First Term
The wars only grew worse through September.
On September 27, the headline from the Daily Express read, "GERMANY, ITALY, JAPAN SIGN PACT; NEW ALLIANCE PLEDGES ITSELF TO FIGHT AS COMMON ENEMY ANY NEW NATION THAT GOES TO WAR FOR BRITAIN, CHINA."
The Luftwaffe had been consecutively and continually bombing London for the last three weeks, and it didn't seem that it would stop anytime soon.
Harry wordlessly handed the newspaper to Tom, who snatched it and skimmed it in its entirety.
"Here, read this," Tom said at last, looking troubled as they walked to their first class with Professor Yates.
The Daily Prophet continued to report many of the same things: high-profile political assassinations prevailed in spite of increased security measures. Grindelwald was unstoppable, having already overthrown most of Europe. Magical Britain was the last European country actively fighting against him.
Yet, Harry wondered why Grindelwald hadn't begun a full scale invasion of Britain. He had the ability to infiltrate the warded island and massacre everyone, but he chose to pick off the British wizarding government one by one. The names were too many to count; Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes Noah Haynes, Head Obliviator Cooper Rice, leader of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad Bob Ogden, and multiple outspoken Anti-Grindelwald Wizengamot members, including Lord Adrian Macmillan, uncle of Hufflepuff fifth-year Aletes Macmillan, and Lady Genevieve Abbott.
It would have just been easier to bomb the Ministry to bits and kill the survivors. He'd be done with it then, Harry thought.
Of course, it was possible Grindelwald wanted to inspire fear, but he was already infamous when he began toppling mainland European governments like dominos, starting with Magical Poland. Nothing about his current course of action made sense.
What is he waiting for?
Harry blinked as he saw Professor Yates ushering the students inside. Oh, we're here already.
He resolved the matter in his head for another time. Inside, he slipped the newspapers into his bag after sitting in his assigned seat. From his vantage point, he noticed that Marya Giles was making "shy" peeks over her shoulder, sneaking glances at Tom. Her mousy brown hair whipped his way and that, and Harry internally scowled in disgust.
Girls and their crushes.
It was something Harry liked to pretend didn't exist, that Tom wasn't the most handsome in their grade, that he didn't attract longing looks this way and that in the hallways. No one had asked Tom out yet, but Harry knew it was a matter of time.
He blinked and realized that he was frowning when mini taps poked his knee. He hadn't felt this angry for so long.
Why was this the thing that drew him out of his detachment? (And what did it say about him?)
"Students, partner with your groups," Professor Yates said.
Earlier that year, Professor Yates had assigned them to a yearlong group of four students for classwork purposes. Harry turned to face the Ravenclaws and Avery, who sat diagonally to his front right. Thankfully, Avery had not tried any tricks so far because Harry had the tactical advantage of sitting behind him. And there were the two Ravenclaws sitting around them. (Ravenclaws were notorious for being snitches.)
The Ravenclaw to his right began, "So, I think that—"
Harry tuned him out as Marya Giles dropped her quill onto the floor. Ever the gentleman, Tom reached down at the same time she did to pick it up. Their hands brushed together, and Giles lowered her head, a pinkish blush blossoming across her pale cheeks.
"S-sorry," she stammered, jerking her hand away.
Tom smiled charmingly at her, catching her hand with his own. Harry could hear him at the other side of the room as he said, "Why, there's no need for that."
Then he deftly lifted the quill and used his free hand to unfurl Giles' clenched grip, placing the quill gently in the center of her palm. Giles curled her stubby fingers around the quill, looking amazed and dazed like her wildest dreams had come true.
"Thank you," she said shyly.
"It's my pleasure," Tom said in his infuriatingly smooth and rich proper English, not at all the harsher Cockney Harry was used to at the orphanage. Giles practically swooned, leaning forward a little bit as she smiled dreamily.
Harry wanted to gag.
"Peters, you alright?" said the other Ravenclaw, catching his eye.
"Yes," he said, blinking twice and motioning for her to continue. She did, but not before frowning at him. He ignored the sight of Avery's slightly upturned lips, his "public smirk", so to speak.
Harry inwardly sulked harder.
Sneaking furtive glances at them, Giles acted like she knew Tom personally. She was doing the sorts of things Tom hated: touching his parchment, running her fingers along the side of his desk, leaning in and brushing her hair past her ears.
And Tom was letting her. Never him, but Giles, who he'd known for so little time and—
Harry looked away, unable to handle the clenching in his gut. He knew that Tom was putting on a show, but still. He couldn't get those charming half-smiles and lazy lidded smirks out of his head.
After class was dismissed, Harry watched with slow, simmering anger as Tom smiled broadly at Giles, his teeth straight and pearly white. Giles nodded enthusiastically, gazing at Tom with widened eyes and slightly parted lips.
"Let's go to DADA," he muttered to Tom, pulling him aside.
"Wait for Marya," Tom said simply. When Giles sped up and flanked Tom, he said, "We've all got Defense together, I just realized."
Harry resisted the urge to scowl.
In Defense, Harry and Tom found their usual seats, but as the seats weren't assigned, Giles didn't walk to the other side of the room like Harry had hoped and instead chose the seat next to Tom. He ground his teeth together.
Professor Merrythought peered sharply at the class. "Today, we will begin a new unit on dark creatures, starting with kappas."
She briskly proceeded to the lesson, and the words floated in through one ear and right out the other. Guess I'm asking Tom for his notes later. Harry yawned.
He tuned back in when he heard his name called. "—Harry Peters, Marya Giles."
"What's happening?" he asked Tom. But Tom had already turned away, picking up his bag and notes.
"Hi!" chirped Marya Giles. To his dismay, she slipped into Tom's seat and dropped her bag onto the floor. Thunk. His eyes twitched.
"What are we doing?"
She frowned. "We're partners for this project. Weren't you listening?"
He stared moodily at her cherry-red painted nails that tugged at strands of her hair. "No," he said flatly.
She sniffed the air in disdain. "Well, we're supposed to create a presentation about hinkypunks."
"How long do we have?"
"A week."
Merlin. I don't know if I can survive a week working with you.
"I'll make the presentation if you do all the research," Harry offered generously.
She frowned harder, tugging at her lip with her teeth. Her tooth gap was immensely distracting. "No, we'll write it together. It's supposed to be a group project, you know."
His jaw ached as his teeth slid over each other. "Yes. I know."
"Let's get started then," she declared. "It's on page three-hundred and ten..."
And so, the rest of class passed in such a dreadfully awful manner that Harry could hardly resist the urge to throttle her. She doesn't have a single bone in her body that isn't snooty, he decided.
"Do you want to meet later at six to work on it again?"
No. "Sure."
Harry couldn't leave the classroom fast enough, packing up his materials and picking up his bag with great haste. To his immense disappointment, Giles was chatting with Tom outside the doorway when he exited.
Tom stood up straight from where he had been leaning on the wall. "We were waiting for you," he said. Giles nodded vigorously in agreement. Harry grimaced slightly, his neck hurting at the sight of her head bobbing up and down like a clucking chicken.
There's no escape, he despaired. Not only did she dare walk with them to Defense, but now lunch? Preposterous behavior.
The walk was just as awkward and painful as Harry envisioned it would be, third-wheeling all the time and doing his best to keep up with Tom and Giles' rapid steps. His ears burned, and he felt so humiliated.
At least Giles knew well enough not to sit with them at lunch. At the Slytherin table, Harry cut into his baked potato with a little more relish than he probably should have. Oops, he thought vindictively as Tom tightened his grip on his fork.
"Giles is ... something," Harry said, speaking between slow bites.
Tom dipped his head slightly. "I agree."
A terrible sort of roaring beast abruptly tore at him, and Harry barely suppressed a curse-filled rant about Giles from escaping his lips. No other words were spoken about Giles for the rest of lunch.
That afternoon at six when he had to meet with Giles in the library, he was seething inwardly. Fuck Merrythought and her stupid partner presentations—
He blinked as Giles sat down and placed a giant textbook on their table. It was at least two thousand pages long. From the battered cover, it must not have been used for centuries, maybe even a millenia.
"You want us to use ... this."
"I know, isn't it great? It has one hundred pages of notes purely on hinkypunks!"
Harry put his head in his hands. I can't take it anymore.
She poked him impatiently, four stinging sensations cutting into his forearm. Her curved nails hurt like a motherfucker, and he pulled back, flinching heavily. He glared at her.
Giles faltered, dropping the offending hand into her lap. "I—You alright?"
"Yes," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Don't do that again."
"I'm sorry."
And with that having been said, she flipped open the book, dust clouds rising into the air. Harry sneezed, and his eyes watered. He peered at the textbook, considering his options. At last, he took out his textbook.
"I'll start the introduction," Harry said, staring at the opened pages with a sort of finality.
"Sounds good to me," she said.
For a while, it was blissfully quiet, both exchanging only murmurs when speech was necessary. But of course, it couldn't stay that way.
"Do you always sit with Tom in Defense?" she said hesitantly.
Harry was barely able to suppress his twitch at the sound of her voice. Inwardly, he scowled. Shut up. "I always sit with him whenever possible," he drawled in a bored tone.
"He must be quite nice to have as a partner."
"The best of the best, I assure you."
"You talk about him like you've known him for a very long time," she said, tilting her head.
"We've grown up together, and my earliest memory is of us as toddlers playing."
"Wow, that's amazing. I wish I had friends like that at Hogwarts. What's he like outside of school?" she asked, sounding wistful.
Harry considered his options. He could ruin Giles' idealized view of Tom by telling her about Billy's rabbit or the cave incident or Medusa, but then Tom would get angry at him. Or, Harry could tell some small lies and keep her in the dark about Tom's true nature.
"He's quite passionate," he said, flipping a page.
"Why, by the way he acts with the teachers, I didn't think it could be possible to be any more passionate than that!" she exclaimed.
If Harry didn't hate her, he thought he might have pitied her.
He let out a soft scoff under his breath. Giles, of course, didn't notice it. "He, ah, lets loose when not bound by the social constructs required by civilized society."
Giles let out a small giggle. "I think I would quite like to see that."
Harry smiled lazily while a storm raged inside him, constricting his innards and squeezing his heart. "It's always quite the treat to experience those few and far between events."
They returned to their respective duties, and after another thirty minutes, they had finished their introduction, not that it was much in the grand scheme of things. They still had an additional five minutes of speaking left to cover in their presentation.
That night, curled up in Tom's arms, Harry seethed, "I fucking hate that bitch." He drew the covers closer around himself. Tom chuckled, hand crawling to reach his shoulder blades. He sulked as Tom stroked his back patronizingly.
"Half of our yearmates do too," replied Tom.
Harry rolled away and mushed his face into a pillow. "Then why do you tolerate her?" His voice was slightly muffled.
"It's common knowledge that her father is the head of the Ministry Archives Department."
He flung himself off the pillow, lightly smacking Tom's bony elbow in the process. "Ouch!" he yelped, grumbling, "You and your bony joints."
Tom elbowed him, aiming for his chest. Harry rolled away at the last second, squinting at Tom. "Stop that, would you?"
Tom snorted. "Stop bitching about Giles, would you?"
"I don't get it," Harry frowned. "You can access the archives yourself. It's well known for being available to the public."
"Not all the records are publicly available, you dolt. I've already checked all of the public ones."
Harry groaned. "Okay, fine. But there's no reason for you to let her treat you like she does, when she acts like that." He gestured aimlessly, waving his hand around in small circles.
"I do what I must."
"The more you let her get attached, the greater the fuss she'll make when you break things off."
"Don't remind me," Tom said tiredly.
"Well, good night to you too. I'm exhausted."
The following week, Professor Yates assigned them another project.
Once all the students had found their assigned seats, he clapped his hands to signal the start of class. Placing his wand down on his desk, he said, "Now, class, today we will discuss the International Statute of Secrecy. The Statute is a law that hid wizardkind from the muggles. It dictated that each Ministry or Council was responsible for hiding the presence of magic in their community."
The noise of twenty-three quills scribbling harshly against parchment was scratchy to Harry's ears.
As Professor Yates fell into a familiar measured tone, Harry let his minder wander.
"—and as such, the Ministry Delegation attempted to negotiate with the Muggle Monarchs William III and Mary II—"
Harry dipped his quill into the ink again.
"—Wizengamot debated for three long years, and the law was passed in 1692—"
Harry suppressed a yawn and stole a glance at the clock. Five minutes remaining.
Professor Yates clapped his hands together. The stark noise jolted the class out of their trances. Harry felt his back straighten.
"Your homework assignment for next Monday is to argue the effectiveness of the International Statute of Secrecy in the 20th century. I expect well-researched essays, as I am giving you three extra days and a partner," the professor said, eyes fixed on Harry.
Harry wanted to cower at the strange gleam he found in them. It was strange. He had never seen Professor Yates so interested before.
"Tom Riddle and Marya Giles, Harry Peters and Alyssa Davies..."
Harry inwardly scowled at the mention of Giles, but plastered a fake smile as he introduced himself to Davies and set a time and date for a study meeting. As they made small talk, the bell rang, interrupting his train of thought. He said his goodbyes, packed his bag, and left, waiting for Tom and Giles just outside of the entrance as the hallways began to swell with students.
As Tom walked out of the door, Giles hanging onto his arm with those goddamn cherry-red nails, Harry bit his lip, wanting to yell at her, get your filthy hands off of him! But he refrained, and said lightly, "Professor Yates was staring a bit weirdly at me, you think?" He hiked his bag up his shoulder to avoid digging his nails into his palms as he walked with them.
I swear that one of these days, I'll make good on my threat to throttle her.
"No. I think he took too much Pepperup Potion. Did you see the size of his pupils?" Tom joked.
"You shouldn't say things like that about the professor, really!" Giles insisted.
More like today.
Harry laughed instead. "Professor Yates is the least likely to abuse over-the-counter potions of everyone," he said, ignoring Giles.
Tom dropped Giles off at her class, winking while saying, "Bye, Marya. See you tomorrow."
Seeing Harry's annoyed expression, Tom said, "Well, we didn't think Mrs. Cole was a raging alcoholic until she showed up black-out drunk to Mass that one time when we were seven. Suddenly, it explained a lot of things."
Harry had to give it to Tom, the guy was right. "I suppose so," he conceded with a small shrug.
Tom held back a smirk.
The rest of October passed in this fashion with Marya Giles sending googly-eyed stares at Tom and Tom winking back. It was insufferable, intolerable, unbearable, unendurable, and most of all, dastardly dreadful.
But then on October 31st, Harry couldn't think about much at all, except for Grindelwald.
The Daily Prophet screamed,
"GRINDELWALD ORCHESTRATES MASS BREAKOUT OF AZKABAN!
October 31, 1940 is a date that will live on in infamy! On the eleventh anniversary of the Potters' deaths, Grindelwald broke out his incarcerated allies and high-ranking soldiers. Escapees include Sirius Black, murderer of hundreds and betrayer of the Potters, rumored to be one of Grindelwald's feared lieutenants, and Johann Krafft, the protege of Vinda Rosier who is widely thought to be Grindelwald's anonymous lieutenant."
That's what Grindelwald was waiting for, Harry realized, and he shivered. He needs his best men for the invasion.
Of course Grindelwald would have waited to collect his feared ranks before attempting to raze Magical Britain with the fury of a scorned man. Not only were his most-feared lieutenants ready to attack once more, the breakout caused already-low morale to plummet further.
Sirius Black was a homegrown terrorist of the worst kind. Once the unorthodox rising star in the Auror department, he turned traitor and sold out his best friends and their young toddler son to Grindelwald for a measly promotion. The mere mention of Sirius Black was enough to strike fear into people's hearts.
The question was not if Grindelwald would invade mainland Britain; it was of when. The devastation would be worse than anything Magical Britain had experienced; worse than the 1929 Auror Massacre, worse than the Great Fire of London in 1666, worse than the Great Persecution in the 17th century.
As fears grew, anti-Fawley sentiment grew. The remaining Wizengamot members blamed Minister Fawley for the Azkaban breakout, as well as the mounting casualties on the Western Front. Calls for another vote of confidence of Minister Fawley rose to the forefront amidst other demands for his resignation.
A vote of confidence was scheduled for Minister Fawley on November 21st.
The Daily Prophet reported, "VOTE OF NO CONFIDENCE FAILS 79 TO 81; MINISTER FAWLEY RESIGNS, SENIOR UNDERSECRETARY SPENCER-MOON BECOMES NEW MINISTER OF MAGIC!"
Amidst the chaos, Hogwarts could not remain unaffected by it all. Students broke down sobbing in the Great Hall during meals when Ministry owls delivered killed in action letters. Talks of emigration to America increased from muttered whispers to loud shouts and frenzied prayers.
Newspapers reported prices for food, water, and other essential items had skyrocketed on the blackmarket as witches and wizards were panic buying everything they could, ignoring the rationing laws for such items. No wonder the kitchens reduced the frequency at which they served many meat dishes and focused on grain and vegetable based dishes instead. Neither sugary desserts nor bacon were spotted since last year. Instead of the perfect white loafs they were used to, they were served with wholemeal bread. Many pureblood students complained of its low-quality, deriding it as "mushy, grey, and a cause of digestive issues."
Privately, Harry and Tom scoffed to each other that these spoilt children had no idea what was bad food. Hogwarts's wholemeal bread could never compare to what they ate at the orphanage for the first eleven years of life. Meat remained a daily occurrence at Hogwarts, if a bit sparser, while meat for the children was restricted to holidays at the orphanage. Harry and Tom had never tasted butter until they entered Hogwarts; they were only allowed one thin spread of margarine on toast.
Poverty was the bitter aftertaste in their weakly sweetened tea that never went away, the blandness of cabbage soup, the horrid taste of the water they drank. Poverty was the never-ending taste of potatoes, cabbage soup, and rotting vegetables. Poverty was the gamey aftertaste of sludgy beef dripping that never faded from their tongues.
Poverty was their eyes lighting up and mouths watering when they received an egg for breakfast once a week.
Poverty was stuffing themselves sick from the newfound abundance in food during their first feast at Hogwarts.
Poverty was continuing to get sick even though they decreased the amount they ate in the following days.
Harry wanted to rant and rage at the purebloods' naivety that was afforded to them by the privileged circumstances of their upbringings. But the school year continued onward, and Harry did too.