January 1941
Having come to a mutual but grudging understanding about Marya Giles, life continued through January with the beginning of second term. Harry and Tom settled into the new status quo, and Magical Britain did much the same as she accustomed herself to Grindelwald's nightly attacks.
Now, though, Grindelwald had switched his raids to focus on industrial targets vital to the war: factories, strategic infrastructure, ports, and shipping centers, rather than his previous tactic of assassinating public figures.
However, the Dark Lord's strongest assaults focused on cutting off Magical Britain's food supply lines. Britain depended on imported food for her survival, importing most of it from her allies and neutral countries, especially the United States, Australia, and New Zealand.
On January 2nd, the Daily Prophet screamed, "BRITISH AIR FORCE FORCES ACOLYTE RETREAT AT PORTKEY CENTERS! Last night, the Air Force bravely repelled Grindelwald's Acolytes from reaching the main portkey center, where most of Britain's imports pass through."
The portkey centers were the beating heart of the magical populace, as these large industrial facilities were how imports and exports traveled across the border. Instead of using cargo ships or trains like Muggles did, Magicals used extension charms on their containers with goods and then signed up for a Ministry portkey to then transport their goods at a determined time and date, arriving at a portkey center. At these warehouses, the goods were deposited and then processed, only then able to be distributed to British wholesalers.
If Grindelwald had managed to take control of the portkey centers, it would have been catastrophic. Without steady supply lines, British cities would starve. 18% of the British wizarding population lived in London alone, coming out to a population of 430,000 of the total 2.3 million. Had Grindelwald destroyed these facilities and starved the population for long enough, he might have been able to negotiate peace with Britain.
And wasn't that a scary thought?
Meanwhile at Hogwarts, the pace of the academics picked up ruthlessly, leaving Harry with a rigid schedule that left little free time, leaving him the difficult task of prioritizing his extracurricular interests. Hard as the decision was, he put his renewed interest in exploring the castle firmly in first place—Tom had gotten him The Legends of Hogwarts, fourth edition from Alphard for Christmas. The volume explained the many wonderful secrecies and quirks of Hogwarts, and Harry found his attention captured by the legend of the Room of Requirement, a rumored seventh floor room that could only "be discovered by someone in need."
He scoured the entire floor in search of the room, but with failed attempt after failed attempt, the elusive room refused to even give him a hint of its existence. Nothing stood out to him, not the Headmaster's Office, not the Professor Griffith's Office, not the Arithmancy classroom, not the horrid tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.
Now, three weeks later, he was about to give up hope on cracking the mystery, especially since Filch's cat was shrieking from behind him. Running faster, Harry cursed his stupidity at forgetting to muffle his footsteps—the cloak could protect him from unwelcome eyes, but not his own carelessness. And he was too busy to cast any spell at the moment.
Running past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, Harry breathed an internal sigh of relief as Filch's cackles faded a bit. But as he turned the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks as Pringle appeared from the stairwell, his hand gripping a broom like it was a cane.
Harry stifled his groan, perspiration coating his palms. How could he have forgotten? Pringle and Filch always switched patrols at this exact time, and he was unlucky enough to get caught up in it. He was fucked. Utterly fucked. Being sandwiched between the two caretakers that were well-known for their affinity for corporal punishment, Harry reversed his direction.
Better to be caught by Filch than Pringle.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner," Filch crooned to Mrs. Norris. "The naughty student has to be here somewhere, probably hiding." He scratched her ears and stood up.
Harry gulped silently. If he cast the muffling charm now, the light of the spell would give him away.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Filch crooned, the cat several paces ahead of him and staring at Harry's eyes, as if it could see through his cloak. His skin crawled.
Harry changed his direction yet again, running through the corridor. Please don't let them catch me. It wasn't that he didn't fear the punishment of getting caught, rather, he feared getting caught with an invisibility cloak. If he wasn't wearing his cloak, he wouldn't have cared—that was an amateur but excusable mistake for a Slytherin. But with an invisibility cloak, not only would he lose his most cherished item (invisibility cloaks were explicitly banned at Hogwarts), the incident would also spread like wildfire.
If exposed, they had no way of explaining how they, dirt-poor orphans, could have been able to legally obtain an invisibility cloak, which usually fetched at least ten thousand Galleons. Because of this inconceivability, Harry and Tom were able to get away with much more than they should have, lacking the intense scrutiny the Slytherins placed on others with the financial means to obtain such an item. Namely, casual after-curfew explorations would become virtually impossible to carry out.
Worse, the Slytherins would assume they'd stolen the cloak from one of them, which was incorrect, but Dumbledore surely would learn that Harry had stolen the cloak.
Nothing boded well for his future prospects.
Fuck, I just need somewhere to hide. Fuck! I can't let them find me with an invisibility cloak! I need somewhere to hide! he thought.
As if out of a film, a huge, highly polished door appeared in the wall. No time to bask in his discovery of the room, he reached out, seized the brass handle, opened the door, and rushed into the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
He pushed his back against the door, prepping his body against the door for the inevitable opening of the door. His heart rapidly beat in his chest. He willed his body to calm down, scared the thump-thump-thump of his heart would give him away. But the pounding on the door never came. Outside, he could hear the cries of Filch and Pringle as they realized he was gone, but he heard no banging. If anything, the shouted curses became fainter.
He peeled himself off the door and took the sight before him in.
He was in a place the size of a cathedral with the appearance of a city, its towering walls built of objects hidden by thousands of long-gone students.
The room was cluttered to the high heavens. Desks and cabinets teetered precariously on top of one another, forming mile high structures. When he opened a cabinet, he found that it was stuffed to the brim with junk. Stacks and stacks of books compiled atop one another reached to the ceiling. Stools and chairs were pushed into one corner, stacked messily. He guessed that if he pulled a chair out, all the chairs would come crashing down. Trunks were scattered throughout the room, posing a large tripping hazard. Everywhere he looked was a mess.
Gilded owl cages, battered textbooks, cauldrons of all materials: gold, silver, pewter, brass, copper, a Snitch, beater bats, school broomsticks, expired foods, broken wands, piles of unused and used quills, half-empty ink bottles, illegal books, unopened joke items, scuffed gobstones, potions of various colors and consistencies, half-melted candles, dirtied runestones, unfinished homework assignments dating back months, years, decades, mostly-unused packets of parchment, intricate masks, eccentric baubles, bent chocolate frog cards, empty and filled schoolbags, small and large globes, ornate magnifying glasses, tiny cigarette packs, ripped and pristine robes, a granite mortar and pestle, and even a chipped lavatory seat.
Staring at the littered room, Harry smiled to himself. One man's trash becomes my treasure.
Harry spent the next couple of hours cataloging the sections of the room, the supplies needed graciously provided by the room itself.
Satisfied that he had mostly mapped out the room, he returned to his dormitory under his invisibility cloak. He couldn't wait to tell Tom about the wonderful discovery.
Once inside, he padded to Tom's bunk and lightly tapped Tom's sleeping figure on his shoulder.
"I found it!" Harry breathed, cheeks pink from exertion.
Tom groaned, cracking an eye open to squint at Harry. "What?" Tom cleared his throat.
"I found the Room of Requirement!" Harry said impatiently, waving his hands in the air.
Tom pulled the covers closer to himself. "But do you know how to get back to it?" He asked skeptically.
Harry pursed his lips. "Yes. I just have to repeat what I did earlier: run back and forth by the ugly tapestry on the seventh floor."
"Show me tomorrow because I'm too exhausted for this right now. This better not be a waste of time."
"It isn't," Harry promised.
The next day, once curfew was in place, Harry led Tom to the tapestry and repeated his actions of running back and forth. The door never appeared.
Tom muttered, "And you said this wouldn't be a waste of time."
Harry scowled. "Give me a minute."
Tom's nostrils flared, but he didn't comment.
Just then, Harry remembered that he thought very hard about finding a place to hide. "Oh, I've got it!" He exclaimed. "You have to wish for a place to hide while running back and forth."
Then Harry ran back and forth, thinking about how he wanted to find a place that had hidden objects. Right on cue, as he finished his third run across, the same large door appeared.
"Watch," he grinned. He entered the room and waited a couple seconds before coming back out.
Tom raised his eyebrows. "The door disappeared as soon as you went in."
"Useful," Harry mused. "Otherwise I would have been caught by Filch and Pringle."
"Awfully lucky of you to find the Room of Requirement when you needed it most, without any backup plans."
Harry gave a cheeky smile in return. "That's why it's called the Room of Requirement."
Tom sighed.
"Come in, I've started to catalogue this place," Harry said. "Amidst the piles of junk, there's bound to be some golden finds. I've already spotted some valuable finds."
Tom and Harry spent the next three weeks capitalizing off of their gains from the Room of Requirement. Although categorizing the vast resources was a highly tedious process, it was also highly fruitful.
Most things they needed or wanted could be found in the room. Unfortunately, they were limited by their economic background from taking what they really craved—the extravagant things. It would bring them too much scrutiny from their classmates and the staff members, especially Dumbledore. Harry mused, the bastard would probably get us arrested for stealing.
Through their systemic searches, they quickly learned the value of caution. Early on, one careless move at the top of the drawer stack sent Harry toppling backwards, and if Tom hadn't immediately cast the slowing charm, he would have cracked his head open. Another time, Tom accidentally knocked over the pile of chairs, which would have broken his bones if Harry didn't spell the feather-light charm on the chairs in time.
The next best thing they could gather and flaunt were the less flashy things. Quills, parchment, and ink bottles were added to their rapidly-growing collection. They found a gently used pair of dragon hide gloves that fit Tom's large hands, as well as a set of tarnished silver scales and a fancy brass telescope.
The robes Harry ransacked from the closets, drawers, and trunks were from Madam Malkin's, and he relished the thought that he'd never have to wear such poor, obviously-thrifted robes again.
With many painstaking sweeps of the room, they found two pairs of dress robes that would fit them both snugly, provided that Harry didn't grow taller and Tom did.
Harry's dress robes were styled off a dark grey pinstripe tuxedo from the early '30s: the buttons hung just above his navel, cinching in his waist and creating a flared outline, the shoulders were tailored wide, the chest featured some drape to accentuate his V-shape, and the front quarters were rounded.
Tom's dress robes were quite traditional, opposite to Harry's robes. It was an elegant white button down with slightly puffed chiffon sleeves and sharp black trousers. The outer robes were thinner and softer than the school uniform robes, made of cashmere instead of heavy cotton.
With the remaining items, they singled out what they could sell for a tidy profit and put them aside. The issue was now finding a container that could hold everything.
However, they grew frustrated as they couldn't seem to empty out the contents of a black polished leather trunk. By the time they had pulled out a monstrously-large quidditch helmet, Tom realized they'd been dealing with an extension charm.
This wonder of a trunk solved all of their problems. No longer did they have to have to stuff multiple trunks full of junk, they could carefully catalog the areas of the trunk and stuff multiple trunks worth of stuff into one expandable trunk. They'd be able to sell all the items this summer at Diagon and Knockturn Alley.
Even better, there were many junk items that would fetch a high price in the muggle world. Tarnished pins common in the Wizarding World would sell at flea markets as priceless antiques. The mortar and pestles would sell for handsome prices as well. So would the mundane baubles.
They took things for themselves, too. An ancient-looking set of Wizard's Chess with chipped pieces, the rare chocolate frog card collectibles, including Merlin, Morgan le Fay, Alberta Toothill, and Salazar Slytherin's cards, two expensive pocket watches, one gilded in gold and the other silver, and a deck of Exploding Snap.
And the books. Piles upon piles upon piles of books. There were old and battered textbooks, polished covers on dark magic, great volumes of literature, and unassuming biographies of famous wizards and witches. The Room seemed to have books from every genre, but it unfortunately lacked genealogy records.
However, the strangest thing they found took two weeks of intense searching to find.
It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. Harry marveled that they hadn't found it earlier, as it didn't look like it belonged there, even in the cluttered mess of trinkets in the Room of Requirement.
Harry stepped in front of the mirror, and froze in place. The mirror was reflecting Tom and him. Surely Tom couldn't have followed him that quickly. He spun around and saw that he was the only one in front of the mirror.
What was going on?
Harry stepped closer, entranced by the reflection. Mirror Tom was so tall, dark and handsome, so much so that it took his breath away. Stepping closer again, Harry traced the chiseled features that crinkled into a genuine expression of happiness. His right arm was slung around Mirror Harry's shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug.
Mirror Harry looked back at him, all dark curls and startling green eyes under his glasses, smiling back contentedly at Tom. His eyes flickered to Harry's own as both leaned in.
He was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.
"Tom?" he whispered.
He stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall through it and reach them.
A powerful kind of ache spread inside him, half joy, half immense yearning—the kind of yearning that made his fingertips tingle uncomfortably while the mirror images leaned on each other.
"What are you doing?" A sharp voice cut through his muddled mind. "Have you been staring at a mirror this whole time?"
Harry blinked, his hands falling hastily to his sides.
"Come here," Harry urged, pointing to the mirror. "Look, I see us."
Harry stepped aside, eager for Tom to see the magnificence. But as soon as Tom stepped in front, he couldn't see the mirror images anymore, just Tom standing in front of the mirror.
Tom though, was gazing intently at the mirror, scrutinizing every inch of the mirror.
"Do you see it?"
Tom frowned. "No... I see myself as Head Boy. We're sitting in the common room, and I'm the King. I've banished Avery to the far corner."
Harry asked tentatively, "Do you think this mirror shows the future?"
"No." Tom pointed to the lettering above the mirror. "Read it backwards."
Harry did as he was told. The engraved lettering read, I show not your face but your heart's desire.
Harry said slowly, "It shows us what we want... whatever we want."
"Indeed. It's up to us to make our fantasies into reality."
The next time they returned to the Room, they couldn't find the mirror, no matter how hard they tried.
But all in all, Harry and Tom were quite pleased by the discovery of the Room of Requirement.
----- ----- -----
February 14, 1941
As Harry and Tom continued spending their nights in the Room of Requirement, they became so busy they barely noticed when the Board of Governors's newest announcement that a Hogsmeade weekend would be held in mid-February. Because Grindelwald shifted his raids away from civilian targets, the Board had deemed the visit "safe enough", but Harry thought it had to do mostly with raising morale, especially because it was the Valentine's Day weekend.
At breakfast, Harry pushed around his cereal with his spoon, watching the milk slosh back and forth. Tom's foot nudged his calf from under the table. Harry internally rolled his eyes but stopped playing with his food. Lifting up his spoon, he reflected that corn flakes had never tasted so bland in his life.
There was only one reason why Harry would be so morose: Marya Giles. Tom was going to ask her out at lunch. Harry found that he couldn't pay attention in his morning classes, too anxiety-ridden and twitchy to do little more than snap at those who approached him. He ignored Tom pointedly, walking alone and seething inwardly as Tom accompanied Giles between classes.
When lunch rolled around, Harry sat down at his spot at the Slytherin table, feeling the pangs of awful stinging hatred bite at his stomach. Tom, the asshole, was sitting with Giles. At least Harry could take vindictive pleasure in that Tom was surrounded by Giles' gaggle of equally insufferable friends.
He halfheartedly stirred his tomato soup, watching the steam dissipate into the air. It wasn't the same when Tom wasn't there to chastise him. He sighed internally and began eating, albeit slowly.
After all, watching Tom and Giles was more important than eating. Seeing them together was an ugly reminder that they were together everywhere nowadays. Tom and Giles working together on homework, Tom and Giles strolling along the Great Lake, Tom sitting with Giles at the Ravenclaw table, it was simply intolerable!
(Harry buried every twist and turn beneath the brunt of his anger. He wasn't lonely.
He wasn't.)
Harry pinned his eyes on him as Tom pushed his plate aside and cleared his throat.
"Will you go with me to Madam Puddifoot's tomorrow?" Tom asked gently, one hand caressing Giles' hand with his thumb, the other on her lap.
Harry gnashed his teeth together, watching as the rest of Giles' friends swooned over Tom's display.
Giles squealed and grabbed Tom, squeezing him none too gently. He saw Tom's eyes flash in irritation before he masked it, and Harry took a greedy sip of water to hide his smirk. With Giles' face and hair smothering his face, Harry couldn't blame Tom for cracking.
The following day, as Tom accompanied Giles that afternoon to the tea shop, Harry found a hidden spot and threw on the cloak. He hurried after Tom and Giles, narrowing his eyes as they entered the eyesore called Madam Puddifoot's, finally settling in an adjacent alley.
Through the small window, Harry saw that the inside of the cafe was somehow worse than the overly-decorated exterior. The interior was atrociously pink, cramped and steamy, decorated to an excess of frills and bows. Small golden cherubs hovered over each of the small, circular tables, occasionally throwing pink confetti over the occupants.
Revolting. How does Tom stand it?
His mood soured as he saw Tom sitting at one of the tables, sipping elegantly at his coffee while Giles, dressed in an atrocious set of hot pink robes, slurped at hers, giggling when it stained Tom's right sleeve. Tom's expression didn't budge an inch, but he saw Tom's eyes darken momentarily. It made something in Harry warm vindictively.
Good, he's proper pissed at her now. Harry grinned savagely from under the cloak, as Giles, oblivious to Tom's change in mood, continued giggling and pawing at Tom's hand.
When she leaned in to kiss, Harry averted his eyes and gagged. But from the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw Tom lean in.
Hot swirls of something raged through him, setting his body aflame. It felt like an inferno, a tsunami, a hurricane blowing through cities and leaving behind nothing but rubble and dust. It felt like every drop of blood had suddenly set aflame, like every pore was spewing lava. It felt like—
(Cold and betrayal and why her why her whyher—)
He didn't know.
He stormed away, rage and confusion and anxiety overwhelming him. His stomach twisted into complicated knots. What was this feeling? But the funniness in his stomach only festered as he turned his back to the scene.
Harry didn't know how much time had passed, but upon hearing the door creak open, he whipped his head back and saw Tom and Giles exiting, arms linked together.
"Fit rubetam," Harry whispered. A muted green spell shot from his wand, and he quickly moved to a better vantage point to inspect the damage.
A great transformation overcame Giles, her skin growing bumps and lumps at first, then her skin tone changed to a greenish-brown. She shrieked, covered her face with her wart-ridden hands. Everyone turned to stare at her, and the whispers rose in volume like a roaring wave.
Her skin was that of a toad's.
"TOM!"
Harry could have swore Tom looked directly into his eyes and smiled before putting on a face of the utmost concern for Giles.
"Marya, what's wrong?" Tom asked, crouching down to her level as she pressed her face into his shoulder. She sniffled, refusing to release her hands, and shook her head rapidly.
"Someone did this to me!" she shrieked, pointing wildly in the direction that Harry was previously standing, body shaking. Tears trailed down her cheeks, and she wiped at them futilely. Harry smiled darkly.
"I'll find them," Tom promised, the face of pure solemnity as he stroked her back while she hiccuped. Tom slightly grimaced as the snot trailed down her face and began staining Tom's robes.
Conflicting emotions tore at Harry: he felt satisfied, vindicated, yet also strange in a way he couldn't describe with words as Tom continued to soothe her and pat her back and murmur things into her ear.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Yates approach. "Disperse, everyone!" he called. The crowd scattered, people walking away and chatting among themselves as they hurried away from the scene. Harry did too, but not before seeing Professor Yates gently escort the both of them away.
When Harry reached the dormitory, he relaxed into his chair and tapped his wand against his desk, waiting for Tom to enter. After some time, Tom entered, pushing the hair out of his face.
As soon as he shut the door, Harry cast a muffling charm and stood up, grasping his wand. But before he could start his angry tirade, Tom curved his lip upwards.
"I found the person that used the toad-skin charm."
You sure fucking did.
Harry stiffened, opening his mouth to shoot a fiery retort. But before he could, Tom broke into laughter, his eyes crinkling. Harry shut his mouth, stunned, dropping his wand onto his desk.
"Thank you for that," Tom said, covering his mouth but unable to contain his contagious mirth.
Slowly, Harry felt his own smile spread. "You're welcome."
Tom wiped his eyes, unable to prevent himself from snorting. Harry began hiccuping, and Tom coughed, as if in response. Harry stared wide-eyed at Tom and cracked another gleeful smirk. Their glee bounced around their four walls as they laughed uproariously.