Triple Trouble

by E4mj

Summary:

Dumbledore would regret the decision to hand over the school letters to the house elves, even if it did save him hours in admin. Eleven year old Harry Potter was expected... Tom Riddle and Gellert Grindelwald... yeah, not so much. However they might turn out to be the least of the school's problems.

Chapter 1: Letter...s

To Mr. H Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little whinging, Surrey

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Harry's hands shook in either rage or amusement, he wasn't too sure which. He had been forcibly woken this morning by his Aunt Petunia's screeching. Even so, he hadn't quite believed it. He had died... But he was back. Harry absently tossed the letter down on the table and dug through the side table to find appropriate paper to reply with. Vernon made a sort of aborted whimper as Harry picked out the man's best pen to reply. Harry purposely pressed too hard, damaging the nib. Other than the scratching of the fountain pen, the kitchen remained silent. With a flourish Harry signed his name and walked over to the back door opening it and looking expectantly at the sky. A moment later one of the Hogwarts owls dislodged itself from the tree it had been waiting in and flew down to collect the reply.
"Come, Vernon. I wish you to drive me to London."
Harry's uncle went from dark red to a violent shade of purple. Harry smirked, and wiggled his fingers, causing Dudley to start spinning on the spot, where he was hanging upside down from invisible strings in the air. He looked like he wanted to scream. Silencing charms were so handy.
"If you're good, I'll let them down when we return." Harry added. On the ceiling next to him, Petunia whimpered. Harry hadn't silenced the elder Dursleys, just told them if they made too much noise then Dudley would never make any noise ever again.
Diagon alley… Harry hadn't been there in decades. Harry didn't have his Gringotts key yet, but that wasn't going to stop him. He was feeling vindictive, and this time around Vernon would pay for his first year gear. Harry had already summoned the man's wallet and emptied it. After all, Vernon wouldn't need any money while waiting all day in the car. Besides, it may seem like decades ago to Harry that Dudley had spent the day before prodding him with his smelting stick, but Harry's eleven year old body still had the bruises from 'yesterday'.
The smirk on Harry's lips widened. This time things would be very different.

---

To Mr T Riddle
The Attic room at St Peter's orphanage
384 Gleebson Rd
Hartlepool, Durham

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Riddle,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Oh this was precious. Tom had been mildly horrified to wake up in his eleven year old body, but seeing as he had been dead just moments earlier, he had soon got over any squeamishness. The only problem being that he clearly didn't have any horcruxes (he still couldn't believe the Potter brat had managed to find them all!) and when he had accosted his roommate to exterminate it for just such a ritual, Tom's very being (Tom supposed you could call it his soul) had struggled with everything it had and the boy survived (though even after a memory charm he had immediately begged to sleep on the floor in the next room over, rather than stay with Tom).
The majority of Tom had been locked in cold lonely objects for decades and apparently had no interest in being separated from his body again. It was utterly frustrating. In the mean time Tom had tied his life to seven of his fellow orphans so he had some protection, though it was minimal as it was slowly draining them and would probably only last a year or two before they perished. But really, Tom wasn't some weak eleven year old, even if his body looked it. He didn't remember much of the previous eleven years this body had lived, but he was familiar with malnutrition, and with the scars dotting his arms from cigarette burns. When the teenage blonde muggle and his six followers stinking of smokes had turned up to torment Tom that morning while the matron was distracted, they had not been prepared for a fully fuming Dark Lord. even without his wand he was still more than capable enough to incapacitate them.
But Tom was being distracted.
His eyes fell back on the parchment, then flicked to a calendar with insipid puppies hanging above his (ex-)roommates bed. It was summer of '91 and for a moment Tom contemplated whether or not it was worth the risk of going to Hogwarts. He had protection from any of the more deadly of the old man's plots for at least this year, and both Potter and the Philosophers stone would be conveniently in one place. Practically tied up with a bow ready and waiting for Tom to steal/annihilate them.
Yes.
With a decisive nod Tom stalked over to the tiny window and opened it. While he waited for the Hogwarts owl he penned a carefully worded response. The letter's ink was in purple not green, so Ravenclaw's Quill had included him on the list of those that didn't need a staff introduction, which was something at least. Mcgonagall couldn't have read the names when she was signing the pile (otherwise no doubt half of the Light-side would have stormed the orphanage) and when she received Tom's reply Hogwarts' magic would accept him and there would be nothing that they could (legally) do. Perhaps he would amuse himself and toy with them for a little while. There would be no proof, after all, that Tom Riddle was anything more than an unfortunately named eleven year old. Perhaps his past didn't even exist here? Hell, Tom was still tossing up between time travel and an alternate universe. Though the second seemed more likely as he had died first.
Merlin but he wanted to throttle the Potter brat!

---

To Mr G Grindelwald
Room 9 at Pickleberry Field Orphanage
1 Hillside Lane
Doorchester, Dorset

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Grindelwald,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Gellert was fully fluent in English, but it had been such a long time since he'd had anything to read, in any language, that it took him far longer than he would like to admit, to register even the address. Then he had got stuck on the second line of the letter. Albus bloody Dumbledore! Gellert glared at the letter, then at the owl that was now perched on a low branch of the bush Gellert was concealed behind.

In his time as a Dark Lord Gellert had experienced some odd things. He had always terrible luck with rituals. They never hurt him, however they often didn't do exactly what he expected. He had once spent a full two weeks as some sort of fish-centuar hybrid when trying to gain mage-sight.
But this took the cake.
He was eleven. And he was free! Gods but he was never building a inescapable prison ever again! It was rather sad when an upstart Dark Lord coming to raid your mind and kill you was a welcome distraction.

Much to the orphanage staff's dismay Gellert had spent the majority of the morning flitting around the small adjacent park like some crazy animal. But Gellert didn't care. He had spent a good ten minutes rubbing his face against the freshly cut grass.
Fortunately he had come enough to his senses to do some quick wandless compulsions. The staff had been taking turns warily following him around while the rest of them held a panicked meeting about one of their charges going stark raving mad overnight. It wasn't like Gellert cared, they were just muggle filth, but he had put his foot down the moment they mentioned sending him to some asylum. He would not be being locked up.
Eventually, some time in the late afternoon (and safe from insipid staff breakdowns, now they were under permanent compulsions to prioritise other things) Gellert finally realised he had also been stalked all day by a large barn owl. Then any remaining sanity he could lay claim to left him as he realised that he had received an invitation to Albus bloody Dumbledore's school!
After Gellert calmed down from a slightly hysterical laughing fit he had re-read the letter with some more rational thought.
Clearly something odd was going on here. Albus was dead. Hell, come to think of it, Gellert was dead. So after calming down a little Gellert had delved into his ritual-enhanced mindscape (which he had achieved when he had been trying to gain the ability to fly) and searched out the memory of death. He had died, but the death-magic he had felt then was still tingling lightly on his skin when he woke up that morning too. Clearly Death (the entity) had something to do with this, and frankly, Gellert was delighted. unlike the majority of Dark Lords throughout history Gellert had little interest in avoiding death beyond a reasonable lifetime. No he wanted to work with Death… preferably for an eternity. He had actually begun studying as a Necromancer but one of the first rituals botched itself and made the option impossible, so he had resigned himself to planning muggle domination and genocide instead.
But this appeared to be a gift from Death.
What is more, so long as the rest of this universe was in line with the original one, Albus bloody Dumbledore had his wand. And the old fool had invited him to his school. Or at least, Gellert had received an invitation which (if Hogwarts was anything like Durmstrang) once initiated couldn't be withdrawn. Hogwarts always had been rather liberal. Gellert supposed that they must just have an automatic duplication charm on the school letters meaning their was no discrimination against letting the mudbloods into the school. Urgh! There was a reason Gellert hadn't attended Hogwarts after being expelled from Durmstrang. But still, this was just too much of an opportunity to pass over.
The Elder Wand was at Hogwarts, so to Hogwarts Gellert would go. And if that just so happened to open up the perfect opportunity for taunting his ex-lover, well.
Jauntily Gellert signed the acceptance reply and handed it to the owl that had been hovering around him. The owl flew off and Gellert toasted the sky with an invisible glass.
"To Albus bloody Dumbledore… may he enjoy my wand while he still has it."

Chapter 2: All sorted

 

Tom arrived at Platform nine and three quarters early, not wanting the opportunity for anything to come up that might get in the way of his going. He had stayed in London the night before in the magical section of a Hilton Hotel. Far less likely that someone might see him there than at one in Diagon, and liberating the orphanage nurse of her wallet, and the pin number to her silly little plastic card from her mind had been nothing. He had worn a glamour around Diagon to do his shopping, with only two glitches. The first was that the Goblins had been uncooperative. He would be able to access his old accounts, as his blood was the same, but only once he provided either his wand, his key, or waited the six month period filling out various paper work to sort it out. It was utterly frustrating. At least the orphan fund was a lot better in this time period. Plus he knew where to get bargains, and had skipped a lot of things that he knew could be found easily enough at Hogwarts.

The biggest glitch, however, was Ollivander. He had actually been hoping, if he were honest with himself, that he might have got Potter's wand before Potter could, but Potter had apparently already been. Also, Ollivander knew him. Fortunately, the man had been stupid enough not to say anything until after handing Tom a wand. It wasn't his wand, or even a wand that particularly liked him, but like he had told more than a few people in the previous incarnation whilst looking for the Death Stick, he did great things, regardless of the wand. It had been annoying that the wand didn't fit him, but he got by.

He obliviated Ollivander, but also forced him into a vow to keep the trip to himself. Eventually he got a Yew wand again, this time unicorn-blood core, an illegal wand, actually, though Ollivander (rightfully) didn't think he would care about that. Owning the wand wasn't illegal, just selling it. Tom was quite pleased with that - more insurance for the unlikely case that both his memory charm and the vow both failed. Apparently Ollivander experimented on the sly. Hypocritical Light fools.

 

 

There were only a few other students on the platform with their families, being only just past nine, so Tom made his way to a compartment. He headed to the section most Slytherin's usually did, intending to get his old compartment; three from the end of the second carriage. Abraxus had actually enchanted the seats in it to be ridiculously comfortable and to recline, if one knew the password, and Tom himself had carved Runes into the frame for privacy. His younger Death Eaters had confirmed the magic still existed in their time, so he presumed it still would now.

However, Tom walked down the carriage, only to pause having passed a boy in the second compartment. The boy was blonde, and quite good looking, he was already wearing Hogwarts robes, though they were clearly individually tailored, and not quite in the right style. Closer to duelling robes. He was looking out the window and minding his own business.

Tom stood in the hallway, quite still. Because the boy looked an awful lot like… but, no. He was…

Tom gripped the handle of his trunk hard, and thought. He hadn't considered the fact that other people might be included in whatever this was. It was not a pleasant thought. With a sharp nod, Tom turned his trunk, and made his way back to the boy's compartment, knocking sharply on the glass.

"Would you mind if I join you? You are a first year too, I assume?"

The blonde boy had still been staring strangely out the window, looking up at the sky, for reasons Tom couldn't fathom. He startled slightly at the knock, although Tom got the impression that was put on more than true surprise.

"What? Oh, yes, yes. Come in. I hear making friends is tradition on the train to Hogwarts. Strange, they just floo or portkey to Durmstrang." his accent was German, and thick.

"I'm Tom Marvolo Riddle, by the way." Tom offered, forcibly controlling the twitch at having to use his first name.

"Oh, you can call me Gel, for now. Has your family always gone to Hogwarts?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm not a mud-ggleborn?" Damn it. He would actually have to mind his words again, how utterly frustrating.

'Gel' kept an amiable face, and settled back into his seat further. "Your magic feels trained, you are wearing robes in traditional fashion, not the current rubbish - really those baggy designs are down right dangerous. What if I decide to duel someone in the halls, they will likely get caught in their voluminous robe-sleeves! Finally, your middle name is blatantly a wizarding name. Unless you are a-"

"No." Tom interrupted, sharply. Internally he winced some. Really, he hadn't had to watch his language or tone for decades. If someone took insult to it, he would crucio them until they realised the error of their ways and moved on. It was very practical. Still, he supposed there were always undetectable hexes if things got dire.

Apparently 'Gel' was quite unflappable, however, as he had gone back to looking up and out the window. Tom glanced there himself, but all he could see was sky, so he didn't know what was wrong with the boy.

"You have a German accent." Tom commented. "Your family isn't from England?"

'Gel' practically had his nose pressed against the glass, and didn't turn away to reply. "They are, actually, though I was raised in- … no, wait. I was raised here too, come to think of it. But Germany was home for a long time."

That ambiguous statement confirmed it for Tom. This was Gellert Grindelwald.

Tom scowled at the floor. This complicated things.

 

They didn't say much over the next hour or so, Gellert was fascinated by … something … outside, and Tom was staring at an open book, while his mind wandered. Plotting, if he were honest. Did that mean it was just he and Grindelwald? Was it just Dark Lords? Or would he find others shoved into their younger bodies out of time? Was this even the same universe? Certainly Ollivander knew who Tom Riddle was.

It got busier the closer it got to eleven. Tom very nearly cursed some joyfully screaming Hufflepuffs who were running amok up and down the hall. Fortunately (for them), Gellert dragged his nose away from the glass long enough to cast a silencing ward over their door before Tom's patience snapped.

"Thank you."

"Mm, they are were a bit loud, and clearly dull."

"Something about a acromantula, apparently." Tom added, he'd overheard a girl squealing about it. Urgh! Children. Maybe Tom would unleash the Basilisk on them again, just for kicks.

Gellert visibly perked up at the thought of the large spider. "As a pet? How lovely."

Tom pointedly didn't comment. Lovely?! Tom began to wonder if all that time locked up hadn't meddled with Grindelwald's brain… then again, he had been friends with Dumbledore before that, so possibly he wasn't all there to begin with?

 

Before Tom could decide whether to try and make an excuse to leave, as watching a rival Dark Lord was turning out to be rather a lot duller than he ever could have imagined, two things happened. The first was that Potter's bunch of red-heads made a very loud entrance onto the platform outside. And the second was that a large explosion on the same end of the platform quickly followed them.

Sadly, it wasn't an actual explosion, upon further observation.

"Wet-start fireworks, possibly combined with Dungbombs." Gellert commented from next to him, they were both peering out the window now at the chaos. "Someone will be unpopular with their parents."

Tom opened his mouth to comment himself, when there was a knock on their door.

Gellert didn't look away from the window, but Tom did.

 

Potter.

 

Tom's hand twitched towards his wand.

Potter, rude or ignorant as always, simply made his way into their compartment, and pushed his (unusually small?) trunk under the seat, rather than put it on the rack. Tom's eyebrow twitched. Surely he wouldn't get in that much trouble for a crucio or two? It wasn't like he couldn't break out of Azkaban anyway, if he was stupid enough to even stick around to get caught in the first place.

The Philosophers Stone. Tom reminded himself forcibly.

"Can we help you?" Tom sneered.

Potter, the brat, smiled widely. Naive. Tom noted.

Wait.

On second thoughts, this could be delightful.

"Oh, I imagine you could." Potter said, his voice bubbly. Gellert startled again like he had for Tom, equally as fake. He turned and took in Potter, a frown forming as he noticed the muggle attire. Potter had his outer robes on, but was wearing black denim pants and a dark green muggle dress shirt, not the white uniform. "I'm Harry Potter, by the way." Potter added, with that stupid crooked smile hanging off his lips.

Tom wanted to hit him.

"You can call me Gel, for now." Gellert offered again. Potter blinked owlishly, before the smile grew, then he turned to Tom.

"How about you?"

Tom hesitated, but then held out his hand, trying not to think of murder and torture as he forced his face into a kind looking smile. "I'm Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Potter looked at Tom's hand as if the concept of shaking hands were foreign, but after a moment he took it. It tingled, slightly, but Potter made no outward sign that he was in pain.

"Well met." Potter cheerily offered. "Are you both first years?"

It was probably lucky that the compartment door opened again at that moment, because Tom was half considering the killing curse in response to a content Potter. Only Tom's disposition didn't improve, because if there was anyone more annoying than Potter, it would have to be his Weasley. At least Potter put up a fairly decent (if inordinately lucky) fight, and his mudblood was intelligent enough that even Severus had been forced to acknowledge it (between insults). The youngest male Weasley wasn't even loyal, if Barty's reports had been correct. Tom sneered.

"Do you mind if I sit here, everywhere else is full?"

Tom very much doubted that. Amusement overtook disgust, for a moment. He wondered if it were the boy himself who was plotting, or if someone had put him up to gluing himself to Potter from day one.

"Lie."

Tom startled slightly, though he didn't flinch externally. He had almost completely forgotten about Gellert. Potter was still smiling (Tom wanted to peel the skin off his cheeks until he was crying), but he didn't comment, merely looking curiously between Gellert and the Weasley.

Weasley spluttered. "Wha-, well, I mean..."

"Is it because Potter is famous? There is no one in the next compartment, for example."

Tom's attention snapped to Gellert. How would he know? There had been that comment about Tom's magic, too. Could Gellert feel magical presence so easily? Tom ignored the Weasley spluttering to watch Gellert. He didn't even seem like the Dark Lord type, to be honest, but then, Tom should have known better than to fall for a facade. Tom knew magical sensitivity could be increased through ritual, however, and he had never heard of a case of naturally spawned sensitivity. Unless it was Grindelwald family magics, though publicly that was strong Charm-work. Such a thing had never been publicised, at least, about Lord Grindelwald.

 

"But I didn't know you were Harry Potter!" The Weasley's whining broke Tom out of his musings, and he tuned back in. To his delight Potter had a sceptical look on his face, and Gellert was setting in to the Weasley. In truth, Tom suspected, the Weasley may have just been searching out other first years. But this situation was delightful.

"You ought to be wary, Potter," Tom whispered in Potter's ear, "You were raised by muggles, right? You probably don't realise just how famous you are, and just how desperate that will make some people." The irony, if Tom could get Potter to chose him. Dumbledore's horror would be delightful, and Tom would get great enjoyment when he turned on Potter - he always had enjoyed the look of betrayal on a victim's face. Then again, leading him on for years could be fun too.

Potter's had turned his head enough to show Tom he was listening, but he didn't make a comment.

"Look, Weasel, this was-" Gellert said, breaking from his affable countenance for the first time.

"It's Weasley!"

"Ah, my apologies." He did not sound sincere. "Weasley. Regardless, this was my compartment before it was Potter's, and frankly you were quite rude by not knocking, nor by starting introductions with a lie. I am afraid you aren't welcome here. But like I said, the next compartment is free."

The Weasley looked like he might explode, but managed to hold his temper, surprising Tom. He got in one parting shot, before he left, too.

"Look, I didn't know who you were, Potter, but a little advise: be careful who you befriend, because they obviously did, and apparently don't like sharing." He slammed the door on the way out, making the glass rattle.

 

That, Tom decided with some glee, had gone wonderfully.

Gellert huffed. "I couldn't care less about you defeating that Dark Lord of yours, Potter. Just so you know. You were one."

Tom bristled at the label (he didn't belong to Potter!), but then Potter shocked him out of it.

"Yeah, I assume it was something my parents set up. Besides, other than myself and Voldemort, no one else was there. Exactly how do they know what even happened? It's ridiculous."

"Huh." Gellert said, sounding surprised. Potter quirked an eyebrow at him in question. "I thought you were a little light-puppet, I didn't know those came with opinions."

"They don't." Tom said, then looked at Potter startled, as he had said the same thing in unison. Potter looked amused, which pissed Tom off.

Beside's, he had cast the killing curse at the Brat. And he still didn't know what happened that night.

Which only pissed him off more.

 

Tom kept a light smile on his face, though, having decided that having Potter in his pocket before Dumbledore got his greasy hands on him could only help. Potter seemed especially naive, though. He made kindly comments about the annoying Hufflepuffs running, and when Longbottom and Potter's mudblood came by looking for a toad, he was overly helpful and kind.

It made Tom's skin crawl.

Potter bought Gellert and Tom both candy, too, which annoyed Tom, even if he did like chocolate. Especially because his frog's card was Albus Dumbledore. He was sure Potter had something to do with that.

 

But, despite the constant urges to hex Potter, and distrust of Gellert's friendly-facade, Tom thought the trip had gone fairly well.

Tom had just been feeling confident in his new plan to control Potter and disturb, then later kill, Dumbledore, when everything came crashing down… in a distinctly Potter shaped way. The train had stopped, and Gellert was rummaging for his tie, while Tom was placing away the book he'd been reading. Potter went to leave without them, but paused at the doorway, and cleared his throat.

Tom only half turned at first, expecting some awkward we'll-still-be-friends Gryffindor comment. But then he caught sight of Potter's face. Gone was the cheery smile and kind disposition. Potter's eyes looked… well, feral, and the smile could only ever be considered one thing. A smirk.

"It was a pleasure riding with you." Potter drawled. (Drawled!). "I'll see you up at the castle then." He then nodded at them. "Lord Grindelwald, Lord Voldemort."

 

Tom's disintegration curse shattered the window of the door Potter had snapped shut behind him, and left a burnt smell in the air.

"Fucking Potter!" He snarled.

Beside him Gellert had let his smiling facade melt away too.

"Interesting. I thought your magic was awfully controlled and Dark. Did you bring us back, then? It seems odd, as you killed me."

Tom shot him an absolutely filthy glare, then ripped the door open.

Maybe he would drown them both in the boats.

 

---

 

Gellert watched the other Dark Lord stomp away furiously, with some amusement. This whole things was turning out to be utterly diverting! He had recognised Albus' little puppet, of course. News of someone surviving the killing curse reached even his ears, including the famous scar.

He hadn't, obviously, recognised a young Voldemort. Funny, he always wondered why he'd never heard of the family 'Voldemort' before. Gellert made a note to ask Potter about it, presuming Riddle was as tetchy and close-mouthed as he seemed.

Then again, Potter's naive little behaviour had clearly been some sort of front. Presumably he was back in his eleven year old self too. Actually, perhaps he brought them all back… although why Potter would bring back his own Dark Lord (let alone Gellert) was equally as unclear as why Lord Voldemort might bring back Gellert… or Potter, come to think of it.

Gellert waved his wand at his trunk, shrinking it and putting it in his pocket, ignoring the announcement. He didn't trust Albus not to have a peek. He then tucked his hands in his pockets too, and cheerfully whistled as he made his way off the train.

 

It was a clear night out, and the bustling witches and wizards caused natural chaos on the platform. Conveniently, the staff(?) member who was sent to direct the first years was clearly part giant, and had a bellowing voice to match.

"Firs' years! Firs' years this way!"

Gellert stepped into the chaos, his magic easily clearing a path through the masses.

"You a firs' year?" The part-giant inquired.

"I am." So it seems, anyway.

"Excellent, there's a group of yers over there." The part giant pointed to where there was indeed a group of small children waiting. "We'll head down to the docks in a mo'."

Gellert nodded and made how way to the group. Riddle was standing at one end, or lurking, perhaps would be a better term. Gellert contemplated causing a scene, but decided he would wait until the famed sorting ceremony. No need to give Albus or his staff a spoiler.

There was a scuffle in the middle section. It was the rude red-haired boy from before, who was easily spotted both by his hair and that he towered over nearly everyone else except perhaps Riddle, and a pale blonde boy, who had an impressive sneer on his face. Probably opposing sortings.

Gellert hummed to himself. Hogwarts was renowned for dividing it's student's up, and if things hadn't changed since Albus' time, which House one was sorted in to decided a ridiculously large portion of one's future prospects.

Riddle would go to Slytherin. Apart from the rumour that he was Slytherin's descendant, Gellert had also noted a green and silver scarf in Riddle's trunk. He was fairly sure they were the colours associated with that house. It might be fun to follow Potter, undoubtedly to Gryffindor… but Gellert just refused to be in Albus' old house. So Slytherin it would be. Gellert didn't know how they were divided up, but he was confident that he could place himself where he pleased.

 

Except that clearly Potter was already stirring things up. As the platform cleared, the part-giant became quite distressed, as Potter was not amongst them.

Riddle looked about ready to murder them all at the hold up, but curiously didn't say a word. Perhaps he, like Gellert, was planning on shocking Albus. Gellert pouted. Actually that would shock him, too. How bothersome. He wanted Albus' attention. Maybe he could drown Riddle in the lake they were meant to be crossing.

Regardless, this was becoming tiresome. Gellert cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, professor!" Gellert gained the part-giant's attention. "Potter was on the train. Perhaps he went up with the senior students. Regardless we should head to the castle and alert someone to search."

The part-giant was still quite distressed, but clearly agreed. He proceeded to set off at a brisk pace (which just about made the small eleven year olds need to run to keep up), shouting "This way then! Best hurry."

They scuttled after him down a slippery dark slope to the Black Lake's shoreline. Gellert accidentally found himself near Riddle again, but considering the death glare on the boy's face, Gellert slipped into a boat with four girls, blatantly ignoring the part-giant's "four to a boat" mandate. He was quite sure he could keep the boat afloat if something happened. The girls put fourth some complaint, but three of them were easy enough to charm into submission, and the fourth, that bushy-haired girl chasing the toad earlier, had no one to complain to.

She pouted something fierce though. Gellert decided he liked her.

 

"I can't believe you've broken a school rule before we've even got to the castle! You'll lose house points before you're even sorted!"

"I wouldn't worry so much, m'dear, the boats obviously take the part-giant, so a fifth student would unlikely worry them. Besides, I can swim."

"Well so can I." She said, frowning. "But I should be very much put out if I had to get wet!"

"Well, we're half way there now."

She turned and looked then, and sucked in a sharp breath at the first sight of Hogwarts. She was a magnificent castle, Hogwarts. Gellert had been quite impressed when he'd met up with Albus in Hogsmeade the first time he'd seen her. And sending the first years by boat did show her off from the best vista.

The bushy haired girl was obviously awed too. "There are sixteen towers and one hundred and forty two stairways, over four thousand windows and-"

"Do you have an eidetic memory?" Gellert asked. Interrupting. There were rituals to steal that… then again, he might just as easily end up trapped in her mind or something equally as ridiculous, knowing him. Perhaps not.

The girl blushed, unaware of Gellert's plotting. "I'm on the spectrum. But I just love learning!"

"She is a magnificent castle."

"She?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Hogwarts is a she. Mothering so many students over the years, I suppose. Not unusual in schools."

"But… but it's a castle!"

"Well, yes."

"Watch yer heads!" The half giant bellowed, distracting Gellert.

 

They headed in through a curtain of vines into an underground cave and dismounted from the boats. Gellert sought out Riddle, now drowning was fairly out of the question. Riddle was still wearing his scowl.

"Beautiful night. I guess Potter figured you'd murder him and took alternate routes."

"I'll murder you if you don't quiet." Riddle scowled.

Gellert hummed cheerfully. "Well that would be unoriginal. Better to focus on Potter."

Gellert couldn't help but let out a snort when Riddle attempted to hex him in a rage, and further along the group an unfortunate boy let out a yelp of pain as Gellert dodged. "Touchy. Did you ever kill him, just by the by?"

"Yes." Riddle gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Really? I got the impression he out-lasted you."

"He… got better." Riddle groaned. "Are you going to leave me alone now?"

"It is unlikely. I've been cooped up, and you and Potter will likely be the most amusing thing around… bar Albus. Do you think he'll manage a heart attack?"

Riddle had been reaching for his wand again, but paused. "I thought you were 'in love' or some rot?"

"Well, yes. But we were very young. Then one of us killed his sister, probably Albus, though he's in denial. Then he went and took my wand and locked me up."

"In your own prison." Riddle gloated… probably a fair hit, considering Gellert's rubbing in his failure to kill a infant.

"Mmm… I should destroy Nurmengard at some stage… maybe for Yule."

"There is a weak point at due south - you didn't consider the shift of the Ley lines."

"Is there? Wonderful! Is that how you got in?"

"No."

Gellert pouted. Perhaps he would spend the term cajoling Riddle into coming with him. Dark Lord's enjoyed bringing down impenetrable prisons… didn't they? Well, Gellert did. There was that nasty one in southern Japan based on soul magics. It had been a necessity for Gellert as they supposedly had information on the resurrection stone. That turned out to be a dud, but bringing down the wards had turned out to be quite fun. The hoard of leithfolds it had unearthed had been a bother, but Gellert had a portkey, and he could manage a passable Patronus. Briefly Gellert lost himself musing what happened to the hoard after he left. There was that city near by… he's forgotten the name. Perhaps the muggles blamed their little war? No doubt thousands would have got caught… unless Leithfolds got full? Curious…

 

"I'll take them from here, Hagrid."

"Minerva! Potter's missin' - one of the kids said he was on the train, but he wasn't with the herd!"

 

Herd. Urgh, Gellert didn't like children particularly, but they, by age eleven at least, were hardly animals.

Before any more drama could ensue, Potter was brought out, followed by another halfbreed staff member. Goblin, perhaps? Professor Flitwick - apparently - informed Minerva McGonagall, that Potter had caught the carriages with the older students.

Gellert was quite impressed, as Potter pulled of innocent-and-sorry better than most, blaming the whole thing on 'a pair of red-heads that had told him it was the right way to go'. Clearly these were magic words, and professor McGonagall's wrath was instantly transferred to the other boys, and 'Harry dear' was told to join his peers.

Harry slipped in next to Gellert.

"Nice." Gellert commented, once McGonagall had gone off to announce them after a short but rousing speech on House loyalty. Gellert remembered her now, Albus' little transfiguration protege. He oversaw her Mastery, if Gellert remembered correctly.

"Wait until you meet Fred and George." Potter replied.

"Troublemakers?"

"Oh, Pranksters. They'll either think it great fun, or target me for the rest of their Hogwarts days."

"You don't seem worried."

"Well I assume this is all going to be rather boring, to be honest."

Gellert went to reply, when there was a shriek from the other side of the room. A whole haunting of ghosts had come through one wall… and through the girl who shrieked.

 

"He's gone too far this time." One fat ghost said to another. "He shouldn't be allowed!"

"We've petitioned the Headmaster, but I think we should take this to the board." A tall one agreed.

"The Baron has him in somewhat hand, but it isn't enou- ARGH!!!" suddenly the female ghost talking let out a shriek of her own, and went shooting off back through the wall they had all come.

 

"They were discussing a poltergeist." Potter whispered, filling Gellert in. "Peeves."

"In a school!?" Gellert whispered back. He noticed Potter looked amused by the female ghost's departure, and Riddle, standing much closer to the ghosts, looked pissed off. Interesting.

 

"That's enough now. Move along." McGonagall was back, and directed the ghosts out.

"Form a line, please, they are ready for you now."

Gellert manoeuvred so he was behind Potter. Friendly facade aside, Potter was clearly playing games probably just as dangerous as Riddle's and Gellert's own. The Great Hall was wonderful. The girl from the boat was telling someone about it being enchanted. Any fool could tell that, but perhaps Hogwarts: A History was worth looking at after all. Maybe there was more information on who enchanted it. It had to be tied into the wards, which was wonderful.

There were four long tables of students, and Gellert spotted who he suspected Potter had blamed, twins by the look of them, and presumably a brother or cousin to the tall rude boy in their own year, judging by the matching vivid red hair.

The first years were all lined up on the raised stage that held the professor's table. Gellert instantly searched out Albus and tried to make himself hard for him to see. Albus looked… old. It was weird. Gellert hadn't had a mirror in decades, and since coming back he obviously looked like a child again. He didn't like Albus' beard. It was ridiculous. Also impractical for duelling. Maybe Albus was responsible for the equally impractical new robe designs?

 

McGonagall lifted a hat from a box, and placed it on a small stool in the centre of the stage. Gellert had a moment of confusion, before it came alive. It also sung all about their little dividing system. Gellert was more interested in the enchantments. He activated mage sight, and was instantly even more interested, because other than a dull glow that indicated something magical, the hat was perfectly normal. Not just an enchantment then.

To his delight, McGonagall then proceeded to call their surnames alphabetically. Gellert wouldn't have his thunder stolen by Riddle. How wonderful.

 

 

"Goyle, Greggory"

A rather chubby boy heft forward and plonked himself on the seat. The hat, thankfully, didn't work out loud. Although whilst a vast invasion of privacy, if it was based on mind magics like Gellert presumed, then it would have been quite funny to hear what the school thought of a Dark Lord's mind. Two, actually, Gellert kept forgetting about Riddle.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat bellowed. Which clearly mortified the boy, as he sat on the stool stunned for a moment well after McGonagall removed the hat.

"To your table, Mr Goyle." McGonagall prompted.

"But-… but-"

"Off you go!" she sounded just a tad more exasperated now. Which was probably why she absentmindedly called "Grindelwald, Gellert." still staring after the boy.

 

The rest of the hall was not so distracted.

Dead silence.

Well, except Albus. Gellert gleefully strode forward, watching Albus' face contort through about sixty emotions, and he raised to his feet. McGonagall had noticed the reactions, and then caught sight of Gellert's face. At his peak he had looked older, obviously, but not that changed. Her eyes snapped back to the list of names, and then she went pale.

Gellert cheerfully sat himself on the stool, and to his amusement McGonagall practically threw the hat at him, clearly not wanting to get close.

Unlike the other students, Gellert tilted the hat back, so that he could watch what was going on. He had also sat almost sideways, so he could watch Albus out of the corner of his eye. He was deathly pale and his jaw was slightly dropped.

How amusing.

["It is indeed. Though perhaps not very nice, to dwell on other's suffering."]

Gellert stoutly did not jump through his skin.

["You talk!"] He thought back, impressed.

["Lord Grindelwald. You don't know what you are doing here."]

["No. But to more pressing matters. How do you talk? You aren't an enchantment, and I don't think you're a trapped soul. You could be a Horcrux or a Steelrva, but surely you would have tried to escape or possess a student."]

The hat chuckled. ["I am made to sort."]

["No, no. You were clearly made to be studied. This is a school."]

["Perhaps Ravenclaw?"] the hat mused, ignoring him. It was enough to remind Gellert of his plans.

["Oh, no. I was actually thinking Slytherin, if you don't mind. I'll have the most fun there."]

["You've got a mind for Ravenclaw, and-"] The hat broke off in stunned silence. Gellert was having none of it. Interesting object or not. He instantly completely rearranged his mind so that all of his sly, cunning, ambitious thoughts were thrust to the forefront and any others seemingly ceased to exist.

["What-… that-… that isn't occlumency!"] it sounded quite alarmed.

["And you aren't an enchantment. So what are you?"]

["I am not getting involved with a Dark Lord known for experimentation, is what I am."] "SLYTHERIN" it bellowed aloud, then before Gellert could stop her, McGonagall removed the hat. Gellert sent her a mild glare, and was vastly amused at the amount of colour she lost.

Never mind. He would study the hat later. It couldn't be that hard to steal. Or 'borrow', whatever.

 

Ah yes.

Unlike the other sortings, the Slytherins still cheered, but they sounded decidedly unsure. Gellert shot a broad smile at the professor's table - not too obvious that he was gloating at Albus, but hardly not. He took a seat at the Slytherin table. He was the first Slytherin boy of the year, Tracey Davies and Millicent Bulstrode were looking terrified of him, and relieved when he sat down with space between them. He was soon followed by a Miss Greengrass. Amusingly, she hesitated a long moment, before sitting down opposite him, clearly also terrified she had got it wrong. Gellert ignored her. He wanted to see Potter sorted.

It was tedious waiting. He was joined by more Slytherins. Two boys, Nott and Malfoy, and another girl, Moon. The girls had better masks, but the boys just looked greedy.

Finally a girl called Parkinson joined him, followed by McGonagall calling "Potter, Harry."

The hall gained just as much whispering as when Gellert's name had been called, though friendlier. People all around the room were being thoroughly unsubtle, trying to get a look at Potter, a few even going so far as to stand on their seats.

Potter wasn't under there for long, but caused enough chaos to have been.

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat bellowed.

Across from him both Greengrass and Nott swore, then gave each other the stink eye. There was a swell of comments, but then absolute silence followed. Gellert didn't bother breaking it to clap, because Potter was clearly just amused. Potter slipped into the seat next to Gellert.

"Dumbledore looks distressed." Potter whispered.

Gellert grinned.

 

---

 

Harry had had fun, on the train. Grindelwald had been a shock. Hell, Tom was a surprise, however Harry was kind of used to him getting all involved in Harry's stuff. Even after he died people were always bringing him up, and Death Eaters were always going about bothering Harry for 'revenge' or whatever. Then there was that idiot who blood-adopted himself using Tom's corpse and went about making a nuisance of himself. By that stage Al was dead, Lily injured, and Harry far past having any patience for it all, so Harry had dealt with him by enslaving him to Lily and making him be her eyes. But whatever.

Tom was a surprise, but not a shock. Harry had wondered who else might show up, but so far, at Hogwarts at least, it seemed to be just the three of them. Death probably had something to do with it. She had been highly approving of Harry's becoming a Dark Lord.

 

Harry had been off put, when he noticed Tom and Grindelwald in a compartment together. He was hardly going to leave them together alone. However it soon became apparent that while they were indeed them, they didn't seem to have any idea what was going on either, and only Tom seemed to recognise Grindelwald. Though perhaps if Harry hexed Tom's nose off Gellert might have a fairer shot.

It was still in the cards for later.

 

Leaving the train after announcing them - and thus, his non-eleven self, Harry thought up more trickery, spotting the Weasley twins up ahead, climbing into a coach. Better to let Tom cool down. So Harry climbed in with them. Beside's he owed them some fun for setting off their prank-supplies earlier to avoid their family.

"Hey now-"

"-Ickle firstie-"

"-you're not meant-"

"-to be here!"

Harry put on innocent eyes. "No one told me to go anywhere else."

The twins glanced at each other, then shrugged and grinned.

"I'm Fred."

"And I'm George."

"I'm Percy Weasley." Harry said, innocently. He liked the twins. They had both been dead by the time everything went to hell, so Harry wouldn't hold their blood against them.

They spluttered a little. Then one caught sight of his scar.

"Harry Potter!"

"Where!?" Harry said, looking around, wide eyed.

Before they could comment, Lee Jordan climbed in with his spider, and Harry instantly caused more chaos.

"Hello," Harry grinned, holding out his hand "I'm Lee Jordan, and this is Gred and Forge. Were you the one terrorising Hufflepuffs?"

"Er… You-… I-..."

 

Needless to say, Harry enjoyed his carriage ride far more than he might have crossing the lake with a murderous Dark Lord trying to push him in. Possibly even two murderous Dark Lords, he didn't know Grindelwald well enough to judge.

 

Flitwick was standing in the entry hall talking to a student, and spotted Harry almost instantly amongst the more familiar students. He led Harry firmly towards the side-chamber, and handed him off to McGonagall. Feeling mischievous, Harry put his best puppy dogs eyes on and blamed the twins. McGonagall looked about to explode, and then wandered off, presumably to start Gryffindor off in the negative by quite a margin. Harry spotted Tom on one side of the room, so moved to the other, finding himself next to Grindelwald.

"Nice." Harry was complimented, so it certainly didn't appear that Grindelwald wanted to kill him. That was rather novel, as far as Harry's Dark Lord experiences went.

"Wait until you meet Fred and George." Harry replied. Idly he wondered if he could convince two Dark Lords to join him in a prank war. Snape would never know what hit him. Granted, apparently Snape was secretly good after all… but as far as Harry saw it, the man had been utterly miserable towards Harry because he didn't like his dad and had a crush on his mum. Well, Harry didn't like Snape's past self and… okay, no. No crushes, but maybe he could take offence to said crush on his mum?

 

"Troublemakers?" Grindelwald asked. Harry's thoughts had gone off on a sharp tangent and were somewhere around chopping Snape up for Potions ingredients, so it took him a moment to follow.

"Oh, pranksters. They'll either think it great fun, or target me for the rest of their Hogwarts days." There was probably something wrong with Harry that he was hoping for the later. Grindelwald obviously thought so too.

"You don't seem worried."

"Well I assume this is all going to be rather boring, to be honest." Harry lied. He would not be letting it get boring.

 

Just at that minute the ghosts arrived, loudly complaining about Peeves. Harry had seen Colin Creevey's photo albums once, Denis had shown him, and apparently the ghosts 'forgot' about the first years that year too. Harry assumed it was their way of greeting new students. However in this case Harry was more than a little interested to see the results.

He wasn't disappointed.

The Grey Lady didn't talk much… to students. She was loudly complaining to the Fat Friar about the Baron (no prejudice there. Ha!) when she caught sight of Tom. There was definitely something wrong with Harry.

She let out a delightful squeal, and went flying from the room. Harry would have to drop a hint to Tom that she was the one who spilled the beans about his diadem horcrux. Tom would no doubt make an effort to silence her, which would throw them into situations together all the time. (Harry may have felt fairly lacklustre with regards to Tom, but he was still annoyed at the people who could have stopped him years earlier, but hadn't).

 

"They were discussing a poltergeist." Harry whispered, as Grindelwald had a frown. "Peeves."

"In a school!?" Gellert whispered back, sounding outraged… though Harry suspected there was a fair bit of intrigue there. Grindelwald was known for his bizarre experiments.

 

McGonagall led the first years into the hall. Grindelwald slipped behind Harry, but by now Harry was fairly sure that he didn't intend to harm him. He probably figured out that Tom would make himself annoying if anyone but Tom hurt Harry. Tom was a little possessive. It was the hoarder in him, no doubt. Harry didn't know if Tom had subconsciously known Harry was a Horcrux, or if he just collected everything. Maybe Slughorn rubbed off on Tom more than he thought. Hoarders Anonymous. Hmm.

 

Harry was broken out of his musings suddenly. Crabbe had been under the hat, but instead of yelling out Slytherin, the damned thing put him in Ravenclaw!! The boy who failed four OWLS and had to repeat most subjects!! Never mind Harry hadn't even been sure he could talk until around their fifth year. Ravenclaw! Harry forced himself to pay more attention, and letting his eyes drift across the room he was shocked to see Terry Boot cheerfully sitting at the Gryffindor table.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the hat thoughtfully. Maybe it had time magic weaved in. Come to think of it, all the years were fairly evenly divided. You would think that over time there would be the occasional year full of nerds, or one full of brave-idiots. Maybe that was really why it let him go to Gryffindor, because they were down on numbers that year. In their later life Hermione had admitted to Harry that she had actually asked for Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor. She was rather put out when Harry told her that he had got to choose. Not, she had said, that she regretted it in the long run, but those first months were awful for her.

 

Harry's semi-theory was given further proof, when Goyle went to Hufflepuff. Now that made more sense to Harry… except that first Goyle actually tried to argue, and secondly because Harry spotted him looking utterly lost as the Hufflepuffers warmly welcomed him with smiles. Harry would keep an eye on him, it was bound to be amusing.

"Grindelwald, Gellert!"

While McGonagall was clearly distracted, Harry had been waiting for it, and had his eyes firmly on Dumbledore. He looked like he'd choked on a candy. His face went even paler when Grindelwald stepped out. Because there was a plausible 'you look like your father', and there was an exact copy. Plus, Dumbledore had to be fairly sure that Grindelwald was gay… or, actually, no. Harry supposed Grindelwald could be bi… or it could have been unrequited, though that wasn't how Harry understood it. Still, clearly it was a kick in the teeth, even if at this stage Dumbledore still had the hope that it was a child-of, or really unfortunately named look-alike.

Harry was a bit surprised, to be honest, when Grindelwald went to Slytherin. From everything Harry had read he would have picked him for a Ravenclaw. Then again, being a Dark Lord had turned out to be quite a lot of effort, so for someone actively planning it, that had to count for a lot of ambition.

 

Eventually Harry was called.

Now.

Harry knew what was expected of him. (Gryffindor). He also, however, was no little goody-two-shoes-ready-to-sacrifice-himself-again-idiot. Besides, the hat had wanted him in Slytherin.

["…You're involved in this Grindelwald mess?"]

["Hmm… yes. Say, hat, can I make a house-request?"]

["It looks like you did, previously."]

["Ah, no. I don't mean about me. I'm happy enough heading to Slytherin this time. No, I was wondering if I could request someone else's sorting?"]

["I've already sorted Lord Grindelwald there, so if you want to go to Slytherin without him, I can't help you."]

["Ah, no. Actually Tom Riddle is here too. No idea what's going on, but I thought it would be highly amusing to send him to Gryffindor or Hufflepuff."]

["…"]

["So... you'll think about it?"]

["I am getting too old for this shit."] "SLYTHERIN!"

 

Harry had to forcibly withhold a cackle.

Then he caught sight of the staff, and he actually had to wandlessly hex himself so he didn't laugh. Firstly, there was Dumbledore, still reeling from Grindelwald, and now, on top of wanting a Gryffindor recklessly-brave-hero-tool, and having that dashed, he had to worry about Harry being in the same dorm as Grindelwald. To his credit, it did look like he was worried for Harry, not just about him.

McGonagall look like a cat who had her cream stolen.

Snape, and this was Harry's favourite, Snape looked like he was about to be physically ill. He actually looked in pain. It was wonderful. He was also glaring at the hat, and Harry wondered if a Head of House had ever petitioned to have a student removed on their first night. No doubt Dumbledore would be dealing with that later too.

 

Then there was someone Harry had honestly completely forgotten about.

Quirrell.

Now, Harry would have been all set to believe the man un-possessed, seeing as Tom was not ten meters to Harry's right. Except he still had the turban, Harry still felt someone attempt a legilimency probe when he looked that way (it could be Snape, but maybe not?), and Quirrell now looked to be in a fair amount of pain. Someone was presumably upset about Harry being in his house.

 

Harry cheerfully ignored the complete silence in the hall, and made his way to the Slytherin table. Which was, admittedly, a bit weird. He would probably have to watch himself when half asleep in the mornings and having to pick a table. Harry shot a wink at the Weasley twins on his way past, then sat down immediately next to Grindelwald, who the other Slytherins had left a wide space around.

"Dumbledore looks distressed." Harry whispered, amused as Grindelwald all but lit up.

 

Eventually the cold silence broke and everyone started whispering about Harry going to Slytherin. Oh well. At least this time it wouldn't be lies when they called him a Dark Lord. plus this time he could hex them in response, as he was a Dark Lord, too. Then again, knowing his luck, they would probably decide he was some light-hero bent on saving the Slytherins or some rot. He would not be doing that. He kept Draco and Narcissa out of jail once, and all that got him was the idiot constantly furious at him. What was it with Slytherins and taking owing life-debts so poorly?

 

The rumour mill didn't have too long to get going, however, because McGonagall did recognise the next name.

"Riddle-….T- Tom." Harry was highly amused, because McGonagall's voice went high and squeaky, and if possibly she tried to keep even further back than she had when tossing the sorting hat at Grindelwald. Harry had forgotten they went to school together. Ooooh. Maybe she had a crush on perfect-prefect-Riddle back in the day. That would be gold.

The students might have found her behaviour simply odd… except that the staff let the kneezles out of the bag.

Dumbledore shot to his feet, wand in hand. Snape actually knocked his goblet over, then swore loud enough that the whole room heard, though he hadn't even looked at the spilt drink yet, eyes on Riddle.

However Harry had eyes pretty much solely for Quirrell.

 

Definitely Voldemort. How interesting.

 

Quirrell had been drinking, and choked on his drink, sat ramrod straight, and looked like he had just been stabbed. Now, what Harry wouldn't give to be partial to those thoughts. He was half tempted to access their mind link. Tom was even too young to be a horcrux materialised, like the diary had tried with Ginny.

Harry belatedly noticed the room was silent again, even as the hat called (somewhat desperately, Harry thought) "SLYTHERIN!!!" before it had even touched Tom's head. Harry pouted a bit at that, he would have loved to see Tom's face getting Hufflepuff… and Quirrell-mort's too, come to think of it.

Still, there was still room for mischief. Seeing an opportunity, Harry stood to his feet and waved enthusiastically.

"Hey Tom! I saved you a seat!" Harry called loudly across the silence.

Yep, that face was equally as amusing. Unfortunately Quirrell had schooled his own into blankness, but Tom's eye had twitched. Maybe Harry could make him get a permanent tic by Halloween?

 

Dumbledore looked about ready to die, too. Whoops.

 

"I am going to kill you, Potter." Tom hissed, but he did slide into the seat on Harry's other side.

"And how's that working out for you?" Gellert said, snarkily.

"Oh shut up." Tom grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Don't be a sore loser, I'm sure Dumbledore is just as worried about you, he probably just tried harder to save face."

Harry grinned, throwing his arms around both boys. He wasn't sure who disliked this more, Tom and Grindelwald, or the various watching staff.

"This is going to be great."

Chapter 3: Welcome to Slytherin

"I can't believe Greg is in Hufflepuff!" the little Malfoy said after the food appeared and the Bloody Baron had come to break the ice. Potter probably helped too, much to Tom's disgust. Potter chatted away at the other Slytherins until eventually they started relaxing.

"Yes, and Crabbe is in Ravenclaw, and Terry Boot is in Gryffindor. Odd." Potter replied.

Tom had noted Crabbe and Goyle, because both their father's were his, and he had known which of the few of his followers' children weren't in Slytherin originally. Boot was a surprise. Or rather, he assumed he hadn't been in Gryffindor before, as Potter wouldn't have commented otherwise.

"Who?" little Malfoy asked (Tom really should figure out his name, he hadn't been paying attention when the boy introduced himself or for his sorting, and he only ever learnt it previously because dear Bella was always harassing the boy).

"The brunet sitting next to Nearly-Headless Nick." Potter provided.

"Boot." little Malfoy said, tasting the word. "Is he a half-blood then?"

Potter was clearly only half listening. Tom was reluctantly amused. In his experience, Malfoy's hated nothing more than lacking attention.

"Hmm? Oh, a muggleborn I'm fairly sure."

Potter was still staring across at the Gryffindor table and missed little Malfoy's sneer. "Then why is it surprising that he's in Gryffindor?"

"What?" Potter finally turned to look at little Malfoy. "Oh, I guess he just didn't seem the type."

On the other side of Potter, Gellert clearly caught on. "Have you met him, then?"

Potter's lip quirked, clearly amused. "Nope."

Little Malfoy let out a frustrated huff and Theodore Nott, beside him, frowned.

"The DA?" Tom spoke. Purposely cryptic, because, despite encouraging Potter, it was a little amusing to see the Slytherin's get all bothered. (Tom had always enjoyed that).

Potter glanced at him. "Not to the Department of Mysteries, but yes."

Theodore Nott looked constipated. Little Malfoy was glaring at Boot across the hall. Potter probably hadn't meant to single him out, though he obviously noticed little Malfoy's new glare and didn't seem bothered.

Tom had to remind himself (again) that Potter, having survived him, had clearly changed in the unknown amount of years he'd lived. However on the topic of that disastrous Ministry mission, Tom also had to remind himself (also again) that crucioing the brat in the Great Hall would be more trouble than it was worth.

Clearly Potter saw something in his gaze, because his lips twitched, and he changed the topic, drawing the student's attention to other matters.

 

 

 

It was strange, returning to Hogwarts as a student. It was particularly strange heading to the Slytherin Common Room at the back of a prefect, treated like he didn't yet know the way, and didn't quite belong yet. The password was 'Pure-Blood', which Tom found amusing. Gellert seemed to find personal offence in the hidden wall.

"What?" Tom eventually snapped.

"If I had known we would be sleeping in the dungeons I would have let the damn hat put me in Ravenclaw."

"I had wondered," Potter chipped in, "I thought Ravenclaw would suit you."

"Mmm, but the interesting things would clearly be around you two, and I was hardly going to give Albus the satisfaction of being in his old house." Gellert paused. "I thought you would be in Gryffindor."

"He should be." Tom interrupted, sending Potter a glare.

"Actually, Tommy, dearest-" Potter had to side-step a wandless hex, but didn't seem bothered. Tom would gut him in his sleep! "-I should have been in Slytherin before, but I held a teensy bit of a grudge about you killing off my parents."

"Couldn't you have held it a bit longer?" Damn it. He was whining. And judging by Potter's amused look, he'd noticed.

Potter ignored him and turned to Gellert. "I've never done it before, but surely between the three of us we can charm a window into a dungeon. I wouldn't worry. Less stairs to climb, Gryffindor is on the Seventh floor, and Ravenclaw the fifth. Hufflepuff would have been your best bet, they look out over the Greenhouses, though their entrance is through giant cider barrels, and they are temperamental things."

"Mmm, I suppose it is better to have you two within my sights anyway." Gellert replied. "I still would have thought you a Gryffindor."

"Look," Tom interrupted, "I am here for cunning and ambition, you for at least ambition, and Potter… clearly knew better than to leave two Dark Lords alone to plot."

Potter laughed. Which just pissed Tom off more.

 

"Welcome to Slytherin House." A burly boy called loudly, and the common room fell quiet. "Slytherin House is about cunning and ambition, we aren't afraid to use what we need to get what we want. There is a prejudice about our house. I see it that the other houses get jealous because so many of our alumni go on to be great. Regardless, Slytherins need to be wary when alone outside the common room, and as a rule, we stick together, keeping any arguments in house, literarily."

Tom tuned the boy out, as he went over the standard set of house rules. Two elder students put forth a debate of a rule, but both were shut down this time. Tom distracted himself by trying to name faces within the room. A lot of the older years were easy, but he stumbled on a few.

Curiously, beside him, Potter was blatantly taking careful note of the rules, which all but stunk of trouble to Tom. Potter did not follow rules. Gellert seemed to be as uninterested as Tom.

 

The Burly boy - apparently their prefect - finished up and a lot of the house drifted off to unpack. Several didn't, however, and Tom forcibly kept himself loose as the first year's were slowly surrounded by upper years.

"So, Potter… halfblood. You think you deserve to be here? You and your mudblood friend?"

Potter had looked mildly displeased, though not surprised at the comment, right up until the boy (he looked like a Blishwick) called Tom a mudblood. Then, to Tom's annoyance, Potter burst into laughter.

The attempted-bully sneered harder. "Is there a problem, Potter?" Potter just laughed louder, ignoring the clear threat of the boy and his goon-sidekicks cracking their knuckles. To be fair, they had no idea what they were dealing with, as Potter was, in the very least, actually seventeen, but it annoyed Tom.

"No, no, please, insult him again," Potter gestured at Tom, "It's hilarious."

"Potter." Tom hissed. He really would kill him, in a minute. Magic may not work, but Tom wasn't above conjuring a gun or knife. What Slytherin would think of such muggle means be damned!

"Look, Potter, you might think you're so great for killing the Dark Lord, but you are still nothing. You are untrained, uneducated, son of a mudblood, and friends with another filthy freak. Clearly you are-"

"Your death will no doubt be painful, but probably creative." Potter interrupted the boy. …Potter wasn't wrong. Tom had twitched at each insult. However before Tom could come up with a painful enough curse, Potter of course went for the dramatic approach. Tom didn't care what the damn hat said, Potter was a Gryffindor.

 

---

 

Harry had enough. Really, the whole day was just exhausting, and Harry wasn't looking forward to the rest of the year. Stane Blishwick was a grunt who had been head-asshole of Slytherin until Draco kicked him out mid-term due to better political power (better everything, really, even Harry could admit that). It was amusing, watching the boy posture… for all of about six seconds. Though watching the way Tom's eye would twitch at each 'mudblood' was fun. But, honestly, Harry just wanted to dispense with all the power plays and go to bed.

Honestly, Tom and Grindelwald would no doubt fight it out for top position, and everyone else would accommodate them or suffer. How any of the other students could miss Tom and Grindelwald's power was completely beyond Harry.

So, he decided to end things the quickest way he could.

.:Oh shut up, you overblown prig:. Harry hissed, much more fluent in Parseltongue now, from when the only other speakers were his children, not a nemesis.

Blishwick did immediately shut up. The entire Common Room went silent, actually.

"The Potters are not Parseltongues." Someone spoke up. Harry glanced across, seeing a elder-Parkinson. Pansy's sister.

"Mmm, no." Harry agreed. "There was a magical transfer that Halloween, so I have access to Voldemort's family magics." Harry was barely paying attention to Slytherin's stunned receival of that. His eyes were glued to Tom.

"You what!?!" Tom spat.

Harry gleefully smirked. "Oh yeah, .:I'm your horcrux, by the way. Best not plot to kill me too soon:., Tommy dear." Harry started in English, switched to Parseltongue, then switched back.

Tom actually gave up pretences, flicking out his wand and sending an extremely Dark hex Harry's way. Harry was ready, and had a shield up that just absorbed it. Honestly, if someone had told his teenage self that most Dark or aggressive magic could be stopped by Dark shields he would have become Dark much sooner.

… Come to think of it, that was probably why they didn't.

 

For some strange reason, Tom didn't appreciate Harry's new found skill.

"Potter you fucking brat! .:I'll skin you alive then:. rip out your innards, all while keeping you .:alive and begging for:. death, you absolutely filthy .:and impossible piece of muggle-scum!:."

Harry had discovered, once Al (and later Lily) started speaking Parseltongue, that another Parselmouth's intent could affect when a different speaker switched with a bit of practice. His kids had taken delight in making the other unintelligible to outsiders at awkward moments, when they were young. He was fairly sure that Tom hadn't even realised he'd switched back and forth.

Then again, Tom probably hadn't had much experience with other speakers… other than his batty family. Harry dodged a bone-breaker, but was forced to step into a burn hex. It was healed easily enough, but Harry sent back a bone breaker of his own, for the trouble. Followed by fiendfire, because Harry was an ass. The whole thing spiralled a bit out of control, but then, Harry hadn't had a good duel in quite a few years, and Tom had presumably last done so just before Harry killed him. Or, really, in the ministry against Dumbledore, if we're talking a duel, rather than battle with weird wands.

 

Fortunately, Grindelwald was on the ball.

He sent the two of them the equivalent of a tap on their magical cores mid battle, before calling their names.

"Potter, Riddle." He didn't say anything else, but Harry had long since became accustomed to tracking near-by Dark Marks, and Tom must be have always been aware of his little followers, because after one final glare from Tom, they both turned their magic on putting the common room back together without comment, wands away, and the room looking like Harry hadn't redirected Tom's blasting curse into that pillar a minute ago.

By the time Snape walked in there was nothing wrong… except for the fact that the rest of Slytherin were backed up firmly against the walls, while Tom and Harry stood out in the centre.

"Potter!" Snape spat. "What on earth is going on?!" naturally the bastard blamed Harry (it wasn't' like Snape knew it actually was Harry's fault this time!)

Harry slung an arm around Tom's shoulders, smile fixed on his face. Having already established that Tom hated the contact, Harry gripped hard and wouldn't let go. "We were having a good old fashioned debate, Sir."

"About what?"

"Whether mudblood was an acceptable term." Harry replied cheerfully.

Snape's jaw clenched a few times. ('Five hundred points from Gryffindor!' Harry imagined him yelling). "That term is not to be used."

"No Sir, we didn't think so either. That's why we were debating it. Although the whole thing is rather a moot point, as Tom here isn't a muggleborn anyway, coming from Slytherin's line on one side." His mother's, but Harry would leave Tom open to chase the Voldemort's-son angle if he pleased.

"And the rest of the house is backed away from you because…"

"Well, Sir, we were debating in Parseltongue." Harry said, innocent face to the full and a cheerful tone. Harry felt Tom twitch under his arm.

Harry thoroughly enjoyed the way Snape's eyes widened and his skin paled… practically a dropped jaw for the stone faced bastard.

"Because of the impolite word, to be honest." Tom added.

Outwardly Harry smiled. .:Have you ever preferred the honest way, Tom:. he smirked, without actually looking away from Snape.

.:Sleep tight tonight, Potter. Snape won't be there to save you then… and the honest way is for suckers:.

Harry rolled his eyes at the threat. .:Are you going to tuck me in, then… I say, Snape's twitch is almost as good as yours:.

.:I often crucio'd them in parseltongue. Stop taunting my minions:.

.:He's not, actually. Unbreakable vow to protect me, so not really loyal to Dumbledore either, but not yours in the end:.

"Potter! No talking in-"

"Actually, sir, Salazar Slytherin specifically wrote in the school charter that Parseltongue could not be discriminated against." Tom spoke up, tone glacial, surprising Harry. Then again, with that bombshell dropped it should probably be Snape, not Harry, who should be worried about dying in their sleep.

Eh. Harry knew some pretty nasty wards, and if Snape didn't ward his bed, then bully for him.

 

---

 

They were… magnificent.

The magic was impressive, and they both clearly needed to vent off some steam, but that wouldn't have impressed Gellert alone. Because powerful, well-trained wizards weren't actually in as short supply as one might imagine.

No. It was the connection that was magnificent. These two knew each other's magic, better than even most twins. Gellert's magical sensitivity couldn't actually tell the difference between the two while they were gunning for each other a lot of the time. Plus Potter would send a spell, and Riddle would simply catch it, and send it back. Not take it over, he would send Potter's magic back. Potter could do the same… though he also seemed to be able to change Riddle's magic… which Gellert hadn't even known was possible until just now.

Gellert had never seen anything like it. He would kill to understand them.

No, really. If he weren't worried about ending up being able to speak only snake… or something random like turkey (because rituals really hated him), he would hunt down a Parseltongue and do a transfer of magics ritual tonight.

 

Gellert observed his new House-Master… or whatever they called them here at Hogwarts. Snape was… disappointing, to be honest. He clearly hated Potter with a thriving passion, which wasn't any way for a teacher to behave.

Unless Potter had already cursed the man, which Gellert actually wouldn't put past the boy, even though he had seemingly been within Gellert's sight pretty much since arriving at the castle.

Potter had no problem handling the man, however, and Riddle's personality had done a full one eighty towards the man within a few minutes of his arrival… after something Potter said in snake.

Gellert let out a quiet sigh. It had been a long time since he had been truly jealous of another witch or wizard. Still, Potter seemed inclined to include Gellert, and Riddle in the least wasn't objecting. Perhaps he would stay on as an 'eleven year old' for a while longer, this was all proving quite diverting.

 

Eventually their House-Master tired of being tied in knots by the two boys, and sent a last minute parting shot to Potter about his muggle clothes under his robes. He objected to the muggle attire. Of course Potter was prepared, and pulled out an extremely old and dusty tome.

"According to Hogwarts Rules and Charter, chapter Eiwaz, Point thirteen 'Robes must be warn during class and official feasts, and uniform must be worn for formal occasions, official feasts, sporting events, and any activity where outsiders are present'. Besides, these are 'Black pants', and my shirt is a school colour."

"Detention! Potter."

"For what, Sir?"

"Backchat."

"Ah. Yes Sir." Potter said, insufferably amiably. Gellert felt a spark of pity for the House-Master. He clearly had no idea what he was dealing with. Then again, come to think of it, neither did Gellert.

 

"I don't suppose someone might lead me to my room?" Gellert posed to the room at large.

"I will!" Potter smiled, nodding kindly at the House-Master. "Goodnight Sir. Come along Tom."

Riddle instantly started hissing at Potter in threatening manner, but Potter didn't let it faze him. Gellert vacated the room after them quick smart. Because someone was clearly going to have to suffer the House-Master's wrath for him to save face, and it was not going to be Gellert.

Chapter 4: Coffee?

 

Classes were… well, Harry hadn't had Potions or Defence yet, but so far they were utterly boring. Harry hadn't been this bored in a loooooong time. There were certain perks with becoming a Dark Lord, and causing untold amounts of mischief without worrying overly about the consequences was definitely one. It did not lead to a whole heap of boredom. Unlike school. Hell, they were almost a full week into term and Tom hadn't even actually tried to kill Harry yet. Harry wasn't even sure he was going to. Dull.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to do with a Hogwarts experience that didn't include Tom trying to kill him. Grindelwald was proving rather lacklustre too, to be honest.

 

Plus the side effect of the little spat he and Tom had on the first night was that the first year Slytherins were avoiding them… well, the upper years too, but they hardly had much of a reason to seek Harry out anyway. Harry contemplated whether he knew of any in-house family feuds he could stoke, or general havoc he could create. Sadly, he came up short. Maybe Tom would know some useful dirt of his baby-deatheaters. Hmm.

 

"Potter!" Tom snapped, from directly behind Harry.

Talk of the devil.

Harry shot him a friendly smile - friendly, because Harry found it amusing to watch Tom twitch. "Good morning, Tom." Harry also enjoyed the way that Tom had already resigned himself to Harry calling him Tom. "I thought you must be going to sleep in today."

Harry had put up a ward in the Slytherin dorms that deactivated any alarm spells. Gellert clearly had a good internal clock, but the rest of the dorm was struggling something fierce. No one had figured out how he'd done it yet.

"Isn't that your bird?" Tom growled. Pushing Harry's newspaper aside and half onto his breakfast plate so he could sit where he wanted.

Harry rolled his eyes, but just shot a vanishing spell a the mess and shuffled down. Harry looked where Tom was pointing.

Hedwig.

Harry instantly brightened. It wasn't exactly his Hedwig, in that she was only just getting to know him now, but all the same Harry had almost cried when he found her.

"I was trying to see how long until Potter noticed him." Gellert spoke up, grumbling.

"Her." Harry corrected, offering Hedwig a slice of bacon… and then another one when she knocked over Tom's juice, and shot Tom an offended look.

Atta-girl.

"Who is sending you mail?" Tom demanded. Nosy bastard.

…or not. Heh. That was never getting old.

Harry shot a sideways glance at Tom, but decided that sharing the joke aloud would be more hassle than it was worth …right now. Maybe Harry would save it for before a History class, because that class had been boring the first time around, and trying to duel another Dark Lord without being noticed by Binns sounded like an excellent way to pass his time.

Harry opened the scroll, and glanced at the writing.

Huh.

 

Harry glanced up at the staff table. "Hagrid. Inviting me for tea. Funny, I would have thought he'd ditch me as soon as my tie turned green."

"Do all Albus' staff hate Slytherin?" Gellert asked, while holding up two cups towards Tom and Harry.

Harry nodded to the cup, and Gellert transfigured the juice into Coffee.

Perfect.

"No. But Tom framed him for murder in his second year, so I imagine even if Tom weren't my best friend, he'd still have issues."

Beside him Tom choked on his own coffee, only just managing not to spit it across the table, by the looks of it.

"Your what!?!?" Tom spat out.

Harry shot him a grin. It was such fun, getting him all worked up so early in the morning. Especially because Tom seemed just as likely to take out his frustration on the staff or other students, which suited Harry just fine. It was curious, because Harry had no idea why Tom had had a sudden change of heart.

"Sounds like a story." Gellert said, chuckling a little as Tom grumbled into his coffee.

"Did all the staff invite you around for tea your first time, Potter. Spoilt brat." Tom sneered.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"No. Hagrid took me school-shopping. Which was actually unnecessary this time, as I had actually already dragged Vernon along, and thoroughly enjoyed spending his money, so I'm not really sure why Hagrid was sent." It had ended profitably, even if he had had to pretend to buy things again. Dumbledore was meddling, clearly. Pity Harry knew exactly what he was trying to pull this time. It would be good for Dumbledore, to get a taste of his own medicine. As he would be the last person in-the-know this time.

Harry continued, "But last time round the Dursleys took us on this ridiculous adventure driving back and forth across the country trying to outrun the Hogwarts letters, before Hagrid eventually caught up with us. Ridiculous, Petunia must have known the magical world wouldn't just give up their 'hero'. It is kind of amusing, in hind sight. Do the Hogwarts elves send out our letters?"

"How should we know?" Tom grumbled, bitterly.

Who knew that Tom Riddle was such a poor morning person. Harry contemplated changing the ward he'd built to instead wake them up at four am instead of not at all. Nah, maybe after Christmas.

"It would explain how we," Gellert pointed at himself and Tom, "got letters without Albus chucking a hissy-fit."

Harry chuckled. "Well, it's the only excuse I can think of, because originally I must have got… oh, I don't know, a thousand or so letters." Actually, if the elves were anything like Dobby, then Harry was only surprised that there weren't more letters.

.:Spoilt:. Tom hissed again. Harry ignored him.

"Plus they must have traumatised our milkman. They sprung out of the milk bottles, and were inside eggs Petunia cracked. Vernon nailed up the mail slit, but that hardly stopped them." Clever little devils, elves.

"Wait… you live with muggles?" Gellert said, sounding half outraged, and half disgusted.

"Unfortunately."

"But… Why?"

"A combination of assholes. Tom killed off mum and dad, Crouch and Bagnold sent my proper guardian to jail wrongly without trial, and Dumbledore set up blood wards and chucks a fit when I try to leave.."

"I could have walked in any time I wanted, after I was reborn." Tom pointed out, shooting a glare at Dumbledore's empty chair.

Harry glanced at it too. The staff had been panicking all week, especially Dumbledore. Dumbledore had actually gone to the ministry, then their homes, to look up Tom and Gellert's history - presumably to see if they were really who they were. Both Tom and Gellert had left wards on their rooms that alerted them if another wizard entered - both of them being in orphanages with unaware muggles. There wasn't proof of who they were to be found, so all three of them just found the whole process rather amusing.

"Blood wards aren't that hard to foil anyway, with a bit of mind arts, a dash of compulsions, and some murder. Honestly, the protections were ridiculous, and it's all rot, because Dumbledore was firmly in the know about them treating me like dirt. Although I admit that I was a little less cross with him after I began to suspect the elves sent the letters, as they wouldn't have thought twice about a bedroom being 'the cupboard under the stairs'."

Harry was distracted, noting the Twins finally leaving the Gryffindor table, heads bent together. Excellent.

"I have a bit of business, I'll see you both in class." Harry called over his shoulder, already halfway out of the Great Hall.

 

---

 

Riddle looked ill.

It was utterly disgusting, that Potter had been brought up by muggles, and clearly been raised so poorly… but Gellert wouldn't have thought Riddle would care. Gellert didn't know the history there… he was picking it up, as Potter seemed utterly unconcerned about sharing, but Riddle was a stingy bastard when it came to details.

 

Then again, Gellert could hardly blame him. The facade of friendship was just that. Gellert didn't believe for one minute that Potter actually considered them friends… there was clearly a reason that both Potter and Riddle had come back to Hogwarts instead of sneaking off. It wasn't the Death Stick, either. Gellert had subtly sounded the other two out. Riddle had grumbled something about traitors, and hexed the (unsuspecting) Malfoy boy something fierce, but otherwise seemed unconcerned, and Potter had given Gellert a vaguely confused look, before understanding crossed his face. "Oh, right. Dumbledore still has that." had been his only comment, but again, he hadn't seemed that interested. Gellert could only assume that both of them only knew about the wand, not about the Hallows it belonged to, and the potential therein.

Regardless, he was fairly sure that wasn't what drew them here… which means something else did. He had assumed, at first, that Albus had been joking, when banning the third floor corridor, however only a few days in, Gellert had come to realise that Albus was serious. There was a big magical creature behind the door. Gellert had sensed it, and decided on more research before going further.

Clearly there was more to Hogwarts than he had expected. He had heard rumours about Slytherin's secret chamber before (which he would not put past the others to know about, thousand year secret or not!), and hints about a Gryffindor dueling hall (which perhaps Potter might know), but he hadn't really researched much into Hogwarts' history before. The textbook, so named, was proving almost as useless as their history teacher, too.

 

Gellert was appalled at the standard of teaching, really. Where were the Dark Arts? Even if Albus' sensibilities were offended at actually casting any, they should be taught! At least the history and practices. Half - half!! - of wizards were naturally Dark! For that matter, though it meant less to Gellert, there should be a Light magical class too. Not to mention that ghost should be removed immediately. Why, the idiot hadn't even reacted to his name, nor Potter's. He could only hope this 'Defence' class was going to cover both Light, Dark, and magical practices… though the fact that Riddle went rigid when he commented on it and that Potter had a fit of laughter did not bode well.

 

"That does not bode well." Riddle said, startling Gellert by mirroring his own thoughts. A glance told Gellert it was probably coincidence. Riddle was staring across the room where Potter was disappearing out of the hall with the red-haired twins. Gellert had yet to actually meet them, but Potter seemed to have integrated himself, despite apparently landing the twins a week's worth of detention for the stunt coming up to the school.

"They could hardly be more dangerous than us."

Riddle sent him an unreadable look.

"I would have recruited them in a heartbeat, if they weren't ridiculously loyal to Potter."

"Weasley… isn't that one of Albus' little staunch Light families?"

"Politically. Even if they weren't magically Dark… which I am fairly sure they actually are, I would have recruited them as Light wizards just the same. Geniuses… though of course they waste all their talent on practical jokes." Riddle paused, then scowled rather impressively. "Potter had them more loyal than even Bella… my best lieutenant. I suppose it shall be interesting to see what he does with them this time."

Gellert raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't thought Potter recruited."

"He is unaware that he does."

"Was." Gellert corrected. If there was one word he wouldn't use to describe Potter, it would be unaware. Riddle seemed even more unimpressed with Gellert's correction. Gellert admired Riddle's scowl. He had quite the repertoire of them going. Gellert should probably make a study of them. He never had managed the furious-rage look so well. Then again, he had overheard plenty of minions saying they were terrified of Gellert specifically because he was beautiful. Riddle had hardly ended up a belle of the ball. Gellert eyed Riddle's nose speculatively. Perhaps he had issues with rituals too. He was fairly sure Potter mentioned something about one being involved in Riddle's rebirth.

"You are staring at me." Riddle commented.

Gellert refocused on Riddle's whole face, not just his nose.

Really good at scowling.

"What!?" Riddle growled.

"How did you-" Gellert started… then his brain caught up with him. "Er… we have a double of Potions, then Defence, right?" That should distract him. There was definitely history with their House-Master. Even if he did want to know how Riddle lost a whole nose.

Riddle's scowl got better again. Then his face suddenly shifted to openness and a polite smile. Gellert was instantly suspicious.

"You're quite good at Potions, so I hear."

"…Yes." Gellert said, cautiously, relaxing some. Thankfully Riddle was unaware of Gellert's previous train of thought. Clearly Potions would be… interesting… but hopefully not deadly.

Well… for Gellert. He cared less about the others. If they were too slow to catch on to avoid an angry Riddle, then they would only hold the magical world back anyway.

"I'll show you the way." Riddle offered amiably.

Gellert considered skipping the class entirely for a moment, before mentally shrugging. Boredom had been the bane of his existence for decades, and he had to give it to the others… they never let life get boring for long. Besides, it couldn't be that hard to find a seat separately.

"Sure."

 

---

 

Tom was furious at Potter. This was hardly a new feeling… but the mixture of guilt was new… and it. pissed. him. off.

He wasn't meant to feel bad about killing off Potter's annoying parents. He had murdered hundreds… and that was just personally. Plus there was the prophecy to be considered, and the brat's parents were a thorn in Tom's side - as with the rest of Dumbledore's rotten little group. He shouldn't feel bad.

 

…they had locked Tom in a boot cupboard for a weekend, once, at Wool's. It was cramped and dusty, and there were spiders, and he had hated it.

 

But Potter was an enemy, damn it.

Riddle glared after him.

Oh no.

The majority (but not all - damn it!) of his guilt dispersed. Those twins. Fabian and Gideon Prewitt's reincarnation… improved. Tom felt a chill go down his spine. They were bad enough the first time around. He had heard rumours that Potter funded them then… but this Potter would probably actively encourage them, and no doubt had all sorts of information students weren't privy to.

"That does not bode well." he mused aloud.

Though that was a bit of a lie. Tom was actually… curious, about exactly what Potter could goad them into. Despite himself. Though he wouldn't hesitate to kill them if he became their target.

"They could hardly be more dangerous than us." Gellert commented.

Tom instantly remembered the portable swamps, the mechanical exploding distraction creatures, the vicious 'defensive' clothing, and their incredibly creative use of Peruvian powder. Not to mention their abilities as spies.

"I would have recruited them in a heartbeat, if they weren't ridiculously loyal to Potter."

He would have, too. Actually, he could this time… although, no. Potter had seemingly only spent a few hours, combined, in their general vicinity, but Tom didn't trust him not to have employed his 'Potter effect'.

"Weasley… isn't that one of Albus' little staunch Light families?" Gellert screwed up his face, and sent a frankly disgustingly wistful look at Dumbledore's empty chair. Ew.

"Politically." The Weasleys were actually more Dark than they were Light. In terms of their magic, rather than politics. The eldest boy, the twins, that ministry stooge, plus Potter's sweetheart. "Even if they weren't magically Dark… which I am fairly sure they actually are, I would have recruited them as Light wizards just the same. Geniuses… though of course they waste all their talent on practical jokes."

It was ridiculous! How did Potter manage to just fall into such good company (even if they were mostly wasting their skill). His parents must have bathed him in Liquid Luck.

"Potter had them more loyal than even Bella." He filled Gellert in, then realised that the idiot had got himself caught in his own prison and likely knew… nothing. "My best lieutenant." he added, "I suppose it shall be interesting to see what he does with them this time."

Poor little Grindelwald… he really had no idea the effect Potter had on… everything. Tom smirked.

"I hadn't thought Potter recruited."

"He is unaware that he does." It had to be Liquid Luck. Maybe it got in his blood… although, no, because Tom sure hadn't got any after his rebirth. He scowled.

"Was."

It took a moment for Tom to follow, before his scowl grew fiercer. Aaaaand he was back to wanting to throttle Potter. It was dangerous, not knowing what Potter had become, and how long he had had to become it. Potter was tight lipped on anything post Tom's death… thinking of which, he really wanted Potter to hurt. Throttling wasn't painful enough.

Tom glanced up, and noticed Gellert seemed riveted on his face.

"You are staring at me."

Merlin, he hoped that Gellert wasn't attracted to Tom. Because Tom doubted that it would be useful for manipulation, so he had exactly zero desire for such an outcome.

He was still staring. Tom hated emotions.

"What?" He demanded.

"How did you-" Gellert broke off, "Er… we have a double of potions, then Defence, right?"

 

Tom was instantly distracted.

Severus.

Damn it all. Tom hadn't thought he could want someone more dead (and more painfully) than he did Potter.

Maybe he would blow up Severus' Potion supplies… for starters.

Actually…

"You're quite good at Potions, so I hear." Well, no. Tom had heard that Gellert was good at altering potions. They hardly gave first years anything too dangerous… but Tom had heard of a potion Gellert had once made from the ingredients of truth serum. One dose had been better than six hours crucio, so they say. None of his Potion Masters could even guess how he did it. Plus there was the blatant Alchemy turning their juice into Coffee each morning. ...Tom needed to learn that.

"…Yes." Gellert was clearly cautious. Damn. It had really been a long time since he had even had to put a half-hearted effort into pretending innocence. Still, playing friendly seemed to be working for Potter, even though they knew he wasn't.

"I'll show you the way." Tom forced his face into a smile.

 

 

By the time they got to Potions, Gellert was clearly on high alert, and Tom was more than a little bit annoyed when he slipped away to sit with Potter's mudblood amongst the lions. She was the only one on that side sitting alone, too, so Tom couldn't even follow him.

Bother.

Chapter 5: Potion Masters

Harry maintained a face of perfect innocence as he watched the Slytherin boys (other than himself, Tom and Gellert) come rushing into Potions late. Well, technically they were just on time, but Snape had already arrived, and was looking furious. Amusingly, he said nothing, just jabbed his finger at the empty desks, and slammed the door behind them. Draco looked like he was about to cry. None of them looked like they had had time to shower or dress properly. Harry looked down to hide his smirk.

As Snape took the roll, he actually spat the late-boy's names with almost as much vitriol as Harry had come to expect in his own name. He didn't hesitate, like all the other teacher's had, over Gellert's name, but of course, he couldn't just ignore Harry.

"Ah, Yes," Snape said softly, and pausing dramatically "Harry Potter. Our new -- celebrity."

Harry bit his tongue, because as amusing as offering Snape a signature would be, the detentions wouldn't really be worth it.

Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry, but continued to call the Roll.

There was only Pansy, however, before he hesitated again. "Tom Riddle…" Harry, who had taken the seat next to a clearly seething Tom, could practically feel Tom just daring Snape to say something. However after a solid sneer, Snape moved on. Harry was a little disappointed.

 

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making, as there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper on death."

"Poetic." Harry breathed under his breath, amused. Tom shot him a look.

"If," Snape continued in a much louder voice, "you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Hermione sitting on the edge of her seat in anticipation… next to Gellert. What the bloody hell was he doing over there? Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"The Draught of Living Death. Though I believe there is also a potion for sending just a person's magic 'to sleep', if you brew on Imbolc, and start with a brew of human tears, rather than water." Snape looked at Harry blankly, in utter shock. Amusingly Tom also turned in his seat to gape at Harry.

To be fair, it was an extremely Dark Potion. Harry didn't care, knowing about it wasn't illegal, and Harry could quite honestly say he had never brewed it, nor owned a book it was in. Al, the little devil, had unfortunately loved potions… and didn't discriminate their affinity at all. Harry blamed Ginny for naming him after Snape, his wife had been annoyingly enamoured with Snape… once he was dead.

Snape was clearly utterly thrown, but soon managed to pull his face into his usual sneer.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"The stomach of a goat."

"Sir." Snape corrected, clearly frustrated. Harry was sorely tempted to reenact the smart-alec comment he was sure he had used on the Potion Master the last the around insisting he didn't need to call Harry Sir. He resisted.

"The stomach of a goat, Sir." Harry smiled at Snape instead. Sirius said he had his dad's smile.

"Riddle!" Snape shouted… which was ridiculous, as he was sitting right next to where Snape was looming over Harry.

"Yes Sir?" Tom said, though with too much of a drawl to really be polite.

"What is the difference, Riddle, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Snape demanded.

"The time at which the plant is harvested." Tom easily replied. Though, honestly, Tom was likely just as good a brewer as Snape… it was why Harry had sat with him, after all, so he wasn't sure why Snape bothered.

Snape sneered down at them both. "Two points each to Slytherin."

Harry was fairly sure that, even though it was his own house, it physically pained Snape to say that.

"Brown!" Snape barked, surprising Harry. "What time of year is best to harvest Pixie wings?"

Lavender's eyes were wide, and she glanced at Parvati. "I don't know, Sir."

"Hmm." Snape sneered. A seat behind Lavender, Hermione's hand, which had already waved furiously at each question, stretched even higher.

".:Why is Gellert sitting with Hermione?:." Harry hissed in Parseltongue under his breath at Tom, while Snape was distracted with pouncing on Dean, then Ron with ridiculous questions.

".:Worried about your mudblood?:." Tom sneered back.

Harry shrugged. Hermione, even at eleven, could probably look after herself, though Harry would step in if Gellert really started using her.

"-…maybe you should ask her." Seamus glared at Snape. Harry winced as he caught the end of Seamus' answer, actually, if he remembered correctly he had said the same thing, originally.

"Sit down," Snape suddenly snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Finnigan, temperature is the most important part of a boils cure, and a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek."

Harry glanced over to see Hermione was bright red, and Gellert was frowning at Snape.

Snape spun on the spot, barking at them that they should have copied all that down, before immediately starting them on a simple cure to cure boils. Presumably the one he had asked Seamus about.

 

Harry was surprised to find that he and Tom worked pretty much flawlessly together, neither of them even talking, Harry preparing the ingredients, while Tom prepared their cauldron, then taking turns adding things without comment. At the desk in front of him, Draco and Theodore Nott's potion was coming along fairly well, and Harry assumed that Gellert and Hermione would manage, but everyone else looked extremely stressed, and only ten or so minutes in, Neville and Seamus' cauldron started letting off a thick black smoke, before melting entirely, exploding over them and spreading their potion across the floor.

Beside Harry, Tom flicked his wand, with what Harry recognised as anti-gravity mist - what he had run through in the triwizard maze - coming out the end, turning the flow entirely to the Gryffindor side of the room, where it began melting through people's shoes. Most of the Gryffindors started climbing on their chairs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape at Neville, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville, who was drenched in the potion, was too busy moaning in pain to pay Snape much mind. Snape turned his ire on Seamus, who had tiny boils from potion splash, but wasn't nearly so bad as Neville. "What did I just tell you about temperature! That's another point you've lost from Gryffindor."

"Potter!" Snape yelled, spinning to face Harry, however before Harry could find out how creative Snape could be in somehow making this Harry's fault, Hermione let out a dismayed moan, as her and Gellert's potion started putting out purple smoke.

However before anything else could happen, Harry felt a wave of foreign magic, and instantly shielded against it. Beside him, Tom did the same. However upon seeing that the rest of his classmates now had bubble-head charms on, and realising that the magic had been Snape's spell, Harry quickly cast his own. Tom didn't, but he didn't seem fazed, so Harry assumed that he had other methods of not breathing in the presumably hostile purple smoke.

"OUT!" Snape bellowed, and with so much rage that the majority of the first years were moving before they could register. Harry glanced at Tom. Tom rolled his eyes, collecting a sample of their potion into a vial and labelling it before collecting his things - unlike their classmates, who had simply abandoned their own belongings.

Hermione and Gellert were just starting to leave, when Snape shot his arm out.

"Not you two."

Harry felt a swell of sympathy for Hermione, but just collected his own bag and headed out.

 

---

 

Gellert hated brewing.

Which was actually rather hilarious, as one of the things he had been known for was his amazing potions abilities. Gellert often wondered if he had been cursed as a child.

Potions, not that most people realised such, were rituals.

He sighed down at his potion, barely paying attention to their House-Master rousing on the poor boy who had blown up his potion. Beside him, the bushy haired girl from the boats was practically pulling out her frizzy hair trying to figure out why their potion had dissolved the quills, and was rapidly turning into a thick paste.

Gellert was resigned.

He neatly chopped the frog spleens, just as the instructions said, and carefully added them every third stir exactly.

The potion began bubbling… despite no longer being above a flame. Gellert sighed.

Across the room, Potter and Riddle were partnered together. Their potion was complete, and looked exactly how it should. They were hissing at each other in snake again. Gellert pouted.

"Oh no." Beside him the girl, Granger, started muttering under her breath, and stirring furiously. "Oh no oh no oh no no no no no-"

"POTTER!" their House master bellowed… Gellert really needed to find out what the deal was there. Honestly, the man was a menace. Not that Potter and Riddle weren't both perfectly capable of dealing with the obvious offence the man took to them, but it was thoroughly unprofessional. If he were one of Gellert's minions, he would not have stood for it. Honestly, Albus had turned into a shrew! Torture the man into line… or at least fire him. Ridiculous.

Beside him, Granger moaned.

Gellert turned his full attention back to the potion, and simultaneously sighed, while wandlessly charming the air between himself and the potion to circulate from the far side of the room. At least the House-Master was competent enough to recognise what Gellert had done to their brew, instantly giving every student in the room bubblehead charms.

Thick swirling smoke curled up out of their cauldron, quickly filling the room.

"OUT!" Snape yelled, but soon shot a arm out to stop himself and Granger from leaving. "Not you two." He said, with a vicious glare. Beside him, Granger was vibrating on the spot, her head hung low.

"I'm sorry Professor Snape-" she begun, but Gellert had taken a liking to her, so cut her off.

"We followed the instructions exactly, and I don't even have Re'em's blood here!"

"Then how," Snape sneered, "do you explain the concoction of strengthening mist!?"

Granger's eyes were wide, but she kept her mouth shut. Smart girl.

Gellert shrugged, but peered into the cauldron curiously. "I suppose it is possible that the pewter in the cauldron isn't as pure tin as it should be, maybe too much copper… that could react with trace elements of porcupine blood left on the quills… if the spleens were added every two and eight ninths of a turn, and the ground beetle's eyes were too fresh…"

Both Snape and Granger were staring at him, jaws dropped. Which looked rather comical, actually, as they both had huge bubbles covering their mouth and nose.

"Detention, Grindelwald! And an essay on the ramifications of inhaling strengthening mist without taking Argue essence first, from both of you." Snape turned his back on them sharply and stalked over to the wall, pressing his wand into a rune that would cycle the air out. Mist potions were extremely volatile and often reacted poorly to vanishing spells.

"Dismissed!" Snape barked, when he turned and found them still there.

Granger practically ran from the room, but Gellert collected his and Granger's belongings before strolling out. If the House-Master had an issue with that, it would be a simple matter of banishing his bubblehead charm.

 

Gellert found he wouldn't have to chase the chit down to return her gear, as immediately outside the door Potter had Granger grasped by one arm, and was clearly putting effort into calming her down. Upon getting closer, Gellert realised she was in tears. He scrunched his nose. Women.

 

---

 

Tom hexed the seat next to him, but was furious when Potter wandlessly banished his spell with a laugh, before sitting next to him. Damn it, there were several spare seats. Tom contemplated moving, but as the rest of their dorm-mates hadn't arrived yet, Potter would likely just follow him.

Shamefully Tom resorted to muggle means, elbowing Potter hard in the ribs, under pretence of setting up their cauldron.

Potter just laughed again.

 

Tom felt… miserable. And he was still angry at whatever Potter had done to their dorm room. For Mordred's sake Tom had tried an altered and obscure Albanian charm for an alarm and it still didn't work! Tom only woke up on time because he set his bed's wards to shut off the warming charm he'd warded in at seven, but he still only woke up slowly, and late. He didn't bother waking the other brats, because… well, why would he?

He was in a foul mood, and despite the coffee, Gellert still abandoned him for Gryffindors. Urgh! being in school again was a bore. He couldn't even go after the stone yet because he was fairly sure Dumbledore hadn't actually placed it down the trapdoor yet.

Severus entered the room with unnecessary drama and a scowl for the missing Slytherins, and begun taking the attendance. Unlike their other teachers from first period each day this week, he at least didn't take points for their tardiness. Tom would crucio Potter if he didn't at least pretend for some House pride.

Fucking Gryffindors.

 

"Ah, Yes, Harry Potter. Our new -- celebrity."

Tom's fury switched back to Severus. That traitorous lying coward. His death would not be painless. Even Nagini's painful and slow venom was not nearly enough.

"Pansy Parkinson" Severus drawled next, having finished his issues with Potter. Tom would have to grill Potter on why on earth Severus had chosen him when he clearly loathed him. The Parkinson girl simpered out a "Present, Professor Snape." and Tom's internal sneer almost leaked out, as his name was next.

"Tom Riddle…"

Weeks. Tom decided, turning his attention back to Severus to discover him scowling.

Before Tom could even reply however, Severus had the utter gall to try and legilimise Tom. Not weeks, years. Years of torture! Tom would clearly have to find alternate methods to that of horcruxes anyway, so he saw no harm in forcing Severus to make one… that way he wouldn't have worry about accidentally killing him while torturing him.

Tom specifically fed Severus false childhood memories that he knew would trigger various moment's of shame for Severus. Things that parodied some of his failures as a Death Eater… though subtly, because he still had to get the stone before he could enjoy giving out his punishments.

Severus, the traitor, masked his reaction completely, and moved on to the last few names in the roll.

Beside him, Tom could feel Potter's amusement.

"Poetic." Potter commented, as Severus made an overly dramatised ode to Potions. Tom shot Potter a look, a little surprised to find that the sarcastic remark had actually improved Tom's mood some. Maybe, if Severus' reasoning had to do with Potter, he could trick the brat into getting in on the torture… clearly Potter didn't like Severus either. He usually had to imperio loved ones into torturing.

 

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Severus demanded, looming over their table. Tom carefully maintained a mild smile and interested look.

…Right up until Potter spoke of the Traitamus Potion!!! That was a Black Art… it wasn't even just Dark. Tom's plots for Severus were totally derailed, thoroughly distracted. What the hell happened to Potter after his death!?! Because on top of sealing away one's magic, that potion also involved 'blood of a tortured virgin' and a fire set by burning unicorn's bones in the brewing!!!

What. The. Hell.

"Let's try again. Potter," Snape said, clearly trying not to alert any of the 'innocent' first years to Potter's outrageous statement, but also clearly thrown. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"The stomach of a goat." Potter answered with a smile, looking proud of the answer.

Tom's amusement flared, as Severus was clearly frustrated.

"Sir." Severus spat.

"The stomach of a goat, Sir." Potter dutifully repeated.

"Riddle!" Severus turned on Tom, as Potter clearly wasn't playing.

"Yes, …Sir." Tom drawled.

"What is the difference, Riddle, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Tom resisted rolling his eyes. "The time in which the plant is harvested." and the many potions it is used for, including the shift in affinities… actually, Tom was relatively sure there was a lovely potion that made the ingester re-live their worst memory over and over, not unlike the effects of a dementor… perhaps Tom would use it on Severus.

Severus had a resigned look to him at their correct answers.

"Two points each to Slytherin."

Well that is what he gets for quizzing his Lord on first year potions. Damn it all, Tom would find a way to make Severus his slave. That would be fitting.

 

".:Why is Gellert sitting with Hermione?:." Potter asked, when Severus had moved onto the Gryffindors.

A small part of Tom was secretly thrilled to have someone else human to speak in Parseltongue with… He forcibly squished it down, though, pulling a sneer onto his face.

".:Worried about your mudblood?:." Because of course that person would just have to be Potter.

On the other side of the room The mudblood was waving her hand around like a loon, as if Severus was blind. Cretin. His brow furrowed, as he saw Gellert whisper to Granger with a smile. It was suspicious that Gellert had latched on to the same mudblood Potter had originally.

 

"We will be brewing a simple boils cure. One cauldron to a pair. The instructions are on the board." Severus flicked his wand and said instructions appeared. Tom flicked his eyes down the list and withheld a sigh. First year.

He begun setting the cauldron to the right height and filling it to the right level. Beside him, Potter surprisingly didn't comment, starting to measure the ingredients and prepare them. From his own store, too.

They still didn't speak, and flawlessly fell into a rhythm, taking turns and brewing the cure. Well, at least Potter was a better partner than Avery had been. Tom had only put up with his classmate because Slughorn was flush over Avery's father's recent and continuing successes on the international Duelling circuit.

Tom sneered across the room at Severus' back where he was leering over a Gryffindor's chopping. Slughorn may have been a pain, but at least he was useful.

 

Tom didn't pay attention as one of the Gryffindor's spoilt their brew, simply casting a spell for anti-gravity mist that altered the magical level of the floor just enough that any spillage wouldn't bother him, or any other Slytherin. Potter was distracted, no doubt worried for his little lion friends, but they were actually done, so Tom ignored that and begun bottling a sample. He wasn't even aware that anything extraordinary had occurred until he felt Severus' magic try and spell him.

He was instantly furious, and about to crucio the man (damn the philosophers stone!), when he registered exactly what the spell was. Tom instantly rerouted his magic to compensate for providing oxygen and stopped breathing all together.

His eye twitched when he realised Gellert had created a brewed mist. That would have been easy to manipulate into an explosion that could have been the first downpayment on Severus' punishment.

When Severus told them to leave, Tom did so (after bottling their sample, because he was quite sure Severus would give them a zero afterwards otherwise, and he needed to maintain his temper around the man long enough to fetch the stone first).

 

However while Potter left the classroom happily, he waited for his mudblood, and set about coddling her as she burst into tears. Tom cast one disgusted look at the pair and stormed off.

 

 

Chapter 6: The Unbreakable Vows

"Sir?" Potter asked, an overly bright smile on his face and his hand in the air. Sitting next to Gellert, Riddle flicked out his wand and turned it on Potter's back under the desk with a quiet growl. Potter must have anticipated this, however, as the sickly-orange spell was absorbed into a shield presumably placed on Potter's chair. There was definitely something going on between Potter, Riddle and this professor.

At the front of their defence classroom, their professor startled violently, and looked visibly ill at seeing Potter in attendance. "P-p-p-potter!? Ye-es?"

Gellert hid a sneer, this man was a mess. He shouldn't be teaching cheering charms, let alone the ins-and-outs of the nasties of their world.

Potter seemed un-perturbed.

"I was just wondering, sir, where you got your lovely turban?"

 

Gellert instantly became four times more suspicious of what he had just thought was an obscure fashion statement. Though Potter could just be stirring.

Potter had already started the afternoon by picking a fight with some elder Hufflepuff students waiting outside Transfiguration in the hall. Potter seemed to thrive on poking the badger's nest… and the snake's nest… actually. Not to mention whatever their defence professor qualified as. It seemed to Gellert that if there was a nest to be had, Potter would be poking it. Judging by Riddle's stress levels, Gellert was still waiting for a fallout from those red-haired twins. Gellert eyed the boy from the train, sitting four desks over, who could only be their brother. Gellert weighed up how much hassle it would be to charm the rude boy back over, and whether or not he would be useful in protective services, presumably those twins were a menace at home too, and the boy had clearly survived them thus far.

 

"It was g-g-given t-to me b-by an African p-p-prince as a t-t-thank-you for g-getting r-rid of a t-t-t-troublesome zom-b-bie." Professor Quirrell's voice broke through Gellert's musings.

 

A… Zombie.

Gellert sneered. Well, now he knew why this man had been teaching muggle studies until two years ago. Gellert mused how much trouble he would get in for bringing an Inferius to the next class. Riddle seemed to type to know where the nearest graveyard stood.

Then again, there was that unfortunate experience with the dead ducks in his late teens that Gellert was still trying not to think about.

Maybe if he could convince Riddle to do the raising ritual?

 

"P-p-p-p-please g-g-get ou-out y-y-your b-b-boo-b-books," Quirrell took a deep breath "and p-p-p-put away y-your w-wands."

 

The lesson only went down hill from there. From what he could understand (which wasn't much, as the blatantly put-on stutter was indecipherable even in the rare moments the man raised his voice past the volume of a dormouse!) they would be studying exactly four practical spells over the entire year (Four!!), instead focusing on the history of banned spells. Judging by the fact that the introduction hadn't even mentioned the existence of the unforgivables, Gellert didn't hold much hope for History of Magic maintaining it's position as his least-favorite class. At least it was (so-far) accurate, even if the ghost was obsessed with Goblins.

 

What the hell was Albus even doing here!? It had to be a plot of some sort to limit education, or else Gellert thought Albus must actually have lost his mind. Unless… unless he didn't know? Was it possible to run a school without ever knowing the content of one's professor's classes. Gellert found that fairly unlikely, because his Highmaster had been quite clear on where Gellert hadn't learnt his experiments, when he got expelled from Durmstrang. Hogwarts was meant to be one of the best (if rather heavily Light) magical schools around!

 

Gellert dutifully took notes… more as proof of the idiocy they had to endure than actual intention to ever read over them. In the seat to Gellert's left, Riddle had taken to hexing Potter's chair throughout the lesson, trying to get through his shield. Assumably for fun more than actual intent, as Potter didn't seem to suffer any ill-effects, nor retaliate past a few mild glares. Across the isle, to Gellert's right, a dark skinned Gryffindor boy, whose name Gellert hadn't caught (he tuned out of the role-call after B-b-b-b-boot T-t-t-t-terry, and only answered to his own name because Riddle poked him), had drawn a rather good caricature of Quirrell being swallowed by a turban with giant teeth. Gellert contemplated a switching spell to the chalk board at the front of the room, but shuddered at the idea of a detention full of one-on-one stutters.

Potter was sitting next to Granger, who had at least gotten over her crying, and was now, rather impressively, managing to both diligently take notes, and also constantly stare with a morbid sort of horror at the disaster that was their professor. She didn't seem to need to look where she was writing to stay on the lines, which was mildly impressive.

Potter had, if Gellert understood correctly, cast a protean charm on Granger's notebook to his own, and wasn't paying any attention at all.

 

Gellert was rather jealous he hadn't thought of that.

 

The class seemed to drag on four hours, and Gellert eventually gave in on trying to follow, and instead sunk into a meditation. It wasn't like he needed to study first year defence, though at some stage he would have words with Albus about the disservice he was giving to the magical nation by allowing such an idiot to teach. Gellert decided to use the rest of the class to try and get a further read on Hogwart's wards, see if he couldn't find out if they were tied into Albus specifically. That would make sneaking into Albus' bedchambers rather more difficult, but Gellert couldn't see how he was going to manage stealing his wand back while Albus was awake. Of course, he couldn't do much delving with Potter and Riddle so close by, they would pick up on any big magical swells immediately. He was still fairly sure they weren't after the wand, but at this stage he suspected it would actually be harder to steal it off one of them, rather than off Albus, so he wasn't going to be idle and let them get there first on a guess.

 

---

 

"H-homework is t-t-t-two f-feet on the d-d-d-dangers of d-d-dark forests. D-d-d-due T-t-t-tuesday."

The class practically apperated out of their seats, so keen to get out of the classroom. Gellert must have been day-dreaming, because it was only someone bumping their desk on the way past that got him moving.

He hesitated, when it became obvious Tom wasn't getting up to leave, but a glance at Potter, and Gellert seemed to perk up and scuttle off. That was suspicious, but Tom was more interested in Potter not leaving.

Gellert shut the classroom door behind him at least.

 

"B-b-boys, c-c-can I help y-you?"

Tom ignored Quirrell entirely, and turned on Potter. "Weren't you just leaving, Potter?"

Potter raised one eyebrow, then stretched out over his chair, swinging it back onto it's back legs and crossing his hands behind his neck. It was a blatantly smug declaration, and Tom cast a tendon-twister at him in fury before he could even think. Tom felt only a small second of satisfaction when it actually hit, before he felt his knee dislocate in response.

"Oh fuck you." He swore, he hated when people messed with his knees. Besides, dislocations hurt.

"Boys!" Quirrel snapped, half shocked, and half not-so-secretly pleased. Tom caught the look on Potter's face, and knew neither of them had missed the lack of stutter.

"Leave." Tom snarled at Potter, silently strapping his knee back into place and ignoring Quirrell again.

"And miss the show?" Potter said, massaging his thigh where Tom's spell hit, but at least standing up out of his laze. "Not on your life, Riddle."

Quirrell had fallen silent, and was watching them both rather more warily now.

"Y-y-you are d-dissmissed, P-potter. I need a w-word w-with R-Riddle."

"No."

Tom was more than familiar with the rage that passed over Quirrell's face at Potter's blatant refusal.

"Potter-" Tom started, but trailed off, as Potter cast some sort of warding spell on the room. Tom was familiar with Potter's magic. More familiar than with anyone else's. So he could tell what type of magic every single spell Potter cast was. That ward was Dark. Again, what the hell happened to Potter after he died?"

"No," Potter drawled, "I think I'll stay and watch, thanks. I want to know whether Voldie here has a heart attack trying to decide whether to kill himself or to share. It'll be fun."

Tom closed his eyes and pinched his nose.

Quirrell let out a scream, and instantly started casting spells at Potter.

 

How was this Tom's life?!

Honestly, what he wouldn't give to be able to go back and throttle Trelawney on her way to that pub. He was hardly the first Dark Lord around. Why did he have to get landed with Potter?

Tom opened his eyes and let out a sigh. Quirrell was duelling hard and fast, but Potter was… well, Tom could be honest. Potter was playing.

Tom sat back down at his desk and put his chin in his hand.

He wasn't even sure what he wanted, from this meeting. He hadn't actually decided to come clean. Trust Potter to ruin that for him.

Tom trailed the duel with his eyes. He knew all the spells Quirrell was casting, obviously. Voldemort was in charge of the body right now, and Tom knew everything he knew. Occasionally Potter would throw something different in, however.

 

It was …hard, for Tom to get his head around the idea that Potter wasn't the same luck-riddled child who beat him by trickery and inordinate luck. Still, Tom found that he could almost… well, not like Potter. Tom didn't like anybody. But this Potter was ...tolerable.

Probably because he was so blatantly Dark. Also blatantly not Dumbledore's pawn. Which was nice.

Still. That was Tom's alter-ego Potter was besting.

 

".:ENOUGH!:." Tom yelled in Parseltongue. It was enough to distract both of the idiots sharing the room with him, and time enough for him to cast a international duelling ward between the two of them. They both shot him eerily similar scowls. He contemplated squishing both of them with said wards, and just being done with the whole thing, but there was a fair chance that he wouldn't manage, and better to have them at each other's throats, rather than both after his.

 

"Perhaps, just for something novel, we could try talking?"

Potter shot his a distinctly unimpressed look, which… fair. It was rather hypocritical. But the only people who cared about being hypocritical were those that cared what others thought of them. Tom was not one of those people. If being a hypocrite got him what he wanted, then he didn't see the issue.

 

---

 

Harry almost pouted when Tom stuck his foot in their duel. He really hadn't got to play for quite some time. Maybe in the holidays he would get his hands on some ageing potion and try his hand at the international circuit. Or talk Tom and Gellert into some showing off in the Slytherin common-room again.

"Perhaps, just for something novel," Tom drawled, "we could try talking?"

Oh that was rich. Still, while that had been diverting, Harry had a plan in coming here. Other than simply stopping Tom and Voldemort from ganging up on him (and on the world too, he supposed).

 

"I suggest some unbreakable vows." Harry offered.

"I r-r-really d-d-don't know-"

"Oh for-" the love of the Gods! Harry yanked on his own hair to stop himself swearing and starting another duel. "Right, just to get it out there. You, Quirrell, are possessed by Lord Voldemort, because you went to an Albanian forest and didn't know better than to poke your nose where you shouldn't." Harry ignored the offended look on Quirrel's face, and pushed on. "Your body can't sustain two souls, so you are both here for the philosophers stone, and are getting by on Unicorn blood in the mean time."

"Actually," Tom cut in, "they don't start on the blood until November."

Harry cut him a sneer for the interrupting. "Me and Tommy here, who yes that Tom Riddle, are both some sort of time-slash-universe travellers. I am quite unsure which. Tom is presumably also here for the stone, so you can have that argument later. I don't care."

"And what are you here for, Potter?" Tom cut in. Quirrellmort was remaining silent, though to be fair, that was a fair amount of dumped secrets and hints of information to swallow.

"Amusement." Harry answered. Which was… mostly true.

"Not the stone?" Tom pressed.

"Nah, I'm not afraid of dying, and gold isn't that hard to come up with, given: magic. Most wizards are just idiots."

Tom took his answer at face value. He had, after all, seen Harry willingly walk to his death, and Harry had long since discovered that Voldemort funded the majority of his war by scamming muggles. Everyone had just assumed he was funded by the likes of Lucius, and never actually bothered looking into it.

Plus, Tom still saw Harry as a Gryffindor-golden-boy.

Idiot.

 

"What sort of vows?" Voldemort asked. Notibly not agreeing, but curious enough. Harry smirked.

"No killing me this school year. I'll promise not to steal the philosopher's stone. You can promise not to intentionally kill any students. I'll promise not to kill you," Harry glanced at Tom, "or Tom, this school year. In fact, we can just put a year-limit on all the vows, between now and next September, and we can all re-negotiate at the end of the year if we want to."

"What is stopping me from killing you now, and getting what I want?" Voldemort bluffed.

Harry rolled his eyes and began counting on his fingers. "That duel, the fact that you are weakened in Quirrel's body, the fact that you aren't sure what a killing curse would even do - I have a hint, ask Tom - and the fact that, of the three of us, you're the only one who doesn't know the full prophecy and what that could mean."

"And what make you think that I wouldn't ally with Tom Riddle?"

Harry smirked, but admitted "I don't." but then he specifically paused long enough for Quirrellmort to smugly open his mouth, before cutting in "But I do know that Tom currently doesn't have enough to gain in order to ally with you."

They both glanced at Tom, who glared at Harry… but also didn't contradict him. Harry cast a ward on the Room of Requirement the first day here, and Tom hadn't gone in yet. If he were interested in protecting Voldemort, and thus the horcruxes, he would have collected the diadem straight away. Surprisingly, in a room of himself and two Voldemorts, for once, Harry actually held all the advantages.

It was a strange feeling.

 

There was a long pause.

"What of protecting the other teachers?"

Harry knew he'd won, but bit down on his smirk. Voldemort was just the sort of bastard who would cut off his nose to spite his face… and yes, Harry went there.

 

 

There was some negotiating of terms. Plus Harry could only take vows with Tom, because touching Quirrell would see him turn to ash. but in the end, the whole things was remarkably civil.

None of them would intentionally kill any of the others, though making their lives difficult wasn't excluded. None of them would kill any other students, but the staff and anyone else were fair game. Harry proposed that, both because he would rather not spend his evening arguing with them both about Dumbledore, and because he would only put up with Binns for so long, and wasn't quite sure how a ghost would count. Harry swore he wouldn't steal the philosophers stone. Quirrell and Tom both glared at each other, and didn't make any promises about the stone. Harry was not interested in that argument. Voldemort insisted that Tom and Harry swore to tell him if they knew someone suspected him and to actively try and prevent him being found out. Harry at least argued it down to if the staff suspected him enough to significantly act. He then promptly announced that Snape suspected him because of his fake stutter. Tom then wasted (in Harry's opinion) almost a full half-hour trying to convince Quirrellmort to ease off the stuttering. He failed. Harry probably didn't help by pointing out that Tom did the same thing in their original go-through. All of these vows had a time restriction of 'between the time all three of us leaving this classroom, and September 2nd next year'.

 

Finally, once the temporary truce was vowed, Harry gave up the prophecy. Which, it turned out, Tom hadn't ever managed to steal from Harry's dreams, so actually of the three of them only Harry knew it. Fortunately, Harry had a fairly reasonable response.

 

"So, either must die at the hand of the other. Well, Tom, have I died at your hand?"

"Yes."

Harry smirked, "and have you died at mine?" He tried, really he did, to keep the smugness out of his voice. …okay, maybe he didn't try that hard.

"Yes." Tom gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Right then. Prophecy completed. Null and void. Done."

"Except that-" Voldemort started

"Look," Harry cut him off, "either it is right, and somehow we'll both die by each other's hand again no matter trying to avoid it, in which case you should really make sure you die first, because trust me being second works out better, oooor," Harry half-sung, dodging Tom's hex, "the prophecy is wrong, so nothing will happen if we both just ignore it."

 

There was more argument over that, but Harry kind of tuned most of it out, because Tom actually took the 'ignoring-it' side. In the end Quirrelmort agreed to discuss it later, given the vows to not kill each other this year. Interestingly, Tom specifically steered the conversation away from Harry being a horcrux, and spouted a branch of the Gaunt family tree and shamelessly squished Harry into it when Quirrelmort demanded to know about the Parseltongue. (They had also argued for some time over what language to speak the vows in, eventually settling on Parseltongue, in case someone broke into their heads. Harry assumed they both meant in case someone broke into Harry's head, because Harry was the only person to have broken into theirs, and he had a cheat-code. Harry was actually far better at Occlumency than either of them, now, but he was hardly sharing secrets for free, so he kept his mouth shut as it really didn't effect him either way.)

 

All in all, Harry thought it was an extremely productive afternoon.

Chapter 7: Tea with Hagrid

They had History again last on a Friday afternoon. A dangerous time to put it, as even less people would be paying attention each week. Hell, Tom was fairly sure that the Hufflepuffs up the back had all charmed, or presumably had upper-years charm, open-eyes over their own and were just sleeping. Which Tom would do… if Potter wasn't in the class. Because falling asleep when Potter was around without the numerous wards, like Tom had set up in their dorm, sounded like a terrible idea. Though perhaps he could ward his chair. God, Binns had been bad enough when he was alive.

The day dragged.

 

Potter was too perky. Tom was suspicious.

 

… And also mad. He hadn't settled on how to deal with his counter-part, and had planned just to feel things out. Their encounter had not gone according to any plan. Potter, always sticking his nose in. Tom eyed a differen't Hufflepuff, building a paper plane, and wandlessly animated it into a paper dragon that immediately set to attacking Potter. He got some small amusement out of the look of horror on the Hufflepuff girl's face (it is the small things in life). She had been trying to animate it, and obviously though she had somehow caused it. Fool. As if she had the skill.

Potter, obviously, knew exactly who to blame. At least the thing singed some of his hair first, but Potter just shot Tom an annoyed look, and somehow persuaded the now-dragon to fly back over the the Hufflepuff.

Tom's eyes narrowed.

 

Potter was too perky.

 

It couldn't just be about the vows with his counter-part, either. Tom wasn't stupid, and this new Potter was dangerous. Tom could probably kill him, if he really put his mind to it… though it hardly seemed worth it, considering he knew of three times Potter had survived death before … assuming that Potter had died before they were all brought back. Regardless, he was fairly certain Potter hadn't needed those vows. It was highly suspicious. Actually, Potter's whole presence was highly suspicious. Gellert was presumably here to harass Dumbledore, and probably chasing that wand, if his pathetic attempt at 'subtle' questions were anything to go by. But why Potter was here, Tom had no idea. Tom wanted the stone, and to kill the old fool (the wand would just be a bonus). He had planned on killing Potter too, though if he wasn't going to get in Tom's way, Tom supposed could let him live. Tom was still angry about his last death… but he was willing to push all that hatred on to Dumbledore if this Potter was controllable. Also, Tom was fuming over how vague the fucking prophecy was. He was beginning to suspect foul play, too, because that thing had made him obsessed. This time around he was just mildly annoyed. Like he said, suspicious.

 

The bell rang (finally) for the end of the day, and Potter perked up more.

"Would you like to accompany me to Hagrid's?" Potter asked, cheerfully. Tom narrowed his eyes, as though an afternoon taunting the half-breed did sound enjoyable enough, he couldn't understand what Potter would get out of it.

Potter stumbled getting out of his chair, and shot what looked to be a heat spell at his thigh. At least there was some pleasure to be had, though Tom would kill him if he had to keep the damn knee brace on past this afternoon.

"Was that a healing spell?" Gellert inquired, though it didn't really sound like he cared.

Potter shot Tom a scathing look.

 

"Are you coming, or not?"

Tom shrugged, but Gellert seemed keen enough.

"Hagrid's the half-giant, right? Has he got any tribal connections?" Gellert asked.

"A half-brother, though he doesn't know about him, and for the Gods sake do not tell him. Last time he brought Gwarp here. You can imagine how well that went."

 

Tom hadn't known that. Though he wasn't at all surprised. The half-breed clearly took the brains from his mother's side. Hell, Tom had framed him for petrifying students with an acromantula. Tom hadn't even expected it to work, he had honestly just been stalling. All the idiot had to do was admit to keeping one. They might have hunted it down, sure, but it was a pet. Hagrid had spent a year in Azkaban for it, been expelled, and never had a wand since.

 

"Do you know which tribe?" Gellert asked, as they started down the hall.

"No idea. Hagrid's mum, the giant-half, was called Fridwulfa, and it was somewhere in Eastern Europe, I think. Do you know, Tom?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Why the hell would I know?" And, a better question, why should he care?

"Well your DeathEaters were trying to recruit the tribe." Potter rolled his eyes.

"I was trying to recruit all the tribes, Potter." Not that there were that many these days. It was probably that Slovenian tribe.

"I didn't much like the giants, myself." Gellert added.

Tom bet he didn't. There had been that battle he took giants to, where the tribe abandoned the wizard's because of internal squabble over the new Gurg, causing chaos and rather a lot of death and destruction. "1933." Tom said, rather smugly. Gellert flinched.

"Merlin that was a terrible August."

"Just a reminder," Potter waved his hands in the most ridiculous fashion to catch their attention. "Binns is pretty much the only history education I've had."

Gellert groaned, uncomfortably, which was the only reason Tom indulged Potter.

"How many wizards did you lose again?" Tom prompted, then sent Potter a conspiratorial smirk (and wasn't that weird) "The giants battled amongst themselves, wiping out the majority of Gellert's army, and the base he had been building. Turkey, wasn't it?"

"Iraq. They were meant to stay in Turkey. Apparently the Gurg was from an Iraqi tribe originally and western Turkey was 'close enough' to head over and pick a fight with his father. We blamed the whole thing on the muggles, of course, but it was a pain. Plus Adolf, that muggle, was smug over a whole heap of his own advancements in July. It took a lot to keep his nose out of things. I am still fairly sure he was a squib with connections."

"Muggles." Tom sneered.

Potter opened his mouth to comment, but they had reached the entry hall and they got split up as there was a fair crowd heading out to enjoy the afternoon sun.

 

They reformed on the sloped path down to Ogg's old hut, but didn't talk more. Tom hadn't had much to do with the old gamekeeper, except when Malfoy got drunk and bet Rosier he could ride a thestral blindfolded. Even then Tom hadn't been in his hut. He had gone into the garden and dragged the two drunk idiots back to the common room, but that was as close as he's got. Ogg had been an easy manipulate, so Tom hadn't paid him much attention.

 

Potter cheerfully knocked on the door and from the other side of it came the sound of barking and pots clattering.

"Back Fang – Back!" Came the half-breed's voice through the door.

".:If that thing slobbers on me I'll poison it:." Tom hissed. Potter just rolled his eyes and cast a spell on him. Tom blocked it at first, but it turned out to be a cleanliness barrier, so he let it settle.

Still, watching the half-breed's smile fade to a tense grimace when he opened the door and saw who Potter had brought with him did lighten Tom's day.

 

"Oh." the half-breed winced. "Yeh … yeh brought friends."

"I hope that's alright?" Potter beamed, perfect innocent-face on full view. Tom could appreciate the acting.

"Good afternoon, Professor Hagrid." Tom smiled. He could picture Dumbledores horror now. 'You had who over to tea Hagrid!?' Tom needed to get a spy in that office.

"It is okay that I brought them, right?" Potter scuffed his foot on the top stair and looked meek. Tom watched on, impressed, as the half-breed all but melted.

"Of course 't is. Come on in."

There was only the single room, and game and dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, making it feel even more cramped. Tom had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Dumbledore always bragged about his support of the down-trodden, but apparently an expansion ward was beyond him. They squished in around the only table, and the giant dog dropped it's head into a startled Gellert's lap and started to drool.

 

"This is Gellert, and my new best friend, Tom." Potter beamed. Tom's eye twitched. Damn.

He then, while Potter and the oaf exchanged plesentries, Tom almost broke a tooth on one of the rock-cakes and was just about ready to murder Potter and the Half-breed both, vows-be-damned, when he noticed an article on the table, half buried under the plate of 'pastries'.

 

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. "But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you", said a Gringotts spokes goblin this afternoon.

 

Damn it all, but he still needed the damn stone. This all could have gone so differently if he'd gotten his hands on that vault number just one single day earlier.

Feeling a swell of frustration, Tom cut off whatever Potter was about to say. "Have you been the game-keeper long?"

Hagrid puffed up, looking about to explode, but Potter cut in to temper him. Internally, Tom pouted.

"He's the keeper of the keys too."

Which what? Hogwarts didn't have keys. The gates and main door were Mechi-magical and the rest was all tied in to the wards.

 

"I say," Gellert interrupted Tom's plotting, "is that Balanese Bedwang shell? I thought those were extinct."

"It's not just shell. That's a Bedwang turtle." said Potter.

Tom followed Gellert's hungry gaze to the shell in question. "They are quite expensive." Also heavily licensed. They had been near-extinct, in Gellert's time, and were still fairly rare. He glanced back at Hagrid, who was looking decidedly shady. There was also a Saharan Singing scorpion in the enclosure and now that Tom was looking at them, if you added the two together, along with something like a slug, it would likely breed out to something along the lines of the monstrosities Barty had told him about in Potter's fourth year.

"Are you cross-breeding?" Tom asked, carefully hiding is glee. "Harry is interested in creature-breeding."

Judging by the absolutely filthy look Potter shot him as soon as the half-breed turned his back, that was strike one for Tom. Tom pulled a pumpkin pastry from his pocket while the half-breed's focus was on the pest-enclosure, casting an illusion over it to look like the rock-cakes. Perhaps this afternoon could be profitable after all. Tom wondered just how far he could push Potter into the dangerous-adventure-breeding because he was too weak to hurt the oaf's feelings.

---

---

Why Harry thought it had been a good idea to bring Tom and Gellert, he couldn't quite remember. Though twisting carefully between Tom's manipulations and hurting Hagrid's feelings did stretch his brain a bit at least. Which needed to happen or Harry would die of boredom. At least there was a bit of mischief to be had.

Gods but school was boring.

Binns had to go, too.

Actually, despite there being a relatively high chance of torture and death, Harry was extremely grateful for having the other two Dark Lords along for the ride. Not that he wouldn't have just manipulated the twins a bit more and found some more minions, but Harry felt much better about dragging two Dark Lords along to be taunted and tested than he did actual children. Watching Fang drool in Gellert Grindelwald's lap had to be an experience worth having.

 

"I could give yeh extra lessons, if you wanted, Harry?" Hagrid offered, after Tom threw Harry under the bus with glee.

"I will have to come to you for a tutor once I'm in third year." Harry forced himself to smile at Hagrid. He was sure he could come up with a sob-story to avoid Care of Magical creatures by then. Because while dragons and cerburuses and hippogryffs were all very well, Harry would poison any skrewts he came across. And so-help-him he would burn Aragog and his extended family to the ground, even if it meant he had to take the Forbidden Forest with them. Follow the fucking spiders.

Aaaaand there it was. The reason he hadn't felt that bad about bringing Tom along.

Harry liked Hagrid, he did … but Hagrid was also a complete fool. Dangerous because he was a fool. Still, he couldn't predict the year, and better to have a reasonable explanation for where he got the knowledge to get past Fluffy if it ever came up. Not that Harry planned on going down the trap-door.

 

"I say! Is that-" Geller started, but was cut off.

"How have yeh lessons been?" Hagrid asked, desperately trying to change the topic away from Gellert's interest in the black-market beasts trade. Fortunately, for Hagrid, he picked a good subject. Gellert had made his passionate opinion on Hogwarts low standards quite clear at least three or four times a day so far.

"Lessons!" Gellert hurumphed, instantly riled up. "If you can even class them as such! Hogwarts had horrible standards! Binns is utterly useless, Quirrell is scared of his own shadow, and Snape is the most incompetent bully I've come across in years! I do not know what Al-… Dumbledore is thinking."

"Dumbledore is a great man!" Hagrid bristled.

"Yes yes." Gellert easily agreed. "But he must have gone senile in his old age if he thinks these are acceptable education standards. What happened to his passion for knowledge!? And the importance of education for wizards!? It is ridiculous!!!"

"Er…" Hagrid deflated.

"Do you know Binns didn't even react to mine or Potter's names. Ghosts are obsessed with their trials, the things holding them from going on. A ghost is never going to learn modern history!"

"Are you related to Grindelw-" Hagrid started on the question no one else had been game enough to ask, but Tom cut him off.

"To be fair, I heard Binns was a pretty terrible history professor before he died."

"He was awful worried about the Goblins." Hagrid hedged. "But I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't keep him on if he didn't teach yeh right."

 

Harry blinked. Huh, he hadn't thought about when Binns died. More recently than he thought, obviously.

 

"Goblins are only really dangerous because we let them control the stock market anyway." Gellert continued, now on a roll.

"Well I don' know abou' that." Hagrid hedged. "Clever as they come, Goblins, but not the most friendly of beasts."

Harry wondered if Goblins had done something to Hagrid at some point, because he remembered him warning Harry off them in both timelines, when taking him to Gringotts. Although maybe he just called them 'beasts' to their face… Harry could not see that ever ending well.

"They are master warders too, I suppose. No place safer, so they say." Gellert hummed.

Tom cleared his throat… and the clutter on the table. Gellert blinked down at the revealed paper on the break-in with surprise. Harry's lip twitched. He had forgotten about that. Still, it was only fair to put Gellert on the same footing.

"I say, Hagrid, we were there on the 31st. Didn't you empty a vault?"

Harry could see Gellert becoming instantly interested and suspicious at Hagrid tensing up and looking shifty.

"What!?! No. I mean-…"

 

Dangerous, for being a fool. Still, Hagrid was kind-hearted enough, so Harry would stop Tom from playing too meanly.

 

 

 

"Spiffing evening." Gellert said, rubbing his hands together for warmth in the cool evening air an hour later, a wandless warming charm added in. "Nice fellow, if a little slow. He must have connections, though, it wasn't just the live specimens in there. He had unicorn hair drying, and what looked to be shed Centuar fur in a jar. Not to mention the Acromantula silk sheets on his bed."

"That thing is still alive?" Tom startled, shooting Harry a horrified look. "They aren't native at all. There'll be a whole colony by now!"

"Worried for the school children, Tom?" Harry teased.

Tom huffed. "There are rare plants and small fauna in the Forbidden Forest. There is reasoning behind the control of magical creatures, Potter."

"Wait, do you mean to say he's got a whole nest of Acrumantula!?" Gellert asked gleefully. "Never mind the silk, do you know how useful the venom is?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Tempus." It was six fifteen. "As thrilling as your plots for a Hogwarts black-market supplies empire is, I actually have somewhere to be. Don't wait up."

 

Harry simultaneously cast invisibility and a strong notice-me-not on himself, then slunk off towards the east entrance to the school before Tom or Gellert could reply. Surely they wouldn't get into too much trouble before bed if left alone. Harry was late for the twins. Though they had likely been watching him on the map, so they should still be there.

Sure enough, upon reaching the east courtyard and ditching the notice-me-not, almost immediately Fred and George popped out from behind the house-animal statues of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

"Snakeling!" One twin smirked. "How was-"

"-Hagrid?" the other finished, "I hope you didn't break any teeth?"

"A danger to your mouth, those cakes, and when winter kicks in-"

"-we'll warn you for free. The pumpkin pie has-"

"secret ingredients that will upset your class schedule."

"Hours on the loo." They finished together.

Harry rolled his eyes at their antics.

"I hear you turned Mrs Norris green on Wednesday? Pranking like Slytherin, I see."

"You don't have the-" One grinned.

"-monopoly on green." The other nodded. Not even trying to deny it. "Besides, we were aiming for yellow."

"Must have been the beetles-eyes. Should have gone for newt eyes."

"Harder to get." Harry butted in. "Snape keeps those in the seniors store."

The twins exchanged a nod. "we'll work on it."

"Actually," Harry said, "I had a theory on that, and about mixing with acids as opposed to fat. Now, if we add to the morning bacon-"

 

It was hardly hard for Harry to break through Snape's wards, not when he would have only aimed them at students, and if the twins added a distraction, then he would be very unlikely to come under scrutiny… which would mean Harry could take the opportunity to borrow a few other potions supplies while he was there, for later in the year. Harry's trunk had a stais-store for ingredients (Vernon had 'felt' generous, so Harry upgraded), and he had plots for a few more pranks throughout the year.

Harry was still rather bitter at Snape, about potions …and several other things, obviously, but mainly potions. Al had loved them, and Harry suspects that he could have too, if the man hadn't been a complete arse. His mother had been a protege of Slughorn's, after all, and that sort of things usually stuck around in the blood. Snape was hardly going to further Harry's potion education just because he had a secret-second go at it, so the twins would have to do. Their pranking potions were revolutionary, if you could see through the fart-humor and profit-focus. It would be a good build up, too, for Harry's plans for the 'horrible Hogwarts standards' next year. He wasn't entirely at Hogwarts again for amusement alone.

---

Gellert felt like Potter disappeared between one blink and the next.

"Rude."

Riddle rolled his eyes, and started stalking up towards the school in a huff. "Good riddance. What a waste of an evening. Still, if we hurry we can bully one of our dorm-mates into fetching a more edible meal from the kitchens for us, before curfew."

Gellert stretched his stride to catch up then match Riddle.

Gellert didn't feel like he had wasted his evening at all. Potter could joke all he wanted, but Gellert could see a profitable ally when it was put under his nose. Some of those ingredients were valuable. Not to mention the two interesting tid-bits of information. Gellert would bet the acromantula venom he was soon going to get his hands on that whatever it was that didn't quite get stolen from Gringotts was now in the forbidden corridor. He would also bet that whatever it was was the reason the other two were at Hogwarts.

However, while curious, it wasn't actually what interested Gellert most from the conversation. There was an opportunity for a non-suspicious starter-conversation.

"What was that whole thing about Mr Hagrid being keeper of Hogwart's Keys? Very strange."

Riddle huffed heavily through his nose. "Your boyfriend lying through his teeth, as always. Probably just to make the half-breed feel important."

"So Hogwarts only has wards then?" Gellert prompted.

Riddle narrowed his eyes at the obvious question, but Gellert put on a show of exasperation.

"Durmstrang is entirely unplottable, and it has physical defenses, magical creature defenses, not to mention the castle is far less flashy, more of a fort."

Riddle's eyes narrowed further, but he took the bait, so Gellert hardly cared.

"Hogwarts' wards are some of the oldest in the world. Most asian countries use living wards, so while built first, they aren't technically the same wards, more like a child-ward. But Hogwarts' wards were laid down by the four founders, and haven't been taken down since."

"That doesn't sound protective against modern spells." Gellert forced as much snootiness into his voice as he could manage. Riddle bristled instantly, just like Gellert planned.

"They have been added to by numerous Headmasters, professors, and even students over the years."

"Uhmhmmm." Gellert made a sceptical noise.

Riddle bristled even further. "Well any wards can be broken, and, granted, Hogwarts has a pretty big weak point in that every student adds to the wards… but that does also strengthen her wards beyond what a mere wizard or two could ever hope to build on their own."

Gellert almost tripped over his own feet in shock, but managed just in time to cover it up.

"But that would mean that every single student could break down the wards with just a powerful enough overload to a single point."

"Yeee-es," Riddle admitted, "though even with your precious Death Stick it was a damn pain, let me tell you. Besides, It drained me, so I think you will find that not just any of the alumni could do it."

Wait, Riddle brought down Hogwart's wards? Gellert really needed to corner Potter and hear their story at some point soon. It sounded like a doozy.

"You brought the wards down?"

"The brat was hiding inside them with something of utmost value in his possession." Riddle hissed, scowling over his shoulder in the direction Potter ran off.

"Well that seems weak… the wards, I mean. Durmstrang hasn't been added to, for sure, but it would take a single wizard months to get a dent in."

"I had an advantage." Riddle defended.

"Being a founder's heir?" Gellert rolled his eyes, though admittedly it was a fine claim.

"No. I've got a curse on the school."

"You've-…" Oh, now that could work. Gellert was excellent at curses, and if the wards were Agglutanitivious Wards, then he was in with a chance."

"Again, your boyfriend was being difficult." Riddle smirked.

Gellert ignored the taunt. Honestly, Albus had been lovely in his youth, but he betrayed Gellert, first by abandoning their cause, and then the duel. What did Gellert care for him now, really?

Fortunately they had reached the common room, so Gellert could ditch the conversation, now that he had what he needed.

 

"To emulate and rival" Gellert announced, upon reaching the common room entrance. Both he and Riddle stepped forward, but instantly had to come to an abrupt halt when nothing happened.

Gellert blinked at the wall in confusion, his mind taking a second to process.

"To emulate and rival!!" Gellert pronounced the password carefully, though with rather more force.

Nothing.

To Gellert's right, Riddle's temple pulsed, and he was obviously grinding his teeth.

"New password, then?" Gellert asked, though his anger easily showed through his false-cheer.

"Blishwick. A power play." Riddle sounded far more like he had when he had come to kill Gellert in Nurmengard. His voice was deep and heavy with power, a slight lisp from parseltongue that only made the tone sound deadlier.

Oh. Oh. This could be fun.

"Hssshsaaah sasss SsSss-sha"

Gellert flicked his wand out as the door moved for the snake's tongue, presumably Salazar Slytherin left an over-ride.

 

Gellert didn't actually care if the children thought themselves capable of being above him, he had never tolerated stupidity well, so as long as they didn't act on it, they could think what they liked. Riddle was a lot more interested in status, however, and, admittedly, Gellert wouldn't stand for Riddle thinking he was above Gellert. Gellert knew that the children were below him. Riddle was a threat, however, which was different. That wasn't to say he was opposed to ruling over the lower masses harmoniously while in the school.

"Shall we?" Gellert smirked, his own tone of voice a lot darker. He let his magic build up and flare up. It clashed horribly with Riddle's own, two Dark Lords generally didn't come into such close contact with killing intent… that being said, the thought of fighting alongside another Dark Lord was… tantalising, actually.

Riddle didn't reply, but his own Dark aura swirled in vicious agreement.

 

They stepped into the common room in tandem, and instantly the room froze.

What fun.

Chapter 8: Power plays

Tom started by jabbing his wand with a firm jerk at Blishwick across the room. He had first learnt the spell from Severus’ mind, though it was heavily adapted, no longer dangling a victim in the air by its feet, rather dragging them along the ground by their ankles with jerking force until they came to a stop at the castor’s own feet. Blishwick had been lounging on a sofa by the fire, when they walked in, but his face had drained of colour by the time he reached Tom’s feet.

“Stane.” Tom stated, using the boy’s first name, as he found that got under a Slytherin’s skin better. Then he let a sense of both disappointment and malicious glee settle into his aura, sneering down at the boy for a long moment, before demanding “Well, are you just going to lay there?”

“I shouldn’t think so, as he came rushing right over the moment we entered.” Gellert added. His own aura was like a windstorm at Tom’s side.

 

It was decidedly strange, to feel such a strong aura beside him, yet to still be relatively sure that the fellow Dark lord wasn’t going to attack (well, wasn’t going to attack Tom). The three of them had reached something of a truce, though not verbally, and certainly not as permanently as Potter and his counterpart’s vows. Still, Gellert was here next to Tom, whereas Potter would not doubt be chucking a hissy fit at them attacking a student.

It was strange, another Dark Lord at his side, but… not bad.

“What the hell spell was that!?” Blishwick spluttered.

Tom turned his attention from the ebbing and waning of their combined Dark auras back to the impetuous upstart that had dragged himself back to his feet, and was now holding his wand in basic duelling position. Emphasis on basic.

Tom’s lip curled into a sneer. Was he completely cut off from his magic? How dare Blishwick think to take him on! Even if Tom was in the body of a child, his magic was still that of a Lord of magic.

Tom wasn’t in such an unfortunate position as to be out of touch with his own magic, so when there was a stir of magic behind him Tom responded almost instantaneously with a thick shield at his back, with only a tiny flick of his wand. Still though, at least Blishwick was aware on some level of his inadequacies and had plotted for backup. If he weren’t still stupid enough to be taking on Gellert and himself, Tom might even have approved.

 

There was, a moment later, an equally dark, but more vacillating magic surrounding them, then the air around them took on a slight haze, before shifting to absolute clarity. Tom twitched in an effort not to cast a diagnostic spell at the obscure magic – there would be residue to study later, if Gellert wasn’t amiable enough to share.

Neither he nor Gellert moved to turn around, though there was the sound of two bodies crumpling to the floor in feint. Weaklings. Admittedly the spell, whatever it was, was flashy, and absolutely drenched the air in magic, though nothing to feint over unless you had the weakest of cores. Still, it served its purpose, as the audience that had begun to build up—which might have contained idiots of the first degree willing to back Blishwick— went completely still.

 

Blishwick’s eyes had rounded, and his grip on his wand tightened to the point his knuckles were white.

Tom had a brief moment of satisfaction that at least Potter never acted so useless or terrified even when he was a child before he refocused with only a small flinch of self-disgust. It was an annoying thought, but one that he couldn’t deny, now that he was surrounded by children again and had a more solid reminder of just how useless the majority of them were.

Blishwick whimpered.

Then again, Tom shouldn’t be too hard on himself, as if he was going to be prophesied as a child’s ‘equal’, at least the child had actually held some promise. That wasn’t too much to be pleased over, really.

 

“I suppose that you forgot, Blishwick, to inform us––or anyone else who might pass the message on––of the password change?” Gellert asked, in a voice that was almost conspiratorial, as if he were amusedly joking with a friend over a spot of silliness.

Their swirling auras still permeated the room, however, adding a sinister air which defied such thoughts.

 

Tom wasn’t willing to play so nice.

 

The thing about purebloods, Tom found, was that despite their sneering down at muggles, mudbloods and squibs, they reacted best to lessons that were entirely devoid of magic. Not that Tom had anything against physical pain, obviously. That magic worked just fine too, and could certainly be used to drive a point home. However the point itself, needed to be taught using psychology.

Tom had paid little attention to Blishwick, despite his preening about the House like he actually held some power. That didn’t mean he couldn’t cut him down into place now without a little effort. Tom ignored Gellert’s simpered jabs, to actually assess the boy.

 

His robes weren’t from this year, though were still of high quality. That suggested it wasn’t a lack of finances that stood in the way of new robes, just lack of personal hygiene or pride. His wand was especially shiny, however, which implied it was polished regularly. Pride, or overcompensation? Tom’s eyes flicked to the small group Blishwick had been sitting with. All purebloods, and only one female. Wildsmiths’ fiancé. Wildsmiths wasn’t around, and Tom had never seen he and Blishwick interacting. Hmm. Two of the group were uncomfortable, and looking like they had regrets, but were smart enough to keep out of things now, withdrawing further to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Tom made note of their faces. Rowle, the child of a sickly cousin of one of his deatheaters, looked uncomfortably out of place in amongst the rich and wealthy. Weakness.

Tom narrowed his eyes at Blishwick again. Why would he be putting up with- Ah. Bits and pieces he had been accumulating on Blishwick since Tom first realised he would be a problem settled into a pattern. The corner of Tom’s lip curled.

 

Tom kindly waited until Gellert finished his subtle barbs degrading Blishwick’s self confidence in his magic, before setting his own trap.

“The Department of Magical Transportation doesn’t take anyone who hasn’t worked at least a year in a related field, no matter whose children you suck up to.” Rowle suddenly looked annoyed. Tom smirked. “Stane you have been too openly Dark to get a job maintaining the Knightbus, your Arithmancy grades are too poor for any of the Broom manufacturers, and I assume that you aren’t stupid enough to try and claim you have been apparating or creating portkeys for any amount of time.”

Blishwick looked off centre from Tom cutting into his career aspirations, admittedly well-reasoned or not. The Department of Magical Transportation was one of the better paid departments for a reason, and Blishwick would need to be a lot better connected to have an in for at least five or so years. Despite complete lack of interest in a Blishwick himself, Tom was offended on behalf of his deatheater Thorfin Rowle, that someone thought to use a relative of his against him.

While the boy was down, Tom threw another dustball in the cauldron. “Also, the department is, unofficially, run by Augustina Fawley nee Eibon, the undersecretary to the Head of Department. She has had two husbands cheat on her, and is a feminist suffragette, so I would also wind up the affair you and Wildsmiths’ fiancé are dalliancing in with the utmost discretion and speed.” Tom encouraged, as if he hadn’t just announced it to the entire common room, “Frankly, you are better suited to the charmswork of your family’s …enchantment shop.” Tom felt his lip curl, and he resisted using the word ‘quaint’, because sometimes things lingered better if they weren’t said.

 

Beside him, Gellert let out a tiny delighted noise, and leaned in.

 

But Tom had pushed just right, and knew now was the time to wait.

 

Blishwick went bright red, then white, and then threw a blasting hex at Tom. Tom carefully kept his movements even more blatantly lazy than they already were, brushing aside the spell like it was nothing. Which wasn’t overly far from the truth. Tom got satisfaction out of putting anyone in their place, but perhaps he needed to look around a little harder for someone more challenging. School children, upper years or no, were a bore.

 

Stane Blishwick had amounted to nothing more than an occasional snatcher, under Tom’s regime last time around, and Tom would have reacted to any news of one of Blishwick’s quarries getting the better of him with a complete lack of surprise, had he lived long enough for such an event to play out.

“You filthy mudblood.”

Tom sighed. Admittedly, allowing the pureblood propaganda to continue had been rather lazy on his part. As long as wizards put some effort in, or had some skill, Tom didn’t actually care for their blood. It was the attitude and the insistence on having attachments to muggles or muggle-ways that Tom found objectionable. Still, for the moment such appearances would matter. Better not to let it sit.

“.:PetramSerpensia, Bind his wrists to the floor:.” Tom hissed out the spell and instruction, then added, malicious glee in his tone, “My blood had the generation above you on their knees.”

Blishwick was pulled to the floor, as the stone floor morphed up and into living-stone snakes, which followed Tom’s will, wrapping around Blishwick’s wrists, then pulling them to the floor in a lightning-fast move, which forced the boy to his knees with an unfortunate sounding crack.

 

Tom had, to his mortification, needed to check in with both his counterpart and Potter and Gellert, to get their promise for approval and silence respectively. He would, though it made him cringe, be claiming himself as Voldemort’s son. Though if anyone asked on his supposed mother he might just kill them. Who he—or even his counterpart—fucked was no one’s business but their own.

 

Gellert’s magic, though fortunately subtle enough that only a fellow Dark Lord might recognise it, was decidedly amused.

Bastard.

It was lucky Tom had a convenient target on whom to enact some violent therapy, or he might have ended up duelling Gellert, which, frankly, he was only ninety percent certain he could win. Tom hated going into fights with such low numbers.

 

---

 

Riddle cast a spell the instant the wall opened wide enough for them to step into the common space. Gellert was instantly intrigued, as it wasn’t a spell he recognised. The magic was a pale, almost invisible, lilac which spiralled across the room along the floor, before latching onto Blishwick’s extremities. Gellert focused his magic to mage sight in his eyes, both to observe the spell in action—something of a physical tether it would seem—and for the added advantage that he knew using mage sight made his eyes stand out and seem deeper and heavy with magic. They were here to make an impression after all. Not hard considering the heavy drenching of magic that two Dark Lords out for some fun were giving off.

 

“Stane.” Riddle stated, as the boy came sliding to a stop a foot or so from Riddle’s feet. “Well … are you just going to lay there?”

Riddle was exuding both disdain for Blishwick, and a vengeful air.

“I shouldn’t think so,” Gellert butted in (he couldn’t let Riddle have all the attention), “as he came rushing right over the moment we entered.”

Blishwick looked petrified, though still managed to scramble to his feet.

Then again, Gellert could understand, at least academically. Gellert knew his own power, when let swell up into his aura like this, to have caused far more capable men to cower before him. In contrast, Riddle’s power was a blanket of thick energy, still and heavy beneath Gellert’s more active eddies.

 

Blishwick squawked out his panic, gripping his wand far too tight and rigid. Gellert’s mind wandered for a moment. This was getting ridiculous. Blishwick was nothing on them, obviously, however he was presumably at least above average, in order to be at the top of the Slytherin pecking order. Even if here at Hogwarts there seemed to be much more emphasis on the political, where as at Durmstrang your rank in classes was a direct determination of your standing outside them.

Perhaps Gellert should rally Potter and Riddle into helping him establish a duelling club. If Blishwick, with his intransigent grip and appalling defensive stance, was an exemplar, then Hogwarts was in dire need.

 

Riddle sneered down at Blishwick, clearly at a bit of a loss as how to respond to such a blatant lack. Gellert … drifted. This was a bit dull, actually. Maybe he should reconsider the duelling club? If standards would be this dull. Really he just wants a go at Riddle and Potter. Only a practice duel would be preferable, which would be a hard guarantee to manage. Gellert isn’t stupid, Riddle and Potter were both true threats, and wouldn’t just challenge him but could—especially Potter, who was still a bit of an enigma at this stage—quite possibly win against him. Still, Gellert always enjoyed magic for the sake of magic, not to mention the endorphin high after a truely challenging battle. He wouldn’t get that from any other students without putting some work in. Something to think on.

 

Perhaps because Gellert was content to let Riddle run this fight, and wasn’t paying it all that much attention, he was first to notice that there was movement in the magic of the crowd behind them. Blishwick hadn’t plotted alone, it would seem.

Riddle sensed it only a moment later, and threw up a fairly solid shield between them and Blishwick’s allies. As Gellert could feel the defensive nature of Riddle’s spell from the outset, he took it upon himself to be the aggressor. He reached out and plucked on the two attacker’s magical cores, much like how he had alerted the boys to their House Master’s approach at the start of term … only it had a drastically different result.

Despite being a bit thrown, Gellert deftly converted the sharp backlash into raw magic, before the spell could rebound from their complete shut-down. The swell of magic cleared quickly and Gellert resolutely ignored it in the hopes Riddle would too. How embarrassing. He hopes he hasn’t killed them … but no, they may have collapsed, but he can hear them breathing. He hasn’t had to handicap himself for children in quite a long time . He will have to set aside some time to corner some of the weaker students and establish exactly what level of force he can apply on them. A bit of a dull experiment, but worth it to avoid any more embarrassing overestimations.

 

After a moment’s pause, focused on the goings on behind them, Gellert shifts his senses to focus back on Riddle and their quarry. Blishwick looks suitably terrified, and even lets out a whimper. Gellert shifts closer again to being bored. If this is the standards coming out of Hogwarts then that all but settles it. Gellert will have to step in, Albus has let this go on too far. The magical nation deserves better.

Riddle was evidently a sadist and could get a kick out of the downtrodden. All Gellert could work up for the likes of Blishwick was pity. “I suppose that you forgot, Blishwick, to inform us—or anyone else who might pass the message on–of the password change?” Gellert asked, keeping a foot in the conversation. Because while he was thoroughly bored with this already, the ranking here was political, and while he was content enough to sit along side the other two, he would not get left behind and have to rank below Riddle. Maybe he should have gone with Ravenclaw, perhaps there it would be academic? With a mental sigh, Gellert drags his focus in.

 

“Straighten out your stance!” Gellert barked at the boy. If Albus wasn’t going to teach them someone was going to have to. “And what- what, pray tell, is that grip? You haven’t even focused your magic in yet! Do you even know what spell you will cast first, or is this all just a sick call for attention? No don’t answer that, I have little care. Gods this is what we have offered to us?”

Gellert had overheard some fourth year student complaining about Runes homework just this morning, so maybe, just maybe, there is a small chance that Albus had duelling as an elective and Gellert just hasn’t got to it yet? Gellert wouldn’t be holding his breath. Though there is a small possibility that it exists and just has yet another truely appalling professor teaching it.

 

Before Gellert could start in on the boy about letting his anger reign over him, Riddle finally spoke up.

“The Department of Magical Transportation doesn’t take anyone who hasn’t worked at least a year in a related field, no matter whose children you suck up to.” Riddle’s voice was sickly sweet and vicious in its facade of niceties. “You are too Dark to get a job maintaining the Knightbus, your Arithmancy grades are too poor for any of the Broom manufacturers, and I assume that you aren’t stupid enough to try and claim you have been apparating or creating portkeys for any amount of time.” Riddle’s tone made it more than clear he assumed no such thing.

 

Gellert sighed to himself quietly. He was at rather a strong disadvantage to Riddle and Potter, not knowing the political climate here nearly so well. Although amongst his housemates he can recognise faces and magical signatures that are vaguely familiar—children, or even grandchildren of his allies or enemies—he doesn’t know any of them. Just their families. Even then, though one would be idiotic to ever ignore the British Isles, Gellert had kept mostly to Europe, Albus not withstanding. Oh, he knew the policies inside out, and, in his time, who the major players and silent influencers were. But not the day-to-day politics. And not the current ones.

 

Riddle was still going.

“… has had two husbands cheat on her, and is a feminist suffragette, so I would also wind up the affair you and Wildsmiths’ fiancé are dalliancing in with the utmost discretion and speed. Frankly, you are better suited to the charmswork of your family’s …enchantment store.”

Riddle evidently wanted to add something else about the boy’s family business, something personal maybe, as Blishwick evidently understood at least the undertones.

 

Gellert began to wonder if there were still plans to send someone to the kitchen for tea. He forced himself to focus in, though, as Riddle was evidently about to reach Blishwick’s breaking point. A moment later, Blishwick dropped a blasting hex at them. A poorly executed blasting hex, Gellert just couldn’t call it ‘aimed’, he couldn’t.

Blishwick was really getting worked up now.

“You filthy mudblood!” He spat at Riddle, who frankly didn’t seem fazed.

 

Gellert was working on not getting worked up by all the mudbloods here at Hogwarts. To be honest, as long as they kept their filthy muggle relatives and muggle ways out of the wizarding world, then it mattered little. Wizarding kind would outlast them purely by the standards of evolution. His new stance was helped along by the fact that Riddle and Potter were both half-bloods. As was, admittedly, Albus. Magical prowess over parentage. Gellert had also had a lot of time to think about his approach to the previous war. He wasn’t going to expend so much effort on outright eradication of the muggles this time, he would just subtly encourage the natural progression of a higher species along, maybe wiping out problems here or there. Whether they be pockets of stronger muggles, or advocates on the wizarding side. Tom Riddle, whatever one might say about him, could not be accused of advocating for the integration of their species. Gellert was waiting to see on Potter.

 

Riddle hissed out something more than just words in parseltongue, and Gellert’s skin tingled a little at the feel of foreign magic. Stone surged up from the floor, yanking Blishwick down to it, then settling into the form of thick cobras around the boy’s hands.

“My blood,” Riddle sneered “had the generation above you on their knees.”

 

Gellert had been amused when Riddle had all but demanded he be allowed to claim to be his own son without their denouncing him. Gellert couldn’t care less what Riddle told everyone, but Potter had had what promised to be an interesting glint in his eye as soon as Riddle turned his back to them afterwards, so Gellert would see how this all played out. Potter was a strange wizard, a bit blasé and happy-go-lucky for someone with such potential, but then he also all but breathed mischief, which Gellert could appreciate. Watching him interact with Riddle, who was uptight and high-strung, was proving to be utterly diverting, and Gellert was even contemplating staying, after getting his wand back (and maybe trying his hand at whatever was on the third floor).

 

Riddle evidently had some anger issues (a blind squib would be able to tell you that) and set to causing Blishwick pain in some rather creative ways, all within the restriction of nothing outwardly showing. Gellert also noticed, though likely no one else did, that Riddle was weaving binding magic in with his spells as he layered them, meaning Blishwick would be likely unable to tell anyone of what had occurred, if he was stupid enough to try at all.

 

Watching another Dark Lord at work was surprisingly enjoyable, really. Gellert had been able to feel the binding magic on their House Master’s magic—whom he had managed to establish was one of Riddle’s followers—once he knew what to look for. Some subtle questions to a Ravenclaw girl in the back of Charms class, who Gellert had seen both sneering at her own housemates and studying with some older Slytherins in the Library, gave him a quick update on what Riddle had labeled the ‘Dark Mark’. Both a binding spell, some adaptation of a dark protean charm; control and, based on the feel of they House Master’s magic, some derision of a slave bond. An intriguing fellow, Riddle.

 

Riddle played with Blishwick for a little longer, but after a while he just knocked the boy out and left him be. Gellert half paid attention to the subtle shift in the power dynamics around them. The little spat had caused a decided power shift. The rest of Gellert’s attention was on relaxing down onto the lounge Blishwick had been occupying when he and Riddle came in. How could such a boring week be so exhausting?

The rest of their house were now, for the moment at  least, seemingly terrified of them, yet some of the older years started to edge in, trying to cozy-up almost immediately. Though also still testing. Gellert is both surprised and pleased when they come to him as well as Riddle. That they defer to them both. Gellert had always been willing to share his throne with another, as long as they were on his level — hence his plotting with Albus and his use of the Acolytes. Any partners didn’t even need to bow down before him, they just to acknowledge him for what he was — their equal or better.

 

“Rowle, Dawley! Fetch us some tea and sweets from the kitchens.” Riddle demanded. The two students jumped when he barked, not an inch of hesitation. Well, they weren’t the same methods as Gellert’s, but that wasn’t to say Riddle wasn’t also effective.

Gellert settled back into the lounge and basked in the attention, musing with glee on the possible reactions Potter might have when he got back from wherever he has scuttled off to.

 

---

It was almost seven hours later that Harry snuck back in to Hogwarts … though admittedly it was more luck than any actual sneaking.

 

Harry was drunk.

 

He may have slightly underestimated the ability of his eleven year old body to break down alcohol. Still, on the bright side, he hadn’t run into Snape. The common room entry was a little stubborn, but really these were all minor set backs. Harry hissed out a demand for the wall to open, fairly sure that Tom had mentioned that Salazar had left an override. Nothing happened, but after a few moments glaring at the wall, Harry realised he had literarily just hissed at the door, so tried again actually in parseltongue, with much more success.

Harry managed not to stumble through the entry. This was an excellent thing, as many eyes turned to stare at him, most of them oddly fearful (though they likely wouldn’t have stayed that way if he had face-planted). The moment he crossed the threshold every instinct he had ramped right up, and his magic tampered down on his inebriation, putting him on high alert. Also giving him a killer headache. Damn.

 

It was Friday night, so it wasn’t unusual that quite a lot of the house was still up at a little past one A.M. The overwhelming tension and thick sense of terror, however, was new. It didn’t take Harry long to find the source.

“Bullocks. Really!?” Harry whined.

Neither Tom nor Gellert looked even the least bit ashamed. They are both lazing on the lounges by the fire, holding court, for lack of a better term. Evidently the braver of the house of Slytherin had flocked to them, though even those students held tension and fear about them like a cloak. Around the rest of the room students sat in tight groups, stiff-backed and unsure. The real giveaway, however, was the unconscious student in the centre of the room, a wide berth left around him, no doubt everyone was too scared to cross it. Harry could see blood on the back of the head of whoever it was from where he stood by the door. Probably Blishwick.

 

“I left you alone for an evening! One evening!” Harry whined. He pinched his nose and resisted the urge to sigh out loud.

“You’re drunk!” Gellert said, sounding quite startled.

Harry rolled his eyes, unrepentant. “Yes.” And? His point?

“On gillywater.” Tom pointed out, a little less outwardly shocked, and a little more gleeful. Harry didn’t care if gillywater was a ‘girly’ drink, the kick you got from the extra oxygen in your system from the gills you grew was worth any ridicule. Besides, he was supposed to be eleven. Either people would be shocked and horrified that he was drinking at all, or they would be impressed that he was drinking at all. What he drank didn’t matter much. Except to Tom and Gellert, but really, their judgement was about the last thing Harry cared for.

 

Harry took three steps into the room then paused, wavering slightly. Come to think of it, had he removed his glamour? Harry conjured up a mirror, letting out a huff, wandlessly removing the glamour that changed the features of his face and letting the magic that made his skin appear faintly blue and shimmery fade. No need to be mistaken for a fae here. He left his pointed ears and sharp teeth for now, though, as they amused him.

 

“I see you’ve both been busy.” Harry commented, once he was slightly more normal looking.

Tom bristled, but Gellert just quirked an eyebrow up.

 

Harry took several more steps into the room, coming to a stop, then kneeling beside, the unconscious student. It was indeed Blishwick. Harry can’t say that he is all that surprised. He waved his hand over the back of Blishwick’s head, clearing the blood. Gently he lifted the boy’s head off the ground, cushioning it on one of his legs, and brushing hair out of his face.

 

“Where have you been, then?” Tom demanded.

Harry ignored him, pressing his fingers to Blishwick’s pulse, and sending out a tendril of his own magic to check Blishwick’s. Well, he wasn’t dead, just solidly unconscious. That was something at least.

“Potter?” Tom prompts again.

 

Harry had popped down to Hogsmead to pick up some ingredients for his and the twins plans. He had then, on a whim (and because his daughter, darling girl, had always encouraged him more than she should, developing in him some very bad habits), decided to indulge. He had cast enough glamours that he would likely be mistaken for some sort of half-fae, then headed to the Hogs Head, where he was surprised to see both Hagrid and Quirrell.

 

Though Quirrell had been covered in a dark hood and pretending not to be Quirrell.

 

They were playing cards.

Not the game for the dragon egg quite yet—Harry imagined that would wait until a night when there was no chance anyone but Hagrid would win it—but enough of a draw that Harry dealt himself in. There were three other players, only one of whom Harry had met before. That being said, Harry enjoyed the company far more than he had earlier in the evening in Hagrid’s hut (or at any point since arriving in the past, really).

They had chatted on a wide range of topics, and Harry had, admittedly, probably come across a little too openly dark (Hagrid had bristled, but no one else there probably cared much), but Harry had also managed to get quite a few profitable answers out of Quirrell on the staffing and administration of Hogwarts. Quirrell had been blatantly looking for clues on the other chambers leading to the philosophers stone, making such a conversation easy enough to lead … though Harry had kept well out of Quirrell’s plots.

 

“Potter.” Tom seethed again, tone vaguely threatening. He was much too pushy for Harry’s liking.

“Riddle.” Harry parodied back, not the least bit fazed and sounding rather a lot lighter. Just to get on Tom’s nerves.

Around the room, the tension had decreased a tiny bit at Harry’s lack of fear and at the seemingly caring touch he had so far bestowed on Blishwick.

 

… but then Harry let a smirk fall over his lips, and pulled out a quill from his pocket, silently transfiguring it into a muggle permanent marker. The poor terrified students had probably thought little-light-Potter was coming to the rescue. Harry wouldn’t have done that these days even if he weren’t drunk and feeling mischievous.

Cradling Blishwick’s head carefully, he drew a dick on the boys face, casting a permanence charm afterwards for good measure. Then he abruptly stood, letting Blishwick’s head slide back to the floor with a solid thud.

 

“Wake me in the morning at your own peril.” He announced, to the room at large. Uncaringly, he stepped over Blishwick and headed towards his main goal in life right now: Bed.

Chapter 9: Books and plans

Gellert woke early, probably with the sun, considering he had for the last 40 or so years. It was too dark in the dorms to tell. There were windows, but they were submerged in the lake, and the sun took an extra little while to penetrate in. Currently the dorm was glowing a gloomy sort of green of the very early morning. Maybe he should take Potter up on his offer to explore installing some weather-charm windows, he had spent too long without a view. Stretching out, and enjoying the high quality luxury of the soft mattress, Gellert sighed, then pushed his blankets back.

He was the only one awake. Which wasn’t that surprising. Potter still hadn’t removed whatever spell he had on their dorm that stopped any alarm spell from working. Gellert still had the internal body clock of a prisoner of Nurmengard. At first he had found it amusing that only Potter managed to wake up on time, presumably with a built in work-around, but now it was just pathetic. The eleven year olds, sure… but Riddle still woke up grumpy and late every day.

Casting the sleeping Dark Lord a glance, Gellert pulled the curtains closed on that side of his four poster, and cast the solution he had found within only three days — not that he needed one. A small miniature sun burst to life above his head, about the size of an apple, and hovering a foot out of reach. Its brightness was a match to the local daylight, so he had been right about it being just past dawn. Gellert went to pull out a lock-picking trinket he had borrowed from a lax seventh year, planning to assess if it might be of use, when a hoarse chuckle came from one bed over.

 

“A neat work-around. I’ll have to add in solar-alarms. That is, if that is a daylight-model?”

Gellert was surprised to see Potter awake. Unless Gellert had mis-read someone’s magic for the first time in decades, Potter had been very drunk the night before.

“No hang-over?”

Potter groaned into his pillow in response, but then, to Gellert’s surprise, rolled out the side of his bed. Gellert watched intently, noticing Potter wandlessly shut his curtains, wandlessly re-made his bed, wandlessly did something to his hair (to no visible effect), and possibly even wandlessly summoned his clothes from his trunk, though Gellert couldn’t get a clear view of that. Gellert was as capable as the next Lord of doing a bit of wandless magic here and there, but Potter threw it about like it was nothing.

Riddle could underestimate Potter all he liked, but Gellert very much doubted his tale was a simple one. He was clearly a Lord of Magic. Though which affinity, Gellert couldn’t get a pin on. By all accounts Potter was Light… but Gellert was beginning to suspect it might not be so simple.

 

“Are you just going to stare at me all morning, or you up for some mischief?”

Gellert bristled. Really, what did one expect if they were showing off like that! “I’m not the only one staring, to be fair.”

He wasn’t either. Some time in the last few minutes Nott had woken up, and was watching Potter’s casual wandless magic with something between awe and fear. He had his face relatively blank, but his magic gave him away to Gellert.

Potter chuckled, then immediately groaned, grabbing his head with a small whine.

“Where did you even get alcohol?” Nott whispered, casting a slightly worried glance at Riddle’s sleeping form. Riddle was an utter grouch in the mornings.

Potter didn’t answer for a moment, instead flipping his trunk shut, pulling out his wand and tapping it twice, before opening it again to reveal a different compartment, one full of potions. He shuffled the vials around a bit, before settling on a vibrant pink potion Gellert didn’t recognise.

“Hogsmeade.” Was the obvious, yet useless, answer, before Potter knocked back the pink vial in one swallow. Potter stood with his eyes closed, looking rather green for a moment, before letting out a relieved sigh. “Right then, I’m off to the library.”

“First thing on a Saturday!?” Nott sounded scandalised.

Potter laughed. “I plan to break into the restricted section, so better when there will be less people around. Either of you interested?”

Nott looked torn, but shook his head.

Gellert had planned to go outside and sunbathe, but curiosity got the better of him. “Actually, yes, I think I am.”

 

 

After getting ready for the day, Potter led the way up to the third floor, where the school’s library was.

They walked in amiable silence. Gellert, still rather new to the castle, just absorbed the sights. He did notice that Potter didn’t take him down any of the secret passageways he normally seemed to haunt, which was annoying. It was frustrating being at such a disadvantage to the other two. Gellert had seen Hogwarts before, of course, but only from the outside, and the castle was a veritable maze!

Curious as to whether Potter would even answer, Gellert asked “Which books are you seeking that aren’t in the regular library?”

 

… He then almost tripped over from shock as to Potter’s reply.

“Wardiau Ac Amddiffyniadau, by Samuel Hufflepuff, and the Book of the Dead.”

Gellert was suddenly much more awake. Forcibly casually, he glanced at Potter, just in case —wishful thinking— he was joking. Nothing showed on his face. Gellert had to employ the mind arts to keep his own face blank and his magic still.

Potter had to be after the Death Stick. What other explanation was there?! A book dissecting the Hogwarts wards, and the book that had the best theory of the Hallows’ creation… Gellert needed to move up his timeline. Damn it all!

Gellert’s head was still spinning when they reached the library doors.

 

The library matron was sitting at her desk working on something, but didn’t seem interested in their movements, and Potter circled them back around to the far side of the restricted section, right at the back of the library. It was seemingly only cordoned off by a simple rope. Or at least, until Gellert focused in on the magic, at which point it lit up like a solis spell.

“Your plan?” Gellert enquired.

“Let me know if anyone comes by.” Potter said, shooting Gellert a smug grin… which a moment later proved to be perfectly well earned.

Gellert couldn’t help it, he could feel the blood draining from his face.

Potter was a ward-master.

Gellert opened his mouth, to ask… something, but his voice failed him, as he stared at Potter’s work. He was unravelling spells, and building them up again, as easy as breathing. He tugged on bits of spellwork, pulling and pushing them just enough so that they bent around each other, but didn’t break, nor set off any of the many alert wards weaved throughout.

A damned ward-master!!!!

Gellert had already been wary of Potter, for all his seemingly-cheery ways, as he was an unknown. But this! Ward-masters were few and far between, and they were dangerous. Gellert had dabbled — of course he had! What Dark Lord hadn’t?! — but while he was proficient at pulling down spells, he mostly could only use the brute-force method. He certainly couldn’t unravel spells with such speed and ease as Potter was.

“What did you say your profession was again?” Gellert tried, thankful that at least his voice came out relatively even.

Naturally, Potter just shot him another smug grin, and didn’t reply.

 

A bare two minutes in, Potter stepped over the low-hanging rope into the restricted section, without any hesitation. Swallowing down his envy, Gellert followed him.

Potter had already located the copy of the Book of the Dead by the time Gellert followed him, and was scanning the shelves for Wardiau Ac Amddiffyniadau. Gellert let his eyes wander, but nothing caught his eye. His thoughts were swirling.

 

He was happy to share a position of power, with an equal. But would Potter be? And if Potter was after the wand, had Riddle been lying too? Gellert was all for sharing the position, but he wanted the wand.

“-want anything?”

Gellert drew his attention back to Potter, who was giving him an odd look. It took a second for Gellert to process the question.

“What? Oh, no thank you.” You have the two books I most need anyway. There would be others on the same subject, but he would come back for those without Potter here, seeing what he took out. He still wanted to look up what might have brought them all back, but wouldn’t do that anywhere near Albus.

Potter shrugged. “Have it your way. If you want to— Oh. Bullocks.”

Potter cut off, then a moment later a bossy voice hissed in a whisper at them, from just outside the section. “What are you doing!? That is the restricted section. You have to have a permission slip to get books from there!”

Gellert stiffened, but relaxed a moment later, when it turned out just to be the Granger chit. Someone easy enough to obliviate or overpower, if necessary.

 

Potter seemed to have other ideas. Gellert suddenly found the two books he was coveting shoved into his hands, with nothing but a simple “Hold these a minute!” From Potter. Just for a moment, Gellert considered obliviating both of them, and making off with the books. He shook himself of the notion however. He had just realised Potter was a ward-master, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t witnessed him duelling. Though looking back, Potter was likely only playing, if he really was a ward-master. Though maybe Riddle had been too, in a different sort of way. They both played off each other too well. Gellert had, perhaps, been a bit presumptuous in thinking he understood them.

 

Potter emerged back out of the section with a leather-bound book, cutting the girl off from the rant she had been directing at Gellert. Not that he had paid one jot of attention.

“Granger. Here, I have a book just for you, too. A Compendium On Social Norms. It is a book on pure-blood manners. The wizarding world is a bit like a different country, more than just a hidden society, and I know for muggleborn that can be rather confusing. Especially when the most public face of it is idiots like Malfoy, who refuse to share anything, but expect you all to just know the manners and customs they grew up with, or Weasley, who knows them well enough to actively flaunt them, but not well enough to be able to explain them. It is technically a Dark book, though that is mostly the ministry, or rather the Sacred Twenty Eight types, trying to ‘save’ their ways, even though by keeping them private they are doing just the opposite. Personally, I think this should be given out to muggleborn when they receive their Hogwarts letter. I heard of a few books that seem harmless enough, but are restricted. I’ve got one on warding — isn’t Hogwarts just amazing! Did you know it looks like ruins to any muggles who manage to get past the outer wards?”

 

Gellert looked at Potter askance. He wasn’t planning on not obliviating the girl, was he? The rant was all very well, but surly the little teachers pet wouldn’t-… Gellert cut off his thought stream as, to his shock, the girl reached out and took the book, responding perfectly to Potter’s little ploy.

Well, Gellert supposed Potter did convince the sorting hat to allow him in Slytherin. Gellert very much doubted either Riddle or Potter had the ability to shift about their thought-processes like Gellert did, so they likely had to actually possess some of the House traits.

Granger played right into Potter’s hands.

 

“What brings you to the library so early on the weekend, Miss Granger?” Gellert jumped in to distract her anyway. No use leaving it to chance. He didn’t want anyone to realise that either of the books Potter had taken out were no longer in the library. Potter had, sadly, taken them back off him, however he didn’t have the air of possession about him, like Riddle often did about things, so perhaps Gellert could come up with an excuse to borrow them, just briefly… at least to find out what Potter learnt from them.

 

“Well I have to fit in extra time for the essay we have to write for Professor Snape! Have you written yours?” Gellert rather liked this girl. She had plenty of spunk. Clearly Gellert had said something to get her all riled up, as she was all but vibrating in repressed annoyance.

Well… Gellert really should look into their potions class. He didn’t mind the essays, actually — he always had enjoyed magical theory — and Gellert wasn’t bothering to dumb his intelligence down, only making sure to not refer to other works. And he did need to find a way to get around being watched too carefully in class. Potions really didn’t agree with him, and he would prefer the staff’s suspicions around him to be seemingly baseless. Most people didn’t know of his strange aversion to rituals (or more, their strange aversion to him)… but Albus certainly did.

Granger was the perfect candidate for solving Gellert’s problems. He just needed to get her to do most of the actual brewing, and to trick the House Master into thinking Granger was experimenting on the sly.

“Well, my dear, I’m free now, if you wanted to work on the essay together?”

“What? Really? Oh, well, if you weren’t busy…” Granger glanced at Potter.

Gellert took one last glance at the books in Potter’s hands, before slipping his arm through Granger’s, and steering her towards a desk. Potter would have likely given him the slip shortly anyway, and who knows, Granger seemed curious enough. Maybe Gellert could get her to experiment a bit on the side. She wouldn’t be useful for some years yet, but he had never been afraid of long-term investments.

 

---

 

Walking along the third floor on the eastern side, at just past seven in the morning, sun blaring in brightly without remorse … Harry thanked the gods for his son. Al, potion-prodigy that he was, had come up with a hang-over cure within three months of starting drinking. Much better than anything else Harry had ever tried, though it was technically blood magic, and Al had calibrated it specifically to each of them, so that wasn’t surprising. Not that Lily drank much, actually, for all her other ‘sins’. Though she certainly encouraged both of them.

 

“Which books are you seeking, that aren’t in the regular library?”

Gellert’s question broke Harry out of his musing.

“Hmm? Wardiau Ac Amddiffyniadau, by Samuel Hufflepuff-” which was a book on the Hogwarts wards, including who and what was tied in to them, and how. It was just supposition, as only the headmasters had access to the ward stones, and they had to swear an oath of silence on the knowledge. Still, Harry had read, and used successfully, other works by Samuel Hufflepuff, so hopefully it would contain the confirmation Harry was looking for. Harry was determined, and it would be embarrassing if he had mistook the little he had read off the wards. “-and the Book of the Dead.”

Gellert stumbled slightly at Harry’s answer, and Harry kept his face blank. Ah yes. Gellert was still obsessed with the Elder Wand. Probably all the Hallows in general, actually. Now that he thought on it, the Book of the Dead did have a rather large section on them. Or, on the myth behind their making. The Peverell brothers had been rather active around the time the Egyptians were re-writing the modern Book of the Dead. Not that the original scripts, the ones the muggles knew of, wouldn’t have had an answer to Harry’s focus too, as he wasn’t actually looking up the Hallows… but Gellert didn’t know that.

 

Harry could let him know that he was chasing wild geese… but where would the fun in that be?

 

The Library was as empty as Harry hoped, having only just opened for the day. Pince had her nose firmly in the registry, and didn’t look up as they passed by her.

Harry actually loved the library when it was empty like this. The smell of parchment and ink, the relaxing stillness, and the ambient magic that was full of curiosity and satisfaction. Harry actually thought he would have done well in Ravenclaw, and he made a mental note to hex the Dursleys an extra time if he went back. It took him years to realise that learning was actually rather enjoyable (at least when studying something he was interested in, not just something for boring essays or life-or-death dramas). Harry also decided to hex Tom next time he was least suspecting it, too. The Dursleys may have weaned Harry off asking questions, but Tom was the reason Harry didn’t have a spare minute all the way through school.

 

Harry made a beeline for the charms section, which was right next to the back entry to the restricted section.

“Your plan?” Gellert asked, as they came to a stop a step away from the rope.

“Let me know if anyone comes by.” Not that Harry wouldn’t be able to sense them while doing this, as the first thing he did was focus on reading the magic layered around the room. Anyone coming close by would disturb the wards, sending a tremor through them, not unlike a bug in a spiders web.

Harry settled in to his favourite type of magic.

These wards weren’t complicated. Nothing he couldn’t handle. They were weaved fairly intricately, however they had also been layered upon by multiple castors which left weak spots. Dumbledore had a magical-core reader spun in. Probably so he could keep tabs on anyone too ‘Dark’ learning anything actually useful about the Dark Arts. Pince had spread on her usual-unusual spells. She had a wicked sense of the absurd, and Harry was amused to note that her magic and the Weasley twins’ wasn’t all that dissimilar. Hers was perhaps a little more vicious. She was responsible for the screaming books Harry had found on his first trip here — tied in, in an interesting way, with an age-line adaption. McGonagall’s magic was all over the ward that registered the permission slips, and Snape had stuck his ugly old nose into things too. Of course he had.

 

“What did you say your profession was again?” Gellert piped up. His magic appeared still, but was sending fine vibrations through the wards, standing so close to them, all but screaming his shock. Harry shot a cheeky grin over his shoulder.

He had actually just fallen into warding, and had been a bit of a natural. Not that he hadn’t also worked his ass off to become the best, but he had started with a bit of a boost of natural talent. Harry actually suspected the Potters might have a bit of a Line Gift for it, as his kids always followed along with ease, though they hadn’t pursued it like Harry did. Bill was the only Weasley with any talent for it, and even then it was fairly minor, so they hadn’t got it from Ginny’s side.

Harry probably could have kept this a secret longer, but he didn’t plan to necessarily hide it, and if anyone managed to get a proper read on the alarm ward-web he had set up in their dorm it would become apparent immediately anyway. Though so far Gellert hadn’t put much effort in, and Tom was being tripped up because he was looking for a single ward, not a ward-web.

 

With a final jerk of his wand, Harry pushed the last thread where he wanted it, and stepped over the rope. The Book of the Dead was in the Divination section, actually, right by the door. Warding was further back, but Harry scanned the shelves as he moved further in. He didn’t think there was anything likely to catch his eye right now, but one never knew. Also, Dumbledore had a lot to do with the organisation in here, rather than Pince, and the majority of the books were in the broad and rather useless category of ‘Dark Magic’… as if every form of magic didn’t have Light, Dark and neutral branches, just to begin with! What rubbish!

“Do you want anything?” Harry asked Gellert, as he was suspiciously staring off into space, instead of taking advantage of the free-pass. Not that Harry cared all that much. Gellert’s plots — so far at least — didn’t seem to contradict any of Harrys.

For pure amusement, as this had turned out rather boring, Harry tweaked Pince’s age-line-like ward, so that anyone over the age of twenty would get copious paper cuts any time they turned a page on Tuesdays. Just because he could. Most people didn’t understand wards enough to know how they degrade, though weren’t surprised that they did, so Pince and any of the professors would likely just assume it was faulty casting.

“What? Oh, no thank you.”

Harry rolled his eyes and shrugged. If Gellert wanted to waste the opportunity, then so be it.

“Have it your way. If you want to—” Harry cut himself off, as the wards pinged, and with a rather familiar signature. “Oh. Bullocks.” Of course there was one person who would be in the library first thing on a Saturday morning, right near the start of term.

 

“What are you doing!? That is the restricted section. You have to have a permission slip to get books from there!”

Shooting Hermione an exasperated sigh, Harry shoved his two books into Gellert’s hands. “Hold these a minute!”

Harry quickly made his way back to the ‘Dark’ section, running his fingers along the spines, feeling the way the individual book’s wards shifted in anticipation of being tested, stopping on a thin green book, with paisley embossing.

Fortunately Hermione was still ranting at Gellert in the few moments it took for Harry to locate the book.

“And there are books that have curses on them, so that you might never be able to put them down, or to-”

Harry cut in.

“Granger. Here, I have a book just for you, too.” A distraction for Hermione, actually.

 

Hermione may come across as a goody-two-shoes rule-follower … but Harry knew her better than that. She would absolutely follow the letter of the law… unless she thought the rules were stupid, in which case her brilliant mind would find a way to bend the rules, just so, until she was technically within them … or just until they suited her version of events.

 

“A Compendium On Social Norms. It is a book on pure-blood manners.” Harry spoke over the top of any protests, steamrolling on, knowing that the best method with Hermione was to stop her from getting going in the first place. “The wizarding world is a bit like a different country, more than just a hidden society, and I know for muggleborn that can be rather confusing.” Particularly when it was introduced as a sub-society instead of a completely different culture. Not to mention it wasn’t really ever openly spoken about. “Especially when the most public face of it is idiots like Malfoy, who refuse to share anything, but expect you all to just know the manners and customs they grew up with, or Weasley, who knows them well enough to actively flaunt them, but not well enough to be able to explain them. It is technically a Dark book, though that is mostly the ministry, or rather the Sacred Twenty Eight types, trying to ‘save’ their ways, even though by keeping them private they are doing just the opposite. Personally, I think this should be given out to muggleborn when they receive their Hogwarts letter.”

Which Harry does think… but he was mostly using this specifically to fill in all the holes he knows Hermione had been searching to fill for the first three years of Hogwarts. Harry knows he’s won, when a familiar look of longing crosses Hermione’s face. He pushed, right as she was wavering. “I heard of a few books that seem harmless enough, but are restricted. I’ve got one on warding — isn’t Hogwarts just amazing! Did you know it looks like ruins to any muggles who manage to get past the outer wards?”

Just as he knew she would, Hermione promptly answered, “Yes. I read so in Hogwarts: A History.”

Harry grinned at her, conspiratorially. “I can get this book back in without notice, too. If you promise not to damage it?” Harry held out the slim green book. Also perfectly setting Hermione bristling, and determined to prove she wouldn’t dare damage a book. And thus, she was now part of the rule breaking, and wouldn’t tell on them.

 

He felt a little bad, for manipulating his old friend like this… but all things considered, not that bad. After all, when Harry died, they hadn’t really been friends for years, and for similar reasons, he doubted they would ever become close now.

 

Hermione wavered, but eventually reached out and took the book.

Gellert cut in then.

“What brings you to the library so early on the weekend, Miss Granger?”

To Harry’s delight, Hermione bristled even further, as Gellert sounded surprised to see her. Harry didn’t know if that was intentional, but his tone implied that you wouldn’t normally find Hermione in a library, which kicked up all her insecurities.

“Well I have to fit in extra time for the essay we have to write for Professor Snape! Have you written yours?” Hermione turned up her nose at Gellert Grindelwald. For all their differences, Harry felt a swell of affection for this Hermione. Eleven years old and completely useless at social interactions.

 

Gellert sent Harry a strange look. Almost longing, before suggesting that he and Hermione work on their essays for Snape now.

Before Harry could blink, Gellert had linked arms with Hermione, and dragged her off to the potions section. What that was about, Harry didn’t know.

Casting one glance around the corner to Pince, Harry slowly lowered the wards back into position, then tucked both books under one arm, and headed out of the Library. No use hanging around to get spotted with them.

 

Harry only made it to the Grand Staircase, when fate stuck her nose in. Harry almost ran straight into Quirrell and his guest, as Quirrell came out of a doorway to the left at a quick pace, right as Harry stepped forward towards the stairs. Only Harry’s quick reflexes managed to avoid them coming into skin contact. That could have been awkward.

Once they were both stable again, they were both standing on the moving stairs, heading down a level.

“P-p-p-potter!”

Harry glanced back the way Quirrell had come: From the forbidden corridor. Harry felt a smirk fall onto his face.

“Good morning professor! Did you have to see a man about a dog?”

“Potter!”

Harry’s grin got bigger. That was a distinct change in tone, and much more biting.

“Ah. And Good morning to you, also.”

Quirrell’s body twitched slightly. “And whoever gave you a note for the restricted section, hmm? Or should I confiscate those?”

A slight change in posture too, and no stutter that time, either. Harry opened his mouth, to divert attention, when something occurred to him.

“… actually … I wonder if you might be interested in joint project?” Harry squinted at him, running the idea through several possibilities. It felt a bit bizarre to be even considering working with Voldemort, but… there were possibilities there, too.

“A-a-and wh-why should I h-h-help y-y-you?” The stutter returned as they reached the second floor landing, where they might cross paths with anyone, and where any portraits were close enough to hear … however the silky undertone hadn’t disappeared entirely. Flicking his eyes over the portraits, Harry cast a silent muffliato spell.

“A mutual goal. I plan to get rid of Binns.” Harry said, frankly, as they both stepped onto the next stairs down.

“And you th-th-think that is m-m-mutual?”

“Well, replacing him with someone who actually taught the histories and traditions… I’d say that could be a mutual goal.” Preferably someone who would at least acknowledge that Dark magic was a whole half of their society… and Harry had just the person in mind.

“Th-Theoretically, b-b-but it isn’t p-possible.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Because banishing one ghost would banish them all?”

“Y-y-yes. You d-d-didn’t th-think you were th-the f-f-first to th-think of it, did you, Potter?” Again, while the stuttering stayed, the tone was sarcastic and sneered. Not Quirrell. Briefly, Harry wondered what sort of first class idiot Quirrell must be, to have let himself get possessed by a Dark Lord. Then he dismissed it as irrelevant, for the moment.

“Hence, the Book of the Dead. … Because … if I did a soul binding ritual with a ghost first? Would it be possible to banish that ghost then?” Admittedly Harry’s tone was fairly smug… but he was also sure that it was a rather neat work-around. He wanted to confirm, hence the books, but he was confident it would work.

Quirrell’s magic was usually a dull swirl, lethargic and slow-moving. Probably faked, to hide the possession. However, as Harry finished his sentence, it suddenly went deathly still. An over-reaction that briefly gave Harry pause.

There was the briefest hesitation, before Quirrel replied. (Well, before someone replied out Quirrel’s mouth.)

“Bonding like that can be rather dangerous… but I suppose it could be possible. I’ll consider it.”

Harry kept moving smoothly along the corridor, hiding his surprise. He hadn’t really thought Voldemort would be interested, he had just been hoping he would leave Harry to his task. Unless…

Oh.

Oh! Oh that was… Harry glanced at Quirrell out of the corner of his eye. If Harry was right — which he might not be — but if he were… Oh. Tom was going to kill him!

 

---

 

Tom woke up with a jerk, to the sound of a Malfoy swearing, and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Internally groaning, he reached up and rubbed his face with both hands, before resting a moment longer with his eyes shut.

“Shhh! Damn it Draco, you’ll wake Riddle.” Nott whispered, a moment later.

Well, it was a rotten way to be woken… but hearing someone quiver in fear of him did brighten his mood slightly. Still, he had an image to maintain. Tom sat up and flung back his covers in one move, jerking the curtains on that side of his bad back in tandem for effect.

“Yes, you will.” He snarled, getting some small enjoyment out of the way both boys paled.

Tom glanced around the room with a glare. Only Nott and Malfoy remained in the room. Flicking his wrist out, in a gesture he hadn’t ever managed to loose from wearing a muggle watch all those years ago, Tom called up a tempus charm.

 

His mood immediately decreased.

He may not be able to kill Potter… for now… but he was going to make his life miserable. 11.03. It was past eleven. Damn it all! Tom really thought he had it that time with the Indian morning-mantra spell!

“Sorry Riddle!”

Tom flicked his eyes back to Malfoy, who looked positively ill with worry. Tom wouldn’t be letting him know he was actually pleased to have at least been woken before noon.

“Yes, well, don’t do it again.” Tom glanced across the room at Potter and Gellert’s empty beds. “Where is Potter?” And why wasn’t he still in bed, pitiful with a hang-over? Tom had been looking forward to making him especially miserable with it.

“He went out early this morning… with Grindelwald.”

Tom’s attention snapped to Nott. “Where?” he demanded. If they were plotting together…

“Potter said-… I mean, he can’t have been serious… but he said he was going to steal something from the restricted section. Probably a book.”

‘Probably a book’… Well, obviously. And Tom was quite sure Potter wasn’t lying… the only question was which books.

“Interesting.” Feeling the need to make somebody feel wretched, Tom smiled charmingly at Nott. “Thank you, at least some people start the day off well.” He pointedly didn’t look at little-Malfoy as he spoke, and could all but feel the boy’s anxiety increasing as a result. Malfoys were such fun. Both Abraxus and Lucius had been the same.

 

Tom brushed past them then, making his way in to have a long hot shower, before he would have to go and hunt down the other two.

 

Malfoy and Nott were gone when he emerged from the bathroom. Malfoy’s things were still spread hap-hazardously across his bed, so he assumed they had scurried away to avoid displeasing him twice in one morning.

Tom eyed Potter’s bed warily. He had been alone in their dorm exactly three times, but had only messed with Potter’s wards the once. They were malicious enough that they made even him hesitate. He could give it another go now, but if he wasn’t allowed to kill Potter, was it really worth it?… Probably not, sadly. Sending them one final glare, Tom made his way down to the common room.

 

The Quidditch team was positioned around the central fireplace, but Flint shot a look at his two beaters, who shuffled to a different lounge, making room for Tom to sit without comment. Tom had never really seen the point to Quidditch, though it was important to keep track of the team, as they were usually key social players. In Tom’s school days he had actually unofficially captained the team, as while he didn’t care for the sport, and hadn’t been bothered flying on the team himself, he did understand strategy better than most and would not have tolerated Slytherin being anything but the best. Of course he had also been secretly tutoring the captain of the Ravenclaw team, playing Giddley off against Black without either of their knowledge. Tom supposed he could see how one might get into the sport, if you cared for the strategy and team loyalty, but there was always plenty of other politics to be getting on with in Slytherin. If Tom had been sorted —Merlin help him— into Gryffindor, he would have made absolutely sure to be the team captain and star player.

“Hello Riddle.” Flint greeted.

Tom inclined his head.

Flint grunted, then shared a look with one of the other players, a seeker, guessing by the build of him, before speaking up. “I was thinking of running Quidditch trials on Wednesday evening.”

It was a statement, but Tom felt a tiny thrill of success, because his tone made it a question. The Quidditch captain was deferring to a first year. Admittedly, if he didn’t defer to Tom, Tom would have immediately dismissed him as utterly unintelligent, but still.

“That sounds well enough.” Tom agreed. Then he hesitated. Because if he was sticking around for most of the year, as in his original school days, he really wouldn’t let Slytherin settle for anything but the best. Unfortunately, the best would mean… Potter. It would, however, presumably make Potter happy to be on the school team. An annoying conundrum. Internally sighing, Tom cleared his throat.

Flint stilled.

“Perhaps it would be better, if you were to open up all positions, open tryouts.” Damn it, Tom would curse Potter next time he saw him, just to make himself feel better about helping Potter out. Even if Potter would likely have twisted things to his own way anyway. Tom couldn’t quite recall how he got on the team last time, but he remembered it being ridiculous.

“First years aren’t allowed on the teams.” The boy Flint had checked in with spoke up.

“Actually-”

“Why, do you play?” The boy cut him off, tone taunting. Tom glared at him, his magic going glacial. He took it back. If this boy was the seeker, then let Potter crush him.

Tom stood, and the room went quiet. “I just someone in mind for seeker.” Tom said, lip twitching towards a smirk, as the boy flushed with anger. Definitely a seeker himself.

“Sorry,” Tom said, rather insincerely, “I don’t believe I know your name?”

The boy puffed up, looming ineffectually over Tom. “Terrance Higgs.”

“H-i-g-g-s.” Tom drew the name out, packing as much sneer into it as he could. “I will remember that.”

Higgs opened his mouth, but one of the other plays stamped on his foot to shut him up. Tom carefully noted who that boy was too, before returning his gaze to Higgs. “First years are only not allowed to bring their own brooms, there is no rule against them playing.” And likely the staff would fall all over themselves to please Potter. McGonagall bought Potter his broom last time, though he doubts Severus would now.

“Open trials on Wednesday evening, then. Are you heading up for an early lunch?” Flint asked Tom, cutting Higgs an alarmed look, and clearly trying to deescalate the situation before Tom really put his foot down on Higgs not being on the team at all. At least some of the Slytherins could tell who their betters were.

“I could go for brunch, sure.” Tom agreed. Mostly because he didn’t really care about Quidditch, and these were all children, so he didn’t need to worry over destroying them immediately, it wasn’t like any of them were a risk to him. That, and he was hungry because it was past eleven.

 

Flint and a girl, presumably his girlfriend though Tom didn’t recognise her, or care, walked up with Tom to the Great Hall.

“Professor Flitwick was complimenting the Slytherin first years when he chaired the prefect meeting the other week.” The girl suddenly spoke up.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.” It was, actually. Tom would have preferred to know the exact wording, as he doubted the staff were doing anything but worry about the Slytherin first years. Dumbledore was doing nothing but panic, in his own quiet way. Tom was just waiting until that came to the boil. Hopefully after Tom got the stone, by which point he could just kill the bastard and be done with it.

“He said that he couldn’t help but award 40 points in a single lesson,” the girl continued, “I’m guessing you three are responsible for that?”

Tom twitched slightly, annoyed at being grouped in with the other two, even if there was, admittedly, a very large gap between himself, Potter and Gellert, and the rest of his year (The rest of the general population, really). Tom rather thought he had the advantage on both Potter and Gellert… at least in Charms, though Grindelwalds were famously Charms-heavy, so it was still a little worth gloating over.

Tom mentally called up their last lesson, recalling that he had taken to silently charming Potter’s chair bite him, while also making the lesson’s lumos charm send directed light right into Potter’s eyes. “Ah yes, lumos. It is hardly a difficult spell.” Tom had managed a wandless lumos when he was three.

“Haha. Of course. Still, Slytherin is well on their way to the seventh year of holding the House Cup.”

Considering Tom was still waiting for the fallout of Potter hanging out with those twins, and Dumbledore’s blatant favouritism towards Gryffindor, he wouldn’t be holding his breath.

“You three are very good at magic. More than simple lumos.”

Tom resisted rolling his eyes. In amongst fear, contempt and confusion, the older years had been surveying the three of them with a deep curiosity. None of them were particularly hiding that they weren’t your average eleven year olds, at least from the other students. Personally, Tom didn’t care what was thought about him, so long as any investigation was held off until after he retrieved the stone.

 

Tom made it apparent, once they were in the hall, that he didn’t want to be disturbed, settling in to reading the Prophet with some food. Without the other two around to snoop, he turned to the classifieds. Fenrir and his pack communicated with a code through them, and for all the trouble the wolf caused, he knew the black markets like no one else, so there would likely be useful information to be had. Once Tom had the stone, he would need to see about finding himself a better body, then connect with some smuggling contacts he had in the Newcastle region. There was a hag down Knockturn who would likely be able to source him some parts he needed, and she was often as not involved in Fenrir’s messes, so she should show up in the paper, if one knew what to look for. There was also, of course, his counterpart to deal with. Tom glanced up at the professor’s table, but only Sprout and Sinistra were there.

 

Tom was just turning back to the paper, when his magic stirred, and his arms got goosebumps. He snapped his gaze up, just in time to catch Potter and his counterpart … coming in together.

 

No. Absolutely not. Tom would not let this stand.

Chapter 10: Headmaster's office

The impromptu study session had actually been surprisingly enjoyable. Admittedly Granger was by far too naive and trusting of sources just because they were in print or power, but she was still amusing enough for an eleven year old. It would be a while before she would be of any real use, but Gellert was fairly sure he could actually get to her to experiment in potions, with only a minimal amount of forgery in a ‘textbook’ here or there. Two contradictory sources, and she’d be off. A neat little solution. He would have to watch her though, as she was very much like Albus, in that she sucked you in to a project, and suddenly you look up and three days had passed. Just one session with her and as it was they had almost missed lunch.

 

Currently, they were approaching the great hall, and Granger was still rabbiting on about brewed mists. Gellert had tuned her out some time around the first staircase, but was nodding along at appropriate pauses. Before they reached the food, Potter and Riddle stalked out of the doors. 

Well, Riddle stalked, Potter, as was becoming usual, just looked amused. Notably, however, they weren’t talking in Snake. 

Gellert found himself drifting after them without intending to do so.

 

“Tell me at once what you were doing with Quirinus, Potter!”

“You’re so fussy, Tom.”

“Fussy! Well, if you insist! I couldn’t possibly imagine why I might find your new acquaintance even a little suspicious!”

Riddle was speaking with so much sarcasm in his tone that Gellert almost winced. Potter was blatantly aware of it, and equally blatantly pretending to be oblivious.

“But Tom, he’s just such an interesting professor! Did you know he saved a vampire from a zombie?”

 

“Why are we spying on your friends?”

Gellert startled slightly, as Granger hissed out the question in a harsh whisper, right by his ear. He had quite honestly forgotten she was with him. Still. He narrowed his eyes at the two boys, then glanced sideways at Granger. Potter had helped her out after their disastrous potions lesson, so maybe there was history there? Besides, Gellert had only just been musing on Granger’s tenaciousness. And if a resource was under you’re nose…

“Riddle and Potter have some sort of secret with Professor Quirrell, and I want to know what it is.” He whispered back, making sure to keep his tone conspiratorial. And all the better if someone else did his research for him. He was pleased when Granger’s frown narrowed.

“Professor Quirrell taught here two years ago, but for Muggle Studies.”

Gellert blinked at the information, trying to fit that in to what he knew of Potter and Riddle, but, honestly, that made even less sense. Though perhaps explained the muggle terminology that Potter had obviously spotted too.

“There is also a … rumour.” She grimaced at the word, but forged on. “That Riddle is—“ she glanced furtively around them before lowering her whisper even more. “—You-Know-Who’s son!”

Gellert suddenly remembered why he disliked most women. Ugh. Gossip.

Besides which he obviously knew this was false. No, he would need to investigate this himself, as anyone else would be distracted by their intentional misdirection. What a hassle.

Still … one should never throw away a resource, so he threw a friendly wink at her before disengaging from her, and catching the boys’ attention.

 

Potter’s attention caught on Granger. “Oh, how’d the essays go?”

“All done. Have you made any progress on your warding project?” Gellert shot back, taking careful note when Riddle bristled so badly he puffed up like a Gulping Plimpy with its legs tied together.

“Warding!?”

Potter just rolled his eyes, and turned the group towards the dungeons. Somewhere between the first corridor and the second set of stairs, Granger made herself scarce.

“You scared off your mudblood.” Riddle commented, in a clear jibe at Potter, but he only rolled his eyes. Gellert took note of the possessive.

“That’s more likely you two. Sons-of, and all.”

That was a distinct possibility. Apparently at Hogwarts all Slytherins were under suspicion of being ‘evil’. Not that, as genuine Dark Lords, they were necessarily wrong, in their case, but the division was stupid. Maybe he should have gone with Ravenclaw.

“I did confirm, in the library, that Gellert was a family name, and Granger just confided in me a moment ago that a rumour is going around Gryffindor about your parentage, Riddle.”

Mostly Gellert was following the his-own-grandson angle specifically to rile up Albus, if he were entirely honest with himself. He had actually fell upon the idea only a few days after he sent his acceptance letter, having no desire to be sent back to Nurmengard. The advantage of being an apparent orphan was that he could claim ignorance on all of his own crimes.

 

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the common room, but while it wasn’t overly uncomfortable, Riddle was still shooting Potter suspicious glares the entire time, and he obviously wasn’t done on the topic of their defence teacher. Which was only adding to Gellert’s own paranoia about the man.

 

Upon reaching the common room, Riddle sulked off to the central lounge, sticking his nose in a book with a distinct flair of annoyance that had several Slytherins shooting the three of them alarmed looks. Gellert was a bit bored with the drama, and upon seeing the gloomy common room, was reminded of his earlier concerns.

“I don’t suppose you would be interested in trying putting that window in the dorm with me?”

It was frankly ridiculous that the rooms didn’t already have enchanted windows. They may live underground, but they were wizards!

“Sure, I’m always up for a challenge. How about you, Tom?”

Riddle sniffed loudly, and viciously turned a page without answering.

Potter shot Riddle an amused look, before shrugging and turning towards their rooms.

 

Ten minutes later, Gellert silently confirmed his earlier belief to himself that he was very out-classed in this area. He was quite good at putting up wards, having had to dabble to get himself out of trouble, especially when rituals backfired with little notice and a spell would only create trigger-responses, but he never specialised in it, and he is much better at hastily throwing them up, and not so good at bringing them down neatly, nor weaving wards together. He could build seriously advanced wards —Being a Dark Lord did often come with the requirement to hide things, well— but only if he spent a great deal of time on it.

Regardless, he always had got a bit of a thrill at watching any sort of master at work. Potter said ‘they’ could work on it, but so far Gellert had only listed the three spells he had seen used, as part of windows in various ministries or palaces, and that was all. Potter did the rest.

Warding was quite fascinating, in that it was layering of spells, in a way which somehow —magically, to Gellert— didn’t break, even though almost every ward he had looked at under mage sight was made up of contradictory spells. It wasn’t a ritual, so Gellert would probably have a fair shot at it, if he put his mind to it, but it honestly always reminded him of being seven and trying to understand Arithmancy for the first time. He got a headache just thinking about it. Also, he would rather spend his time spell-crafting, if he were going to get further formal education in something. He had created spells that broke entire ward systems in one go, in the past.

 

What really caught his attention, was a sudden flare of magic not Potters.

“What was that?” He demanded.

Potter shrugged. “Me being lazy. I just tied this into the enchanted ceiling from the Great Hall, so it is looking up, not out, but if you want to be picky then you can do hours of research just so we can get a view of the lake.”

Gellert blinked. Had … had Potter really just casually tied his window to the Hogwarts wards!?!

“That’s fine. In Nurmengard I only had a tiny window, which was directed downwards with walls so thick that all you could see out of it was a small patch of gravel and a bit of the enchanted moat.” Gellert heard himself answer, but his mind was racing a million miles a minute in a different direction, towards the ramifications for his developing plan to put a curse on the school.

“Is it so easy to tie any bit of magic into the wards?” He asked, casually.

Unfortunately, either his forced casualness was suspicious, or Potter and Riddle must have been talking of him. Potter immediately looked exasperated.

“If you must put a curse on the school, just don’t ruin yet another class, or we’ll have to have words. As it is I’m going to have to chase down and undo Tom’s little tantrum because the whole thing is ruining generations of student’s education. Preferably you could—”

Potter suddenly cut himself off, his head snapping around towards the common room, the window wards flaring brightly for a moment, before he pulled his hands out of them. Gellert spread his magical focus out, and immediately spotted what Potter reacted to. Their House Master was approaching the common room rapidly, his magic swirling in anger.

“Could he sense the window?” Gellert doubts it, but defers to Potter’s knowledge. He wonders if Potter can sense magic too, or if it is was the wards’ connection with Hogwarts that allowed him to feel the approach.

Potter shrugs. “Shouldn’t have. I built an age-directed ward in. Unless Snape is secretly under 18, he should just see and even feel a blank wall. Shall we go find out?”

 

“Where is Potter!?” Their House Master announces himself with a snarl, just as they reach the common room. Gellert is quite sure the man would have slammed the common room door open, if there had been one to be dramatically slammed. The more Gellert sees of the man, the less he thinks of him.

Sulking in behind Snape, is Stane Blishwick. Gellert feels his lip pull into a sneer.

Riddle slowly put down his book, taking his time to bookmark his page, ignoring the fuming teacher in a way Gellert is beginning to realise is specifically aimed at riling the man up. 

“Perhaps in the dorms?”

Silence greets him. Gellert glances around the room at that. Most of the house is present, or spilling in to find out what the screaming is about. But none of them are speaking up. Gellert narrows his eyes. Then has to repress a snort. Blishwick still has the phallus on his face. Obviously, he had tried to snitch too, though with how much success remained to be seen.

 

It looks like even the staff can’t get the graphic off. Which is amusing. It is a childish act, putting it there. Though he wonders just how calculated that was, even though every extended sense he had of magic, had told him that Potter really had been very drunk. But in terms of keeping their cover, the childishness of it would throw things off.

Gellert also isn’t at all surprised that neither the boy nor the staff could remove it, as it was put on by a ward master. (Gellert still hasn’t got over that!!)

 

“You’re looking for me, professor?” In a tone perfectly mild and blatantly disrespectful under a thin veneer or politeness, Potter cut in, drawing attention to himself just as Riddle opened his mouth to reply.

Snape spun around immediately.

“Dumbledore’s office! I’ll see you expelled for this, Potter!” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added “Riddle and Grindelwald too.”

Really, what an odd man.

Potter may be more than a simple student, but the vitriol that their House Master has for him is beyond what he could have managed to deserve in the short weeks they have been at the school. Potter wasn’t even there for the … calling it a duel is a bit much. But, according to the rant the man was now spitting out in Potter’s disinterested face, the House Master has twice as much anger for Potter’s simple drawing, than he does for Riddle and Gellert’s knocking a boy unconscious and not seeking any medical attention for him.

 

To be honest, Gellert is only surprised that they hadn’t been called up to Albus before now. There was a strange formality and honour-code, in their house, it seemed. Even though as Slytherins they were seemingly expected, in and out of the house, to be rather cut-throat. A contradiction, that there was a fraternity of sorts, in not speaking to outsiders. He was suspicious that Potter understood it so well, something that Riddle hadn’t seemed to notice yet. But by all accounts the Gryffindors were oblivious to Slytherin’s internal workings… and yet Potter blended in without a skip in his step. Well, for a given definition of ‘blend’. Potter seemed to do whatever he wanted, but Gellert knew better than that. Even as a Dark Lord, if you wanted to sail so smoothly, you needed to know the system you were snubbing. Potter was more than he seemed.

 

Slytherin’s attitude wasn’t a surprise, the Brits were always too insular for his liking. Though in this case Gellert also wouldn’t be surprised if he were later to find out that someone had ratted them out earlier, and it was only now being acted on. Albus always did like to line everything up neatly, before wading in, and could just have easily been taming all his staff since the display Potter and Riddle put on on their first night. Patience. He wouldn’t be at all shocked if there was something unexpected and calculated about this meeting. It had been both frustrating and attractive, back in their youth. Albus would take forever getting to a point, but admittedly, when he did, everything was so perfectly aligned as to be art! Gellert, on the other hand, was sometimes rather impatient. A character trait he wrestled with, over the years. Though Nurmengard had certainly forced him to deal with it to a degree.

As Albus wasn’t in his sight yet, he scowled as they tracked up to Albus’ office. Once he had his wand back, there would be some consequences, for Albus locking him in there.

 

Still, regarding his wand, on the bright side, he would be getting his first look at Albus’ office out of this whole affair.

 

They were led up several floors, before coming to a stop in front of a stone gargoyle. At which point Snape spat out the bizarre phrase “Jelly Babies”, which bamboozled Gellert for a moment, before he realised it was just like Albus to use something so frivolous as a password. Behind the gargoyle a set of enchanted stairs took them up to the office. Gellert had every sense he could manage spread out, within the limits of not being noticed. Surprisingly, other than the password, there didn’t appear to be any wards on anything before the door.

Hopefully this was so that students could get in in case of an emergency. Gellert really hoped he had simply missed the instruction for how to do so, or his opinion of Hogwarts administration would sink yet lower still.

 

Albus’ office was exactly like his old study had been. Filled with curiosities that were whirring, puffing, spinning and generally creating as much distraction as possible. The room itself was round, with several levels, and surrounded on all sides by portraits—which was most annoying, and would be hard to circumvent—presumably of past headmasters, if the few he could identify indicated a trend. Along with key Hogwarts memorabilia—Gellert eyed the sorting hat shrewdly—There were sentimental trinkets and furniture all about. Gellert spotted a broken music-box he was fairly sure had been Ariana’s, and he would recognise anywhere the monstrosity that was the claw-footed desk that belonged to Albus’ mad father. There were plenty of tracking devices about the room, and Gellert made a quick mental sum of how many were blatantly external trackers. Albus always was up to his nose in other people’s business. Still there were one or two that could just as easily be for tracking office visitor information. Also, there was only one obvious door leaving the room that could lead to the private quarters, which was tucked away right at the back, past the desk, and up another set of stairs. That could be problematic.

 

Gellert took as much as he could in, while seemingly focusing only on Albus himself. … and his damn phoenix. Which any true eleven year old wouldn’t be able to resist staring at. Gellert resolutely did not pout. They had discovered Fawkes’ wild nest together, and Gellert was, admittedly, still rather bitter that the bird hadn’t chosen him. Not every phoenix chose Light companions! That was myth. … a myth that would have helped greatly in delaying the fight back against his takeover, had the stupid bird picked him! Instead it picked the man who went on to name is after a muggle rebel! Ugh!

 

“Come in, come in, boys.” Albus had his eyes on full twinkle, and despite their House-Master’s earlier declaration, Gellert doubted very much that they would be expelled. Albus could be cold, when he was truly angry … plus he would want them staying under his power.

The familiar feel of Albus’ use of mind-magics brushed against his outer shields, but above-average occlumency was a Blood trait in his family line, so it wouldn’t tell Albus one jot, other than backing up their story of a relation.

“Would anyone like a lemon drop?”

Only because Gellert was right next to them, did he spot the bit of Potter’s magic tweaking Riddle’s back.

“Please.” Riddle spoke, “I love sweets.”

Albus looked a little more settled at that, and Gellert hid a smug smirk before it could surface. It was lucky he was already focusing on keeping his face blank, as a moment later, with a fast-draw, Albus flicked out the wand, conjuring a settee that just barely fit the three of them, animating it to scoop them into a sit. Gellert purposely didn’t focus on the wand, despite that he could feel the siren pull of its magic.

You won’t catch me that easy old boy!

 

---

 

Tom slunk onto the main lounge, sulking, and annoyed at himself that he was letting this get to him. He had vows from both of them, meaning neither Potter nor his counterpart were any immediate threat. They were unimportant.

He still blatantly ignored Potter’s invitation, moodily flicking to a new page instead, glaring into the tome he had borrowed off Scarlett Powell (whose mother is dealing in human flesh down knockturn. Ten years in Azkaban, if someone were to find out), Romanian fires: A dull first instalment, but the Powell library isn’t to be sneered at, so Scarlett will have to do better next time. He has actually read it before, but he has to get something out of being eleven again while waiting on the Dumbledore placing the stone in, and while he—Potter not withstanding—hadn’t really bothered with subduing children since he was one, it is surprisingly enjoyable watching them quiver in fear of him, or better yet, be swallowed up in rage at their own impotence against a seeming eleven year old boy, while he lazily masters them.

Casually, he flicked his wand and the small fire in the grate. Trying a spell here or there, his temper soothed somewhat as Slytherin collectively held back a flinch every time he raised his wand.

 

Potter and Gellert went up to install the window in the dorm. Tom quite likes the moody dungeons, but doesn’t care either way. He was feeling … off.

 

Potter was possibly working with his counterpart.

Gellert was clearly plotting, either with Potter, Potter’s mudblood, or both.

Tom was …

 

Perhaps he needed to torture someone? It had been too long. He felt … well, obviously he was pleased that he was alive again. And, although he would never admit it aloud, he was pleased to be back in Hogwarts again too. He had thought he would be bored within an hour, but surprisingly blackmailing, manipulating and tormenting his ‘fellow’ students was almost as amusing as playing with his Death Eaters had been. 

Living alongside Gellert Grindelwald was … not entirely unpleasant. Another Dark Lord and unashamed of it. Naturally, they shared similar sentiments on several things, which was rather novel. Almost everyone else in his life like that had been to busy grovelling below him, in awe of his power (as they should). 

 

The philosophers stone was once more within his reach. Not only would lengthen his life, but the magics that would be possible with such a powerful anchor stone were almost unlimited. Gold he could get from the muggles with little issue, and he wasn’t lacking a body now, so the immortality was nothing more than a perk, as he would need to find a way to not-die as well anyway. But holding such a powerful source of magic!

Once he had the stone, he could deal with both Dumbledore and then Severus. Or perhaps even Severus and then Dumbledore, if the man kept pushing.

 

No, his whole foul mood could be laid squarely at Potter’s feet. What’s new. The brat was, as ever, a frustrating contradiction. He didn’t like this new Potter, who was manipulative and slippery. He didn’t. 

 

He really did feel like cursing someone. He flicked his eyes around the common room. Slytherin house was clearly still reeling a bit from the three of them. Higgs was buckled down studying at one of the desks in the corner, which could be fun. Blishwick wasn’t here, he had barely shown his face since he returned from the hospital wing. There was Powell, who he cornered on Thursday evening, but he would prefer to let her sweat it out a little longer. There was a posse of fourth years Tom knew little about, sitting by one of the smaller fireplaces. They were mostly female, and were easy to dismiss, but there had to be a reason that they always managed to claim the superior seats they did without contemporaries. It could be amusing to start something from scratch, though it wouldn’t satisfy his immediate needs. And then there was Malfoy, Nott and Zabini. Hmm. Though of course Potter would stick his nose in and save the brats if Tom were to let off some steam. Friday evening had only been temporary and barely counted. Intimidation and fear were enjoyable, but nothing on truely making someone shake with pain and terror.

Of course Potter hadn’t reacted how Tom had expected to Blishwick either. How anyone expected. Tom scowled at his book, jabbing his wand a little too viciously and causing the delicate spiralling sparks he’d been creating as he mused to sputter out. But then, Tom sneered to himself, Potter was drunk. He needs to know what Potter’s past-future holds, that was a given, but Potter was weak if he just drowned himself in a bottle. What an absolute waste. Alcohol dulls your magic. Not to mention your intelligence and inhibitions.

 

Tom sat up, briefly enjoying the way the entire room instantly reacted to his slight change in posture. He would have to hold off on physical spells, but there was still possibilities. Untraceable hexes didn’t give the same magical feedback as a good Dark curse, but one must work with what they are given.

His eyes landed on his year-mates. Little Malfoy squirmed, and did a fair job of pretending not to notice Tom’s gaze. Fortunately, for him, Tom would hold off until he could play with Lucius too. Zabini somehow became intentionally less every time Riddle focussed on their little group. Just like his mother, Subira Zabini, who Tom had always suspected had siren blood. Certainly one to watch. Parkinson was probably the daughter of Gerald Parkinson, one of Tom’s death eaters. If she was anything like her father she would be spoilt and not particularly powerful. Boring.

And of course there was Theodore Nott. Though, Atreus Nott was one of Tom’s most loyal and, if he was honest, most valued, death eaters. An original Knight of Walpurgis, and as the most competent of his fellows, probably the closest Tom came to having a friend in school. Also, Atreus’s daughter, Persephone, Theodore’s aunt, was ridiculously beautiful, and ridiculously in love with Tom. Tom had slept with her a few times, and occasionally strung her along for a while, but she was always too mild and mousy to be worth using long term. As a reward for Atreus’s long years of service Tom had dropped her fully years ago, on Atreus’s request, though she would likely be the first suspect when it came to his story of being his own son, even if she had married into Finnish royalty and left the UK after Tom dropped her. The timing was a little off, but Tom had absolutely no intention of confirming anything. But no use offending the Notts too much, when they could be useful later. Especially not over a bit of distraction on an eleven year old.

 

Decision made, Tom smirked slightly at Zabini, about to stand … when a familiar disturbance had him holding back a snarl.

Severus.

 

Tom settled back into his lounge, just in time to be able to completely ignore Severus as he exploded into the room.

“Where is Potter!?”

Tom specifically finished reading a full two more lines of Romanian fires before sliding a bookmark into the page he was on. Tom is not quite sure just how Severus managed to learn occlumency so well, as he has about as much patience as Tom does sympathy.

Right as he can all but feel Severus about to snap, he casually looks up and blandly suggests “Perhaps in the dorms?”

Severus’ magic swirled violently.

Annoyingly, before he can escalate things, Potter emerges from the dorms.

“You’re looking for me, professor?”

As soon as Severus’ attention is on Potter, Tom takes to ignoring him, instead narrowing in on Blishwick, who’s estimation lowers even further in Tom’s mind. Clearly this one needed a firmer reminder about his place. Tom was certain that Blishwick was too weak to break through his spellwork, so he couldn’t have truly informed the professors what had happened. Though clearly he had tried, so he would be extremely unpopular with their housemates. The common room, and even the in-house battles, were in confidence. Because if you couldn’t be trusted to keep everyone else’s secrets, then they couldn’t be trusted to keep yours. And oh did Slytherin’s keep secrets. Tom had literally murdered Waren when he was 16, the School was almost closed, and almost every single Slytherin knew Tom was a parselmouth, of the Slytherin line, yet the staff had ‘no proof’ who the Heir was. Well, Dumbledore had kicked up a fuss, but Tom’s one stupid slip-up on that first meeting, after six years of his perfect persona, had meant little. Not when his entire house vouched that he had been in the common room.

Also, the advantage of ousting Blishwick to Wildsmiths and Rowle was that he had cut off the boy’s more connected allies, who had visibly distanced themselves from Blishwick all day.

 

Of course, all of Tom’s neat spellwork meant little when Potter went and left evidence tattooed on the boy’s face. Tom’s eyelid twitched.

 

Fortunately, behind Severus’ fuming back, the seventh year prefect blatantly drew attention to herself. The majority of the house was gathered, so Tom wouldn’t have thought much of it, but the subtle movement was repeated three times.

Tom slipped into her mind. Slytherin coming through, as usual. She intends to obliviate Blishwick while they are in the meeting with Dumbledore. She is filled with lust for revenge, because Blishwick treats her and her fellow ‘beauties’ like possessions with not an ounce of subtlety to him. Tom is not surprised. Tom hides his smirk, and is just slipping, undetected, from her mind, when her head snaps around to stare at Potter in shock, just as there is a flare of Potter’s magic as Potter stumbles into her mind.

Tom just barely resists rolling his eyes. He would need to have words with the sorting hat at some point. Potter is a damn Gryffindor and it is an insult that he has been let in Tom’s house! Absolutely no self-preservation or cunning.

 

Severus’ rising voice cuts off Tom’s thoughts of retribution.

“Dumbledore’s office! I’ll see you expelled for this, Potter! Riddle and Grindelwald too.”

Well, he might see Potter expelled (although considering Dumbledore’s blatant bias, Tom rather thought Snape was delusional on that matter), but there was absolutely no evidence of Tom and Gellert’s work, and would be even less by the time they returned.

 

Snape stalked out of the common room, clearly expecting them to follow. For just one second, Tom considered staying put, but only for a second. Sighing, he placed his book on the table (gloatingly right where Powell would be able to see it, but be too afraid to retrieve it), then followed Potter and Gellert out.

 

Behind Severus’ back, Potter actually looked rather gleeful. Which was … actually, rather lifting.

Tom felt a smirk creep across his face. In fact, this could prove to be rather diverting. For all the panicking that the staff had been doing, Dumbledore had actually been mostly avoiding them. Until now. And while they may have suspicions, and there was some risk that they could be caught, it was causing more of a rush than a fear. Tom’s magic spiked at the thought. How he would love to duel Dumbledore again, crush him. And, surprisingly, Gellert and even Potter, would only be an advantage. It had, annoyingly, been quite some time since Tom had gone into a confrontation with Dumbledore while holding more of the cards. Dumbledore was always smug with his superiority about being right and good and morally superior. Ha! Dumbledore was a coward. He could only win a ‘fair’ fight, by his definition of ‘fair’. Any loss he suffered was called as somehow still a moral win, and any win Tom had as somehow not being a real win. The Light side were all hypocrites. 

But here, here Dumbledore had no idea what he was facing.

 

Tom was quite pleased at the fast pace with which Severus stalked them to Dumbledore’s office. Barely five minutes from the dungeons to Dumbledore’s cheery (with patently faked tone) “Come in, come in, boys. Would anyone like a lemon drop?”

 

Tom opened his mouth to sneer out a ‘no’ when Potter hit him in the back with a wandless hex. Tom would have ignored it (well, other than later retribution, which would happen regardless), except that it was a vertugoothur hex. A rather obscure Icelandic cheering charm. Tom didn’t let it settle, of course, but the hex was well known for causing a passive-aggressiveness as a side effect to the cheering charm. Annoyingly, Potter was actually finally showing some subtlety for once!

“Please. I love sweets.” Tom replied to Dumbledore with a sickly-sweet smile. Admittedly Tom had forgotten that he should keep his old perfectly-polite-prefect mask on. Though being reminded by Potter stung.

Grudgingly, Tom put the candy in his mouth after a quick wandless confirmation that it was only boiled sugar and citrus. A moment later Dumbledore conjured a chair that knocked them off their feet and into it. It was too small, obnoxiously blue, and had taken every bit of restraint Tom had to allow it to happen without rebuke.

 

Dumbledore took a moment to stare at them over his half-moon glasses, probably hoping to make them squirm.

Tom blinked back at him. He was completely unsurprised to sense a brush off legilimency, but kept it shut out exactly the same way he had when he was actually eleven. Violently.

Internally he smirked with glee, as Dumbledore got a pinched look in his eyes.

 

Unfortunately for Dumbledore, the three of them had far more patience than Severus.

“Headmaster.” Severus drawled with politeness that completely failed to hide his frustration. “As we discussed, Mr Blishwick has put forth a serious accusation, backed up with evidence. This behaviour demands a suitable punishment. I would suggest expulsion.”

“Ah yes,” Dumbledore cut in, “It is rather unfortunate that our first meeting is under such circumstances, my boys. Bullying is not tolerated at Hogwarts.”

Tom very nearly rolled his eyes again. Bullying was integrated seamlessly into almost every aspect of Hogwarts, from blood status all the way down to the staff behaviour and the house system.

“Well I’m glad to hear that, sir.” Potter cheerily replies, inexplicably.

“Harry, my boy, I am afraid that you were specifically mentioned as the perpetrator of the rather crude marking on Mr Blishwick’s face.”

Potter had his eyes wide and vulnerable looking, and peered up at Dumbledore under his lashes with a shy smile. … Tom was reluctantly impressed with his duplicity.

“Well, I am willing to apologise, if you are really going to take his attack on my friends seriously, headmaster.” Potter said, his jaw tilted firmly.

“HIS attack!?!” Severus exploded, from where he was looming behind them. “He was left unconscious for three hours before making his own way to the hospital wing!”

Potter blatantly ignored Severus.

“Sir,” Potter spoke pleadingly at Dumbledore. “Blishwick and his friends have been mean to my friends from the day we got here! Why, the first night he called Tom a… a mudblood.” Potter whispered the slur, as if he were ashamed to even speak of it.

“Are we being blamed for attacking a seventeen year old?” Tom cut in, seeing an opportunity. “And his friends!?” He added on, slipping a tone of hysterics into his voice.

Gellert cut in immediately behind him.

“I’ll admit that we reacted, but what I want to know is what Brackium Scindo was meant to do to us, because I may not know many spells yet, but if my latin is right, I think it might be rather painful! And what of Flagarde!? I am very interested to hear how that is a friendship hex!”

“Was he trying to break our bones, sir? Is that what that spell does?” Potter took his turn, somehow managing to look quite green with fear.

Tom took that and ran with it. “You mean the spell he cast at us really would have broken several bones!? I think he deserves to have a permanent reminder of what an attack like that marks him as! And even is Harry did use a permanent marker, I didn’t think magic was so weak as to fail against a simple muggle pen.”

“You are sure, boys, that those were the spells used?” Dumbledore asked.

Tom could barely contain his glee. Behind them, Severus was near apoplectic with rage.

“He was unconscious, Headmaster. How exactly are you claiming you managed that, Potter!?” Severus’ tone was silky, but blatantly frustrated.

 

Harry blinked over his shoulder at Severus blandly. “I wasn’t there until later, professor.” He said, with just the sort of tone that smacked Severus in the face with the fact that he was entirely unconcerned by everything that Severus was. Tom could appreciate the tactic.

“Mr Riddle, Mr Grindelwald?” Dumbledore prompted, “Is there anything you wish to tell me?” Tom withheld a snort. Not likely.

“I learnt the summoning charm, and summoned his shoes, sir. I didn’t mean for him to hit his head when he fell.” Gellert spoke with a somber tone, filled with shame.

“Indeed. That is quite an advanced spell.” Dumbledore … actually sounded impressed, instead of chiding.

“But it doesn’t take much magic, headmaster.” Tom cut in. Seeing right away where Gellert was heading. “Just determination.”

“Nonetheless, you should have reported his injury to a member of staff immediately.”

“Even if he hit his head, they then couldn’t even leave the common room until much later, all the senior students were hovering ominously about! And apparently we have to watch our back from them, if they’re casting bone-breakers! Where was professor Snape? I don’t know any good spells yet, and I had the pen on me when I got back.” Potter struck just the right tone of defensive and sulking.

“Is there a way to make ink permanent?” Gellert chimed in.

 Potter reached his peak of building hysterics. “They attacked my best friends!! It was just a drawing!”

 

Tom could tell the moment Dumbledore believed Potter. Obviously, so could Severus.

“Where did you get the alcohol, Potter!” Severus snarled directly in Potter’s face.

Tone perfectly bland, Potter simply replied “What alcohol?” Then let the statement just hang there.

“YOU WERE DRUNK! Just like your father, a no good-“

Except Potter clearly knew how to use that. One moment he was mildly confused, the next his posture crumpled and he pulled the look of a kicked animal onto his face, bringing a slight stuttering into his dejected tone. 

“Aunt P-Petunia said the same thing. That my p-parents were no good drunks who went and got themselves blown up… They weren’t-… mum and dad weren’t really drunks, … w-were they?” 

That was quite good acting.

Tom watched with internalised glee as Dumbledore was duped. He cut Severus off, who immediately stalked out. No doubt he would be on the warpath with them now. Which was perfect, Tom only needed to wait until he made a mistake, then he could likely get away with the beginning of that downpayment he was owed, without even jeopardising his getting the stone.

 

“I am afraid, boys, that even though you were defending yourselves, you have still broken school rules. I will have words with Mr Blishwick, however I am also taking ten points from Slytherin. Each.”

 

All three of them slumped, almost in unison. It took quite a bit out of Tom not to laugh. The three of them had worked in perfect harmony. They were running rings around the staff, around Dumbledore!

 

Dumbledore too sagged, though in delicious defeat. Tom would relish this. Even if it was over a stupid pranking spell, they had won. Tom had won. Against Dumbledore! In fact, between Dumbledore and Tom, since he got back, Tom had won every round! He had been a shock at the sorting, just like he planned. Despite Dumbledore’s visiting the orphanage, Tom was still here. Not only that, but he had left nasty wards at the orphanage, on both the location and the stupid muggles, and in not one but two visits since the start of term, Dumbledore had nothing. Tom’s monitoring spells told him Dumbledore hadn’t even noticed that he was tied to seven of the muggle brats — and two of them were even beginning to show signs of significant illness! For the first time ever the mental tally Tom kept between himself and the Light Lord wasn’t just even, he was winning.

 

“Mr Riddle, Mr Grindelwald, you may return to your dorms. Have a think about the consequences of your actions, boys, bullying is not to be tolerated!”

“Yes sir.” Gellert drew his shoulders up and turned to leave.

After the briefest moment of hesitation, Tom followed. After all, while he certainly doesn’t trust Potter, not even as far as he could hex him … he is also very confident that Potter isn’t going to fall in with Dumbledore. There was also a smug part of Tom that revelled in the fact that Dumbledore has no idea what he is facing, in talking to Potter alone. Neither did Tom know Potter … but he knows a hell of a lot more than Albus Dumbledore.

 

Gellert and Tom remained silent as they rode the spiral staircase, and down the first six floors. However, upon reaching the ground floor, Tom made his excuses and doubled back, alone, to the third floor. With Potter occupied, now was the perfect time to put up an alert-ward or two. One that would sense the mirror of Erised. He knows that last time the stone was definitely moved shortly after the Yule break, but he isn’t sure of the exact date. The second one to notify him whenever his counterpart got too close … and if Potter does. There was the Vow, but that didn’t stop his alter-ego, and with the pair possibly allies, it wasn’t worth the risk.

 

---

 

“Dumbledore’s office! I’ll see you expelled for this, Potter! Riddle and Grindelwald too.” Snape yells, before spitting out what was looking to be a long rant of vicious commentary, which Harry promptly ignores.

 

Harry suspected that calling them up to Dumbledore’s office and trying to ferret out how to remove the permanent marker would only be a front for Dumbledore slipping in questions about Tom and Gellert … if he wasn’t just trying to placate Snape’s tantrum. Fortunately, Dumbledore saw Harry as an eleven year old, so simple hints like ‘I was so angry for my friends!’ and ‘perhaps accidentally I might have…’ would easily leave Dumbledore with the neat explanation of accidental magic, instead of instantly thinking ward-master. Harry had built in a fade-out anyway, triggered if Blishwick felt remorse. Which normally would have made it all that bit more permanent (as neither Harry, nor the other two Dark Lords, seemed likely to let him feel bad over them any time soon). However, rather conveniently, if Blishwick forgot the circumstances around the spell, it would also fade. And Sophie Greengrass would be covering that little issue, right as Dumbledore would be busy questioning them and Snape busy uselessly seething alongside.

 

Seventh year prefect, and second eldest of the five Greengrass girls, Sophie Greengrass was a protective soul. Also loyal to any powerful women or upcoming girls, like you wouldn’t believe! Blishwick was a rotten sort, and treats Sophie, and her fellow ‘beauties’ with the contempt he thinks they deserve. Contempt that Sophie holds threefold for Blishwick and his like in return. Harry noticed her positioning herself behind the boy as Snape chucked his dramatic little tantrum. She specifically drew attention to herself, focused on Tom, but repeating a hand gesture for ‘calm’ three times. Harry had already slipped into her mind when Tom did the same. Curiously Tom was being much more subtle — surprising, considering his usual tactics — however Harry rewards loyalty, and sees no reason that anyone else should get to see her viciously pretty mind. … She planned to obliviate Blishwick, both to make him look more stupid, and to cover their backs. While it was unlikely that someone would suspect her little revenge, Harry sees no reason not to leave a protective memory-ward stopping hooked-nose slimeballs, nosy headmasters, or anyone else from legilimising the moment. Of course, that meant a bit of power and actually alerting her to his being in there, but leaving wards in unaware minds can be disastrous, and Harry likes the Greengrass girls. Even if the youngest of them did end up wasting herself on Draco Malfoy.

 

Sophie’s attention immediately went from Tom to Harry in a moment, and Harry—still deep in her thoughts—could feel her shock (and even a bit of awe) practically radiating at him. He was immediately amused to note that Sophie’s knee-jerk reaction to sensing him there—and his power, all that more obvious inside her mind—was a thought of marrying Harry off to one of her sisters. The Greengrasses were always social climbers. Harry couldn’t smirk like he wanted to, not without giving things away to Snape, so just slipped from her mind and focused fully back on Snape.

No one else, at least as far as Harry could see, seemed to have noticed the interaction, except Tom. 

 

Tom had been settled in, lying stretched out on the best couch in the common room, by the fire with a book (which by the looks of a sulking seventh year, was claimed unwillingly) on some sort of fire spells, occasionally making the fireplace flare in very showy bits of magic. He had clearly been enjoying gloating and taking up as much of the best spot as possible, and was not best pleased with Severus’ interruption.

 

Having finished his yelling about Harry’s failings and coming-just-deserves (which Harry is fairly sure none of the three of them even listened to), Snape twirled his way back out of the common room and it was all Harry could do to hold in a snort. Harry and Gellert caught each other’s eyes, and Harry really had to bite his tongue, but couldn’t help a smirk. The three of them followed after Snape, leaving the common room in tense silence.

 

Snape led them up the top of the castle, robes billowing dramatically the whole way, snapping out the password then positively looming behind them on the stairs in. Harry resisted rolling his eyes. Did he honestly think this was a problem for them? For Harry? Gods, Snape had always been a major pain in Harry’s arse, throughout school, but now the man just seemed … lame. In more than one sense.

 

Harry’s eyes flicked around the room, catching slightly on Fawkes, but otherwise nothing interesting. It was just Dumbledore and Snape and the three Dark Lords. Perfect.

“Come in, come in, boys. Would anyone like a lemon drop?”

Harry can practically feel Tom bristling, but cuts that off with a silent hex that encourages passive-aggressive side effects. Really, for all that Tom is so Slytherin, put him in front of Dumbledore and he’s all anger and spite, none of his usual logic to be seen. Fortunately Tom catches himself, smarmy smile brought out just in time. 

“Please.” Tom drawls, sarcasm thick on the air if you look for it, “I love sweets.” 

To Harry’s surprise Tom actually eats the lemon drop … Though when Dumbledore manhandles them into a chase a moment later Tom looks more like he’s grinding it between his teeth with intent, rather than enjoying some sugar.

 

Silence lingers.

Harry ignores it, along with Dumbledore’s attempt at reading his thoughts, to stare in open curiosity at Fawkes. Phoenixes really are stunning creatures, and Harry is quite content to study Fawkes instead of playing into the impatience-game Dumbledore is attempting.

Snape, who is practically vibrating with rage, can’t hold his tongue anyway.

 

“Headmaster. As we discussed—” Snape sent a smug pointed look at Dumbledore, as if … what? Did he think Harry cared that they had been discussed? Ha! What a loser. “—Mr Blishwick has put forth a serious accusation, backed up with evidence. This behaviour demands a suitable punishment. I would suggest expulsion.”

As if Dumbledore would expel anyone, let alone three boys he very much wants to keep an eye on.

“Ah yes, It is rather unfortunate that our first meeting is under such circumstances, my boys. Bullying is not tolerated at Hogwarts.”

Says the manipulator playing fiddle for the bully. Harry resisted rolling his eyes, and instead flipped things around.

“Well I’m glad to hear that, sir.” He somehow managed to keep his smile kind, instead of smug. 

“Harry, my boy, I am afraid that you were specifically mentioned as the perpetrator of the rather crude marking on Mr Blishwick’s face.”

And okay, so maybe he would have been a bit more careful if he wasn’t so drunk … but then again, he might do it again, so probably not. Or maybe, sober, he would just use a spell to make Blishwick think he had a dick on his face. Regardless, Dumbledore was one of the most prejudiced wizards against Slytherin in all of the UK, and Blishwick fell right into his neat little box. Harry would just need to ruthlessly use the naive-little-boy-who-lived act.

“Well, I am willing to apologise, if you are really going to take his attack on my friends seriously, headmaster.” … and if he got a jibe in there against Tom and Dumbledore with the ‘friends’ comment, well, he was a Slytherin now, word-play was to be expected.

 

“HIS attack!?!” Snape yelled, “He was left unconscious for three hours before making his own way to the hospital wing!”

Harry considered the timing, he doubted it was three hours, Tom and Gellert had been too smug for so little time. Either that or someone woke him after Tom and Gellert went to bed. Regardless, Snape’s statement was hardly worth even acknowledging, because in this circumstance, they only had to win around Dumbledore, facts mattered little.

“Sir, Blishwick and his friends have been mean to my friends from the day we got here!” Poor little me, look at these big, bad Slytherins! “Why, the first night he called Tom a… a mudblood.” Just look at them, Dumbledore, they are just what you expected.

 

While Harry played up the naive eleven year old, Tom smoothly cut in with suspicion. “Are we being blamed for attacking a seventeen year old and his friends!?”

Then, before Harry can jump in with more crocodile tears, Gellert takes an unusual tact, demanding to know the spells the seventh years used, then immediately starts asking how they work, his tone implying he would look into where to find more information on them. Which clearly throws Dumbledore.

Harry picks up off that, realising that Dd hasn’t confirmed who Tom and Gellert are, and will likely even try to save them if the other two are seemingly descendants of Dark Lords. That, and Gellert probably knows Dumbledore better than most, so likely his method will work. Harry also appears to perk up with curiosity, highlighting again that he wasn’t there, but poking towards an interest in dark magic.

Tom cuts back in, perfectly timed, with “What do you mean, the spell he cast at us should have broken several bones! I think he deserves to have a permanent reminder of what an attack like that marks him as! And even if Harry did use a permanent marker, I didn’t think magic was so weak as to fail against a simple muggle pen.”

 

“You are sure, boys, that those were the spells used?” Dumbledore asked. But Harry could see him all but wavering.

The three of them are working in eerie unison. He knows he should feel kind of sad for Dumbledore, that together they are going to—as Dumbledore will see it—ruin the world, but Harry can’t bring himself to care. Dumbledore had his chance at running their world. In fact, he had it three times over, with Gellert, with Tom, with Harry. The more time Harry spends around Dumbledore, the more he remembers why he hates his old mentor, for all the childhood manipulations and Light propaganda. Back in the past or not, Harry also remembers the sorts of things the Light did to his family, and that even if Dumbledore was long dead by then, a lot of it was done in his name.

You and yours made me this way, Dumbledore. Raise an egg under a toad: don’t expect a chicken.

 

“He was unconscious, Headmaster. How exactly are you claiming you managed that, Potter!?” Snape sticks his nose in, but Harry finds him easy to brush off.

“I wasn’t there until later, professor.”

“Mr Riddle, Mr Grindelwald? Is there anything you wish to tell me?” Harry has a brief flash of memory, to Tom’s diary, and barely resists rolling his eyes.

“I learnt the summoning charm, and summoned his shoes, sir. I didn’t mean for him to hit his head when he fell.” Gellert provided the perfect excuse, delivered in the sort of tone to pull on Dumbledore’s strings.

“Indeed. That is quite an advanced spell.” Dumbledore sighed.

“But it doesn’t take much magic, headmaster, just determination.” Tom pointed out. More importantly, it was Light.

“Nonetheless, you should have reported his injury to a member of staff immediately.”

Oh yeah, because Snape and even other teachers would be oh so likely to listen to them. Harry internally sneered. 

“Even if he hit his head, they then couldn’t even leave the common room until much later, all the senior students were hovering ominously about! And apparently we have to watch our back from them, if they’re casting bone-breakers! Where was professor Snape?” Harry added a bit of hysteria to his tone. Just a hint.

“Is there a way to make ink permanent?” Gellert chimed in, almost at the same time that Harry went for the kill.

“They attacked my best friends!! It was just a drawing!” Snape was bubbling just under boiling, but Dumbledore paled at Harry confirming what Hagrid no doubt passed on. Harry curled himself in a protective sort of way, up against Tom’s side, smirking internally. Bestest of friends with Voldemort’s ‘son’ oh dear.

 

“Where did you get the alcohol, Potter!” Snape broke. Spittle flying about in his rage. Really.

Harry gave him a bemused look. Mostly acting, but somewhat real. Snape wasn’t unintelligent, so surely by now he should have caught on that the three of them weren’t playing fair? What, did he still think Harry would be scared of his anger? If he and his friends annihilated a seventeen year old, scaring him enough to break rank in Slytherin—A move that would see him very unpopular, as too many of the Slytherin’s held their secrets out in the open in the dorms or even common room. You didn’t tell—then they were hardly going to flinch at Snape.

“What alcohol?” Harry let just enough of a hint of fakeness into his tone to rile up Snape up even more. 

“YOU WERE DRUNK! Just like your father, a no good-“

Harry jumped in on that with glee. “Aunt Petunia said the same thing! That my parents were no good drunks who went and got themselves blown up…” Harry sunk into himself, valiantly keeping his lips downturned, even as they tried to twitch up, in response to the offended tone of Tom’s magic, which he could feel, as the three of them were pressed next to each other in the single couch Dumbledore had conjured. “They weren’t-… mum and dad weren’t really drunks … w-were they?” Harry kept his voice small, and pulled out his best puppy dog eyes, taking full advantage of being back in his underfed eleven year old body with big green doe-eyes.

Snape opened his mouth, clearly even angrier at Harry’s subtle emphasis on the word ‘mum’, but Dumbledore was Harry’s real target, and folded immediately, cutting Snape off with a tone of finality. “Severus.”

Trapped into a corner, and clearly just as aware of Dumbledore’s capitulation to their act, Snape flung himself dramatically from the room. Harry made sure to keep a sad face on, as he stared at the slammed door Snape left behind. Internally he was feeling rather smug. 

 

Dumbledore sunk into his seat, only just after all three of them did almost the same (if for an entirely different reason).

 

“I am afraid, boys, that even though you were defending yourselves, you have still broken school rules. I will have words with Mr Blishwick, however I am also taking ten points from Slytherin. Each.” Dumbledore paused for a minute, but then continued. “Mr Riddle, Mr Grindelwald, you may return to your dorms. Have a think about the consequences of your actions, boys, bullying is not to be tolerated!”

“Yes sir.” 

Tom remained silent, but followed Gellert as he stood to leave.

 

Alone with Dumbledore, Harry covered his hidden occlumency shield with easily accessed swirling memories of his relatives snarling insults and lies about his parents, then tearily met Dumbledore’s eyes.

“Your parents were heroes, my boy.”

Notably, he didn’t reprimand Petunia or Vernon. Likely in case Harry started questioning him on his placement there. Harry considered it, but he already knew the answers, so didn’t bother. In fact, feeling rather impatient, Harry instead gave Dumbledore the introduction he was no doubt looking for, to hurry things along.

“Gryffindor heroes.” Harry mutters.

Dumbledore pauses, but then pulls on his affable-grandfather mask. “Your parents would be proud of you, Harry, regardless of your house.”

Harry shrugs appearing sullen. “I suppose.” He doubts his dad would be, but who knows … or cares.

“Did you know you had a god-brother in your year?”

That does startle Harry enough that he pulls back on his act some, and looks up. “Sir?” It annoys Harry a little, considering that he would have loved that knowledge, back when he was actually a lonely little eleven year old. He didn’t even find out until he was 22, last time. Dumbledore went out of his way to stop Gryffindor-Harry from finding out, too.

“Neville Longbottom. He is in Gryffindor, but his mother is your godmother. As yours was his. He is … somewhat of an orphan, like you.”

Harry is surprised Dumbledore is going there, but then, links to Augusta Longbottom —a political rival of Dumbledore— are likely still better than links to Voldemort and Grindelwald. 

Not that Harry will be letting that pass by anyway. After all… “Tom and Gellert are orphans too. There seems to be a lot of us. I guess with the war.”

For just the briefest moments, Dumbledore looks torn. Though he ruins any sympathy he might have gained from Harry when he abandons the Neville-angle to chase after Dark Lords — clearly he was only torn over which tactics to employ, not over the many orphans there were that he didn’t pay such attention to. Sometimes Harry felt like strangling Trelawney.

“Do neither of them have family to fall back on? None at all?”

Harry shook his head, resisting rolling his eyes. As if Harry would just give him the answers. Not the least because Dumbledore was a suspicious bastard and would be far less inclined to believe answers he didn’t work out himself. “None that are …” Harry trailed off. Suitable. Ha.

Dumbledore sighs. “Defending your friends is an admirable trait, Harry, but empathy for your enemies isn’t a bad thing either.”

“Yes sir.” Harry keeps his head down. Ugh, this was dull. He just wants to get back to the dorm and finish installing the windows. Warping wards based on a long-ago read study of the Hand of Glory and intertwining it with an age-line was far more interesting than playing manipulation games with the Headmaster. 

Thankfully, Harry’s wish was granted, as with only a long sigh and a parting “My door is always open” remark, Dumbledore let him go.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Triple Trouble