Chapter Text
Chapter XVII:
Harry's POV:
The second the words left his mouth, Harry Potter knew he'd have to run. He turned on his heel and sprinted down the hall with Dudley on his heels. He was scrambling up the stairs now, if he could just get to his room, to his best friend, to his only source of protection–
Harry yelped as he felt one of Dudley's large clammy hands grab his ankle. He thrashed his legs wildly, trying to free himself from his cousin's grip, but to no avail. Dudley yanked him by the leg and he lost his grip on the top stair, enabling Dudley to drag him back down the stairs.
The friction of Petunia's hideous floral carpet left angry burns on Harry's elbows and Dudley pushed him roughly against the wall making him wince as he felt the end of the banister dig into the small of his back. There was a part of Harry that was screaming at him to fight back, the same part of him that Hermione had ruthlessly trained in hand-to-hand fighting for the better part of a year, but a childhood of torment suffered at Dudley's hands and the steep price he'd paid whenever he fought back had Harry's deeply ingrained instincts kicking in, turning pliant in his cousin's grip.
Dudley was about three times his size and the fist that collided sharply with his jaw had Harry seeing stars as pain exploded across his face and there was already another punch fast approaching his left eye.
And then Dudley screamed and practically threw himself off to the side, his fist only clipping the side of Harry's chin. The cause for Dudley's distress was the very reason Harry had so urgently tried to reach his room.
The beautiful silver-grey snake at the top of the stairs reared its head, spitting angrily with its fangs bared ready to strike. Harry, as he slid down so he was sitting and lifted his hand to gingerly prod his already swelling jaw couldn't help the dark enjoyment he felt at the sight of Dudley's distress.
::I am going to kill him!:: hissed his best friend Hermione Granger from where she was poised ready to strike at the top of the stairs.
As far as Harry knew, Hermione was the only witch who had ever been able to achieve an animagus transformation at twelve years old. A Muggleborn in Slytherin, even at age fourteen Hermione was known as the brightest witch of her age and promised to be one of the most powerful witches of their time.
And she had secrets. Secrets that only he knew; dark, dangerous and disquieting secrets, not the least of which being that Hermione was a murderer. His best friend had killed people, or at least played a significant role in their deaths. Some of them had deserved it like her first "victim", a Muggle pedophile who had murdered Hermione's young charge. And some who didn't, like their old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Gilderoy Lockhart, who had been torn apart by Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest.
But Harry loved Hermione. She was his first friend and he'd do anything and everything for her. It was Hermione who had helped him uncover the truth about the manipulations of Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts. Dumbledore had wanted to groom Harry into becoming an ideal weapon and an icon for the Light– and he'd wanted Harry to become a killer.
But the old man's plans had been ruined when Hermione appeared in his life and blasted them to smithereens. Harry trusted Hermione more then he trusted anyone else in this world and he knew that despite her default wariness and mistrust of the world in general, Hermione trusted him.
In some ways, Hermione's life wasn't dissimilar to his own. Kindred spirits, she'd called them, when they first met on the train on the way to Hogwarts. Hermione's parents had died in a car accident when she was only three and Hermione had spent the next three years living in an orphanage run by abusive nuns before running away at age six. From then on, she'd lived on the streets under the name Jane.
Harry had spent the last summer as a runaway, living on the streets with her and it had been the strangest but best summer of his life. This year, though, Dumbledore had made sure he couldn't leave the Dursleys. The old bastard had spouted shit like it was for Harry's own good as he trapped Harry with his abusive relatives with magical wards that tied him within a hundred meters of Number Four Privet Drive at all times.
That's when Hermione had come up with her plan and had joined him at his home in Privet Drive as his pet snake, a disguise that neither Dumbledore nor anyone else had managed to see through. Hermione had sworn that she wouldn't let Harry come to any harm which was what had led to their current situation.
"MUM! DAD! THERE'S A SNAKE IN THE HOUSE!" Dudley wailed as Hermione slid down the stairs, her dark, shiny eyes fixed on the large, blonde boy. There was the sound of stampeding feet like a herd of elephants was running through the house and seconds later the large form of his uncle emerged from the living room.
Vernon Dursley was a large, beefy man with very little neck and a lot of moustache. He also had a pink scar on his face, like a wonky 'U', that Hermione had carved into him last summer in retaliation for his treatment of Harry. Behind his Uncle was Petunia Dursley; Vernon's wife, Dudley's mother and Harry's dead mother's sister. Petunia resembled some kind of sickly horse with her long neck and stick-thin body and his Aunt let out a shrill scream as she caught sight of Hermione, clutching at Vernon's arm.
"Vernon! Vernon! Do something!" she demanded shrilly.
"You! Boy! What have you done?" Bellowed Vernon, pointing a shaking finger in Harry's direction. Harry scowled at Vernon.
"If Dudley hadn't attacked me then she wouldn't be attacking you." He snapped.
Harry's feelings regarding his relatives had moved into a very dark territory. For a long time, although Harry didn't love them– hell he didn't even like them– he'd never seriously considered killing the Dursleys or asking one of his more bloodthirsty acquaintances to have them killed. He'd just fantasized about it.
Dark thoughts for a teenager to have, but eleven years of hell twisted a boy and over the past two years being best friends with Hermione had made his morals a lot more flexible as well as loosening some of his... darker inhibitions.
So as Hermione, in her highly venomous form, slid towards the Dursleys Harry found himself wondering whether or not he should stop her or if he even wanted to.
The answer to the latter was no– he didn't want to stop her. But to his dismay, he found himself speaking up against his wishes. ::Stop. You can't kill them:: he hissed to Hermione who stilled and turned her black, shiny stare on him. ::Not yet at least:: he added, wanting to appease her.
::Your heart is too big:: she informed him, before slithering over and winding herself around him so she was draped over his neck in a similar manner to which her mangy fleabag of a cat, Iago, was usually draped around hers. Except Iago had stayed at Hogwarts this summer, keeping the old caretaker company as Argus Filch's cat was still Petrified thanks to Hermione setting fire to the greenhouse where the mandrakes had been kept in order to set up Lockhart.
He knew Hermione felt bad about that– which was probably the only part of the whole Chamber of Secrets mess she felt any guilt for– but it had been necessary to frame Lockhart as the person responsible murdering two students and Petrifying several more. The official story was Lockhart had faked the opening of the Chamber of Secrets for the plot in his newest book as a lengthy investigation into him had revealed that the man was a fraud who stole other witches and wizards achievements to pass off as his own.
According to most, the Chamber of Secrets was still just a myth and Lockhart was the culprit behind all the attacks. Harry, however, wasn't part of the "most" and neither was Hermione. They both knew the truth, that it had been Lord Voldemort who'd opened the Chamber through Ginny Weasley. He'd used a diary in which he had preserved some sort of living, breathing version of his sixteen-year-old self that had possessed the girl and used her life-force to give him enough strength to form his own body. And now that diary was in Hermione's care.
"Boy," Vernon's voice was low and calm which was a danger sign in and of itself. Harry couldn't help but cringe slightly. Hermione– no, Tox she'd told him to call 'snake-her' if anyone discovered her or she had to reveal herself in a situation like this– tightened her coils around his neck in a gesture that was comforting rather then threatening. "What is that?"
Uncle Vernon had been far more manageable since Hermione had threatened him last summer, barely speaking to Harry at all which he'd been more then fine with. He was pretty sure this was the longest they'd been in the same room since McGonagall had dropped him off at the end of the school year.
"This is Tox," Harry said somewhat awkwardly through his stiff and swollen jaw.
"Get rid of it." Vernon's voice left no room for argument. Harry had to steel up his courage for what was about to happen next– his first real altercation with the Dursleys since his return, five weeks ago.
Harry had been making quite the effort to stay out of the Dursleys way this summer. He only sat down to eat with them at dinner, skipping breakfast and lunch with them by making his own when they were out of the way. Other then that, he'd spent most of his time in his room reading, practicing his wandless magic, doing his homework and cursing Dumbledore's existence. In fact, until a little earlier when he'd finally snapped and angrily retorted to Dudley's goading he'd successfully managed to avoid any conflict at all.
Gritting his teeth then immediately regretting it as his sore jaw sent sharp bolts of pain radiating through his face, Harry met his uncle's piggy stare. "No." He said simply.
"No?" Vernon's face was rapidly going purple which made the scar stand out even more and the vein in his head pulsed in a thoroughly unpleasant manner. "No?"
"No," Harry repeated with a calm he most certainly didn't feel. "I didn't stutter. Tox is mine and she's staying here." This caused an immediate explosion.
"GET RID OF IT!" Bellowed Vernon, advancing on him with clenched fists. Immediately, Tox reared up hissing, fangs bared and body poised to strike. Vernon froze and Petunia and Dudley both made horrified sounds. Summoning his energy, Harry hauled himself to his feet and traded with the Dursleys looks of absolute loathing.
"Tox is staying. If you try doing anything, I'll let her kill you." His words had their desired impact causing Petunia's face to go white, her hands clutching her chest while Dudley let out a frightened wail. Vernon looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.
"GO TO YOUR ROOM! NOW!" He thundered and Harry didn't spare the obese walrus another glance, instead striding up the steps and into his room and shoving the door shut behind him. Tox slid from his neck and flowed into her natural form, her human form.
"Collorportus." She said, touching her hand to the door.
Hermione had read in their first year that the Trace applied to underage witches and wizards only picked up magic used through wands– any magic cast wandlessly the Ministry wouldn't be alerted to. She had then proceeded to spend the last two years teaching both of them to use as much wandless magic as possible. Harry wasn't as good at it as Hermione, as a childhood of using her magic to help keep her alive meant Hermione had an instinctive grasp of wandless magic that most adult witches and wizards couldn't match, but thanks to her help– or, as he liked to refer to it as, her strict, compulsory, merciless training regime– Harry's knowledge and ability was far beyond that of a normal almost-third year.
The door to his bedroom gleamed as if covered with a layer of film and Hermione stepped back with a satisfied look on her face. "No one's getting in here." She stated with absolute certainty before turning to him, her eyes narrowing. "You should have let me kill them."
Harry sighed, crossing the room and sitting heavily on his bed. "Dumbledore would have known I'd had something to do with it." He mumbled through his swollen jaw, "I mean, the Dursleys dying from a snake bite and me being a Parselmouth? Even Dudley would be able to connect the dots."
It should disturb him, he mused, that he talked about killing the Dursleys or letting them die with such nonchalance. But the truth was, he simply didn't care if they lived or died. Not anymore. No, he, Harry James Potter, did not give a flying fuck whether or not his relatives were murdered. In fact, he rather hoped they were or that they'd all die in some horribly 'tragic' accident.
Hermione crossed the room to sit next to him, a concerned look on her face and muted anger in her eyes as she took in the bruise. "I've got saddling solution and bruise paste in the bag in my satchel." She told him.
"Oh thank god." Harry groaned, relieved.
Hermione's satchel was currently hanging on the back of his door and she rarely went anywhere without it– for years it had carried all her worldly possessions and even now it was filled with everything she liked to have on hand, from a set of vicious looking blades to a worn copy of 'The Complete Works of Poe'.
Harry pulled the small leather bag she was talking about from the satchel and stuck his arm in it up to his elbow, rummaging around for the paste. The bag was a more recent addition– it hadn't been cheap, even secondhand, but it contained a nearly infinite amount of space to store things. It took Harry nearly five minutes to locate the bruise paste and swelling solution from amongst all the contents and he gratefully lathered them both on his chin, sighing in relief as a good portion of the pain ebbed away and he didn't need a mirror to know that the bruises would have changed from black-purple in color, to yellow-green.
As he went to replace the paste and solution with Hermiones other emergency medical supplies– both muggle and magical– his hand brushed against a familiar leather cover that stung his hand. "Ow." He complained, picking up the small black diary in question so he could glare at it. The pages fluttered and the figure of an older boy appeared in his room beside Harry. The boy was sixteen, very handsome and happened to be the younger self of Lord Voldemort. His name was Tom Riddle.
"Ouch." The older boy commented, raising an eyebrow at Harry's bruised chin as he crossed the room to lounge down across Harry's bed, next to Hermione. She glared halfheartedly at the older boy but to be honest they'd both started to accept Tom's presence– five weeks of being in close quarters with someone and you were bound to exchange more then a few awkward hellos. Tom was insanely smart, very charismatic, manipulative in a way no Slytherin could help but admire and had a certain dry wit about him that would make Snape proud.
When Harry met Tom for the first time and learned just what Hermione had sacrificed and the risks she'd taken in order to clear his name after the Weasleys, who'd blamed him for the death of their sister, had beat him half to death over the whole Chamber of Secrets mess, Harry had been furious with her. But Hermione had stubbornly dug her heels in and said she'd do it again a hundred times if she had to and said she knew he'd have done the same thing if he was in her shoes. Knowing when he was defeated, Harry had reluctantly admitted she was right and they'd decided to make the best of the situation they'd found themselves in.
At first Harry had been extremely wary of Tom– and he still was to a degree– but the... memory or shade or whatever Tom was had slowly but surely started winning Harry over. It might be because of the fact he'd been trapped with the other boy in Number Four Privet for over a month now and the frequent exposure and boredom had led to a growing fondness of the younger counterpart of Lord Voldemort. Or maybe it was because Hermione seemed to mostly get along with Tom and Harry trusted her judgment.
Well, he trusted her judgment in everything but her killing his relatives.
"Dudley." Harry answered Tom's unspoken question about how he'd gotten the bruise with a shrug. Tom narrowed his eyes.
"My older self would be happy to dispose of those muggles."
Harry let out a small groan. "If you guys keep offering to get rid of them, one day I won't have enough strength to say no." He complained.
"You've figured out our master plan," Tom smirked, "what a pity. Now we'll have to kill you."
"Good luck with that." Harry told him grumpily before sitting down on his desk chair, seeing as Tom had stolen his spot on the bed. He spun the chair around a few times, trying to alleviate his boredom.
"Why don't you do your homework, if you're that bored." Hermione suggested, seemingly reading his thoughts.
"Oh I'm not that bored yet." Harry assured her. "But if you've got any other ideas, I'd be open to them." He added, after a short pause. Hermione gave him a mischievous smile.
"Want to play poker?"
It didn't take Harry long to bow out of the game and instead sit back and watch Tom and Hermione battle it out with fascination, all traces of boredom long gone. Both the geniuses were card-sharks and smart enough to do something Hermione called 'counting cards' to cheat.
Except Hermione claimed it wasn't cheating since it technically wasn't against the rules and was a natural and automatic ability for people who were skilled enough at maths and had excellent recall skills. Needless to say Harry fit neither category and had been losing miserably against the two.
Miserably.
Deciding that it would probably be safer to stay out of the Dursleys way, Harry skipped dinner and spent the rest of the day in his room. He fell asleep that night next to Hermione, both of them kind of squished on the small single bed but happy enough for the comfort the close proximity to each other brought that they didn't really mind.
Tom had returned into the diary to preserve his strength which had increased dramatically since absorbing the life force of Ginny Weasley, killing the girl in the process, but still wasn't strong enough to allow him to leave the diary for extended periods of time.
Harry slept soundly that night and woke at seven the next morning with the realization that he was now thirteen years old.
-
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Hermione's POV:
Hermione couldn't help but smile at the expression on Harry's face when he saw the pile of presents at the end of his bed. She knew that Harry didn't look forward to his birthday like most children– instead, he barely seemed to remember it. But this year was different; this year Hermione had made sure that everyone knew when Harry's birthday was, thanks to a few dropped hints to certain people in the Slytherin Common Room.
She'd woken up early that morning to open the window in Harry's bedroom in readiness for the inevitable long stream of owls. She'd then untied the parcels and shooed each owl away before placing the present it had delivered at the foot of the bed.
Although Harry had always been treated well in Slytherin, it wasn't until last year that he had really earned the respect, and even the admiration, of his House. The revelations of Harry being a Parselmouth and the suspicions the Slytherins all had that Harry had had a large part in the events surrounding the opening of the Chamber of Secrets– which technically wasn't a complete lie– were the causes of his raised status in the House, something Harry felt slightly uncomfortable about but Hermione was happy to use to their advantage for him.
One such advantage including making sure Harry's birthday this year was one he'd never forget.
"Happy birthday!" she grinned and he beamed up at her.
"You are the best friend anyone could have." He told her before just about bouncing out of bed to start opening his presents.
He seemed to be thrilled with them all but it was the note from their friend Draco Malfoy that seemed to delight him the most.
Dear Harry,
Compared to all the excitement of last year, this summer's been quite dull. I hope those filthy muggles haven't been causing you any problems.
I've been missing your company, I have to admit, and I've tried to invite you over to spend the final few weeks of the holidays at the Manor– Mother in particular is quite fond of you and Hermione– but Uncle Severus says that the headmaster will not allow you to leave your disgusting relatives' house.
I'll need you to tell Hermione about the invitation as, like you, she's welcome to come stay at the Manor anytime and I know that you'll be able to get into contact her– I tried sending her a letter by owl but it just looked at me confused.
Anyway– happy birthday.
Sincerely,
Draco A. Malfoy
"He sounds like an obnoxious prat even on paper." She said with a snort and beside her Harry burst out laughing.
The most unusual present Harry had received was the one from Hagrid. He'd opened the rectangular shaped package and a book of all things had fallen out. Hermione barely had time to register the handsome green cover, emblazoned with the golden title 'The Monster Book of Monsters', before it flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways along the bed like some weird crab.
"Uh-oh." Harry muttered and Hermione couldn't help but groan.
The book toppled off the mattress with a loud clunk and shuffled rapidly across the room. After trading bewildered looks, Harry followed it stealthily while Hermione sat back and watched in amusement. The book was hiding in the dark space under his desk and Hermione watched with an expectant grin as he dropped onto his hands and knees and reached toward it. She wasn't disappointed.
"Ouch!" Harry yelped as the book snapped shut on his hand and then flapped past him, still scuttling on its covers. Hermione almost fell off the bed she was laughing so hard as Harry scrambled around after it, eventually throwing himself forward and managing to flatten it.
Hedwig, perched on the edge of the windowsill, watched interestedly as Harry struggled to clamp the struggling book tightly in his arms. Finally getting off the bed now that her ankles were safe, a still giggling Hermione crossed the room and pulled a belt out of the chest of drawers and tossed it over to him. Harry quickly buckled it tightly around the book which shuddered angrily but could no longer flap and snap.
Harry threw it on the bed, disgruntled, and reached for the accompanying card.
Dear Harry, Hagrid had written,
Happy birthday!
Think you might find this useful for next year. Won't say no more here. Tell you when I see you.
Hope the Muggles are treating you right.
Say hello to Hermione for me!
All the best,
Hagrid
"At least we know this year's not going to be boring." She noted before handing over a letter stamped with a Hogwarts crest. Harry opened it and pulled out the first page of parchment within. It was a letter from Snape.
Mr. Potter,
I've included Miss Granger's booklist and Hogsmeade form in here as I have no doubt that unlike the rest of us you'll be able to contact her.
Professor Snape
"Short, brief and to the point." She noted.
"Everyone seems to expect I know where you are." Harry complained.
"Which you do." She reminded him.
"Yeah, but I'd look really stupid if I didn't." He muttered.
Rolling her eyes, Hermione fished out the booklist which was underneath the two permission slips for Hogsmeade.
Harry, however, seemed more interested in the forms. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to visit Hogsmeade?" He sighed, "just think– it's a village entirely for witches and wizards!"
"What makes you think you can't go?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I need the Dursleys to sign the permission slip," Harry pointed out, "and I don't exactly see them doing that."
"Harry," Hermione said slowly, as if she was explaining something to a small child, "you have a highly dangerous pet snake that obeys your every command. I highly doubt you'll have a problem getting the Dursleys to sign." Harry's face instantly lit up with a wicked grin.
"You're an evil genius, you know that, right?"
"You tend to remind me of the fact at least once a day," She replied dryly. Practically bouncing up and down, Harry grabbed the permission slip and headed for the door.
"Hurry up Tox," he called over his shoulder and with another roll of her eyes, Hermione let the sensation of changing into her animagus form wash over her until instead of a human she was a snake, darting across the floor with quick movements and then being scooped up into Harry's arms. He lifted her onto his shoulders where she draped herself lazily, feeling a sadistic sort of excitement for what was about to happen.
Harry went down to breakfast where the Dursleys were already sitting around the kitchen table, watching a brand-new television– a welcome-home-for-the-summer present for Dudley. Dudley had spent most of the summer in the kitchen, his piggy little eyes fixed on the screen and his five chins wobbling as he ate continually.
Of course, as Harry sat down the television was instantly and abruptly forgotten, all three gazes now turned to her and, by extension, Harry. Tox flickered her tongue, enjoying the taste of fear in the air.
"Morning," Harry smiled brightly before placing the form on the table. "I need you to sign this, Aunt Petunia." Petunia opened her mouth, no doubt to throw a shrill negative at Harry, when Tox raised her head and hissed threateningly. Petunia paled and stood up, crossing the kitchen to retrieve a pen before returning to the table and signing the form with a hand that shook slightly.
"Thanks," Harry said just as brightly, before tucking the form in his pocket and helping himself to a piece of toast. He looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway through a report on an escaped convict:
'...the public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hot line has been set up and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately...'
"No need to tell us he's no good," snorted Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. "Look at the state of him, the filthy lay-about! Look at his hair!" He shot a nasty look sideways at Harry. According to her best friend, Vernon had always found his nephew's untidy hair to be a source of great annoyance. Of course, when she gave a warning hiss, raising her head to fix the walrus man with a snake-y version of a glare, Vernon hastily looked back over at the television.
Tox turned her gaze over to the television too, mildly interested by the image of the gaunt face displayed on the screen that was surrounded by a matted elbow length tangle of hair. As the reporter reappeared, Tox noted something strange.
The reporter hadn't told them where Black had escaped from.
Vernon, still eyeing her nervously, drained his teacup, glanced at his watch and said, "I'd better be off in a minute, Pet. Marge's train gets in at ten." Tox felt Harry tense beneath her.
"Aunt Marge?" he blurted out, "She– she's not coming here, is she?"
::Who's Aunt Marge?:: asked Tox, enjoying the nervous, frightened looks on the Dursleys faces as Harry hissed back to her, speaking to her in Parseltongue, a language which only she, Harry, Voldemort– and by extension Tom– could speak.
::Vernon's sister. Last time she visited her dog chased me up a tree and the hag didn't call him off until past midnight::
Tox let out an angry sound, turning venomous eyes towards each of the Dursleys in turn. They all shrank back from her stare and she could taste the fear in the room which had spiked in potency.
"Y-yes," Vernon stammered, before clearing his throat and drawing himself up, trying not to look as intimidated as it was. "And while we're on the subject, we need to get a few things straight before I go and collect her."
::Act like Snape:: Tox hissed to him. Under her, she felt Harry straighten up slightly, shifting his posture to mimic that of their Head of House.
"Do tell," Harry said to Vernon in a cool voice.
"Firstly, you'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking to Marge." Vernon blustered, obviously trying to take control over the situation.
"As long as she returns the favor." Harry curled his lip in a move worthy of Snape and Tox hissed her approval.
"Secondly," Vernon said, acting as though he hadn't heard Harry's reply. The man's blustering was quite amusing– Tox could taste his panic and it was delicious. "Marge doesn't know anything about your frea– school stuff," Vernon hastily corrected, seeing Tox once again turn her head to look at him, "s-so no doing anything funny while she's here, like talking to that snake." Harry arched an eyebrow.
"I'll consider it." He drawled and Vernon had to take several deep breaths before continuing, his mean little eyes now slits in his great purple face.
"We've told Marge you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys." He informed Harry who promptly burst out into laughter.
"Thanks for the warning," he chortled when he managed to calm himself down, "I'll try and remember that." Her best friend then took a few quick breaths, before reassuming his cold mask. "'Course, if Marge doesn't behave herself, I might get angry and start to forget..." His voice trailed off, threat clear.
Feeling smug, Tox flicked her tongue at the Dursleys, in an immature gesture they couldn't quite appreciate while she was in her snake form, and Harry stood up to make his way back to his bedroom.
Tox flowed back into Hermione the moment he placed her on the bed and she couldn't help but start snickering. "Well that was amusing."
"What was?" Tom asked, the Diary lying innocently open on Harry's desk and the older boy in his corporal form.
"Harry threatening the zoo downstairs," Hermione explained. "I thought the walrus was going to blow up he was that pissed."
"Zoo?" Harry asked.
"The walrus, the horse and I'm tossing up between blubber whale and hog for dear old Dudders." She clarified.
"Darling Duddykins? Definitely a blubber whale." Tom drawled, "Calling him a hog is an insult to pigs everywhere– they're actually quite clean, intelligent animals."
"They are?" Harry asked at the same time as she huffed and said,
"I know that."
"'Course you do." Harry threw his hands up in the air dramatically which caused her to shove him, before turning back to the topic at hand.
"So what are we going to do about Marge?"
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, sounding confused as he looked over at her.
"Who's Marge?" was Tom's question from where he was leaning back against the wall now and looking amused. Hermione grinned.
"The walrus's sister. She's been told Harry goes to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys." Tom sneered at that, his lip curling, but he did seem amused by the lie. Really, it was hard not to be.
"Tell us about this Marge, Harry." Tom ordered the younger boy and Harry frowned at both of them before walking over to his bed and flopping down on it.
"You're going to do something horrible to her whether I tell you about her or not, aren't you?" he asked, looking up at the ceiling instead of at them. She and Tom traded evil grins. Well, she grinned– Tom's expression looked more like the lovechild of a sneer and a smirk.
"Oh Harry," she told her best friend, affectionately, "You know us so well."
"She loves dogs." Harry mused, rolling over so he could look at them both smirking wickedly back at him. "She breeds bulldogs. Her favorite one's called Ripper. He always comes with her, wherever she goes. He chased me up a tree last time she visited and didn't let me down for hours. It was dark by the time Marge called him off."
"Looks like Ripper's going to meet Tox." Hermione said, her voice a purr and her irises darkening briefly to the shiny, coal black color of her animagus form. Tom laughed, the ice-cold sound of it thrilling in a way she couldn't quite identify, and Harry didn't seem to be able to help his own reluctant smile.
Hermione got the feeling it was going to be a very entertaining few days.