To Kill You With a Kiss

Chapter 2

Harry merely shrugged. "My parents are long gone," he said finally. "Never had the chance to ask them about my name. But it is not true that all Blacks are named after constellations. Phineas Nigellus Black, for one, was not."

A quiet murmur ran through the room. Cygnus nodded briefly, and the shadow of a smile danced across his face for a moment. "True, Elias," he said quietly. "Phineas Nigellus Black was a great wizard indeed, a true Black, and a man of many secrets. Perhaps your deceased father was one of them. We have been told not to ask too many questions. Very well, I will not ask. It's enough for me that you are a Black, and a Slytherin."

"Of course you are a Slytherin." It was Abraxas Malfoy who spoke. The resemblance to his unborn grandson Draco was striking, but Abraxas wore his white-gold hair longer, like a halo of light around his face, and his features were softer than Draco's. "Your eyes are as green as those of the serpent on the door."

Tom Riddle laughed. "Well spotted, Mr. Malfoy. I had wondered why he seemed so curiously familiar to me..."

Harry glanced up at the young man by his side. The future Dark Lord's face was pale in the flickering green light. How beautiful he is, just like the viridian poison in those bottles on the shelf.

But Tom Riddle's laughter felt like a stab to Harry's heart. A sudden white flame of hatred surged through his body. I have my mother's eyes, Tom Riddle, and if I seem familiar to you, it is because you will one day look into her eyes as you murder her. I wonder if memories can die? If they can, I will make sure you won't live to set eyes upon her in the future... Harry turned away from Riddle, but every nerve in his body was aware of his presence. Harry sensed, with an odd sense of satisfaction, the sudden shock that ran through Riddle's mind. He can feel it now. He can sense how I feel about him at this moment. But he is confused; he does not understand why I hate him so much.

"Let me show you the dormitory, Elias." Harry was too preoccupied with the future Voldemort to object to being touched by a Malfoy. Abraxas had grasped his arm and began to steer him through a black marble arch to the dormitory. Harry glanced back over his shoulder. Several students smiled at him, and Araminta gave him a cheerful little wave. But Tom Riddle stood frozen by the door, his face white as snow. His silvery glance met Harry's for an instant, and an image of Tom Riddle as a small boy in a dreary orphanage flashed into Harry's mind uninvited. Lonely. He feels lonely.

"Good night, Elias." Tom Riddle's voice was odd and distant.

"Good night, Professor Riddle." Harry's own voice sounded strange too, as if it belonged to someone else.

The Slytherin boys' dormitory was much as Harry had imagined it: Enormous black four poster beds with silver sheets were lined up in neat rows, and the wallpaper was dark green with silver serpents. Too many serpents.

There were no windows, no sunlight, just flickering green lamps and ornate silver mirrors along the wall. Harry caught a glimpse of his own pale face in one of the silver ovals. It was a relief to see his familiar scar; for a moment he had half expected to see the face of the unknown Elias.

A large trunk was waiting for him by his bed. Where had it come from? Were the things in it his, or did they belong to Elias Black, whoever he may be? The son of Phineas Nigellus Black's secret love child, by the sounds of it... I wonder who my mysterious "guardian" is, who wrote to the headmaster on my behalf? Did he send my trunk here, too? Is this his memory? Was he the one who bewitched this recollection to become so strangely real?

To his relief, Harry found a decent-looking broomstick under the robes in his trunk. A vintage Silver Arrow? Apparently, his nameless guardian had a fine taste in broomsticks.