A Deathly Kiss

Chapter 7 - The Orphan

Albus Dumbledore had made a mistake.

He'd made many in his life, as was the nature of man, but this was one of the most grievous and it concerned Harry Potter.

He and Minerva McGonagall, his deputy Head Mistress and a close friend, were in the southernmost tower of the castle and were currently standing in a small locked room with three large windows overlooking the forests below. There was an old wooden table with a red leather chair seated behind it. On the table was a large book bound in dragon-hide and a seemingly empty pot of ink with an Augurey feather quill floating just above it. At the first signs of magic in a child, the quill would try to write within its pages and the book would then decide whether or not to allow this process depending on the strength of the magic. The Quill of Acceptance and The Book of Admittance had never once been proven wrong.

The two of them were waiting for midnight on the night of the 30th of June. On the first, 2 months before the start of the Autumn term, the book would officially stop writing names of potential students for the upcoming year. Usually, all of the names were written in the early years of the student's life but it was a tradition practiced by every Hogwarts Headmaster throughout time. When the clock struck midnight, Minerva would produce a different magical quill that would begin to scribe the addresses and letters for the next year.

A bell sounded and Minerva instantly walked towards the book and started scanning the list of names presented before her. Her eyebrows raised at a few before her eyes were drawn back to the Headmaster. "Shall we begin?" he asked jovially.

A stack of parchment was pulled out, each of them already had the assigned list of books and uniform, all that was required was the name of the recipient. Minerva tapped the quill and the first name was carefully written on the envelope. Miss H. Abbott, along with the address for the Abbott family manor in Somerset.

The list continued with the occasional comment on various students names. They took care to include the information packets every time a Muggleborn's name was written down and to compound a list of houses to be visited personally. Then they reached the name they had both secretly been waiting for.

Mr. H. Potter

But instead of the expected address, Number 4 Privet Drive, an entirely different one appeared. It instead read:

Mr. H. Potter

Room 13

St. Agatha's

Harborne

Birmingham

Albus felt his heart stop and a million different conclusions ran through his head.

Death Eaters had gotten to him. But no he probably wouldn't be alive and certainly not in a Muggle Orphanage. The Dursley's were dead. They'd given Harry away. Harry had been taken from them because they were unfit parents.

Which could mean abuse? What could that have done to a young child? He dreaded to find out. And after leaving the Dursley's he'd been taken to Saint Agatha's. In his experience magic and Muggle religion didn't tend to go hand in hand. He still remembered his first years as Deputy Headmaster in the '20s and they'd had to deal with a traumatized child who they'd attempted to exorcize. The outcome had been horrific and the girl had never quite been the same again.

He needed to see Harry Potter. He needed to know how much damage he had caused.

He turned to Minerva who had the swellings of anger on her face, "You told me, Albus, that the boy would be safe with his relatives!"

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry".

2 days later, letter in hand, Albus found himself on the steps of the orphanage wearing what could be considered as Muggle clothing albeit in some garish colors. His face was smiling outwardly but on the inside, he was beginning to get worried. The building was large and made out of red-brick, it resembled an old Victorian workhouse that had been updated until it seemed more like a Catholic convent. The children outside were all sitting by a large garden patch and were hard at work planting different flowers that were more suited to the winter seasons. He met a young woman on the front steps, her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she had a golden cross around her neck.

"Philip put the worm down", she admonished firmly in a stern voice before turning towards him. "You must be Mister Dumbledore", she said politely with a kind smile on her face. She turned towards the door and gestured for him to follow.

"Harry..." he started slowly, "What sort of child is he?"

The women kept walking, not looking back at him as they made their way through the winding corridors. All of the walls were cladded with wood to about halfway and the rest of was a stark white with no decoration bar the occasional cross or a picture of a Saint. "He prefers to be called Harrison". They turned a sharp left and he looked through a window in one of the doors where some children were all sitting writing away whilst a hawk eyes woman observed them. His guide noticed where his gaze had wondered, "We do offer classes to all of our children although a few have opted for mainstream education. Harrison has been here for about 5 months but its already very clear that he's the smartest at his age, perhaps even smarter than even the older students. I have no doubt that he'd be a valuable addition to your school. He is mostly quiet but when you do manage to leach conversation out of him he can have quite the temperament. Don't mind the backchat, he does it with everyone and its not very easy to teach him to stop, especially when we got him at such a late age".

She stopped in front of a door which, like all of the other children's rooms, had a numbered plaque and a picture of their name pinned beneath it. Harry's, or Harrison's, was his name written in bold calligraphy with a water colored painting of space in the background in various shades of blue, black and purple. Bright stars had been blended into the background as well.

The lady opened the door and offered a reassuring smile before letting him enter the room.

There were various other hand-painted pictures of stars along the wall and bookcase was full of large books with various different languages written on the spine. He drifted towards them and picked one up, written in Latin, about the human body.

"I'd put that down", came a sharp voice from the other side of the room and his eyebrows raised when he saw him.

The boy's voice was deep for his age, mature even, and although he did seem about average height his face lacked the childishness or the baby fat that would still be present among his peers. He had almond-shaped green eyes, just like Lily Potter his mind supplied, hidden behind silver glasses and his hair was the typical pitch black of the Potter's and the crow's nest that usually sat on top of James' head had instead been cut and artfully spiked on the head of his son. The tips were an emerald green.

He was sitting on the bed with his legs crossed and a book in his lap. He was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt with words in an unfamiliar language written upon them. He was also wearing odd socks, one pink and the other a fluorescent orange. "The spine's falling apart and I'd hate to have to replace it", there was a note of mild warning.

Albus slipped it back and approached slowly. "You speak Latin?" he questioned curiously.

The boy nodded wisely, "Lots of languages have a basis in Latin. I know five languages in total but that's really because I have time to spare".

"Five?" Albus' eyebrows raised in surprise and Harry hummed in confirmation. "English was a given, Latin and Greek for the scriptures, French and Italian because I was bored. I stopped there because I didn't want to seem like too much of a show off".

Dumbledore smiled in amusement at the child's statement and took a seat on a chair opposite him, pulling a letter out of his suit pocket. "I wish to offer you a place at my school Mr. Potter".

"Is it a school for fashion Professor?" the boy asked with a blank expression on his face. "Because if it is they should really hire better teachers", his eyes slowly drifted up and down the brightly colored suit with an expression of disdain.

"No Mr. Potter", he chuckled. "It's a school for magic".

Harry had stood up and turned away before he even got a look at the expression on his face, he sat on the seat by the window and stared out at the road below. Dumbledore completely missed the look of vindictive glee. When he met the boy's eyes again, they showed confusion. "What does this mean sir?"

"It means that you're a Wizard Harry", he said softly. "As am I. There is a whole civilization out there made up of Wizards and other creatures which you are welcome to join if you wish it so". He pulled the letter out of his back pocket and handed it over to the boy in front of him. The boy opened the envelope, careful not to break the wax seal, and let the parchment slip out between his fingers. He started to read the first page, his eyes roamed over it once then once again for clarification.

Heleus could barely control himself as he let the contents of the parchment wash over him. He'd spent the last 10 years in relative solitude, waiting for the right moment for him to return to his home. Within his hands he held the key to the first step. Soon everything would fall into place.

He refolded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.

"I require proof", he started, "before I decide to go anywhere with a complete stranger".

Dumbledore reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand and waved it in a simple motion, one of his boxes (the one that contained his notes and writings) picked itself up off the floor as small wooden legs grew out of it. The box started to scramble around the room like an excited dog and it took one tap on the head for it to sit obediently. It was a parlor trick really but Dumbledore smiled at it like it was a real living animal and scratched it on its lid. "Is that proof enough".

"I suppose it'll have to do."

"Great!" the man clapped his hands together happily. "Now, I must take you to buy your school equipment but before I go I must have a conversation with you", his face turned serious. "How did you end up in an orphanage?"

Heleus leaned back against the window with a creased brow and frowned before coming to a conclusion, "I ran away sir, from my relatives, they weren't exactly the best of guardians".

Dumbledores eyes softened with sadness, "Whilst you were there, did they happen to mention your parents at all?"

Something in Heleus' brain twitched with amusement but his face remained marred with sadness, "Yes Professor. I was informed on multiple occasions just how worthless they were. My father was a no-good drunk and my mother spent her time whoring herself out. They died in a car crash, high on drugs of some sort".

The man's eyes turned to anger and he leaned forward, "I knew your Mother and Father personally, dear child, and whatever your relatives said is millions of miles from the truth. Your mother was one of the smartest Witches of her age and your father was one of the bravest men I ever knew. They both fought for you till the very end."

Then Dumbledore proceeded to tell him a story about one of the Darkest Wizards in existence. How he'd come to the Potter's home one night and killed them, then when he'd turned his wand on their child and tried to kill him too the curse had backfired and the Dark Lord had died. All over the country people had rejoiced and the Boy-Who-Lived had been exulted for his deed in ridding the world of pure evil. Dumbledores tale was different than the ones he'd found in the old bins of Daily Prophet newspapers and seemed a lot more factual than fantasized but it still had the same basis. That basis was bullshit.

Heleus had felt Tom's magic so many times before, could still feel it now like a soft thrum in the form of the ring that lay upon his heart. What comforted and seduced him terrified the British public. It had the power to raze a whole city with fiendfyre that blazed for eternity, to force any proud being into complete submission. No child, no matter how strong, could possibly defeat him.

The public was wrong, Harry Potter had died that night. The Killing Curse had struck his body and pulled his soul from within it. The body should've died within 2 seconds after that. However, within that space of time, his soul had instead entered the body of the infant and his very presence had kept it alive.

The Boy-Who-Lived didn't exist, not really. That curse had hit its mark.

The Professor had allowed him some time to digest the news before announcing that they were heading to Diagon Alley in a somewhat subdued voice and Heleus had stood ready to follow continuing on, "If you would like I will escort you to Diagon Alley?"

Heleus smiled and nodded, "Of course sir it would be much appreciated. I'd like to do my shopping on my own, I prefer to maintain a certain level of independence".

Albus nodded in acquiescence, "I'll go inform the matron that we will be leaving shortly".

The last time he'd visited Diagon Alley was little over two weeks before but with the school shopping season starting it was a whole lot busier. Dumbledore had taken them into a back alley and apparated straight into the hear of the street outside of Gringotts. The streets were bustling with large groups of families dressed in wizard wear, children were staring in awe at the broomsticks on display in the windows and Muggleborns were wandering around in abject shock. Dumbledore led him up the steps to the bank and stopped just to the right of the doors. He pulled out 2 objects, one a key and the other a flat metal disk, both in stunning gold. He handed them over to the boy with a grand gesture, "The key is for your vault, it was left in my position many years ago by your parents and it's time it was returned to its rightful owner. The coin is so you can contact me, just tap it twice if you're in need of assistance or you'd like me to take you home." He smiled kindly, "I hope you enjoy your day Harry".

"I'm sure I will Professor", he took both items though he knew there was little use for either and walked slowly into the bank knowing the old man was watching him. As soon as he was inside and the door was closed he grasped the key in his hands and using all the strength and magic he could muster, broke it into two. The enchantments left it in a small blue cloud and he slipped it back into his pocket. He waited a few more minutes within the bank to ensure Dumbledore was gone before heading straight back out again.

The first place he wished to visit was Ollivanders for a wand.

His old wand was presumably at the bottom of a dark lake filled with inferi. It was 12", Blackthorn with a single golden hair from a Siren that had been collected in a small cove in Lefkada where the Sirens and Mermaids often dwelled when uninterrupted by Muggles. It must've been hell to get baring in mind just how violent Sirens could be. When they weren't enchanting you with their voices they were snarling and trying to rip you to shreds with their teeth. Quite horrible really.

He'd been coping for the last few years with a wand he'd picked up from Knockturn Alley, unregistered and thus untraceable but it really wasn't a suitable match and he needed a wand that could channel his magic and project it to his full ability. Only Ollivander could craft a wand as such.

He hurried down the alley and pushed open the door with a soft tingle of a bell. He'd never been inside the store of Europe's most famous wandmaker before. His own wand had been made by a Greek crafter in Athens who although was quite talented seemed to focus on decadence rather than power. He'd go to great lengths to collect mysterious materials regardless of the strength they had. He had been lucky that his wand suited him so well. Ollivander crafted wands of every variety to suit every person and each was always in pristine quality. His record was impeccable and his products sought after by many.

The man himself appeared from inside a cupboard and goggled at him with large eyes before drifting over. He smiled down at him, pushing his round glasses further up his nose and leaning down to get a better look. "Mr. Potter. I was wondering when you were going to visit my store". His pale wrinkly finger came forwards as if to touch his scar but with lightning fast reactions Heleus had caught the hand by its wrist and stilled it with an iron grip.

"I would appreciate if you didn't sir", he managed to grit out.

The man stared down at him with a look of imperceptible horror and stumbled back, wrenching his hand away. He said nothing for a minute before composing himself and looking down with wary eyes. "Of course not Mr. Potter". He snapped his fingers and a long tape measure zoomed out of his pocket and into the air, positioning itself as if ready for action. "Wand hand?"

"I'm ambidextrous", he replied as the tape measure starting measuring up and down his body, his legs, both arms and even in between his eyes. They suddenly snapped back into a tightly wrapped roll and flew into the wandmakers pocket once again.

The man hurried off into the corner and returned with a large stack of wand boxes, he passed the first to him. "Cypress and Dragon Heartstring, pliable. Quite good with defensive spells", he waved the wand and all of the paperwork on Ollivanders desk exploded into tiny little pieces. The man seemed unfazed and put the wand back in the box.

They tried out about 30 more wands before Ollivander let out a large sigh and headed off to the back of the shop, returning a few minutes later with a single box in red. He lifted the lid and handed it, handle facing away from him, to Heleus. He took the wand carefully and smiled at the sensations that burst through his veins, magic that hummed and danced along his skin in harmony with himself.

"Curious", Ollivander mumbled then an odd sheen passed over his eyes. "Or perhaps not".

"What is curious sir?" he asked quietly.

"11", holly and Pheonix feather. It just so happened that I sold a wand many years ago containing a feather from the exact same Pheonix as this one belonged to. That wand gave you that scar", something in the man's voice trembled minutely.

He flinched back, shook his head and gave a fake smile, "That'll be 8 Galleons Mr. Potter". And that was apparently that.

He left the shop with the wand clutched closely to his chest and a smile on his face at the thought that he and Tom's wands shared brother cores. It meant their magic was connected together and that sort of bond was immensely powerful. This wand was far better than his last. It felt like a piece of him. It felt like home.

He found his way across to the other end of the Alley where Madam Malkin's sat sandwiched between Flourish and Blotts and a small store which sold supplies to ministry employees. It was painted today in a bright purple and the doors were open wide to customers. When he went inside he found it to be mostly empty, a few women were browsing through the robes on the racks and a single boy was stood on a podium at the back of the store examining himself in a mirror.

Heleus started to get closer to him and paused when he recognized the features.

Slicked back, platinum blond hair and pale skin. He was tall with high cheekbones and pointy facial features, his eyes were a pale silver that flashed with arrogance when taking in his own appearance.

Everything about him screamed Malfoy.

He hadn't been aware that the Malfoy family had been expecting a new heir. Lucius was a loyal Death Eater quite high up in the ranks, he held all of the typical traits of his lineage and was a master manipulator who made the most of his position within the Wizengamot. He'd married Narcissa Black and together they'd become the perfect image for pureblood society. While he was never fond of the pair he did respect them to a degree. Their son, based on first appearances alone, was a spoilt brat.

He adjusted his glasses and looked down at his Muggle-style clothing with a grimace. His only solace was that they hadn't been touched by Muggle hands. In fact, he'd brought it from a new shop opposite Gambol and Japes that sold Muggle clothing crafted by Wizards to suit the new fashion style sweeping the nation. He didn't understand it but the jeans were at least comfortable and he picked the writing on the shirt himself. Η ζωή είναι σαν ένα αγγούρι, ο έναs το τρώει και δροσιστείτε, και ο άλλος το τρώει και ζορίζετε. Life is like a cucumber, one person eats it and is refreshed, and another person eats it and struggles. Or in basic English: Life is simply what you make of it.

Really he didn't care what the top said but he found it mildly amusing so...

Heleus made his way onto the pedestal beside the other boy and started to study himself in the mirror just as the boy beside him had been doing. He combed his fingers through his hair and tilted his head to the side. "I take it you're going to Hogwarts", he assumed and the blond turned to him with a sneer on his face at his choice of clothing.

"Of course", he replied snidely. Then he smirked, "My family has been in Slytherin for generations. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

Heleus spared him a short glance, "Of course not, I am no Oracle. I suppose all houses have their benefits."

The Malfoy child curled his lip, "You can't possibly mean Hufflepuff too. I think I'd leave if I was sorted there".

"Every house's value has its own importance, even Hufflepuff. Loyalty is invaluable when given to the right people and every cause needs support. Gryffindor gives leaders, Ravenclaw scholars and Slytherin the means to achieve greatness. If all four houses worked cohesively..." Heleus trailed off with a faint smile on his lips.

"You've put a lot of thought into this", the other boy commented. He looked him up and down then came to a decision, thrusting his hand out to shake, "Draco Malfoy. Heir to the House of Malfoy".

Heleus shook his hand gratefully, "Harrison Potter. Heir Potter and Heir Black, its a pleasure to meet you".

Draco's hand tensed and his eyes flickered to his forehead where his scar was concealed beneath his messy fringe, "The pleasure is mine".

The door at the back of the shop opened suddenly and a short lady came through followed by a stumbling teen, both were dressed in dark blue uniforms and the teen was holding a roll of fabric close to her chest. "Florence, take care of the other boy". She looked up from behind her messy curls and nodded frantically, rushing over to Heleus and placing the fabric on the floor and smiling largely. "How may I help you?"

"I'll have 3 sets of all of the required Hogwarts Uniform in your best thread. What do you have in athletic wear?" The young lady had pulled out a piece of parchment and quill and was jotting down quickly.

"We have Quidditch gear, customizable for your team, dueling robes and training clothes". He took the training gear as well, opting out of the other two due to his dislike of the sport and the fact that he already had dueling robes stored in the bottom of his trunk at the Orphanage along with all of the other Wizarding clothing he'd bought over the years. He paid and left with a quick goodbye to the Malfoy Heir and finished up his supply shopping along with a few extra potions ingredients along the way.

He pulled out the metal disk and called for Dumbledore who smiled upon his arrival. "How was your day Harrison?"

"Splendid. And yours?"

The old Professor chuckled, "It was excellent. I went to peruse a Muggle store just off Charing Cross road with the most exciting knitting patterns. I've always wanted a brightly colored tea-cozy."

He returned to the orphanage that afternoon with a ticket and instructions to find Platform 9 and 3/4. Overall the day was a success. To him at least.

Heleus heard the knock on the compartment door and his eyes strayed from where he'd been staring out onto the train platform.

Hundreds of families were there, kissing and hugging their children with tears in their eyes. He could easily distinguish between who was who, clothes and general manner were easy enough to analyze and some families were impossible not to recognize. He'd seen the Malfoys not long before, prim and polished as ever. Narcissa has kissed Draco's cheek and whispered something into his ear but that was the only emotion she'd shown towards his departure.

He'd recognized Amelia Bones, current head of the DMLE, standing with her niece. He'd used newspapers to keep up with current affairs and found her methods of controlling crime throughout the UK to be quite imaginative. Yet as all politicians seemed to do, she would go the distance in some aspects and fall completely short of others. Bones would interrogate everyone in magical Britain to get to the truth but she would never go outside the boundaries of the law. She couldn't bring down the hammer and that would be her downfall. Bones, like most of the public, had a clear cut view of what was right and wrong with no room for leeway. Sheep, the lot of them.

Two boys opened the door to his compartment and rushed in looking only slightly frazzled, hair sticking up on their faces and identical maniacal grins. "Did you see her face Gred?" "She looked mental-" "Storming" "Bloody ferocious!" "Pissed-off" "Like a dragon just took a dump on her head". They both turned to each other as a glint spread through their eyes, "Do you think Charlie would ask questions?" "Of course not". "So we just owl him and ask for dragon dung?" "Not so bluntly, ease him into the idea".

"Or you could just get some yourself?" Heleus murmured from his spot by the window.

Both pairs of eyes snapped towards him and one narrowed in suspicion whilst the other alighted with glee, "What do you know little boy?"

He wrinkled his nose in contempt, "What I know is common knowledge. There's a species of dragon called the Hebridean Black, their colony is off the northwest coast of Scotland. You could get there pretty easily". He smirked, "Of course it won't be so easy getting back with all of your body parts attached".

"I'm Gred" "I'm Forge"

"Weasley", Heleus surmised and the two grinned. "Was it really that obvious?" "I thought our hair had toned down a few shades" "Maybe its time to get the dye out again Gred" "Certainly Forge I haven't been to the hairdressers in yonks".

"Yes the hair definitely gave it away", he reassured. It did partially. But he couldn't very well tell them that they were the exact spitting image of their uncles. Who he'd assassinated. Gideon and Fabian Prewett had been loyal members of the Order of the Phoenix and fought to the very end. Unfortunately for them, they'd been far too late by the time they saw the arrows flying towards them.

"What's your name little kid" "We gave you ours".

"Harrison". They both gave him a pointed look as if gesturing to carry on but he said nothing in return.

"Look at him Gred", one of them beamed, "He's trying to be all secretive". "Doesn't help that he's practically a midget-" "a dwarf" "maybe even a chipmunk". "Oooh, I like chipmunk".

"Enough", he growled out.

They both leaned back with mock hurt written across their faces and swooned, "Oh my goodness!" "Did your hear that Forge?" "It's an angry chipmunk!" "Heavens no!"

Their expressions turned blank and serious, "We'll see you soon little Chipmunk" "If anyone comes asking-" "-tell them we went left" "-then right" "-then left again" "or you could just say you hadn't seen us".

"Whatever floats your boat", they chimed in unison.

Then they both backed out of the compartment slowly, not breaking eye contact until the door closed, before sprinting off to the left. Heleus stared after them with a shocked and confused expression on his face, genuinely wondering whether the two were on hallucinogens. He reached into his trunk and pulled out a large book about history in the last century which was becoming quite an interesting read although most of it was complete bullshit.

History was written by the victors after all.

The information on Lord Voldemort didn't extend back before the '60s and neither Tom Riddle nor Heleus Vasilikas were mentioned once in the whole book and all of their ideas had been manipulated and twisted within the pages, it was indeed a travesty. The writer, one Maximus Mason, had spent at least 200 pages detailing their crimes in disturbing detail and preaching how they were all mindless killers with a thirst for blood. As if their actions had no motives at all. The whole of the wizarding world was blind to the truth.

The door opened again and this time he almost stopped dead at the face of the person that entered.

Blaise Zabini.

He still remembered Zakariya, his grandfather, from school and they'd stayed in contact long after. He'd returned to Italy, his birthplace, and managed to manipulate his way into the government and the Wizengamot whilst the whole world still believed his faked neutrality throughout the wars. Zakariya had always been extremely intelligent and his natural wit and charm had garnered him favor from many politicians and people alike. He'd died at the age of 56 from an unknown disease and had been mourned by many.

His son was nothing like him at all.

Matteo Zabini was obsessed with his own appearance and was as vain as they came. He spent most of his time flaunting his wealth with lavish clothes and extravagant parties, never once thinking beyond the money within his vault. He met a beautiful Italian woman named Lavinia, they 'fell in love' and married within two months and she became his new obsession. He dressed her in the finest silks and signed all of his jewels and gold into her name. She'd fallen pregnant and he'd been absolutely ecstatic at the prospect of an heir.

Then she slit his throat and ran off with his unborn child.

She got away with it of course. She'd already killed 4 of her husbands by that point and went on to kill at least 5 more and even though everyone knew her to be guilty, solid evidence could never be found to convict her. The Black Widow had lived on and she'd named her son Zabini in mockery of her ex. He could only hope that this boy wouldn't let his friends family fall to ruin as it had once before.

"May I sit?" he asked politely and Heleus nodded his head in acceptance whilst he studied the person before him.

He was tall for his age and his skin was chocolate where Zakariya's had been mocha. He had the same dark brown hair but it was curly and his eyes like a navy blue rather than brown but the facial structure was all the same.

"Blaise Zabini", he said in a quiet yet confident voice and blue eyes were trained intently on him.

"Harrison Potter". Zabini made no noise or gesture of recognition towards the name but his eyes focused in on the book open in his lap.

"Mason is a biased idiot who has no clue about what he speaks. You would be better reading something else", he commented.

Heleus slipped the book back into his trunk and pulled out another thicker book written in Latin and passed it across to the other who opened it up and began to scan the pages. "Virgo Octavius. Most of his family have been historians and they've written accounts of many events throughout history in great detail. Unbiased, factual with a few written memoirs. This one encompasses Europe within the last 2 centuries but his most recent is about the revolutions in Ancient Egypt that led to the magical reform. Very fascinating reads if you can pass the language barrier".

The book was passed back to him quickly and he helped Blaise lift up his trunk and place it in the overhead racks. "Do you know anyone else at Hogwarts?" he questioned.

Zabini raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on the question, "No. I grew up in Italy but I chose to go to school in Britain. Our educational system didn't quite suit my needs".

Heleus understood completely. Magical schooling differed from country to country. Some countries (France, Britain, etc.) had one large school that catered to all young Wizards and witches. Others (Greece, Russia) would only accept the absolute finest into their school and the others were taught through homeschool or group study. Italy was one of the few countries that had many schools spread throughout all of the magical communities in the country that each caters to a small number of students. Amazing for more focused and personalized learning, not so good for those wanting to go into politics or making connections.

Influential families sent their children to somewhere like Beauxbatons or, as in both Blaise and Zakariya's cases, Hogwarts.

"I don't know many people either but I did have the pleasure of meeting Draco Malfoy in Diagon Alley".

"First impressions?" Blaise leaned forward with interest written across his face.

"A spoilt brat but he'll grow out of it". His eyes gleamed viciously, "We might just have to hammer the message into him".

"Maybe you can. My shoes are Armani and I don't want his blood all over them", he mimed wiping his shoes clean of blood and Heleus chuckled despite himself. Zakariya's grandson might be even better than the man himself.

He pulled his wand out of his back pocket and casually flicked a silencing and locking spell at the door then pulled another much more questionable book out of his trunk and gave it to the young Italian, "Perhaps this might be to your liking". He started reading and his eyebrows raised at some of the graphic images shown within it.

He probably shouldn't be showing a class 2 Dark Arts book on a first meeting, especially when it could get him a minimum of 30 years of Azkaban. But he didn't care. The Zabini family had been sworn to secrecy many decades before and the boy would soon learn the consequences of he defied him.

Besides, his reactions were quite promising.

Mudblood. Sang-Sale. Magikó klépsimo.

He'd heard them be called many things in his life by a variety of different people. Most Purebloods hated them but he'd always been of the firm belief that every Magic user deserved a chance no matter their background. If they were willing to embrace the culture who were they not to welcome them with open arms? One thing he did despise above all were traitors. Those who took their culture and defiled it, insulted it and turned their backs to it in disgust. Those who believed Muggles to be better than a civilization built upon generations of peace and linked to nature at its very core. Those people truly deserved the term Mudblood.

As he looked at the young girl in front of him he knew she'd come to deserve that title.

She was short with buck teeth and untamable frizzy hair, she held herself with a manner of superiority and spent the entire boat ride spewing facts and comparing Magic to Muggle culture. Heleus looked on with barely concealed disgust at her ramblings and couldn't help himself as he picked faults in her knowledge. It was like she'd memorized a whole textbook yet didn't understand or appreciate what she'd learned at all.

Even Blaise looked at her in some form of shock as she chatted on unaware of the issues amongst her fellow passengers.

Did this girl honestly think she was intelligent?

The most idiotic Pureblood child could disprove half of what she was spewing. She introduced herself as 'Hermione Granger' with beaming pride and seemed put-off when they just stared blankly at her. The boat's other occupant, Neville Longbottom, was a stuttering wreck. He remembered his parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, who had both been Aurors. He'd discovered a while back that they'd been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange herself. They should be glad they were too insane to recognize this disgrace of a child who could barely speak a sentence and had not an ounce of confidence within his bones.

He pitied the House of Longbottom. Hundreds of years of Magic and culture, to waste. Pathetic.

When the boat stopped both he and Blaise were quick to get on dry land and escape the duo. They reached the middle of the pack of students heading towards the entrance hall and were greeted by Minerva McGonagall on the steps. She was dressed in green robes and looked just as stubborn as ever. The drone of hundreds of students could be heard beyond the stone wall but the first years were completely silent. "Welcome to Hogwarts", she greeted sternly. "The start of term banquet will begin shortly and you will be sorted into your houses. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. For the next seven years you will eat, sleep and learn amongst your fellow housemates. Each house has produced exceptional Witches and Wizards and I hope that each of you will become credits to your houses over the years to come. The sorting ceremony will begin shortly".

She left the chamber and the first years burst into noise.

"House?" Blaise murmured in askance.

"Whatever the hat deems appropriate".

"Slytherin?" he smirked.

"I wouldn't want to disappoint my adoring fans". Blaise snorted and said nothing.

They were led into the hall and hundreds of eyes were on the group instantly as they made their way to the front of the room. A stool and an old worn hat were produced and placed in the center and every student waited as it began to sing its annual song. When it was finished, McGonagall cleared her throat and pulled a long scroll from within her robes. "Abbott, Hannah". The first child, a short rosy-cheeked girl with Blond hair in pigtails, was easily sorted into Hufflepuff.

He watched as Granger went to Gryffindor along with Longbottom. He saw multiple Pureblood children who he recognized be sorted. Nott, Malfoy, Parkinson and various others were Death Eater names and there also some he knew from the Ministry.

Then his name was called. "Potter, Harry".

He started walking towards the stool, noticing Dumbledore smiling down at him he quirked his lips back. His eyes scanned the teachers' table for notable faces. Rubeus Hagrid, (expelled for opening the Chamber of Secrets), Filius Flitwick (multiple times world dueling champion), Severus Snape (Potions Master and Death Eater). Then he noticed another unfamiliar face and his steps almost faltered. He could sense the magic from where he was and he knew exactly who it belonged to. His fingers tingled and a shiver went up his spine that was nothing to do with fear. He fought the grin that threatened to appear and returned to his steps with a newfound passion.

Tom Riddle had come to Hogwarts.

He sat on the stool and the hat was lowered on his head.

"It's been a long time, Heleus"

"Same to you, Hat"

"You seem happy?"

"You have no idea".

He saw as the students leaned forward in their seats in anticipation for his sorting and murmurs spread across the hall.

"You have a great mind, child. I am almost certain any of the houses would suit you well".

He frowned, "Really?"

The hat seemed to chuckle, "Indeed. You have a thirst for knowledge and you have cunning and ambition in spades. You are loyal to few but those that you are you would do anything to protect them. You have traits from all houses and it would be best if you decided on the outcome of this sorting yourself".

"Gryffindor", he said almost immediately.

"Not Slytherin?"

"They wouldn't trust me. They have to trust me so that I can rip them to shreds for their insolence".

"Very well then". "Gryffindor!"

Dumbledore beamed down at him and the house of red and gold burst into raucous applause. He passed Blaise and winked before he went to join their ranks and the Italian just stared.