Chapter Text
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.