"Over here, Elias!"
Harry slipped into the open seat next to Cygnus Black at the Slytherin table. Cygnus was wearing a gleaming prefect badge pinned to his school robes now. A prefect? Playing by the rules for now, are you Cygnus? Cygnus noticed Harry's glance and smiled.
"Yes, I'm a prefect, Elias, and so is Druella. Gives us the right to dock points from the Gryffindors. Just let us know if any of them annoy you, will you? Or you can tell Abraxas or Araminta - they are the seventh year prefects for Slytherin."
Not bad, Malfoy - Quidditch captain and prefect! Harry gazed at the blond Slytherin for a moment. Somehow, it felt wrong to think of him as "Malfoy"; that appellation belonged, in Harry's mind, to a far more unpleasant specimen of the Malfoy clan. Abraxas. This one is just Abraxas.
"Are Abraxas and Araminta Head Boy and Head Girl, then?"
Cygnus' dark eyes glittered. "You would think so, wouldn't you? But I'm afraid not, Elias. The senile old Professor Dippet has a bizarre prejudice against Slytherins. Tom Riddle was Head Boy when he was a student, that goes without saying, but otherwise, Dippet always manages to find someone from another house to be Head Boy or Head Girl. Obviously, Abraxas would have made a great Head Boy, and the younger students are so smitten with Araminta's beauty, they'd obey her if she asked them to use the Cruciatus curse on themselves."
Harry glanced at Araminta and shuddered when her sapphire gaze met his. Sounds like the sort of thing she would have the younger students do, too.
"The idiot headmaster picked the appalling Enid Spore from Gryffindor to be Head Girl." Cygnus indicated a plain, but pleasant-looking girl at the Gryffindor table. "Algie Longbottom's girlfriend." He grimaced.
"Algie's the round-faced one," added Orion helpfully. "Really into toads, for some reason. He just can't stop talking about them."
Harry grinned. This must be the barmy uncle Neville talked about, the one who gave him Trevor.
"And the Head Boy is the insufferable Oswald Fudge from Ravenclaw. The obsequious little tadpole flattered and fawned over the headmaster until the old moron made him Head Boy. " Cygnus pointed out a rather pompous boy with straw-colored hair who was pontificating at the Ravenclaw table. The other Ravenclaws appeared to ignore him, for the most part, but the slender dark-haired boy next to him regarded him with a rapt expression. Wait.. Isn't that-? Harry smiled when he recognized the vampire Sanguini, who was gazing dreamily at Fudge's neck. And there's Sanguini's friend Worple, too, the worried-looking one with the glasses.
How odd it felt to sit at the Slytherin table during dinner! So this is what it looks like, the view from Slytherin... Harry was not used to seeing the Great Hall from this angle; it made everything seem strangely warped, as if reality itself had become slightly distorted. Harry secretly scanned the faces at the Gryffindor table, longing for a glimpse of someone familiar. Perhaps the red hair of a Weasley? Or a young McGonagall?
No.
He felt disappointed. It would have been nice to have some pleasant company while I'm trapped inside this delusion. I could have used a Weasley. Well, there was always Algie Longbottom. And surely the tall, grave boy next to him must be John Lupin, the seeker? His hair was darker than his future son's, but his face was quite similar. I hope I can get to know him. Somehow, I have to warn him against Fenrir Greyback. One day, you will insult a werewolf, John Lupin, and he will never forget it. One day, when you least expect it, he will come after your child.
A few other faces at the distant Gryffindor table were beginning to seem familiar as well as Harry continued to scrutinize them. Wasn't that a very young "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn? No wonder the Slytherin Quidditch team was in trouble this season! Harry's heart began to race a little at the prospect of playing Quidditch against the famous beater.
And who was that girl seated across from Llewellyn, with the freckled face and the wild brown curls? She was doing a lot of the talking at the Gryffindor table, and the others were laughing helplessly at whatever she was saying. Something about the round, mischievous face was very familiar, but Harry couldn't for the life of him think who she was.
Harry's glance wandered to the staff table. Riddle. It was impossible not to look at Riddle. How unreal this is! Voldemort is sitting at the staff table at Hogwarts, dining in the Great Hall...
Suddenly, Tom Riddle looked up, and his quicksilver gaze met Harry's. All at once, Harry had an odd sense of a great storm rushing towards him, a black and silver wind that whispered of beauty and danger and darkness.
How is it possible that no one else can feel what he is? How can they all sit here in the Great Hall and talk as if everything is normal when He Who Must Not Be Named is here among us? Only Dumbledore appears to have an inkling of the darkness that is coming.
He is staring at me. Riddle is staring at me. Do you remember me, my Dark Lord? I am the Chosen One. One day, one of us will murder the other. Can you feel it, too, the curious connection between us, the dark and ancient bond that ties our destinies together? You are turning your glance away... Do I frighten you, Lord Voldemort?
Slughorn. That's Horace Slughorn sitting next to you, in his plum-colored velvet robes, looking at you as if you were his most prized possession. What an old fool he is, completely taken in by your charm. He is talking to you now, while sipping his blood-red wine... What conversation does he have with the Dark Lord over dinner, I wonder? Is he talking of weather or horcruxes?
Harry turned to Cygnus. "Professor Riddle is very young, isn't he?" he said softly. "The headmaster told me that this is his first year teaching."
"Young? I suppose so." Cygnus shrugged. "But he is a greater wizard than all the rest of them put together. He tells us things that the rest of the teachers have never even heard about. Just wait till you see him teach. It's... mesmerizing."
"You admire him, then?"
For an instant, Cygnus' face flushed. "Admire him? Yes, of course, we all do. Except for a few of the pig-headed Gryffindors, but there's no accounting for their tastes. I think there's quite a few of us who would do anything for Professor Riddle, anything at all..."
I know you will. Including murder and torture, no doubt... Harry stared down at his dinner. He was beginning to lose his appetite.
"What about the other professors?" he asked, changing topics abruptly. "Who are they?"
"Oh, the other professors..." Cygnus' glance swept contemptuously over the teachers' table. "Naive old fools, most of them. The one with the long auburn hair is Dumbledore, the transfiguration teacher."
Harry smiled. "Yes, I know him. I met him out on the grounds earlier."
"He seems like such an oddball, Dumbledore," said Orion thoughtfully, "but he's actually a powerful wizard. He defeated the Dark Wizard Grindelwald a few months ago, which put an end to the war in Europe. You must have read about it in the papers, Elias."
"Er... yes. I read about their great duel." On a chocolate frog card.
Cygnus snorted. "A powerful wizard? I'm not so sure. There are strange rumors flying around. Perhaps that fabled duel was not quite what it seemed... For if Dumbledore and Grindelwald were indeed mortal enemies, as we are asked to believe, where do these whispers come from about Dumbledore visiting Grindelwald in Azkaban? He is said to come quite often, and to stay with the prisoner for hours. Some people say that they were once lovers..."
Harry stared at him, aghast. "But that's absurd!" he whispered. "Dumbledore and Grindelwald? Just wicked rumors, spread by petty and envious people, surely?"
"Speaking of rumors, Elias-" broke in Abraxas Malfoy cheerfully. "Rumor has it Dumbledore caught you practicing the killing curse on a spider this afternoon."
Harry flushed. "Well... Er. Yes. He did." How does he know that? Dumbledore must have told someone while I was off washing up before dinner... Oh, well. Makes me seem more like a true Slytherin, I suppose.
"Really?" Was that admiration in Cygnus' languid dark glance? "Practicing unforgivable curses, are you, Elias? You had better not let a teacher catch you next time."
"Oh, I won't." Harry looked at the other teachers at the high table. Don't worry, Cygnus. Apparently, these professors can't recognize the Dark when they see it... There was tiny Filius Flitwick, much younger now, chatting amiably with the handsome young Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. And there was Professor Binns, smiling and nodding as Tom Riddle spoke. Harry wondered for a moment why Professor Binns seemed so different. Then it hit him: Of course, he is still alive! Professor Binns had not yet become a ghost; his bland features were more solid now, and his timid form more substantial, more real... Harry sincerely hoped that this would make Professor Binns' classes more lively as well, but something told him this was rather unlikely.
And there's the one-armed wild-eyed Kettleburn... He looks a little nervous... "Who's the funny little one with the whiskers?" Harry asked, eyeing the unfamiliar professor next to Kettleburn.
"Professor Beery? He's the herbology teacher. Better watch out for him, Elias." There was a twinkle in Abraxas' eyes.
"Why? Is he that horrible?" Please tell me there is no Snape in this memory to make my life miserable.
Abraxas chuckled. "Horrible? No, he's a pleasant enough old dodger. But you'd better not let him see your emerald eyes or that interesting scar."
There was laughter around the table. Harry felt confused; he was clearly missing something.
Araminta leaned forward, her magnificent blue eyes shining. "You know, Abraxas, that's not a bad idea... Elias would be just perfect for the part. Better him than Lupin."
"What part?"
Orion grinned at him. "The part of the noble knight in Beery's dreaded Christmas pantomime, The Fountain of Fair Fortune. Professor Beery is a man obsessed, Elias, as you will find out soon enough. "
Something began to stir in Harry's memory. Hadn't he heard something once about a Christmas pantomime at Hogwarts, long ago? A pantomime that had been such a spectacular disaster that no play had ever been performed at Hogwarts again?
Druella Rosier's slightly husky voice sounded from further down the table. "You are right. He would make a perfect knight." And Eileen Price chimed in softly: "Yes, I think he would..."
...
Harry lay awake in bed, listening to the quiet breathing of the boys around him. Only Abraxas was still awake in the next bed, his white-gold hair gleaming against his pillow in the soft green light from the single lamp that flickered in the corner.
"Having a hard time sleeping, Elias?" he whispered.
"Mmm."
"I know how you feel. It's always strange, your first night in a new place, isn't it?"
Stranger than you could imagine, Abraxas.
Abraxas yawned. "But you will like it here, Elias, I'm sure you will. Tomorrow, we will play Quidditch." After a little while he added sleepily: "And if you are cast as the knight in the Christmas pantomime, you get to kiss Araminta."
Harry winced. "Thanks for the warning. I don't want to kiss Araminta. Not that she isn't beautiful, of course..."
"Of course." Even in the darkened room, Harry could see Abraxas Malfoy smiling.
"Listen, Elias," he whispered softly. "I was once told that you should count the windows and doors in your bedroom before you go to sleep in a new place. If you do, you will be certain to dream of your true love."
Harry glanced around the windowless room and laughed. "Okay," he muttered sleepily. "Door. That makes one. Good night, Abraxas."
"Good night."
As he was drifting off to sleep and his consciousness began to turn to dreams, Harry found himself half wondering if he would dream of Ginny. Ginny seemed so terribly far away all of a sudden. But that night he did not dream of anyone at all; he just dreamed of darkness and silver wind.
...
Morning. Harry could feel it before he opened his eyes. This is the early morning of a new day - but which day is it? The day that follows the one I left behind, or the dawn of a different day, years ago? Will I open my eyes to see the vivid scarlet and gold of the Gryffindor dormitory, or the emerald and silver of Slytherin? Which one do I want it to be? My own time, where I belong, with Dumbledore dead and the future of the world depending on me, or the strange dreamtime of someone's memory where Dumbledore still laughs and the Dark Lord walks among us as an ordinary man? I wonder if I can choose, as I did with the Sorting Hat?
He opened his eyes, slowly.
"Ready to play Quidditch?" Abraxas Malfoy was already up and dressed, although the pale golden curls than danced about his shoulders were still wild and mussed from sleep.
Harry smiled. "I'm ready. Just let me get dressed..." He reached for his clothes and waited for Abraxas to turn his glance away.
"Oh. Right." Abraxas turned his back, and Harry dressed quickly.
"You look like Riddle when you sleep," whispered Abraxas as they headed up the stairs together, their broomsticks over their shoulders.
"Like Riddle?" Harry felt a strange jolt in his stomach.
"He slept in that bed last year, when he was still a student, the bed that you are in now."
"Oh." Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that. "It must be strange," he said softly as they stepped into the golden haze of dawn together, "for you to call him "Professor Riddle" all of a sudden, when he was a schoolboy like you only last year..."
"Oh, I don't know..." Abraxas Malfoy shook his head. "Somehow, I think it was stranger when we had to pretend that he was one of us. He never was, you know. We all adored him, feared him a little even... But he was never just an ordinary schoolboy, like us. He was something greater, from the very beginning."
"That must have made him feel lonely..." Harry didn't know what made him say that.
Abraxas frowned a little. "Perhaps it did. I never thought of that. Oh, damn, that's Lupin, up practicing already with that crazed Llewellyn boy..." He sighed as Lupin dove through the morning air on his broom and caught the fluttering snitch in his hand. "Please tell me you are as good as that."
Harry grinned.
...
An hour later, John Lupin shook Harry's hand. A shadow of a smile flitted over his serious face for a moment. "Well played, Black," he said in a voice that was almost that of Remus. "Well played indeed! It seems that this will be an exciting Quidditch season after all. Where the hell did you learn to play like that-?"
"Oh..." Harry smiled. "Elsewhere... I look forward to facing you in a match, Lupin. You are an excellent player."
"Are you sure you are a Slytherin?" John Lupin's earnest brown eyes studied Harry's face intently for a moment.
"Enough chit-chat." Abraxas put his arm around Harry's shoulder and pulled him firmly in the direction of the school. "You bet he's a Slytherin, Lupin. And at the end of the year, the Quidditch cup will be in the Slytherin common room, where we will all drink blood-mixed wine from it to celebrate our victory. Including the fair Araminta."
Lupin turned away from them, wordlessly.
As he walked back to the school with Abraxas in the golden light of what promised to be a glorious autumn day, Harry gazed up at the ancient castle he knew so well. At least Hogwarts itself is always the same... The thought felt soothing.
Then he noticed a shadow against one of the upstairs windows, a dark silhouette against the brilliant morning light. Someone is watching us...
Something stirred in his heart, something dark and silver... Harry did not look up again; he already knew who it was.