Chapter 19

September 2, 1938

Tom lifted his hand as if to run it through his hair. He froze and dropped it, scowling. Sometimes he wished he hadn't insisted on maintaining a perfect image for the Slytherins; it was annoying how many motions he had to abbreviate before he did something stupid like mess up his hair. Harry's had been a lost cause from the start, an incorrigible tangled mess, but Tom could arrange his hair into a neat coif if he so wished. It just left him trapped, unable to vent his irritation with the world. Tom stuck his hands into the pockets of his robes, fingers burrowing into the folds with vicious irritation.

Harry had confronted him after Potions, face alight with excitement and tenuous hope. He was still somewhat pale after his discovery about the secrets lurking beneath Slughorn's exterior appearance, but a flush had risen into Harry's cheeks as he proposed his idea.

"Kit…you wanted to go to the Library, right? Well, I won't be much help with that right now, so I thought that I could go to dinner instead. I can save you some food so we can knock out two birds with one stone!"

Tom had protested, at first, something inside him had seemed to shift. Harry had been so earnest and excited…hopeful in a way that Tom hadn't seen him before. They hadn't had much to be hopeful about, before, when Harry had been trapped in darkness and Tom by the vicious and cold hatred of his peers. But now they were in a new place where the other students had no preconceptions and Harry could see.

Tom wasn't sure how to feel about that. Harry could see, now. He was in a world of magic, surrounded by magic; did he even need Tom anymore? Harry could weave magic…Tom feared that Harry would figure out a spell to read and then he would be completely self-sufficient. Harry could copy someone else's magic. Harry wouldn't need him anymore.

Even worse, at Hogwarts… it was Tom who was incapacitated. The magic that had seeped into every nook and cranny in the massive castle burned at his nose and stung his tongue with its intensity; the flavours would collide in his senses until he could feel nothing but chaos turned solid with its weight upon him. Tom couldn't function without the icy shield that Harry maintained around him, without the taste of pine and cold winds numbing his senses.

Tom didn't like feeling helpless. It was one thing when Harry needed help but another thing entirely when Harry was fine and Tom was the one needing assistance to even function. And now…Harry wanted to separate and split up. Because Harry didn't need his assistance now. Harry could do things on his own now. Harry knew enough wandless magic to be alright in case of a confrontation; Tom had proved himself that it would be sufficient for now. While intellectually Tom was aware that this was a good thing and was happy for Harry – how could he not be happy that his best friend in the entire world was happy? – at the same time, something deep and dark and snarling within him stirred with an emotion he couldn't quite name.

"I'm so happy, Kit! It's…it's almost as if the past six years never happened."

Tom had caved, agreeing to Harry's plan and watching Harry run away on feet of wings, flitting around the corner with confidence that Tom knew Harry had rarely exhibited before. He'd always held back, wary for some shift under his feet, a clumsy passer-by… A few seconds passed, tense and still, where Tom had stood with eyes unseeing as he wrestled with his emotions, until the icy shield that had remained a fixture around Tom's form for the past day unravelled at once and the scents rushed in his nose and choked him from within.

It had taken ten minutes for Tom to regroup, the scent of sage, dandelions, burdock, and thyme assaulting him and causing his nose to go aflame. Tom had found himself sneezing into the shoulder of his robe until he could breathe without fear. As time went on, the taste/scent faded from his immediate attention, and Tom could stand straight.

Tom closed his eyes for a moment, fingers clawing at the inside of his robes. He had been so weak. Out of Harry's immediate proximity for a few seconds and rendered helpless. He opened his eyes and continued forward along the corridor, eyes scanning the hallway for any indicators telling him where the library could be.

Tom ventured up and down staircases, walking familiar and strange corridors, secure in the knowledge that he was safe for now because everyone, all the normal people that lived with senses muted, without the knowledge that Tom suffered for so dearly, could be found in the Great Hall. Where Harry was, eating a no-doubt delicious dinner that Tom found difficult to taste as the scent of ice numbed his tongue.

How odd. Tom didn't think himself one predisposed to self-pity, but circumstances seemed to be conspiring to prove him wrong.

The unmistakeable whiff of old books brushed itself against Tom's awareness, almost lost within the smell of herbs from the castle. Tom turned himself around and walked toward the arch that he had just passed, glancing through it. Down that hall, a huge arch stretched toward the soaring ceiling, framing the delicious glimpse of books located within. Knowledge.

Tom took a few steps forward before he broke into a sprint, tearing down the hallway and feeling his heart turn light. So many books! A frisson of hope welled within his soul as he skidded through the archway and saw the towering, spiralling stacks of ancient books and scrolls and maps and paper and knowledge that could explain the reality he and Harry had been living for the past six years. The ceiling of the massive room stretched far above his head, at least three stories tall. Cerulean and bronze paintings of bird wings and forests and epic battles loomed above his head, exquisite and breath-taking. Ladders and staircases—some straight, some spiralling, and some arranged in some confusing way that screamed magic—leapt around him as if trying to reach the ethereal painting. Stone pillars interrupted the ceiling pattern in a circle, covered in circular bookshelves. On the ground around the pillars a maze of shelves stretched to the far corners of the huge and magnificent library.

Tom breathed in. Breathed out. He took awed steps toward the nearest of the shelves, which, while appearing small compared to the soaring heights of the pillars, stretched far above his head. He reached out and placed his hand on the spine of a book right in front of him. It felt smooth, like the apples that Tom and Harry had managed to steal on occasion to feast upon in the closest dark alley. The library whispered, come.

Harry felt light upon his feet, as if gravity's hold upon him was so tenuous he might leave the ground entirely and never land again. Perhaps part of the lightness was from his sense of unease around Slughorn, but even so, he found that he couldn't contain his joy. The realization came out of nowhere that he could be independent, now. Of course, there were still benefits to sticking together with Tom…but Harry felt a newfound confidence that he would be fine. He wouldn't hide, trembling in fear in a dingy alley waiting for Tom to find him.

Harry was beaming as he strolled into the Great Hall, plopping into a seat next to sunshine-pink Flavian.

"Someone's in a good mood," Flavian said, raising an eyebrow. His magic gave a flicker of curiosity, reminding Harry of an inquisitive puppy tilting his head.

"I realized a few things," Harry said, marking the location of his plate as a wave of jagged magic the colour of chocolate spun in front of him. Harry watched the hand movements of the other Slytherins heaping food upon their plates to get their approximate location, noting that a few of the plates had a delicate crystalline construct perched over them that looked similar to the warming magic that Harry and Tom had discovered so long ago.

Dantanian's chaotic magic—a mess of lavender, peach, and red without visible order such as Harry's—spiked in mild alarm and curiosity. "Where's Riddle?"

"I don't think I've seen you two more than a meter away from each other," Flavian said, pulling his hands apart to visually represent the distance. "Did you fight?"

"Nah," Harry said, digging into the chicken he'd picked up. The earthy flavours were divine. "Tom's been eager to investigate the library and it would have been cruel to keep him back from it any longer. I'll bring him dinner later."

"Not the bookish sort?" Flavian asked, grinning. "A man after my own heart."

Lenus turned from his conversation with Abraxas, pale blue and grey magic writhing with repressed emotion. "Avery…"

"Sorry, sorry, mother dearest," Flavian said, hiding behind open palms. "I'll be a good boy and do my homework and I'll read five boring books before bed each night."

Abraxas coughed, choking on whatever he had been drinking. Lenus's magic spun in angry corkscrews, looking almost like little angry snakes, Harry thought. How fitting an image.

"I wash my hands of you," Lenus said with a huff, turning away from Flavian and resuming his conversation with a snorting Abraxas.

Flavian shrugged, unbothered. "Hey, Riddle, may I call you Harry? It's bloody confusing with you having the same surname and to be honest, I can't be bothered with clarifying which of you I'm talking about all the time."

"That's fine," Harry said, biting his lip. Permission was needed to refer to people by their first name? He'd been referring to everyone by first name in his head this whole time. He just knew he would forget a small distinction like that; hopefully Tom wouldn't kill him for it later. "May I call you Flavian?"

Flavian grinned, stretching his arms. "Of course. It would be refreshing to have a friend that I could actually refer to by his real name. Nott over there is right depressing at times."

Harry froze, his fork hovering in the air. Friend? His eyes focused on Flavian's magic, searching for any sign of concealed intentions and dishonesty. Flavian's magic continued its cheerful movements, bright and open, and Harry couldn't find anything amiss. Harry's fork finished its path to his mouth and Harry had to force himself to bite down a smile until he finished chewing.

A friend. For the longest time, Tom had been his only real friend, Alyssa sometimes falling into that category if she had nothing better to do with her time. Flavian was calling him his friend after such a short time? Mere days? Harry could feel his mood elevating to new heights.

"Say, do you want to go and play Wizard's Chess later? Our homework isn't due for days and I could use something fun."

Harry smiled. "Sounds like fun, although you'll have to teach me. Just let me grab some food for Tom first."

Flavian yawned. "Let me help. What does he like to eat?"

"No preferences," Harry said, piling food onto a spare plate at random. Hopefully, the brown magic wouldn't be irritated that he was stealing dinnerware. "His eating habits are random; I've stopped trying to find rhyme and reason a long time ago." Tom's tastes in food varied based upon his surroundings. With his mixed senses of taste and smell, Tom could go from craving sweet foods to abhorring them with little warning. With all the magic that Harry could see in Hogwarts, it was probable that Tom's tastes would go haywire depending upon who was eating at the same time.

"Done?" Flavian stood up, looking over Harry. Harry nodded, reinforcing his hold upon his plate with his magic. He didn't trust himself to carry it without mishaps with the castle being as unpredictable as it was.

Flavian waved a goodbye to the other Slytherins and Harry followed him out of the Great Hall. Harry found himself losing some of his customary wariness despite Tom being out of his sight. There was something about his cheery disposition that put Harry at surprising ease. They made their way through twisting corridors that changed from a rainbow mess of magic to familiar blue and green, traced with crystalline purple that reflected Flavian and Harry's magic.

"Pineapple," Flavian said, a flurry of blue magic opening the wall to the Slytherin Common Room. He flung himself into the nearest armchair, skidding a foot toward the nearest fireplace. Harry raised an eyebrow, pulling an armchair closer to Flavian and hooking a table with his foot, drawing it between the two. He was lucky that the immense concentration of magic in the Slytherin Common Room made discerning the less-magical items an easy exercise.

"I thought you were going to teach me how to play chess, not take an early nap," Harry said, placing Tom's plate on the corner of the table.

"Naps are good for the soul," Flavian muttered, throwing an arm over his face. "I was so excited for Hogwarts but nobody mentioned homework."

"A tactical manoeuvre," Harry said, nodding. "You wouldn't have gone willingly otherwise."

"You got that right. Anyway, Wizard's Chess." Flavian pulled something that glowed with contained magic out of his pocket. He pulled his wand out of his other pocket and tapped the tiny magical box. The magic began spinning out, moving in a way that reminded Harry of what he'd seen in Charms class. The box resettled in Flavian's hand at ten times its original size. Flavian placed it on the table and started flipping open clasps.

"Alright, this is the rook, this is the king, and this is the queen…"

Tom's anger had long cooled after he spent a few hours in the library. His stomach was gnawing at itself but Tom ignored it; it wasn't as if it was an unfamiliar sensation, with his upbringing being what it was. There were so many books in the library that Tom hadn't known where to start. No matter how interesting A Thousand Ways to Enchant Your Dinner and Magical History: The Hidden Wonders were, he had gone to the library with a strictly defined goal.

There was a conspiracy of some kind, Tom suspected, for ever since their entry into the magical world they had been left with more questions than explanations. He had a feeling that quite a few things would be explained if he could figure out what "Weavers" and "Sensors" were, and why they were to be kept secret. They seemed self-explanatory—Harry could weave magic with his bare hands, while Tom could detect magic with just a taste of the air—but the look that Ollivander had given them had frightened Tom more than he could admit.

The librarian, Mrs. Manier, smelled of leather and kept staring at Tom until he slid out of sight. Why did they hire a librarian that seemed to distrust children so much? Tom made sure to watch for any hints of leather getting stronger; he resolved to stay away from her for the time being.

The categorization of the library baffled Tom. He could smell how overwhelming the library was in terms of magic, but wasn't finding evidence to explain why. One shelf would have books on taming dragons and the one right next to it would be an index of the most useful spells for styling hair. Tom had flitted between the stacks, occasionally venturing into the spiralling staircases around the vast columns that supported the ceiling. He had found loads of books and topics that he was itching to get his hands upon, but nothing seemed to be standing out. Harry told him that the Sorting Hat had mentioned a thousand-year old secret, so he shouldn't be too disappointed.

His eyes examined the Restricted Section, visible from his nook behind a two-story tall bookshelf that he had scaled like a tree (he couldn't think of another way to reach the higher shelves). It was behind a massive gate covered in ornate runes that was no-doubt warded to high heaven to prevent untrustworthy hands. Tom just knew that he had to find a way past that gate, although it could wait for another time.

Tom's stomach grumbled again, causing his handhold on the shelf to weaken for a second. His body tilted back and his hands scrabbled to clutch the shelf again. Tom let his breath out, happy to inhale herb-scented magic. He was going to learn how to fly if nothing else. How pathetic would it be to die from falling from a large height? Tom slowly made his way back down the bookshelf, picking up the stack of books that he'd deemed interested and heading back in the general direction of Mrs. Manier.

Mrs. Manier's eyebrow rose when she saw the tall stack of books Tom was holding, but she didn't question Tom. She tapped her wand on every book in the stack (sixteen) before nodding. "You're free to go. Mr. Riddle, am I correct?"

Tom leaned his head out again from behind the stack of books, nodding. Mrs. Manier was smiling.

"If I didn't remember your Sorting from yesterday, I'd think you a Ravenclaw. Next time you need to reach the higher shelves, I'll show you where we hide the magical ladders." Mrs. Manier smirked. "You're one of the first students in years who's actually tried climbing the bookcases directly, you know."

Tom felt embarrassment flooding him, his ears no doubt turning red. "Thank you, ma'am, noted." Then, he executed a flawless speedy retreat, a liberal amount of magic steadying his books as he whipped around the corner. There was no way that he would be telling Harry about that little detail of his library adventure. Ever.

It was evening and Harry and Tom were curled up on the armchair furthest from any of the fireplaces, yet warm under a thick curtain of warming magic. Warming Charms, they were called, Harry reminded himself. In the armchairs next to them the rest of the Slytherins were lounging about, draped lazily over the furniture like the snakes they were so commonly associated with. Flavian was perusing some magazine that he was careful to keep from anyone's sight, Abraxas was engaged in an intense game of Gobstones with Dantanian and Augustus. Lenus was chatting with four other Slytherin boys that Harry didn't yet know. It was a pleasant scene, thought Harry, mind drifting as he absorbed the words Tom had been reading aloud under his breath.

"...had an immense fascination with toadstools. She pioneered a number of potions with a base comprised always of toadstools picked under moonlight and various other ingredients native to her region, an island off the coast of India…"

Harry hummed under his breath, slipping a bit of Parseltongue into it just below human range of hearing. The addition of Parseltongue always seemed to make everything seem a bit more melodic, something that drove Tom a little crazy. He'd ranted for ages about how hissing wasn't melodic in the slightest while Harry had laughed at him and said that magic didn't always make sense.

Tom shot Harry a disapproving look, but continued reading aloud. Earlier in the night, when he'd started reading, Tom had dropped a casual mention of Harry's fluctuating vision that had assuaged any questions before they were issued. Harry had looked examined the magic of everyone in the vicinity and quietly reassured Tom that all seemed well for now. They'd made their stand and now it was unlikely that they would be targeted by their age group, in the very least. A few of the upper years had given Harry and Tom some dark looks, but evidently considered two firsties below their notice.

All seemed well, for now, and Harry was happy. He could forget the sharp curl of anger in Tom's magic that had lanced at him when Harry had mentioned the past six years never happening.

His eyebrows raised in surprise. It was too easy, too easy.

He'd been searching for years. So many years following little rumours and investigating clues on the wayside as he made strides to further his ambition. So far, everything had been going perfectly, but Magical Britain had always been problematic for him. It wasn't Dumbledore, he was sure. He'd checked with his contacts and they all reported back that Dumbledore was fixated upon finding the boy as well, spending long hours traversing London and the surrounding countryside for a glimpse of the boy. Something else had been cloaking the boy, masking his location with misdirection and subtle nudges that sent his spells off-kilter without him noticing. But whatever force had been hiding the boy had been rendered impotent, now.

He'd always been aware that at some point, the boy would reach the age of eleven and more likely than not, would be accepted to Hogwarts. While he had been certain in his spellcasting abilities, there were precious few magics he could imagine that would hide the boy from Rowena Ravenclaw's great quill. But the time had come! More likely than not, the boy would be one of the eighty or so first years at Hogwarts. He already had a few promising suspects from his contacts.

He rubbed his chin, one hand fiddling with the end of his braid. He had precious few contacts that had offspring or connections to the other houses, so he wasn't certain yet. But still… Riddle seemed like an interesting surname for a boy whose disappearance was an enigma that drove Grindelwald up the wall for the past half-decade.

"…Hey, guess what, da? I think I've already made a new friend and he's loads better than Lenus. He's kinda quiet and speaks funny, but it really doesn't matter. We played Wizard's Chess today—I had to teach him—and he won three times in a row against me! But I won the fourth game, so I guess it's alright.

Anyway, you wouldn't believe what happened today at dinner! I could've sworn the venison tasted exactly like Mincy used to make! I'm not joking. Did you sneak Mincy into Hogwarts or something? It's uncanny how much it reminded me of home… speaking of home, I think I forgot to pack…my underwear… would you mind sending some to me in a discreet package? I don't think Lenus would ever let me live it down, that bugger…"

Flavian Avery, Your Most Marvelous and Un-Pretentious Son

P. S. I miss you guys so much! Could you maybe send a few photos as well…?"

AN: This chapter is dedicated to the anonymous reviewer "laughingmad," who had written an interesting review back for chapter 13 on FFnet (who reviewed back in June, 2015 – I hope you're still around). It brought a lot of considerations to light that I had neglected to consider, so whoever you are, I thank you for your insights. I remembered it and savoured it for ages so I'm so happy I can pull it out now!

Also, thank you to fantasmaco for your fanart of Tom Riddle! They drew three different versions of the portrait and they can all be seen on my tumblr so go check out their fantastic fabulous fantabulous fanart! Additionally, thank you again areli-p-rabbit for another astounding fanart! You're spoiling me here ;D

Additional AN: This chapter has been sitting on my computer for two months and I am unsatisfied with it. I couldn't sit on it longer without feeling immense guilt for the long break, so here it is. I've been having difficulty finding inspiration lately, so if any of you are still around and have some HP fics to rec me, I would much appreciate it! Other fandoms are pulling me in and HP has been a steadfast companion, but I haven't read any good content recently and it's difficult to keep it in the forefront of my mind. I have also experienced a significant change in living conditions lately and have completely upended my routine, so I am still getting back into the swing of things.

Thank you guys for favoriting/following/reviewing this; it really means a lot to me. I'm not planning on giving up on this at all, and all of your support that trickles into my inbox has been instrumental in the creation of this story. 3