you here -”

“Who’s there?”

The hiss seemed to drain the air of the little warmth it held.

“Who are you?” Harry shouted into the dark.

“The master of this castle.”

Strange shadows seemed to loom on the wall.

“Let Sirius go.” he said, in a voice much braver than he felt.

“No.”

“Please,” Harry begged. “Can’t you see he’s ill? I need to take him home.”

“Never,” the voice hissed. “He is my prisoner. He shall remain here.”

“I swear, I’ll do anything, just -”

“He shall remain here.”

“I - I - take me instead!” Harry burst out.

“No Harry!”

“You…” the voice seemed surprised. “You would take his place?”

“If you let him out then I promise I will.”

“You must do more than that. You must Vow to stay here forever.”

Somehow, the way it was spoken made Harry think of Vow with a capital letter, as if it wasn’t an ordinary promise. He frowned. “I can’t see you. Come into the light.”

A pause. The voice whispered something and several candles set themselves alight.

Harry gasped. There was a man - no, not even a man. His form was human and he looked as if he would have once been revered as handsome. He was tall, almost skeletal with hollow cheeks, but showed signs of being once well built, his face hinted at former chiselled features, he had thick, dark hair that with a trim could be considered stylish.

But his face… that face with red eyes the colour of blood, a flat, snakelike nose, wasted white skin like melted candle wax, so hideously inhuman and flared with anger.

Caught off guard, Harry didn’t realise that his hand was being held in a tight grip until a tongue of golden flame wound itself around their wrists. He struggled but could not free himself.

“Do you Vow to remain in this castle for the remainder of your life, to never leave it’s grounds or attempt to escape?”

Harry tightened his grip to hide the fact that his hands were shaking and said:

“You have my word.”

“Done.”

The fire faded.

“No! Harry, I won’t let you do this! Let go of me!” Sirius wriggled and struggled, but Riddle’s magic was too strong.

“Harry!”

“Sirius!”

Both were helpless. Harry was thrown into the cell, Sirius yanked away and down to the grounds, where Riddle locked him in a carriage with the cursory instruction “Take him away.”

Harry tried desperately hard not to cry as he watched Sirius leave through the tiny window, knowing he’d never see him again.

He hadn’t even said goodbye.

Chapter Text

“Tom?”

Tom fixed the hat with a glare. “What?"

“Since the boy is going to be staying with us for a while, perhaps it might be better if we were to move him to somewhere more comfortable than the dungeon?”

Tom hissed at him and stalked onwards.

“... or possibly not.”

Downstairs, he flung open the cell door, intent on a session of murderous tormenting, but stopped when he saw Harry huddled in a corner, clearly trying not to cry.

“Why didn’t you let me say goodbye?” he demanded angrily, voice thick. “I’ll never see him again! You could've let me say goodbye…”

Something inside Tom seemed to spark at that moment. Sadness? Regret? Pity? Whatever it was, he did not like it at all.

“I’ll show you to your room.” he said gruffly.

“I thought I was your prisoner.” came the bitter reply.

“You want to stay here?”

“... no.”

“Then follow me.”

Tom strode away up the staircase and Harry hurried to catch up. Before, it had been too dark to see much of the castle, but the candles seemed to flicker into life as they passed, and Harry could see the strange, monstrous figures of gargoyles and beasts carved into the walls. He swallowed nervously.

Glancing backwards, Tom could see the fear on Harry’s face, the unshed tears in his eyes. It made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like emotions - too complicated and troublesome to deal with.

“Say something nice.” Dumbledore whispered from his perch on Tom’s head.

Like what?

“I… hope you like it here.” he said stiffly.

He could feel Dumbledore frowning at him. It clearly wasn’t enough.

Tom tried again. “This is your home now. You can go anywhere you like in the castle - except the third floor corridor.”

“What’s in the third floor cor-”

“It’s forbidden!” Tom snapped.

Harry was silent. Neither spoke again until they reached the room.

“If you need anything the staff will help you.” said Tom.

“Dinner,” whispered Dumbledore. “Invite him to dinner.”

“And - and,” Tom gulped. That was a new sensation. “You will join me for dinner. That is not a request!”

He needn’t have said it - the ice in his voice indicated that this was clearly a command. The door shut before Harry could reply.

Alone, he couldn’t contain himself any longer and he lay on one of the four-poster beds and cried all the tears he’d been bottling up as the snow fell crisp and deep outside.

---

“Who does he think he is? No one says no to Draco Malfoy!”

“Darn right!” Crabbe agreed, carrying three strong Butterbeers towards where a very depressed Malfoy sat by the fire at the Leaky Cauldron.

“Dismissed! Rejected! Publicly humiliated! Why, it’s more than I can bear!” The Butterbeers were swept out of his hands into the flames.

“More?” Crabbe asked tentatively.

“What for? Nothing helps!” Malfoy slumped down in his seat, glowering. “I’m disgraced!”

“Who, you? Never! Malfoy, you’ve got to pull yourself together,” Crabbe said firmly, tugging at the man's arm. “There’s no man in town that’s admired as you, you’re everyone’s favourite guy!” There was a resounding affirmation from the other tables. “See? Everyone’s awed and inspired by you - and it’s not very hard to see why!”

The bartender struck up a lively tune on the fiddle.

“No one’s quick as Malfoy! No one’s slick as Malfoy!” Crabbe leapt around the tables as he sang, nearly crushing half a dozen heads in his path (he was, it had to be said, rather tubby). "No one’s neck’s as incredibly thick as Malfoy’s!”

The other patrons began to clap along, chiming in with their own praises.

“No one’s built like Malfoy!”

“A king pin like Malfoy!”

“No one’s got a small cleft in his chin like Malfoy!”

Malfoy sighed in a very put-upon fashion. “As a specimen yes, I’m intimidating…”

There were more cheers as their hero began to regain his confidence and the pantomime became more elaborate.

“No one fights like Malfoy!” cried two shopkeepers, who were both trying to punch each other in the face.

“Douses lights like Malfoy!” an elderly woman snuffed out a candle.

“In a wrestling match nobody bites like Malfoy!” shrieked a man who’d just had his hand gnawed by his dog.

“For there’s no one as burly and brawny!” sang several overdressed girls from their perch on a bench, who squealed as Malfoy strode over and picked them up with one arm, looking very smug, and crowed "As you see I've got biceps to spare."

“No one hits like Malfoy!”

“Matches wits like Malfoy!”

“In a spitting match nobody spits like Malfoy!”

"I'm especially good at expectorating!" The assembled crowd held their breath as he sent a great glob of spit flying across the room - and cheered as it landed perfectly in one of the empty flagons.

"Ten points for Malfoy!"

"I use antlers in all of my decorating!" He flourished a hand at the back wall, which was festooned with mounted animal heads, souvenirs of his hunting exploits.

"When he was a lad, he ate four dozen eggs every morning to help him get large!" A squat, toad-faced woman told the rapt crowd.

Malfoy brushed her aside and leapt up onto the table, brandishing his sword. "And now that I'm grown, I eat five dozen eggs - so I'm roughly the size of a barge!"

The music continued as Malfoy began to melodically beat up half of the patrons, the rest cheering him on from the safety of the bar and Crabbe conducting with a fork until he was clobbered over the head.

“Say it again!”

“Who’s a man among men?”

“And then say it once more -”

“Who’s the hero next door?”

“Who’s a super success?”

“Don’t you know? Can’t you guess?”

“There’s just one guy in town who’s got all of it down -”

“And his name’s…” Crabbe thought for several moments. It looked like very hard work. “M-A-N… M-A-L-F… M-U-L-F-OUCH!”

“MALFOY!” the pub chorused as Malfoy seized Crabbe by the ankles, swung him round once, twice, three times - and threw him up into the air, where he was left hanging on the head of a stag.

“Help!”

The doors crashed open and Sirius staggered in, white-faced and fearful. The music stopped.

“Help me! Please! He’s got him, he’s got him locked in the dungeon!”

“Who?” asked the irritated bartender that Sirius was clinging to.

“Harry! Quick, there’s not a moment to lose -”

“Slow down Black,” Malfoy said loudly. “Who’s got Harry locked in a dungeon?”

“A wizard! A hideous, evil wizard!”

The entire pub burst out laughing.

"Yeah right!" Crabbe was doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"Do you think I'd make this up?" Sirius snarled at him, hands curling into fists.

“Does he have a magic wand?” someone spluttered.

“Yes!”

“And a pointy hat?”

“Well -”

“And a cauldron for cooking up potions?”

“Yes, damn you! I saw it with my own eyes! And he’s got Harry and if any of you have a decent bone in your body you’ll help me come and rescue him!”

“Alright Sirius, we’ll help you out!”

He was taken aback. “You will?”

“Yeah!”

And with that, Sirius was tossed bodily out of the Leaky Cauldron and into the snow, followed by the sound of nasty laughter.

“You selfish, snivelling, cowardly -”

The slam of the doors cut off his shouting.

“An evil wizard he says!”

“Crazy guy!”

“The ‘ole family were nutters.”

“Lunatic’s always good for a laugh.”

Malfoy had remained unusually quiet as this scene played out, and now he once again sat by the fire, this time brooding on far more pleasing ideas.

“Crabbe… I have been thinking.”

“Thinking?”

“A dangerous pastime, I know,” Malfoy said dryly. “But as crazy as Sirius Black may be, he is still Harry Potter’s godfather. Now the wheels in my head have been turning Crabbe - I said I would be married to Harry, and right now I am devising a plan…”

Chapter Text

Harry watched the snowflakes tumbling through the air through the lattice panes of the window. Even they were so enviably free to him, locked in this dark, drafty room with tears drying on his face.

He didn't like this wallowing in self-pity, not by any means, but short of jumping to his death, there was no way out of this room and he was cold and miserable and tired and angry, so he felt he'd earned the right to indulge in a bit of sulking.

There was a knock at the door. Harry sniffed. “Who is it?”

“Professor McGonagall, Mr Potter. Open up please.”

He dragged himself off the bed, just as the door opened to reveal -

“I see Tom’s put you in Gryffindor Tower. My old house, you know,” said a tall, slightly ragged broomstick, ushering in a china tea service which moved completely of it’s own accord. “I thought you might like a spot of tea.”

“But - but -” Harry stuttered, stumbling backwards in surprise and tripping over his own feet.

“Oh! Do be careful dear!” a rather plump pillow admonished, leaping up from the bed to cushion his fall.

“But - you’re - you’re -”

“Yes, we are living, breathing household objects Mr Potter. If you have nothing helpful to say, please refrain from talking,” the broomstick said huffily. “I am Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher. And this is Madam Pomfrey, our matron.”

As she spoke, the teapot poured a cup of tea, aided with a splash of milk from the jug and a sprinkle of sugar from an oversized pot, which then hopped over to where he sat, at the same time both very bewildered and rather amazed.

“... thanks.” Harry picked up the cup, warming his cold hands on the surface.

“Such an honour it is to meet you Harry Potter sir!” the teacup squeaked.

Harry yelped in surprise and nearly ended up scalding himself.

“Really Dobby!" Professor McGonagall scolded. “We don’t treat guests in such a manner!”

“Dobby is most aggrieved sir, indeed he is." Dobby said meekly.

“That was a very brave thing you did back there Potter.” she continued.

“We all think so.” agreed Madam Pomfrey.

"It was a stupid thing,” Harry muttered. “Sirius will be all on his own. And now I’m stuck here in this stupid castle, and I can’t do anything!”

“Now, don’t you fret,” Professor McGonagall said in a far gentler tone. “Everything will turn out alright in the end. You’ll see. Dobby, come along now, they’ll be wanting you in the kitchen to help with dinner.”

“Goodbye Harry Potter sir!” Dobby squealed, launching himself off Harry’s hand and out of the door with the rest of the tea service.

“Now,” said Madam Pomfrey, wriggling out from underneath Harry’s bottom. “You can’t go down to dinner looking all crumpled like that dear. Let me have a rummage in the wardrobe.” She nudged open the door of said wardrobe, which Harry was convinced was the only piece of furniture in the castle that wasn’t alive. “Aha! Here we are! I think you’ll look very fetching in these.” She pulled out a pair of rich, velvet scarlet robes, trimmed in gold. They were almost sickeningly luxurious.

“Um… that’s very kind of you honestly, but I’m not going to dinner.” said Harry.

“What?!” Madam Pomfrey squawked, eyes wide with fear. “But you must -”

“Ahem.”

They both turned. A very disgruntled looking Snape stood in the doorway.

“Dinner is served.”

Downstairs, Tom was pacing back and forth in front of the loaded table in the Visitor’s Room in an exceedingly agitated manner.

“What is taking so long? I told him to come down! Why is he not here?!” he glared at Dumbledore.

“Try and be patient Tom. The boy’s lost his family and his freedom all in one day. It does take a toll on the mind you know,” said Dumbledore. “Tom… have you considered that Harry might be the one to break the spell?”

“Of course I have!” Tom snapped.

“Well, then maybe -”

“Don’t be a fool old man! Look at me! Do you think that anyone as beautiful as him could fall in love with this?” he jabbed a finger at his face.

What was this? Had he actually just called the boy beautiful? 

“Now now, these things take time Tom.”

“But the diary’s nearly full!”

“Well then, you’ve got to help him see past all that haven’t you?” Professor McGonagall said as she entered, swishing along the floor.

“I don’t know how.” Tom said sulkily.

“Well, take that frown off your face for a start! Try and act like a gentleman. None of this hissing and spitting and growling nonsense.”

“I always found that a dashing, debonair smile could go a long way in one’s courtship.” mused Dumbledore.

Professor McGonagall poked him in the eye. “Smile yes, but be sincere. Crack a joke. Compliment him, but don’t lay it on thick. And do try and control your temper!”

The door handle turned.

“Look! Here he is!”

Tom looked up, a genuine, hopeful smile on his face - which bled into a murderous scowl when only Snape appeared.

“It seems that Mr Potter is not coming.” he said sourly.

“What?”

His blood boiled. How dare he? How dare he refuse him, how dare he be so insolent and childish? Didn't he care that he was a mere prisoner and that Tom could easily snap him in two?

“Tom - wait! Please!”

The three professors chased after him as he stormed out of the room, up the stairs and along the corridor to the Gryffindor Tower, where he practically knocked the door off it’s hinges.

“I thought I told you to come down for dinner!” he snarled.

“I’m not hungry!”

Tom was taken aback. “Come out! Now! Or I will break down the door!”

As his hand flew to his wand, Dumbledore said quietly. “Tom, correct me if I am mistaken but that may not be the best way to win the boy’s affections.”

“But he’s being so difficult.”

“Why don’t you try asking politely?”

Because Dumbledore would be irritatingly right about everything. Even when he was a bloody hat.

Tom sighed. “Will you come down to dinner?”

“No.”

“A little bit of flattery probably wouldn’t go amiss.” Snape said dryily.

“It would give me great pleasure,” Tom said through gritted teeth, sounding as if he would probably kill Harry if he so much as stepped foot out of the room. “If you would come down to dinner. Please.”

“No thank you!”

“You can’t hide in there forever!”

“Yes I can!”

“Fine,” Tom hissed. He pointed his wand threateningly at the three professors. “If he won’t eat with me, he won’t eat at all. Do I make myself quite clear?”

---

“A shame it is,” Dobby’s eyelids sagged mournfully. “That all our hard work is going to waste now.”

“Well, we don’t really have a say in the matter, do we Dobby?” said Professor McGonagall.

“If you ask me, the boy was just being stubborn,” Snape aimed a kick at one of the great oven doors. “He’s done nothing but cause trouble for us ever since he arrived!”

“Yes, but if Tom can’t get the boy to like him, he’ll never be able to break the -”

"Minerva! Severus! Look who’s come to join us.”

Dumbledore came tottering in, beaming, with Harry in tow.

“Splendid.” Snape’s voice betrayed no emotion.

“Now then Harry,” Dumbledore continued. “Is there anything we can do for you?”

“I am a bit hungry.” Harry admitted. He’d been so wrapped up in his misery and bitter anger that he hadn’t really felt like eating, but now his stomach was growling loudly.

Snape huffed. “Well you should have come down to dinner.”

“I didn’t want to! I hate Riddle, I don’t want anything to do with him!”

Up on the third floor corridor, Tom looked away from the mirror in shame. As much as he loathed to admit it, Harry’s words hurt him, in a way he’d never felt before, a way he didn’t understand. What was this? He couldn’t possibly have feelings for him, not after so short a time.

Tom fell into an ancient, sagging armchair with a sigh. It was no use. Harry would never see him as anything but a monster.

On the table, the diary was steadily filling up.

“Now now, my dear Severus,” said Dumbledore. “The boy is our guest! We must make him feel welcome here!”

"Don’t you remember what Riddle said?”

“Oh balderdash,” snapped Professor McGonagall. “I’m not about to let the boy go hungry.”

“Alright, alright, but keep it down! If Riddle finds out what we’ve been doing it’ll be our necks!”

“Yes yes, of course. Harry, if you’d like to follow me,” There was a merry twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes. “But Severus, what is dinner without a little music?”

“Music?” Snape screeched as the door slammed shut and catapulted him into a large vat of custard.

---

The Great Hall was nothing like any room Harry had ever seen before. It was vast, vast enough to hold four long tables and a fifth one on a raised platform. Hundreds of candles floated below a ceiling that looked exactly like the night sky.

Harry quickly took a seat at the head of one of the four tables as Dumbledore bounded up to perch on the raised one.

“Before we begin the meal,” he intoned impressively. “I would like to say a few words. And they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! And Tweak!”

Before Harry could begin to ponder his sanity, the table filled with food. It was quite literally groaning under the weight of platters of roast potatoes; tureens of soup; mountains of carrots; plates of Yorkshire puddings; piles of chipolatas and every other edible item you could think of - Harry was quite certain he spotted his favourite treacle tart.

“Try the grey stuff. I’m assured it’s quite delicious,” Dumbledore continued. Harry did so and found it had the pleasant taste of mushrooms and hot buttered toast. “And now, as is traditional, we shall sing the school song!”

At his words, the plates began to rise, save for Harry’s which he had begun to pile with food. Every knife, every fork, every salt cellar rose up into the air and began to dance as they sang:

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn till our brains all rot!"

It was remarkable, Harry thought, how not one dish spilled its contents. Buns and sauces went flying all over the place, but all were caught neatly by their respective containers. There were games of catch being played with potatoes, spoons somersaulted through the air and into bowls, multicoloured jellies waltzed with the custard, and once, the entire banquet performed a jig around the perimeter of the hall.

Snape was running back and forth frantically, trying to get everyone to lower their voices. It was almost a relief when an impatient ladle knocked him across the hall and he landed face-first in a cheese soufflé.

It finished with a great fanfare, set off with a chocolate fountain and a dozen bottles of lemonade that sprayed in all different directions. Harry clapped as loudly as he could, shouting “Bravo! Bravo!” at the top of his voice.

“Ah! Music,” Dumbledore smiled, as the banquet retreated back to the kitchens. “A magic beyond all we do here.”

“Yes yes yes,” Snape said hastily. “But I rather think it would be best for Mr Potter to go to bed.”

“Oh come on,” said Harry. “I’m not going to sleep, not if it’s my first night in an enchanted castle.”

“Enchanted? Who said anything about the castle being enchanted?”

“It is slightly obvious you know,” he raised an eyebrow. “Walking, talking hats, dancing plates, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…”

Snape suddenly felt very foolish indeed.

“Would you like a tour?” Dumbledore asked, but before Harry could respond, Snape interrupted again. “Dumbledore, are you sure that’s a good idea? We can’t have the boy poking around in certain areas…”

“Why don’t you show me then?” Harry suggested. “You can avoid any places you don’t want me to go in - and I’m sure you must know loads about the castle, more than anyone else.”

It was clearly the right tactic to use. The brass on the cauldron seemed to shine a little brighter. “Well, err, I suppose, taking all factors into account… oh very well then.”

Chapter Text

“... and along this corridor we have several magnificent examples of Weevil-woven tapestry, depicting the savage history of the Giant Wars in 500 AD,” Snape droned on as he walked. “As you were!” he snapped at several suits of armour, who had turned their heads to watch the small party. They quickly swung back into place. “Now, if I may draw your attention to -”

He stopped, realising he was alone. Snape spun around, trying to locate the Potter boy and found him at the foot of the stairs to the third floor.

Quick as a flash, Snape and Dumbledore ran over and planted themselves firmly in front of him.

“What’s up there?” Harry asked curiously, trying to peer up and see.

“Nothing,” Dumbledore said quickly. “Absolutely nothing at all of interest up on the third floor corridor. Dark, dusty, very boring.”

“So that’s the third floor corridor!”

“Oh very clever Albus. Very well done.” Snape fumed.

Harry frowned. “What are you hiding up there?”

“Nothing.” they both said quickly.

“If that’s true then why is it forbidden?”

He started to walk past them.

“Err - Harry, I don’t suppose you’d like to see something else perhaps?” Dumbledore said in desperation. “Quidditch pitch? Classrooms? The library?”

“You have a library?” Harry stopped, momentarily distracted.

“Why yes, of course!” Dumbledore sounded very relieved. “No school is complete without a library!”

“With books!” Snape added with all the enthusiasm he could muster, which wasn’t much.

“Mountains of books!”

“Forests of books!”

“Cascades of books!”

“Swamps of books!”

They began bounding back down the corridor. Harry started to follow them, but turned back to look at the stairs, hesitating for a moment. The thought of a room piled high with books was tempting, but he was very curious about what was up on the third floor, and he might not get the chance to come up here again.

He tiptoed back and started climbing the stairs, hoping that Dumbledore and Snape wouldn’t notice his absence too quickly.

The corridor looked very similar to the one that lead to the room he had been put in, all stone and shadows and creepy statues. Harry could have sworn that one of them licked it’s lips at the sight of him. There was only one door at the very end of the corridor and it was locked, the intricate knocker carved in the likeness of a snake’s head.

Harry couldn’t help the rush of disappointment upon realising this. Maybe it was just an old, ruined room or -

Click! It popped right open. Harry stared.

Had he done that?

But he didn’t dwell on it too long - he wanted to explore the room quickly before anyone came looking for him. Heaven forbid if it was Riddle, who would probably murder him if he so much as breathed.

The door wheezed and groaned loudly as he pushed it open. The room itself looked as if it had recently been hit by an explosion, piled high with a jumble of broken tables, chairs, cupboards, beds, bookshelves. It was a forest of furniture. An enormous bust of a three-headed dog hung imposingly over the doorway, and there were more of those strange, figureless paintings. One however, looked as if it’s subject was still human, but Harry could only guess from the outline - the majority of the canvas was scorched and burnt beyond recognition.

Before he could ponder why, Harry’s attention was drawn to a strange, green glow coming from across the room. He made his way over to it as quickly as he could, clambering over chandeliers and upturned armchairs.

Sat upon a small, round table was a notebook bound in black leather, emitting the green light. As Harry drew closer, he could make out the name Tom Marvolo Riddle picked out in silver on the front cover.

Was this what Riddle didn’t want him to find?

Carefully, Harry opened it to the first page. It seemed to take the form of a diary, written in elegant black handwriting.

24th December—

“Why are you here?!”

Something, some unseen force knocked Harry to the ground.

Riddle strode forward, anxiously examining the diary for any signs of mistreatment.

“I’m - I’m sorry,” Harry stammered, trying to stand. “I - didn’t mean to -”

“Do you realise what you could have done?” Riddle snarled.

The ground shuddered violently beneath Harry’s feet. The piles of furniture shook, cracks appeared in the ceiling.

“Get out! Get OUT!”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He ran just as Riddle sent a blast of light at him. It missed and sent a desk flying across the room instead.

Furniture came tumbling down at an alarming rate, threatening to crush him as he made his escape. Harry wrenched the door open and fled, down the stairs, through the twisty maze of corridors, heart racing, fuelled by terror, right down to the entrance hall.

“Harry? Harry! Where are you going?” Dumbledore called.

“I don’t care about the bloody Vow! I don’t care what I said!” Harry yanked at the door handle. “I’m not staying here, not for another minute!”

“Vow? Vow? An Unbreakable -”

Harry heard no more for the door slammed shut and the howling of the wind drowned out any words that may have been uttered. He tore across the grounds, snow soaking his shoes. The lenses of his glasses were smeary with frost. As he reached the gates, they burst open to reveal - thank God - Sirius’s motorbike still waiting for him.

Heaving it up off the ground, Harry quickly climbed up onto the seat and started the engine. It took one, two, three false starts, but it finally kicked into action, sending a plume of snow flying upwards as they sped away.

Harry clung on, squinting to try and make out where they were going. He was so busy concentrating on this that he didn’t notice they were flying until a wheel brushed against the top of a tree.

Flying was a very odd mixture of euphoria, terror and disorientation. Harry flailed slightly at first but the bike kept him sailing onwards until he could actually begin to enjoy the sensation, and he let out a loud whoop of triumph.

He was free! He was going to see Sirius again! The suffocating confines of Diagon Alley seemed much more inviting now - he was actually almost looking forward to seeing Malfoy. He was never going back to -

Something suddenly crashed into him and Harry was knocked off the bike.

Falling, the wind knocked out of him, he felt an oddly surreal sense of calm wash over him. Until the ground came up to meet him with a loud “OUCH!” and a harsh jolt back to reality.

Things were swarming around him in the air, ragged black shapes, deathly silent. Harry staggered painfully to his feet, snatching up a branch from the forest floor. He swung it at one of the black things.

Oh God - it was as if all the happiness had drained from the world, leaving only a terrible, crushing misery that forced Harry to his knees, hunched under the awful weight of all the sadness and grief and pain in the world, slowly, coldly killing him -

“Impedimenta!”

A sizzling bolt of blue light shot past a tree. Harry blinked. He’d lost his glasses but he could see, he could just make out -

Riddle, yelling at the shapes, jabbing his wand at them as they rushed at him, slashed at him -

“Expecto patronum! EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, wanting his last thoughts to be happy ones, and conjured up the memory of his eleventh birthday, when Sirius came to rescue him from the Dursleys, a smile on his face and a battered birthday cake in his hand.

A blinding brilliant light -

And they were gone, the black shapes, fuzzy blurs disappearing into the distance.

Fumbling around in the snow, he found his glasses and cleaned them as best he could on his trousers. When he put them on, he could see Riddle slumped on the ground, bleeding, groaning in agony.

It was oh-so-tempting to leave him there in the snow, to make his escape - but Harry faltered. He had saved his life. Left here, he would be dead within hours. Was it right to just leave someone who was weak and in pain, no matter who they were or what they had done?

As much as Harry loathed him, he realised he didn’t actually want Riddle to die.

Not really.

So instead, Harry helped him to his feet, draped an arm over his shoulder and they began to limp slowly back towards Hogwarts, the motorbike a shadow following them above in the sky.

Chapter Text

The fire crackled quietly, throwing flickering shadows across the red velvet hangings and wooden furnishings of the Gryffindor common room. Riddle, even paler looking than usual, was slumped in one of the armchairs. Harry was knelt on the floor, preparing some bandages to go over the wounds on his shoulder.

An awkward silence had fallen over them. Riddle was glowering at the flames and Harry avoided his gaze as best he could until he spoke.

“I do hope you realise that this is your fault.”

“My fault? How is it my fault?” Harry asked angrily.

“If you hadn’t run away this would never have happened!”

“Well if you hadn’t frightened me I wouldn’t have run away!”

“Well you shouldn’t have been on the third floor!”

“Well you should learn to control your temper!”

They glared at each other.

“You do realise you made an Unbreakable Vow?” Riddle’s upper lip curled. “Please tell me you know what that is -”

“No!” Harry burst out. “No I don’t, because unlike some childish, evil gits, I’m not a wizard!”

A dark chuckle was his response. “‘Not a wizard’ indeed. Don’t try and pull the wool over my eyes Potter.”

“I’m not!”

“Then how did you conjure that Patronus?”

Harry’s frown quickly changed from angry to bewildered. “What?”

“You know what. You did it when the Dementors were attacking me -”

“Dementors? Were they those black things?”

“Yes they were those ‘black things’ as you so eloquently put it.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” Harry protested. “I - I don’t even know what a Patronus is!”

This finally made Riddle fall silent. He studied Harry’s indignant face for several long minutes, his gaze so deep and burning that Harry blushed and looked away.

“No,” he said finally, after what seemed like an eternity. He sounded surprised, almost bemused. “No you really don’t, do you?”

Harry risked looking up again but he couldn’t read Riddle’s expression at all.

“You really don’t realise how special you are…”

“So what’s a Patronus?” he asked quickly, anxious to direct the conversation away from himself.

“The Patronus Charm is the only spell that will repel a Dementor. It usually takes the form of an animal, and you must be thinking of a very powerful, happy memory as you cast it. The stronger the memory, the stronger the spell. I have never been able to - I mean, I saw it was a stag, so I knew someone else must have conjured it. Mine does not take that form.”

Harry decided not to mention the memory he’d had in mind at the time of the attack. After all, no matter what Riddle said, he couldn’t possibly be a wizard.

“And what’s an Unbreakable Vow?”

“The clue’s in the name. But if you do attempt to break it, you will die - if you're lucky. Or you may even suffer a fate worse than death. That was why the Dementors came after you.”

“Oh.”

“Harry… have you ever made anything unusual happen? Something you couldn’t quite explain?”

He thought for a moment. “Um. I accidentally set a snake loose once.”

That seemed to spike Riddle’s interest, as he sat up straighter in his chair. “A snake you say?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you do? Tell me exactly.”

“Err… I was just sort of talking to it. That’s all. It was in a cage and I was just saying I kind of knew how it felt and the bars sort of - disappeared.”

“You’re a Parselmouth,” Riddle breathed. “You must be… I never thought I’d meet another one…”

“Parselmouth?”

“It means you can speak to snakes. I too have this ability."

“Is it normal? For a wizard to be able to do that?” Harry couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Riddle shook his head. “No. It is a rare gift among wizards. Some associate it with Dark Magic. But it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.” he added quickly, seeing Harry’s worried expression.

The kettle whistled and Harry took it off the fireplace, pouring the steaming water into a bowl and soaking a cloth in it. Then he took Riddle’s arm in his hand to clean the injuries.

His skin here was just as white as his face but felt oddly… scaly. It reminded Harry of snakeskin, and was sticky with red, congealed blood. He pressed the cloth against the slashes gently, trying not to hurt him too much. Riddle winced but did not complain.

“Thank you.” Harry said suddenly.
Riddle raised an eyebrow.

“For saving my life,” he elaborated. “It was… very brave of you Riddle. So thanks.”

His gratitude was considered, analysed and dissected for several seconds.

“You’re welcome. Perhaps you might repay me by calling me Tom instead.”

“OK… Tom.”

They lapsed into silence again as Harry carefully cleaned the wounds, which were deep but already scabbing over. Tom watched him, the way his eyes glowed in the firelight, the slight furrow of concentration on his brow, his slender hands pressed against his skin.

“I wasn’t always like this you know.” he said quietly.

Harry’s murmur of assent indicated that he was listening.

“I used to be considered handsome. Charming even. And Hogwarts used to be a real school, a proper one. I studied here myself. It was my home really - my family life was... not very pleasant. Almost as soon as I graduated I became a professor and lodged here full time.”

“What did you teach?”

“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Tom sighed. “It was the Christmas holidays. All of the students had gone home - only the staff remained. By this time I had been teaching for about two years.

“On Christmas Eve, an old Muggle - that's someone who doesn't know magic - beggar-woman came knocking at the gates and asked for shelter and food in exchange for an old diary. I… have to confess that I was completely repulsed by her grotesque appearance and refused. She warned me not to be deceived by appearances and that true beauty came from within. I sneered at her and knocked her to the ground.

“But when she stood, her true appearance was revealed - she was a young, beautiful witch. I begged her forgiveness. She refused. She said… she said I was arrogant. She said I was cruel and cold and manipulative and prejudiced. She said there was no love in my heart. And she cursed me to become this, this monster that I am now, and all of the professors and house elves were Transfigured into objects.”

Tom’s hands were trembling where they clutched at the armrests.

“A-and she said this. She gave me her diary and said that day by day it would fill up with words. If I had not found true love by the time it was full, then… we would all remain cursed forever.

“Hogwarts was closed down. I couldn’t bear the thought of any living soul seeing me like this. The school fell into disrepair, I hid myself away, bitter and angry. No matter what I tried, I could not break the enchantment. I lied to you when you first arrived. I am not the master of this castle and I will never be worthy enough to hold that title. Harry - all this time I have been so angry at that witch for saying those things about me… but now that you are here, I - I realise that she was right.”

He stopped. For the first time in his life, Tom Riddle was crying. And he hated it, hated how hopeless he felt, how vulnerable and weak and unprotected he must seem. Disgusted with it. With himself.

And then Harry’s small, warm hand slipped into his own, offering wordless comfort so much better than scathing pity or hatred and he held it gladly and sobbed as the storm continued to rage outside.

---

“My wife and I don’t usually leave the asylum in the middle of the night. This had better be worth our while.”

Malfoy had to stifle a snort as he reached underneath the table. The asylum warden and his wife looked such an odd couple: he rather resembled a very suspicious looking and very fat pig with a moustache, whereas she was more like a beanstalk in hair curlers, who looked even more suspicious. But he needed their respect in order for his plan to work.

He plonked a fat bag of gold on the table in front of them. Their eyes lit up greedily.

“It’s like this,” Malfoy said. “I’ve got my heart set on marrying Harry Potter. But he needs a little… persuasion, shall we say.”

“Turned him down flat.” Crabbe sniggered into his Butterbeer. He was rewarded with a broken nose.

“Everyone knows that his godfather’s a lunatic,” Malfoy continued. “He was in here tonight, raving about a wizard in a castle!”

“Sirius is harmless.”

“The point is, Harry would do anything to prevent him from being locked up.”

“Yeah. Even marry him.” Crabbe quickly hid under the table to avoid a repeat of his previous injuries.

“So. When they return, you want us to lock Sirius Black up unless Potter agrees to marry you.”

Malfoy smirked and nodded.

“Oh that is despicable,” Vernon Dursley cackled. “I love it!”

Chapter Text

The next morning, the grounds of Hogwarts were buried even deeper in thick, butter-icing snow. Harry wrapped the cloak Tom had given him tighter around his shoulders as he walked. Along with it had come several offers to accompany him, but Harry had politely declined, saying that he wanted some time to himself.

It wasn’t untrue - he was still trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened last night. Not just Tom’s confession about the curse, but how oddly… nice he was being to Harry ever since their talk in front of the fire. And then the possibility that he himself might be a wizard, which at first he’d dismissed as ridiculous, but the more he considered it, the more he thought, even dared to hope, it could be true - it made his head go reeling. With fear, but also with excitement.

“Ah, Potter! There you are!”

Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall gliding towards him through the snow.

“Hello Professor.”

“Now tell me Potter, have you ever learnt to fly a broomstick?”

Harry was taken aback. “... no?”

“I thought as much,” she sighed. “Well, it’s about high time you learned.”

“I, err, um, Professor are you sure -”

“Yes Potter, I am quite sure. Now, follow my instructions very carefully.”

She promptly planted herself face-down in the snow.

“Hold your hand out over me and say ‘up’. Nice and clearly now.”

Harry thought the whole impromptu lesson slightly absurd, but he obediently held out his hand and said “Up!”

Whoosh! Professor McGonagall flew straight up into his hand.

“Now, swing one leg over the handle and hold on tightly with both hands,” He did so. “Excellent. Now we’ll start nice and easy. On the count of three, kick off from the ground hard and you’ll start hovering upwards. When you get to about ten feet, bring yourself down by leaning forwards. Ready? One, two - three!"

Harry kicked off from the ground - and almost immediately, a new, wonderful sensation came over him and he wanted to laugh out loud. Sirius’ motorbike had been one thing, but this, this was amazing, he could do this, it was easy, it was the best thing Harry could think of.

“Potter? Potter, what do you think you’re doing? Get down at once!”

But Harry didn’t. He rose up and up, began to soar over the castle, dodging turrets and crumbling statues. The wind roared in his ears and whipped through his air. He made a figure of eight over the roof of the Great Hall and then swooped back towards the gates, whooping with joy, his heart ready to burst out of his chest.

From the balcony of the Astronomy Tower, Tom smiled fondly to himself as he watched Harry utterly elated, soaring over the battlements. It was strange, how this odd, warm feeling grew in his chest. And how he felt just a slight twinge of jealousy that he hadn’t been the one to put that beautiful smile on his face. And his burning desire to do so.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” asked Dumbledore.

Tom frowned slightly and looked down at his crossed arms. “I want to do something for him. Something that will make him smile like that again… but I don’t know what.”

“Well, let’s see, there’s the usual things,” Snape said dryly. “Flowers, chocolates, promises you don’t intend to keep…”

“No no, Severus. It has to be something very special. Something that sparks his interest,” Dumbledore paused, his brow creased in a frown for several minutes. Then his eyes lit up. “Wait a minute!”

---

“Harry, I’d like to show you something.”

Tom was about to open the door when he stopped and turned around again. “But you have to close your eyes first.”

Harry raised an eyebrow in response.

“It’s a surprise.” he explained.

Obediently, Harry shut his eyes and Tom opened the doors. He took him by the hand and guided him inside. The room smelled of dust and neglect.

“Can I open them now?”

“Hold on,” Tom drew out his wand and directed it at the curtains, which flung themselves open, spilling sunlight onto the room - and just how filthy and dilapidated it was. He cast a few quick cleaning charms. “Alright - now!”

Harry’s eyes fluttered open and he gasped. The room was enormous, so big he was sure at least three Diagon Alleys could fit inside, and piled high with books. He’d assumed that Dumbledore and Snape had been exaggerating in their descriptions of the library, but there literally were cascades of them, overflowing from the shelves, more than he'd ever seen in his life. Racks of books, boxes of books, tables heaped with books... it was staggering.

“Wow,” Harry breathed.

Tom was on edge. “Do you like it then?”

“Like it? It’s brilliant!” Harry grinned, running over to a shelf of familiar titles labelled ‘Muggle Literature’, tracing their thick leather spines. He felt a sudden great rush of affection for the wizard.

Tom relaxed and a smile graced his features. “Well that’s good, since you’ll be taking your lessons in here.”

“My lessons?”

“Well since you clearly know nothing about magic I’ve decided to take it upon myself to instruct you in it’s delicate and precise art.”

“You’re going to teach me?”

“I do recall telling you I was a professor here. Unless your attention span only stretches to about three seconds.”

“And I remember telling you that I’m not a wizard.” But Harry followed him over to the table where he was flicking through a large volume with yellowing pages covered in strange words and runes.

“Right, let’s start with something simple - a Levitation Charm. You’ll have to borrow my wand, so it probably won’t work as well I’m afraid, but we don’t really have an alternative,” Tom handed it to him. “You need to move it in a swish and flick motion. Yes that’s good, use your wrist a little bit more…”

Several very frustrating hours later, Harry hadn’t even managed to levitate a feather and was getting very impatient.

“Wingardium Leviosa! Win - oh this is stupid!” he poked the feather angrily and accidentally set it on fire. Tom quickly took his wand and put it out.

“You need to calm down,” he said soothingly. “Magic takes time to learn. And you aren’t helping by working yourself into a strop.”

“Oh you’re one to talk.” Harry muttered.

If it had been anyone else, Tom might have bristled at that. But he simply walked over to Harry and positioned himself so that he was pressed up against his back, holding the wand with him.

Harry shivered, but not out of fear.

“You’re too tense,” Tom whispered, his breath tickling Harry's neck. “Just relax and let your wrist control your movements.” He moved their hands in the swish and flick maneuver, but in a slow, almost lazy fashion. “Clear your mind - try and do it without thinking. Swish and flick.”

He let go. Harry’s eyes shut as he flicked the wand and said

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

The feather trembled. Then it hovered. Then it flew, jerkily but still flying, right up into the air.

Harry’s eyes opened and he let out a yell of delight. “I did it!” The feather flew higher still, doing several joyous loop-the-loops as Harry grinned. “I did magic!”

The glee in his voice was infectious and Tom swept him up in a hug and spun him round, both of them laughing breathlessly. It died down as Tom set Harry back on his feet, dizzy and happy, and they ended up smiling broadly and awkwardly at each other.

Watching from behind a bookcase, the professors were very pleased too.

“Well would you look at that!” exclaimed Professor McGonagall.

“I told you it would work!” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“Please sir, what is Professor Dumbledore talking about sir?” Dobby asked, a look of immense confusion on his face.

Snape sniggered. “Interesting, very interesting…”

“I had foreseen it! I did say!” Professor Trelawney was very excited.

“Mistress McGonagall, Dobby is very confused, indeed he is!”

“Come along Dobby, there’s work to be done.”

“But Mistress McGonagall, Dobby is not understanding what anyone is saying!”

Chapter Text

“So Quidditch is a bit like the wizard equivalent of football?” said Harry as he stood inside the shed, clutching a chest in his arms.

“Football?” Tom asked curiously.

“Well you run around on a pitch and kick a ball and there’s two teams and they each try to score in the other team’s goal.”

“Only one ball?” Tom scoffed. “I assure you, Quidditch is far superior.” He retrieved two broomsticks from the racks and they began to make their way onto the snowy pitch, which was surrounded by high wooden stands draped in coloured flags. At each end were three golden hoops, which looked like the little sticks that you saw children blowing bubbles through.

When Tom had first explained the rules of Quidditch to him, Harry had begged and begged for a game. It had taken a couple of days persistence and the promise that they could come inside afterwards and do something 'sensible' to finally get Tom to agree. On the other hand, Harry had been relieved to hear that they weren’t going to be using the Bludgers, which didn’t sound like one of the more pleasant aspects of the game.

He set the chest down with a huff - it had been extremely heavy - and eager to get on a broomstick again, kicked off as Tom knelt down to open it. The glorious sensation came rushing back to him. He swooped between the goalposts and made a few laps of the stands.

“Nice technique.” Tom observed as he touched down.

“Thanks.” Harry felt heat rush to his cheeks and looked down at the ground, scratching the back of his neck. Almost immediately, he wondered why he was doing it. Was it really so odd for Tom to pay him a compliment?

Or perhaps it wasn’t that, but the tingling warmth that spread through his body as he heard it, that had set his heart aflame as Tom took his hand, whispered in his ear...

“Are you coming or not?”

He looked up to see that Tom was already in the air, the large red Quaffle in his hand, and hastily flew up to join him.

It was near impossible to handle the Quaffle and keep an eye out for the Snitch at the same time, but it was less about the game than the simple joy of racing through the air and the adrenaline pumping through his veins and Harry beamed as he scored the first goal.

Then, when Tom wasn’t looking, Harry scooped up a handful of the snow that had settled on the stands and threw it right in his face. The resulting expression was one of such pure indignance that Harry was doubled over with laughter.

Smirking, Tom directed his wand at the stand roof, which tipped up and dumped what was practically a snowdrift on Harry’s head.

A furious and laughter-filled snowball fight ensued.

“Well, bless my soul.”

“Who’d have thought?”

“Well, oh indeed.”

“It’s most peculiar!”

The professors had congregated at the window to watch.

“Who would have guessed they’d come together on their own?” said Professor McGonagall. Professor Trelawney looked rather put out at the this remark but no one paid her any attention.

Later, they stood on watch as the two came into the common room, in the middle of an enthusiastic discussion.

“... I don’t get it. Why are some curses Unforgivable and some not?”

“Harry, it may surprise you but my knowledge of wizarding lore is not universal.”

“Says the arrogant git who swans around as if he’d invented magic itself.”

Tom threw back his head and laughed more heartily than any of them had ever heard him. “That, my dear Harry, is because I did.”

They sat down together by the fire, still talking. Harry took a book off the pile that had grown very rapidly on the table. As he opened it, Tom put a tender arm around his shoulders. Neither shied away from the contact. Harry reached up and brushed some snow off Tom’s hair.

“You know,” Dumbledore mused. “Perhaps there's something there that wasn’t there before.”

“Dobby does not see anything!” Dobby squeaked, still very unclear as to what any of them were talking about.

Professor McGonagall gave a rare, fond chuckle.

“Well this is all very well and good,” said Snape. “But need I remind you, that if the last page of that diary fills up, the curse will never be broken. I suggest the preparation of a spontaneous, romantic atmosphere. Tonight.”

“Oh, lighten up Severus. Let nature take it’s course!”

“It’s obvious there’s a spark between them.”

“Well, it can’t do much harm if we… fan the flames, shall we say,” Snape said, in a slightly off-put tone. “Besides, they must fall in love tonight if we ever expect to return to our natural forms.”

A wistful expression crossed every face.

“Ah, to be human again.” Dumbledore said mournfully.

“Human again.” Professor McGonagall sighed.

“How Dobby wishes to be cooking again!”

They all sat in meditative silence for a moment. And then the preparations for the evening began in earnest.

---

“Tonight is the night!”

Dumbledore hopped onto the dresser to face a very tense-looking Tom, who sat in his dress robes as Professor Sprout (a pitchfork) cut his hair. She had thankfully been persuaded not to use her garden shears.

“There will be music - romantic candlelight. At dinner you can be your usual charming self. Be bold, daring. You don’t have time to be timid, remember that. After the meal, ask him to dance and when the time is right, and choose your moment carefully now -”

“Will. You. Stop. Babbling?” Tom said through gritted teeth. “I can handle this perfectly well by myself.”

“Tom, if you don’t mind my saying so, you are not exactly renowned for your social aptitude.”

“Harry is… different,” Tom managed a glance in the mirror and his face instantly contorted with disgust. “What?! What on earth is that - monstrosity?”

Professor Sprout, ever a sucker for 18th century fashion, had piled his hair up into a wig-like knob on top of his head, complete with some fancy sausage curls and a trimming of green ribbon. While it might have been traditional, it was quite frankly ridiculous, and Tom did not like it at all.

“Well that wasn’t quite the word I was looking for,” Dumbledore said in amusement. "But perhaps, a little more off the top?”

With a huff, Professor Sprout complied and Tom’s hair was eventually restored to it’s shorter, sleek, pre-curse glory.

Having at first been transfixed by the ugly hairpiece, Tom began now to study his twisted features. The waxy skin, the bloodshot eyes, the snakelike nostrils… he wondered why Harry hadn’t fled at the first sight of him, left him for dead after the Dementor attack.

“Because the love you feel for each other transcends mere beauty,” Dumbledore seemed to interrupt his thoughts. “Any other person may have done so. But he, he has been able to look past your mask and see who you truly are.”

Tom snorted. “If you’re going to preach about love conquers all -”

He stopped. When had this become about love? Love, which days ago (was it only days? It felt like a lifetime) might have been a foreign language, which he had deemed a nuisance, an unnecessary conflict, for as long as he could remember. A fairy tale.

Had he fallen in love with Harry Potter?

“You truly do care for him,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Don’t you?”

Tom was too overwhelmed to say the more than anything which sprang as quickly to his lips as an insult or a mocking quip might have.

“Ahem,” Snape, stood waiting at the door, cleared his throat. “Your gentleman awaits.”

Chapter Text

Harry’s legs were shaking slightly as he peered round the staircase to see Tom stood at the foot of it, waiting for him. He looked almost regal in his elegant black robes, trimmed with silver. He seemed to radiate pride, confidence, strength. Harry’s mouth was sandpaper dry.

“Remember, he’s just as nervous as you are,” Professor McGonagall whispered. “Even if he doesn’t show it.”

Harry simply nodded and concentrated on staying upright.

Below them, Tom was trying to stay still, fighting the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet or fidget with his robes. He was sure his heart had never beaten faster in his life.

He shut his eyes to try and calm himself down until an ahem from Dumbledore prompted them to fly open.

A slightly timid-looking but smiling Harry had appeared at the top of the staircase. He too had evidently had a cleaning-up, face now free from grime and his hair as neatly combed as it would ever be. Even his glasses seemed a little more upswept. He was dressed in bottle green robes that brought out the beautiful colour of his eyes, made of some silky material that seemed to float as he walked, giving him the ethereal appearance of his feet never quite touching the ground, and he looked stunning.

Tom blinked for several seconds, uncertain that this lovely creature in front of him was not just a vision or a phantom of the mind. But no, Harry was real, Harry was there and he was coming down the stairs towards him.

“I don’t look that bad do I?” Harry asked.

“No! No, of course not,” Tom said hastily. “You look… beautiful.”

An embarrassed smile lit up Harry’s face. “You don’t scrub up so bad yourself.”

Tom assumed Harry was just being kind.

He bowed, offering his arm. “Mr Potter, would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you to the Great Hall?”

Harry took it with a giggle. “Certainly my Lord Riddle.”

The professors had clearly gone to town in creating the 'ballroom'. Golden leaves and flowers crept over the walls and draped themselves artistically around the door. The long tables had disappeared, replaced by a smaller, rounder one laden with food, and the benches were now high-backed gilded chairs. The floating candles hung alongside an enormous chandelier, which looked like the moon in a starry sky.

They sat, they ate, they talked. Harry looked beautiful, illuminated in candlelight, Tom thought. And then he thought of how good he was at flying. And how strong yet modest he was. And his love of books and treacle tarts and his dry wit and his big heart and how Tom was almost definitely, quite certainly hopelessly in love.

When the dessert plates were cleared away, Tom took a deep breath, stood up and again offered his hand to Harry.

“May I have this dance?”

Harry snorted. “I can’t dance to save my life Tom.”

“Well I’ll just have to save it for you then, won’t I?” he smirked.

“I am not a princess!"

But Harry took his hand anyway and Tom pulled him to his feet and into the middle of the hall.

“Put your hand on my shoulder,” he murmured, placing his own on Harry’s waist. “Just relax. Let me guide you.”

Tom pulled out his wand and uttered a quick spell. A grand piano appeared in the corner of the hall and began to play by itself, a slow, sweet melody that echoed around the room.

“Show-off.” he heard Harry say under his breath. He just chuckled and began to maneuver them around the room.

It became clear very quickly that God had not intended Harry to be a ballroom dancer. But he was small and light and easy to steer and Tom quickened their pace as they stepped.

An awkward shuffle, a sway, a spin.

Gradually, they sank into the music. Harry stopped clinging to him like a limpet and began, hesitantly, to dance for himself. Tom twirled him underneath his arm. The dance flowed and soared.

A lazy spin, a gentle caress of hands. The music swelled.

They made their way around the room slowly, arms aloft. Harry's green robes billowed out behind him as they made another turn.

Tom placed a supportive hand on Harry's spine as he leant slowly backwards, then lifted him up with barely a pause for breath, spinning side-by-side as a whirlwind of light glittered above them.

Shuffle, step, lift, turn, step, step, twirl…

Harry nestled his head on his chest as the lights began to dim, immersing them in an ethereal, twilight waltz. It was just them, alone under the stars. Tom drew him closer, pillowing a cheek in his hair. Soft footsteps, slow and light. Tread. Breathe.

Lost, lost in their own world, they danced out of the hall and into the courtyard.

“Brr,” Harry shivered. Tom wrapped his arms around him properly, rubbing to warm them up. The air was very chilly, biting after the gentle warmth of the castle.

“You’ll warm up in a minute.” said Tom.

“Don’t you have spells for this kind of thing?” Harry grumbled.

“Not that I know of.”

“Liar. You have a spell that creates dancing cake toppers, I read about it in The Standard Book of Spells.”

Tom laughed again and pulled him towards a bench where they sat and looked out over the sprawling grounds, the snow glistening where it was touched by the silver fingertips of the moon.

The moment had come.

With a swallow, Tom turned to Harry, taking both of his hands in his. “Harry… are you happy here with me? At Hogwarts?”

There was a long moment of silence. Then "Can anybody be happy if they aren't free?" Harry said quietly.

Tom's heart plummeted.

There was another drawn-out pause where neither met the other's eyes. Then Harry sighed. “I just… I wish I could see Sirius again. I miss him.”

Of course. Of course, it would be him, the person who held that special place in Harry’s heart that he so desperately longed for, and did he not deserve? Tom had to steel himself to contain the hot jealousy that bubbled and boiled inside him.

"Why do you live with your godfather? Why not your parents?" he asked.

“My - well, my parents died you see -”

“Died?” Tom said sharply.

“Yeah. When I was a baby. He's the only family I've got left really.”

“So you’ve lived with your godfather all your life?”

“... no. I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle. When I was eleven, Sirius resc- found me and I went to live with him instead. That’s it really.”

But his words were short and stilted and Tom could feel his hands growing tense where he held them in his own.

“What were your aunt and uncle like?”

“Strict,” came the reply after a while. Harry seemed to be choosing his words with care. “Ordinary.”

His breathing was shallow. His hands shaking. He wouldn’t meet his eyes. Before he could protest, Tom had taken his arm and pushed up the sleeve - to reveal a grotesque collection of old scars, faded burns, bruises, angry red marks… envy was no longer on his mind. The anger at the sight of it was almost overpowering.

“They did this to you.” Tom gritted his teeth.

“I… yeah. They did,” Harry seemed to realise that it was pointless to lie. “They never really wanted me there. I had to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. I did all the chores, the cooking and cleaning and stuff. They - hit me. Sometimes. Quite a lot. They didn’t let me go to school, although that wasn’t too bad because it meant Dudley couldn't beat me as much. And they still gave me food and stuff. I couldn't have left, I wouldn't have had anywhere else to go. At least they didn't throw me out.”

Tom growled. How could Harry be justifying the harm his own family had inflicted on him? How dare they, how dare they harm his Harry? Oh if only he could get his hands on them, how he would make them scream, make them suffer, make them pay for what they had done…

“... Tom?”

He took Harry’s face in his hands. “I swear, I will never let anything like that happen to you ever again,” he said, not even trying to disguise the fury in his voice. “If anyone dares harm you, I will kill them without hesitation.”

“It was a long time ago -”

“But it still happened!”

The silence hung in the air for moments.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Tom asked more quietly.

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t think it was really important.”

Tom wanted to curse himself for being so stupidly selfish. He’d never even thought to ask Harry about himself before, too obsessed with his own miserly fate, cruel and cold and arrogant - everything the witch had said he was.

He had to do something. He had to make it up to Harry.

“There is a way you can see your godfather.”

---

“It is called the Mirror of Erised,” Tom explained, pulling off the sheet that covered it. “It was a highly prized magical artefact gifted to Hogwarts centuries ago.”

Harry thought it just looked like a very ordinary hand-held mirror, like the one Madam Malkin used at her tailor’s shop. Albeit with a few cracks and a lot of dust on it’s surface. “What does it do?”

“It shows you whatever your heart desires to see.”

Tom handed it to him and he took it hesitantly.

“Um… I’d like to see Sirius. My, uh, godfather. Please.”

The glass surface began to ripple and shift, slowly distorting the candlelit image of Harry’s face and dissolving into - oh God, the Forbidden Forest! And it was dark and gloomy and the wind swept the snow up into a vicious blizzard and there was Sirius, pale and shaking, hacking away, trying to battle through it, ugly scars marring his face.

“Sirius!” Harry gasped.

“What is it? Harry, what’s wrong?”

“He’s in the forest! And he’s injured and he’s frozen and - oh Tom, what if he dies out there? What if the Dementors find him? He’ll be all alone and cold and sad and I can’t go and help him!”

His voice rose to a shout, torn between wanting to cry and smashing the stupid mirror on the floor. Damn it! Damn the stupid Vow and stupid Tom and stupid Dementors and stupid Harry for even agreeing to it in the first place!

A tear trickled down his cheek and he wiped it away fiercely. He couldn’t cry, not now, Sirius would want him to be strong…

Tom had turned his back to Harry, looking at the diary. His hands clenched into fists. He didn’t want to look like this, he wanted to be normal again, he wanted his life back, he wanted Harry.

But if Sirius died, Harry’s heart might be broken beyond repair. And Tom, even though he was selfish and a bully and the most brutal and cold-hearted monster in the world, could never do that to him.

“You must go to him.”

“W-what?”

“You must go and help your godfather. He is the only family you have left, you said it yourself.”

“But the Vow, you said I made an Unbreakable -”

Tom took Harry’s wrist and intoned "Infortunii vestra mea fiet."

The golden lines that had sunk into his skin now rose up and then faded away into the shadows.
Harry’s eyes widened with shock.

“I - I thought -”

“Nothing is unbreakable,” Tom said quietly. “It is a difficult truth but a necessary one.”

“So - so I’m free? I can leave?”

“If you wish.” Tom couldn’t bring himself to meet Harry’s eyes.

A pause then “Thank you.” Harry pressed the mirror into his hands.

“No - take it with you. Then you’ll always have a way to look back and remember me.” He raised a hand to touch Harry’s cheek for the last time.

A small, sad smile. “Thanks,” Harry said again. “For... understanding.”

Then a quick kiss, feather light, against his jaw and Tom said a silent farewell to Harry forever.

---

“Well, I must say, this evening has gone swimmingly.” said Dumbledore, looking very satisfied with himself. There were nods and happy agreements all round.

“I knew he had it in him!” beamed Professor McGonagall.

“An excellent idea Professor Snape.” added Madam Pomfrey. The slightest hint of a smirk twitched the cauldron’s mouth.

But their celebrations were abruptly cut off when Harry, tearing off his dress robes in favour of the more practical clothes he wore underneath, hurtled down the stairs, frantic and in such a hurry that he very nearly crushed Dobby as he ran past.

“Harry?” Dumbledore called sharply, but the front door had slammed shut. The good mood dissipated instantly and Snape started scowling again.

Professor McGonagall grimaced. “Well, we can’t put it off forever…”

Unseen, Dobby slipped away.

They hopped up to the third floor in various states of agitation, with Snape the most furious of them all. It had, after all, been his idea, and it had apparently ended in disaster - something Snape simply could not stand.

“Riddle!” he said loudly, charging through the door. “What have you done now, you idiotic, good-for-nothing -”

He stopped when he saw Tom, hunched over the diary and looking for all the world like he was about to cry.

“I let him go.” was his broken offer of explanation.

A hubbub of voices broke out.

“What?”

"No!"

"You didn't!"

“But how? How did you retract the Vow?"

"I didn't," he muttered. "I reversed the effects. Harry won't die if he breaks it now - I will."

“But why -” began Dumbledore.

“Because I love him,” Tom snapped. “Happy now, you heartless bastard? I love him. And I can’t hurt him any more than I already have.”

A dreadful quiet fell over the room.

Then Tom Riddle let out a howl, of rage, of misery, of pain, of sorrow, that rang throughout the school and shook the gates as the red motorbike disappeared into the night.

Chapter Text

“Sirius!”

Harry’s shout was lost to the wind. The blizzard made it near impossible to see, and his hands were red and numb. At least the bike was under his control for once - he turned one way, then the other, calling for his godfather, but to no avail. And the snow had begun to fall thicker.

“Sirius!” he yelled again.

Silence.

Then the engine began to sputter and spark, and without warning rushed away to the left, with Harry clinging on for dear life. They made several sharp turns, ploughed straight through a snowdrift and finally stopped at a clearing where -

“Sirius! Are you OK?” Harry ran towards his godfather, who lay half-buried in snow. He still managed a frozen grin.

“Come to rescue me, eh Harry?”

“What are you doing out here? You could have died!”

“Well I wasn’t going to let you waste away in prison was I?” Sirius wheezed as Harry helped him up. “How the hell did you get out of there?”

“I didn’t. Tom let me go, to come and help you.”

“Tom?”

“He's the wizard.”

“That bloody maniac just let you go?”

“But he’s not a maniac Sirius…”

---

It took Harry quite a while to finish recounting all that had happened in the past few days, throughout the cold journey home, then the building of a fire and the fetching and carrying of blankets and hot water until they were both warm and dry again.

“Well,” Sirius was looking more than a little gobsmacked. “I don’t often say this Harry, but I am lost for words. An Unbreakable Vow… wow, that must have been pretty advanced magic to break it, James told me that they were completely binding…”

Harry's eyes widened. “My - my dad? But how - was he -”

Sirius had the distinct look of someone who had spoken without thinking. He looked down at his hands, shame written all over his face.

"I'm sorry Harry. I'm so very, very sorry."

"Wha- what do you mean?"

"I should have told you, I should have told you ages ago... your parents were both wizards.

"I was born into a magical family you see, but they disowned me when they discovered I was a Squib - that's a person born to magical parents who isn't a witch or wizard. Your father's family took me in, even though I wasn't one of them.

"About twenty years ago, a dark wizard named Grindelwald came to power. Your parents fought against him - but nobody lived once he decided to kill them. They died, but Grindelwald's Killing Curse just missed you. That's why you have your scar, it's the mark of the curse, where it touched you. You were sent to the Dursleys to keep you safe. It took me ten years to find you."

Angry tears prickled at Harry's eyes. At some point during Sirius' speech, he had stood up, shaking with fury.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why did you never tell me? I had a right to know! How could you keep something like that a secret?"

Sirius sighed, suddenly looking much older than he actually was. "Because - and I know this is going to sound completely pathetic - but it's because I was trying to keep you safe. Grindelwald was still at large for a long time, he may still be out there. Living in the Muggle world meant that we were harder to find."

"But you still could have told -"

"Harry, you're all I have left of James and Lily, and I have a duty to look after you. I know you're probably furious with me right now, but please, understand. I only did all of this to keep you safe and happy. It was a foolish decision yes, but I made it for you."

In all honesty, Harry wasn't sure what to feel. He was furious, inordinately so, but there was also a lump in his throat and his mind was reeling and Sirius looked so much like a puppy that had just been kicked, eyes brimming with guilt, that it was hard to feel resentment towards him.

And just to hear that confirmation, that final word that someone had truly cared enough for him to make that decision, however foolish...

Harry leaned forward and hugged his godfather tightly.

"It's OK," he muttered. "Well... I mean, it's not OK, but I understand, I get it..."

Sirius stroked his hair. "You know, I thought you might have cottoned on after I got that motorbike flying."

"That was magic? But you said you were a Squib."

"Well, I can do a few simple charms. Levitation can come in handy."

"Is it meant to just steer itself?"

"Ah, no. I hadn't actually realised it did that."

Harry gave a half-hearted, very watery chuckle.

The moment was then interrupted with a muffled squeak of “Please sir, Dobby cannot breathe!”

They both jumped, and Dobby came toppling out of Harry’s pocket, landing on the table and proceeded to do several wobbly pirouettes before squeaking “Hello!”

“Dobby?”

“‘Tis I Harry Potter sir! Good evening Master Sirius sir!” He bowed.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.” Sirius chuckled.

“But - what are you doing here?” asked Harry, who was still thoroughly confused.

“Oh, Dobby knows it is none of his business sir!” said the teacup. “But Dobby had to ask - why is Harry Potter going away? Does he not like it at Hogwarts any more?”

“Of course I like Hogwarts Dobby, it’s just that -”

Harry was cut off by a sharp rap at the door and he went to answer it, wondering exactly who was out so late at night.

When he opened the door, all the blood drained from his face.

“Evening boy,” smirked Uncle Vernon.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing here?” Harry stammered. Fear kept him frozen, unable to unstick more words from his throat, to slam the door shut and never open it again, to keep out the monsters -

“We’ve come to collect your godfather. Seems that he’s been acting rather out of sorts lately…”

Stretching up on tiptoe to see past Uncle Vernon’s bulky frame, Harry could see the rest of the villagers gathered outside the house with angry faces and flaming torches - and the wagon, with Dursley Asylum for the Freakish and Abnormal painted on the side.

“Sirius is not crazy!” he shouted, the sight sparking red hot anger in his chest, and he tried to slam the door in his uncle’s face. A meaty fist blocked him. The crowd guffawed.

“Not crazy? He was raving like a lunatic!” Crabbe sniggered.

“What are you doing to my godson?”

Sirius stormed out of the doorway, his hands balled into fists, towering over Uncle Vernon. His timing couldn’t have possibly been worse.

“Sirius!” Crabbe yelled. “Tell us again! Tell us about the wizard!”

“He was tall, dressed in black, with a nose like a snake -”

The shrieks of laughter drowned out the rest of his words.

“You don’t get much crazier than that!”

“It’s true!” Sirius hollered as two enormous men in hoods grabbed him by the arms.

“Malfoy!” Harry ran towards the crowd and grabbed him by the shirt collar, eyes pleading. As much as he despised him, his influence in town was more than most and he might be able to convince the rest of the villagers to stop this. “You know he’s not crazy! Please, do something!”

“Poor Harry,” Malfoy smirked. “I might be able to clear up this little - misunderstanding. If…”

“If what?”

“If you marry me.”

“What?”

“One little word Harry, that’s all it takes.”

Harry pulled away in disgust. "Never!”

Malfoy shrugged. “Have it your way.”

“Let go! Let go of me you snivelling, wart-faced -” Sirius struggled as they dragged him towards the wagon, still severely weakened after his ordeal in the forest.

Harry ran inside and re-emerged, clutching the Mirror of Erised.

“Sirius is not crazy and I can prove it!” he shouted, dodging round his uncle. “Show me Tom Riddle!”

He held it up as the glass swam - and the entire town gasped in fear as they saw the twisted, furious face of Tom Riddle, blasting a suit of armour into fragments with his wand.

“Is he dangerous?” shrieked Pansy Parkinson.

“No! No, I swear he isn’t,” Harry said desperately. “Please! I know he looks evil but he’s really kind and clever and… gentle,” he smiled absentmindedly. “He’s my friend.”

Malfoy was practically green in the face with envy.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you had feelings for this monster.” he sneered.

“He’s no monster Malfoy,” Harry spat. “You are!”

It was the final straw. Rage completely consumed Malfoy’s handsome features.

“He’s as crazy as his godfather!” he grabbed Harry’s wrist and snatched the Mirror away. “This wizard is evil. He will make off with your children!” Terrified mothers clutched their babes in arms. “He will send plagues upon your crops!” There were fearful mutters. “We're not safe until his head is mounted on my wall. I say we kill the wizard!”

A roar of assent met him.

"We're not safe until he's dead!"

"He'll come stalking us at night!"

"He'll wreak havoc on our village if we let him wander free!"

"So come on then!" Malfoy roared. "It's time for us to fight back! We'll lay siege to the castle and bring back his head!"

“No!” Harry ran at him, trying to grab the Mirror. “I won’t let you!”

“If you’re not with us, you’re against us!” Harry’s strength, though fuelled with fiery anger and righteous indignation, was no match for his, and Malfoy picked him up bodily and threw him into the wagon with one hand. “Lock them up!”

The two men holding Sirius dumped him beside Harry and Aunt Petunia quickly bolted them inside.

“Gather your weapons!” Malfoy bellowed. “Bring your torches! Follow me and we’ll find that wizard and tear him limb from limb!” There were cheers as he mounted his horse, which was almost as big as he was. “Cut down that tree! We’ll bring it and use it to batter the door down!”

He clattered away into the Forest with the crowd yelling behind him, the Dursleys bringing up the rear, their faces red and their smiles cruel.

---

“I knew it would be foolish to get our hopes up.” Snape said unconvincingly.

The very dejected staff of Hogwarts sat in the Headmaster’s office, brooding over their loss.

“Perhaps it would have been better if he’d never come at all.” muttered Professor McGonagall.

“Now now Minerva, we must always look on the bright side of things.” But even Dumbledore was hanging his head glumly, with no real warmth in his voice. Clearly, there was no bright side to this situation to be found.

Silence reigned for several minutes.

“Merlin help us!” Professor Trelawney suddenly cried from her perch on the windowsill.

They quickly crowded around, hoping in vain that it might be Harry, returning to save them.

But it was a terrifying mob, bearing blazing torches and vicious blades, screeching and howling like wild animals, that met their eyes.

“Invaders!” gasped Professor Flitwick. Madam Pomfrey very nearly fainted.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said quickly. “Alert the rest of the castle to prepare for battle. We must defend Hogwarts at all costs. Minerva, you must go and speak to Tom, try and make him see reason. There is not a moment to lose!”

---

Rain had begun to lash down from the black sky and flashes of lightning cast eerie shadows over Hogwarts. But this could not deter the attackers, fuelled with fear, adrenaline and bloodlust.

“Take whatever you will,” Malfoy roared, brandishing his sword. “But remember - the wizard is mine!”

And with a great cry of “Kill the wizard!”, the mob began to break down the door.

Chapter Text

“Let us out!” Harry slammed his full weight against the door as he screamed, but to no avail. It remained firmly shut.

“Those blasted people,” Sirius cursed. “How did they know where to find you?”

“I think Malfoy might have had something to do with it,” Harry sank to his knees. “Oh God, what have I done? They’ll kill him, they’ll kill Tom and Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall and Snape and -”

“It’s not your fault,” Sirius said firmly. “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. Now, let’s see if there’s anything in my coat we can use…”

Upstairs in 12 Grimmauld Place, Dobby had watched the whole scene from the window with horror and indignation. How dare they treat Harry Potter like that? Master Riddle would be furious, indeed he would. But now Dobby had to do something.

He hopped down the stairs and out of the house. He knew that he needed to break Harry Potter out of the wagon so that he could go and save Hogwarts.

Dobby’s eye fell on the motorbike. But the seat was far too high for him to reach. How could Dobby get up there?

Then, a ghostly white shape dove down from above with a shriek, hooked a talon through Dobby's handle and rose up into the air.

The teacup squeaked in fright - but almost as soon as she had him airborne, Hedwig dropped him onto the motorbike's seat and nudged at one of the buttons with her beak. The engine gurgled and coughed and spluttered into life, nearly throwing it’s little passenger off.

“Here we goes!” Dobby squealed as they shot towards the wagon.

“Sirius, how can we use a candle to pick a lock?”

“Funny you should say thatWHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN’S UNDERPANTS?!”

With an almighty crash! the motorbike blasted through the door, sending Harry, Sirius and an awful lot of wood splinters flying in every single direction.

As the smoke cleared, Harry gingerly propped himself up on one elbow.

“Dobby is freeeeee!” the teacup sang as he flew through the air, only narrowly avoiding breakage by landing on Sirius’s moustache.

Hedwig hooted in amusement.

---

So this was what death felt like.

Not a bang but a whimper, a slow, numbing sensation that crept like ice through his veins...

“Tom!”

“Leave me alone.” he muttered.

“This is not the time for moping,” Professor McGonagall snapped. “Hogwarts is under attack! We must defend ourselves!”

“It doesn’t matter. Let them come.”

“Why you - do you only ever think of yourself, you selfish, ungrateful -”

The castle shuddered and plaster crumbled from the ceiling as downstairs, the doors gave way.

Stepping through into the hall however, all was silent. The only sight that met the mob’s eyes was a rather large, odd jumble of furniture - cauldrons and books, dinner plates, quill pens and pillows.

All remained as eerily still as stone until the last person - an extremely out-of-breath Uncle Vernon - entered. Then, Dumbledore cried

“NOW!”

And every single teacher, owl and house elf rose up with a great shriek and descended on the invaders.

Knives and forks jabbed at them from every possible angle. Professor Sprout lead an army of flowerpots, which were a lot more terrifying than they should have been. Dumbledore came to the rescue of Madam Pomfrey, who was wriggling in the grip of one of the villagers, by jumping onto his head and remaining resolutely stuck over his eyes. Professor Trelawney was in her element, smashing down on every head she could find and trilling “I saw the Grim in your future my dear!”

But a group of house elves were trampled by three shopkeepers who were trying to get up the stairs.

“Up here you dragon-pox ridden scum!” shouted Professor McGonagall. The suits of armour dove down from their pedestals and beat them back into submission.

“I’ve always wanted to do that!” she said excitedly to Professor Flitwick, who was fending off Petunia Dursley with a feather duster.

Snape had just returned to the scene carrying a fresh supply of Pus Potation when he heard a cry of “Severus! Please! Help me!” and turned to see Crabbe advancing on a trembling Dumbledore with a flaming torch, grinning maliciously.

He paid for this dearly when Snape upended the Potation all over him, leaving him covered in enormous red boils and screeching in pain.

By this time, most of the attackers were either unconscious or limping away as fast as they could. The Hogwarts staff cheered as one (“And stay out!” cried Professor McGonagall), performing a celebratory jig. Dumbledore was so overjoyed that he planted a kiss on the cheek of a thoroughly disgruntled Snape.

If only they had noticed Draco Malfoy, who had thrown off the two biting textbooks that had attacked him easily, and slipped away up the stairs.

---

Tom knew there was someone behind him. He knew they had a sword. He knew what they were planning to do.

At least this way he wouldn't suffer.

“Make it quick.” he said quietly.

Malfoy just smirked and made a vicious slash across his back.

Tom howled in agony, the bite of his skin being ripped apart giving way to a burning pain that coursed through his whole body, blood pouring down his back, tears stinging in his eyes. He doubled over, teeth gritted. Malfoy’s eyes practically glittered, and he kicked Tom out through the window. He skidded painfully on the wet roof tiles, lying broken and bleeding.

“What’s the matter wizard?” Malfoy taunted. “Too kind and gentle to fight back?”

Tom couldn’t even muster up the energy to be scared as the blade rose to kill.

“NO! MALFOY DON’T!”

They both froze in surprise.

It was Harry, his Harry, down there in the courtyard. Soaking wet, sat on the red motorbike - here. Fearful, angry, beaten, bloodied but still here.

“Harry,” Tom breathed. Something was reawakened inside him.

With an angry shout, Malfoy brought his sword down -

“Expelliarmus!”

It flew out of his hand, Tom’s wand in his own. He began throwing every curse and hex he could think of at Malfoy, who squealed and ducked down, scrabbling for his weapon.

“I’ve got to help him.” Harry stumbled in his haste to get his feet on the ground, starting to run towards what remained of the doors.

“Potter!”

He turned to see Professor McGonagall hurrying over to him.

“Fly!” she shouted, and Harry understood at once.

Lightning nearly struck the rooftop as Tom and Malfoy fought, slipping and sliding in the rain, Malfoy making angry stabs at Tom’s throat, Tom firing a different hex every second.

“Were you in love with him wizard?” Malfoy shouted. “Did you honestly think he’d want you when he could have someone like me?”

With a snarl, Tom lunged at him.

Controlling a broom was proving much more difficult as the storm raged. Harry’s glasses were splattered with rain. Squinting, he could make out two dark figures on the roof of the Astronomy Tower, clinging onto it one-handed. Flashes of light, red and green, sent chunks of stone falling. His heart quickened and he swooped towards them.

“HARRY POTTER IS MINE!” Malfoy made one, mighty slash at Tom - and lost his grip on the roof.

Without thinking, Tom shouted “Immobulus!” Malfoy hung suspended in the air, wand at his neck, completely at his mercy.

“Please!” he whimpered. “Don’t kill me! I swear, I’ll do anything!”

For the longest moment, Tom considered letting him drop.

He stepped forward, leaning in close to Malfoy's frightened face, teeth bared in an awful snarl.

"Harry Potter will never be yours."

Then he deposited Malfoy in a crumpled, jibbering heap, back on the roof.

“Get out.” he growled.

“Tom!” Harry appeared almost out of nowhere, hovering beside the roof, an anxious smile on his face. Tom found himself returning it, thinking how gorgeous Harry looked with wet hair, reaching out to take his outstretched hand -

Rough cold hands shoved at his back and Malfoy pushed him off the roof.

For a moment, he cackled with mad glee, but it was only as he fell that Malfoy realised that using both hands left him with nothing to cling on with. He wailed as the ground came up to meet him.

Harry dove down, trying to catch up with Tom as he fell through the air, heart pounding, wind in his face, fingertips -

He just managed to grab Tom by the wrist, make a sharp swerve around a turret and barrel towards the Astronomy Tower. They crashed through the roof and landed in a wet, bedraggled, bloody heap on the floor.

Chapter Text

“Harry,” Tom whispered.

Harry scrambled upright and crawled over towards Tom’s limp form. “Hey.”

“You… you came back.”

“Of course I did you idiot,” Harry smiled as Tom reached up to caress his cheek. “Come on, can you walk? You’re hurt, we need to take you to Madam Pomfrey -”

“No. She can’t help me.”

“Don’t be stupid, you’re wizards. You can do anything. Tom, get up. Please.”

Dumbledore and Snape, both out of breath, appeared in the doorway where Professor McGonagall stood, watching the scene unfold with horror.

“Please,” Harry begged, grasping one cold hand in his. “You can’t give up now, I’m here, everything’s going to be fine -”

“I said, she can't help me. I'm dying anyway,” Tom murmured. “When you left… the Vow's effects were reversed... so that I would die… instead of… you…”

Harry gripped his hand so hard that it hurt. “No. No. Stay with me Tom. I’m not going to lose you. No.” Tears were choking him, trickling down his cheeks.

“Always so stubborn,” Tom chuckled faintly. He brushed the strands of wet hair off Harry’s forehead. “At least… I got to see you… one last time…”

“Don’t say that. Tom. Look at me. Stay with me Tom. No. No no no, you can’t go, no Tom, please, don’t leave me, don’t leave me now Tom…”

Something terrible, something cold and awful fell like a shroud over Hogwarts as the rain poured and lightning crackled and Harry broke down, sobbing, pulling Tom Riddle’s head into his lap and burying his face in his hair, shoulders shaking. The professors could only watch, sorrow washing over them like the tide on a beach.

“I love you.” Harry whispered.

In the castle, on the third floor corridor, the last elegant, inked word wrote itself in the diary.

Rain was still falling, but it was no longer rain, it was streaks of brilliant green light like shooting stars, that shimmered as they hit the walls of the castle - and then something strange began to happen to Tom Riddle’s corpse.

It was as if his chest had burst open, to reveal, not blood and bones, but the same blinding light that lit up the whole tower in blazing green, so bright that Harry had to screw his eyes shut. Little by little, the scales were vanishing, the red colour bleeding out of his eyes, the bloodless pallor giving way to a more human shade, until the light faded, unveiling the noble, handsome features that he had prided himself on years ago.

Harry stared, numb with shock.

“Tom?”

Tom’s eyes fluttered open, no longer snakelike but completely human, dark and drowning. He too gazed up at Harry in astonishment. Harry reached out to touch this new face, drinking in every inch with tender eyes.

The moment was slightly ruined when behind them, Severus Snape exclaimed “A cauldron - I have never been so humiliated in all my life -”

“At least you weren’t a broomstick,” Professor McGonagall shuddered. “The dust, oh the dust, I shall have nightmares about the stuff until the day I die…”

Laughter bubbled up in Harry as he saw the three very dishevelled wizards picking themselves up in the doorway. There was Professor McGonagall in green, her hair scraped back in a bun (although it had come somewhat loose, flyaway strands dancing around her face); that must be Snape, hair dark and greasy and nose hooked; and Dumbledore, blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles.

"It’s worked! The spell - it’s been broken!”

“It has?” Dumbledore beamed. “Why Hallelujah! Severus, I will now be able to eat sherbet lemons once again! Isn’t this wonderful?”

“I hardly think that is the most pressing of concerns Headmaster. Mr Riddle has a lot to answer for.”

“Oh pish posh! A celebratory feast is in order, to commemorate this wonderful, wonderful day!”

“Ah yes, this wonderful day where we have to explain to the Ministry why Hogwarts has been closed for the past five years. What a happy conversation that will be…”

A warm pressure on Harry’s hand distracted him from their bickering.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re brilliant?” Tom asked him seriously.

“Um… no.”

“Then I will say it now. You are bloody brilliant.”

Harry blushed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“To that, I say 'pish posh'."

“OK, I forbid you to say that ever again in your life. It’s just creepy.”

Tom chuckled. “So. Tell me. Do you like my face better now?”

Harry tilted his head to one side. “Hmm. I don’t know. The red eyes were growing on me - they were kind of sexy.”

“Oh really? Well Mr Potter, I’ll show you sexy.”

Tom pulled him in for their first, proper kiss, sweet and melting and wet with rain and joyful tears.

---

Inside, the hall was awash with good spirits as teachers, house elves and owls alike whooped and cheered and hugged as they became human, elf and animal once more. The paintings were in chaos, bounding through each other’s frames, revelling in their newfound freedom. A very happy Dobby had pulled a confused but delighted Sirius into the celebrations and even the invaders, just waking up from their ordeal, found themselves subject to cuddle attacks, so infectious was the frenzy of joy that day at Hogwarts.

Even louder cheers erupted when Tom, Harry on his arm, followed by Dumbledore, Snape and Professor McGonagall, came down the stairs. They were so swamped by thanks, congratulations and hugs - Dobby practically threw himself at Harry, squealing “Dobby is free! How can he ever thank Harry Potter sir?” - that Harry didn’t notice the Dursleys for several minutes.

But he stiffened as he saw them, hovering by the door with looks of mild terror and disgust on their faces, old fears and memories of harsh words and angry blows freezing him in place.

Tom saw where he was looking and a low growl escaped his lips.
“So that’s them. Your… relatives.”

He started towards them, but was stopped by Harry's hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t do anything. Please Tom,” Harry said quietly. “It was a long time ago. I’ve moved on. It’s not worth it.”

Tom glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it is. Harry, those people were torturing you -”

“I told you, I'm not a princess Tom. I don’t need rescuing. Just let it go, please.”

“Just a warning? A few minor threats? I promise I won’t harm them.”

Harry sighed, knowing that it was pointless to try and stop him, and relented, letting his hand fall away. “One warning.”

Tom strode towards the Dursleys, who looked like they were about to wet themselves with fear as he pulled out his wand and pointed it at their throats.

“The only reason I am not going to kill you now,” Tom hissed, a malicious glint in his eyes "As much I would dearly love to rip you apart limb from limb, is because Harry wishes me not to, although I can't quite fathom why. But know this - if you ever come near him or attempt to harm him again, I cannot promise to restrain myself. Am I understood?”

Uncle Vernon whimpered a reply that sounded a lot like ‘mimblewimble’.

He stood back, a perfectly polite, charming smile on his face. “Excellent. Now, I believe you should be on your way.”

Hastily, the Dursleys turned to leave. But Tom, not quite able to reign in his anger, grabbed Uncle Vernon by the shoulder and punched him very hard in the nether regions. There was a loud chorus of laughter and gleeful clapping as the hysterical couple all but fled from the castle.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the ‘not harming them’?”

“He deserved it.” Tom said shortly, pulling him into a fierce embrace.

“Mm,” Harry buried his face in his chest. “I suppose so.”

“Well, what did you want me to do? Turn him into a pig?”

“What would be the difference?"

Tom chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Chapter Text

Five Years Later

Professor Tom Riddle stood waiting outside the Headmaster's study, flicking through a pile of atrocious third-year essays and occasionally glancing up at the clock. Technically he was meant to be teaching a lesson at the moment, but he was confident that the sixth years could handle themselves for an hour without blowing up the school.

Then the door opened and a breathless, very happy Harry Potter came spilling out of it, a huge grin on his face.

Tom felt his own lips quirk upwards. "How did it go?"

"I got it! I got the job!" Harry was almost jumping up and down with excitement. "You are now speaking to no less than the Head Librarian of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Would you like me to curtsey?"

"Oh shut up."

Harry tucked an arm through his and they began to make their way down the corridor.

"Well he was obviously going to pick you," said Tom. "You are the Saviour of Hogwarts after all."

Harry groaned. "Is the Prophet still calling me that?"

"Unfortunately. At least you've got me to keep your head from being blown up out of proportion."

"Oi! Bit rich coming from you - and aren't you meant to be in class right now?"

"I'm a teacher darling, the rules don't apply to me."

"You wish."

"Anyway, I wasn't going to miss out on the opportunity to congratulate my lovely fiancé on landing his first job was I?" Tom stopped and pulled him into a hug. "Well done."

Harry smiled against his shoulder. The silver ring that sat on his finger glinted in the sunlight.

They both started at the sound of music suddenly drifting down from upstairs. Perhaps it was the radio in Professor Flitwick's office. The piece was a gentle, oddly familiar piano melody.

"Do you recognise it?" Tom murmured.

"Our first dance," Harry smiled again. "I've had a lot more practice since then."

"You're still terrible."

Harry trod on his toes in response.

Laughing, they both began to waltz slowly on the spot, memories of past days and old songs washing over them.

For the last five years had been full of surprises for Harry. Who would have guessed that old Mr Ollivander was actually a wandmaker, or that Flourish and Blotts sold magical textbooks? (Come to think of it, that was probably how it had remained in business, as Harry had been the only villager who set foot in there at all.) His mind wandered, to the teachers who had returned with new energy to their posts, to Sirius who now had his own thriving workshop in Diagon Alley, to Dobby, who had been promoted to Hogwarts Head Chef.

And who could have foreseen that he would still be with Tom after all these years, despite all odds - and for the first time in his life, truly happy. The days of provincial malcontent and cursed castles seemed very far away now.

Then suddenly, there was a loud giggle from behind one of the statues, followed by a lot of high-pitched 'sssh!'ing.

Tom's eyes narrowed.

"Weasley! Granger! Back to class this instant! And twenty points from Gryffindor!"

There was a scuffle and then two first years flew back down the corridor. The boy, all red hair and freckles, was laughing loudly whilst the girl, bushy-haired and buck-toothed, reprimanded him.

"Honestly Ronald, it's not funny!"

"Are you kidding? 'Mione, this is brilliant! Not even Fred and George can say they've seen Professor Riddle actually smile!"

"Forty points!" Tom barked after them.

"They'll get married one day." Harry decided.

"I thought you were the Librarian, not the Divination teacher."

"Oh, I multitask. Little bit of magic, little bit of bookkeeping, some curse-breaking on the side."

Tom rolled his eyes and Harry laughed again, pulling him towards the stairs, half-dancing, half-walking. The smiling Beauty and his Beast.