A Thread of Time

Chapter Four

*

Dressed in a clean set of spare Slytherin robes and having rid of the weight of exhaustion, Harry settled lightly at one of the tables in the library with a book on Slytherin ancestors and the snake on his shoulder. He had found him that morning snoozing by the fire in the Slytherin Common room.

“Aha,” Harry hissed triumphantly. “Here’s a good one: ‘Anton Ferrow, a branch member of the Slytherin family, and one of the few family members to inherit the rare gift of Parseltongue (ability to converse with snakes). His ideals were very similar to those of Salazar Slytherin, wherein bloodlines were…’ blah, blah. You can be Anton.”

“Anton?” the snake hissed, its tongue flicking in Harry’s ear, much to his discomfort. Absently he took a firm hold of Anton and placed him in his lap.

“Yes. Now I don’t have to refer to you as ‘snake’ any longer.”

He received a pleased hiss.

Harry sighed and shut the book. What was he to do now? It was approximately one in the afternoon and students were already in lessons. Carefully he replaced Anton on his shoulders and left the library to walk aimlessly through the corridors. His thoughts meandered towards his new dorm mates.

On entering the dormitory the night before, Harry had encountered Dorian sprawled on one of the four-posters, his lazy eyes watching the two sixth year boys on the other side of the room with a bored expression.

Enthusiastically and with much sarcasm, he introduced them to Harry. One was Carlos Flint, a tall blond boy with sharp blue eyes who appeared to have a new girlfriend every other day. The other was a quiet, plain looking boy with light brown hair and eyes. His name was Nicholas Cole, and according to Dorian, rarely said a word to anyone.

Bemused at the thick unwelcome he had received from the two, Harry had quickly undressed and crawled into his own four-poster.

Thinking back on it, he supposed it was unsurprising they were so wary of him. They were Slytherins, after all. Calculating, manipulative, cunning. Traits that Harry was sure he hardly had, but the Hat had sought him out nevertheless.

Eventually Harry came to a halt, and found himself standing in a familiar corridor. Making sure that no one was in sight, he quickly slid through the gap in the doorway to find himself in the girls’ toilets.

“Myrtle?” he tried tentatively, edging around the large puddles on the floor.

A long wail answered him. She was in the last cubicle, a silvery sobbing mass on the toilet seat. She rubbed her eyes. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”

“I’m new here. An exchange student. I heard someone crying. Are you alright?”

She sniffed. “Of course I’m not alright. What do you want?”

“Well, I’d like to know some things, but I’ve got the day off and everyone who I can ask is in lessons.”

Myrtle began to look slightly interested, and the ghostly tears faded. “Like what? I’m sure I can answer your questions. I know all the gossip and all the secret passages in Hogwarts.”

“Well,” Harry took a deep breath. “I want to know if some people attend this school. For example, is there anyone under the name of Black here?”

She looked surprised. “Of course there is. There’s Alphard Black, Cedrella Black, Nathaniel Black, Corelia Black-”

“Woah, okay, stop, stop.” Harry was completely taken aback. Why were there so many? “Let’s go through them one at a time, shall we? Who is Alphard Black?”

She sat up straight as though feeling important all of a sudden. “Alphard Black is the Slytherin Head Boy. His elder sister, Walburga Black, has already left Hogwarts to run off with her second cousin, Orion Black.”

Walburga Black. Harry remembered her well. The screeching portrait in the front hall of Grimmauld Place. Sirius’ mother. That must mean that Alphard could be the uncle who had given him a large sum of money when he ran away from home at sixteen. Sirius’ name had been burned off the tapestry for befriending ‘mudbloods’ (therefore disgracing the Black name), and Alphard’s name for helping him.

Well, you learn something new everyday, Harry mused silently. He realised that he had zoned out and Mytrle was watching him patiently. “Sorry, go on. I’ve met Cedrella Black, but I don’t know much about her.”

“She is the Slytherin Head girl. She’s dating Septimus Weasley, a Gryffindor.”

A Black dating a Weasley? Harry almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Now he understood what Bulstrode had been on about the day before. “Does her family disapprove then?”

“Oh yes. As far as I can tell, she is on the verge of being disowned.”

“Really?” Harry said incredulously. “Just for dating someone they don’t like?”

“It’s all about bloodlines,” Myrtle said as if it were obvious.

“But the Weasleys are an old pureblooded family.”

“Yes, but they are muggle-born lovers. Many of them have been marrying into muggle-born families in the last few years.”

“Alright. Who was the next one?”

“There’s Nathaniel Black. He’s a second year Slytherin. So is Analissa Black, his cousin. I don’t know much about them. Corelia Black is a fifth year Slytherin.” At this Myrtle sniffed distastefully. “She’s been completely brainwashed into thinking muggle-borns are no better than slaves. The other two aren’t much better, as far as I can tell.”

“Okay.” Harry slowly tried to absorb the information. “Alright. Any more Blacks?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Okay. Okay.”

Myrtle gave a slight giggle, which made Harry feel somewhat disturbed. “Right,” he said. “Who is Charlus Potter?”

“He’s a seventh year Gryffindor. Very handsome.” She gazed off dreamily. “He looks a lot like you.”

Harry dismissed it. “I’m also a Potter. My name is Harry. Do you know his parent’s names?”

Blinking away her astonishment at his being a Potter, she said, “No, but I know he has a nephew called Henry Potter, a second year student. His parents are Charlotte and Harold Potter. I know that because they came to Hogwarts the day after he was sorted. They were shocked that he had been put into Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor.”

“..Right. Are their any more Potters’s here?”

“No. Any more questions?”

Harry racked his brain for more names. “Any Malfoys?” he asked suddenly. Say no, please say no, he thought.

“There’s Claudia Malfoy. A fifth year Slytherin. She has most of the first and second year Slytherins following her lead like lost puppies.”

Harry frowned. That sounded a lot like Draco Malfoy. “And?”

“Abraxas Malfoy. He’s in his sixth year. He’s a proud, cold hearted, disdainful prick.”

Harry blinked. “Alright... Thanks, Myrtle. You’ve been a great help.”

He left before he would be witness to an onslaught of tears. There were so many Blacks. Too many to get his head around, Harry decided.


*


Despite the cold, the sun was out. Harry sat by the lake and watched a tentacle silently break the water, before slipping back in again. A glance at his watch told him students would be leaving their lessons now. Before he
could rise, however, he noticed someone tall approaching. Someone he didn’t recognize.

“Hey,” the boy said as Harry scrambled to his feet and came face to face with a very familiar… well, face. A face like his own. “Charlus Potter?” he asked tentatively.

The boy blinked, before a smile made its way onto his handsome face. “Yes, that’s me. How did you know? I hear you’re new.”

“Someone pointed you out to me. Did you want something, or…?”

He raised a brow and slid his hands into his pockets. “I’m simply curious. I hadn’t heard of another Potter in the family. How are you related to us?”

Harry opened his mouth and closed it, feeling at a loss. “I’m not sure,” he admitted lamely.

Charlus frowned, but was silent for a short moment. “You were home-schooled?”

“Yes… But I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh?”

“It’s...” Harry looked away. What was he meant to say? What excuse could he possibly come up with? He felt a hand
on his shoulder and turned back to face the other boy, whose face beheld a serious expression.

“It’s alright,” Charlus said. “Unpleasant past?”

Harry nodded, relieved. “Sorry,” he muttered.

The older boy smiled. “Alright. What house are you in?”

Harry cocked his head to the side, a habit he had quickly picked up from Dorian, strangely enough. “Slytherin. Will that be… a problem?”

The Gryffindor appeared nothing more than slightly surprised, and smiled again. “No, no, it’s fine. We’re not all prejudiced idiots, here.”

“Oh, good. Shall we head back?”

As they began to walk, Harry asked, “How did you know I was out here?”

“I was watching you from Gryffindor Tower. I needed to know who this new Potter was.”

“You still haven’t really found out,” Harry admitted.

The other boy shrugged. “That’s not too much of a problem. You don’t look too dangerous.”

Harry smiled. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Is that a warning?” They approached the steps leading up to the Entrance Hall.

“Something of the sort.”

The Gryffindor laughed. “Alright, I had better watch my back from now on. Not that I don’t already, with these
snakes slithering around.” He motioned towards a group of seventh year Slyterins who were silently watching them
pass. Harry chose to ignore them.

“Where are were going?” he asked.

“Dinner.”

“Already?”

“Yes. You’ve been sitting out there quite a while now.”

They passed a few students who were milling about and entered the Great Hall. Harry thanked him for being so understanding and they parted to go to their separate tables.

He was unprepared for the onslaught that reached him as he sat down next to Marie Bulstrode.

“What were you doing talking to him?” she asked immediately. Harry suddenly felt the eyes of all the nearest students on him, awaiting his reply. “Well, he is family,” he replied smoothly, loading his plate with food.

“So? He’s just another muggle-sympathizer, like the rest of those idiotic Gryffindors.”

Harry shrugged. “Not my problem.” Ignoring her glare, he looked around, unable to see either Tom or Dorian.

“He’s looking for you,” Cedrella said, once again sitting opposite him. Harry turned to her.

“Who is?”

She rolled her eyes and returned to the book in her lap.

“Dearest Tom is.” Bulstrode said, irritated. “Though why he likes you so much, I don’t know. It’s not like him to hang around with half-bloods.”

Harry sighed as several of the students gasped. At the moment it was merely third and fourth years who were eavesdropping, but still…

“Perhaps he is tiring of the glorious company of purebloods.”

“He is a pureblood, you fool,” one of the younger years’ snapped.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Trying to destroy my reputation, Harry?” a smooth voice said behind him. Harry turned before he could feel perturbed.

Tom stood looking down at him, Dorian at his side wearing a smirk.

“Not at all,” Harry said, moving over for them both to sit down. Tom seated himself, his eyes still on Harry, but Dorian chose to spell Bulstrode’s dinner over her and sit in the seat she jumped out of, screeching.

Harry felt slightly closed in with one on either side of him, though he met Tom’s gaze, unafraid. “Enjoy your day?” he asked, returning to his food.

“No,” Dorian said immediately. “It was entirely dull. They ought to replace most of the staff; they are all incredibly dreary.”

“Does the same go for Professor Slughorn?” Cedrella asked, her eyes fixed on the book.

“Dear Cedrella, you know the answer to that. We can’t abandon the wonderful Slug Club, now can we?”

“Slug Club?” Harry asked, although he knew what it was. A club Horace Slughorn had accumulated during his years as Head of Slytherin at Hogwarts. It consisted of the more high-profile students, the talented and the pureblooded. Tom Riddle had been in it.

“Oh yes. You’ll meet Professor Slughorn soon, Harry, if you’re following Tom’s timetable. I’m sure he’ll absolutely adore you.”

“Won’t that be a joy,” Harry said dryly, his eyes wandering to the Head Table. Only Dippet and Dumbledore sat there, along with a couple of professors he didn’t recognize. No sign of Slughorn.

“And where have you spent the last couple of hours, Harry?” Tom asked as he applied food to his plate, ever graceful.

“In the library, and on the grounds. I named my snake.”

“He belongs to you now, does he?” Dorian asked. “I thought you just found him?”

“Yet he keeps following me, demanding mice and other things. So I suppose it’s safe to assume he’s mine.”

“Is it a more than platonic relationship, then?”

Harry rolled his eyes, before pulling Anton gently out from beneath his robes.

“Tell Tom your new name,” he hissed.

Anton raised his head and turned towards Tom, who appeared quietly amused.

“I am Anton,” he said with a touch of pride.

Tom looked pleased. “A fitting name,” he informed the snake.

“Well, this is a simply fascinating conversation,” said Dorian, watching the three of them converse with a
bemused look.

Bulstrode, sitting next to him, snorted. “A half-blood shouldn’t be able to speak Parseltongue. Not when those more worthy are here to claim it.”

“Like yourself, I suppose?” Cedrella said with a snort of her own.

Bulstrode narrowed her eyes. “What are you implying, Black? Oh wait; you’ve been disowned, haven’t you? What’s your name now?”

“Not yet, Bulstrode,” Cedrella replied mildly, and deigned to ignore her for the rest of the meal.

Harry sighed. “Do bloodlines come into every conversation of every meal, then?”

Dorian made an aghast sound. “Of course not. At dinner, it’s bloodlines. At lunch we contemplate worthiness, and at breakfast we have deep, meaningful, prejudiced debates.”

Cedrella laughed. “And discussion in the common room is a mixture of the three.”

As amusing as this was, Harry felt somewhat dismayed. “Clearly you delve to cover a wide range of interesting topics whenever possible.”

“Exactly,” Dorian declared.

Tom laughed softly. “It is not as bad as it sounds,” he said amusedly.

“Yes; only completely dull and time-consuming,” Dorian muttered. “Thank Merlin it’s the weekend tomorrow.”

Bulstrode uttered some form of squeal. “I can’t wait!”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “You’re not still dating that fifth year cretin, are you? He has even less of a brain than you do.”

She scowled at him. “Shut up. At least I have a love-life, rather than consorting with every other object that moves, like yourself. And it’s a Hogsmeade weekend!”

Dorian sighed. “You will never understand the concepts of mutual sex.”

“Nor you the concepts of a relationship.”

“You sound like an insipid Gryffindor.”

“You sound like a complete and utter idiot.”

“Now that was uncalled for. I am truly hurt. You have dented the bottomless pit that is my soul. I am wounded beyond measure.”

“Oh, do shut up,” Cedrella piped in absently.

They were interrupted. “Potter.”

Harry turned to find an astonishingly blond boy looking down at him with features cold and assertive.

“Yes?”

“Professor Slughorn would like to see you in his office immediately.” With that, he strode of.

Harry turned round to see the others watching the boy walk away. “Who is he?”

“That’s Abraxas Malfoy. He isn’t particularly jolly,” Dorian informed him.

“You had better go, Harry. Professor Slughorn does not like to be kept waiting,” Tom said. “Here, let me escort you.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Harry said as he stood.

Tom raised a brow as rose. “It is no trouble.”

Harry shrugged and followed him to the doors.

“Enjoy yourselves,” Dorian called from the table. “Don’t talk to anyone unworthy.”

Harry rolled his eyes at him as Tom led him towards the dungeons. Soon they were alone and it was quiet.

“You appear to be fitting in quite easily,” Tom surmised. “And Dorian has taken an immediate liking to you.”

Harry snorted. “Fitting in? I’ve had to improvise and rummage around for excuses all afternoon.”

Tom gave an elegant shrug. “Yet you have made quite a few friends.”

“Perhaps Slytherins have different concepts of friendship than Gryffindors.” Harry wondered where this conversation was going. They were soon deep in the dungeons.

“It would appear so. Do you know Slughorn?”

“Yes. Not very well, but yes. He seemed a little over-obsessed with you. I had to spend a lot of time getting infor-” Oh, crap, Harry thought as he stopped. He couldn’t keep letting things slip like that. Had Tom even considered horcruxes yet? “Nevermind.”

Tom came to a halt and turned to him. He seemed to like stopping in the middle of hallways, Harry noted. “”Getting information about what?”

Harry frowned. “Nothing. Don’t ask me about it.”

Tom remained expressionless.

Harry sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So far, you haven’t completely lived up to the image Dumbledore creates of you in my time.”

Tom looked surprised at that. “Go on,” he urged.

“Well.” Harry said, cocking his head to the side, “I haven’t yet encountered the charm that I’m told you gave everyone. All I get is a mask of indifference.”

“I am charming, Harry,” Tom said, looking amused. “When I want to be.”

“Right,” Harry said disbelievingly, though a small smile tugged at his lips.

“I offered to escort you down here, didn’t I? Is that not charming enough?”

Harry snorted. “You mean you left no room for argument and I had no choice but to follow you.”

“Are you implying that I forced you to follow me?”

“No, just that your methods of escorting a person are less than charming.”

Tom laughed softly and moved to stand directly in front of Harry.

“Would you like me to be more charming, Harry?”

Harry met the taller boy’s gaze. “I’d like it if you would reveal a bit of emotion every now and then.”
Tom ‘s eyebrows drew together slightly, and Harry could see the calculating expression in his eyes.

“It is not appropriate for a Slytherin to reveal his emotions too openly.”

“Well I’m the only other Slytherin here at the moment. I’m not going to run and tell the nearest person that you smiled.”

As if contradicting him, Tom smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with smiling.”

“Smiling usually indicates that a person is amused or happy,” Harry said laughingly.

Tom moved even closer then. Harry tensed slightly, wondering what the boy would do.
But all he did was ask, “Do you like it when I smile?”

Harry blinked. “I don’t think I’ve seen enough of your smiles to come to a conclusion yet,” he said, realizing that he was on the verge of flirting with the murderer of his parents. For once, though, he dismissed it. He was haven’t too much fun now to be serious.

Tom gave a very soft chuckle, his hand coming up to rest against Harry’s cheek. “Well, I know for certain that
you have a lovely smile, my dear Harry.”

Harry could feel heat flush his cheeks, and silently made to move away. However, Tom was faster. One arm wrapped around Harry’s waist and the other took a gentle but firm hold of his chin. And then Tom kissed him again.

This time, as Harry felt himself melting against the taller boy’s body, he responded. The fact that he could hardly be called experienced was forgotten as he clung to the other Slytherin’s robes.

It was Tom who pulled away slightly to stare into Harry’s eyes. But he was too close for Harry to see his expression as anything more than a blur.

“Did you like that, Harry?” Tom murmured. “Do you like my kisses? You ran away from the last ones.”
Harry felt speechless. He had no idea what to say to that. He wasn’t meant to be kissing anyone here in the first place, let alone Tom Riddle.

“Ahem,” a voice spoke up, and Harry turned to find the young equivalent of Slughorn watching them with a somewhat delighted expression on his face, though why, Harry had no idea. He could only imagine the picture they must make. He pulled away from Tom’s embrace, and the boy’s arms fell to his sides.

“Potter, is it?” The Professor said, getting straight to the point.

“Yes,” Harry said hesitantly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Wonderful, wonderful, come with me. You come too, Tom.” He turned round and began to march down the corridor, seeming to head for one of the doors at the end.

Harry followed, with Tom behind him. It was at the entrance to Professor Slughorn’s office that he wondered, once again, just what it was that he was getting himself into.