Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Chapter 4: Reminders of the Past
After Harry saw Ginny leave with the rest of the First Years, he caught up with Hermione, who was talking with Mandy Brocklehurst. He walked over to her.
“Hey Hermione. Hi Mandy, how was your summer?”
“Pretty good. How are you doing? Still angry with Weasley?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Harry asked rhetorically. Mandy shrugged.
“Well, it’s been three months. I know you are bitter over the whole Leaving Fest thing, but…”
“But what? He made my life a living hell and then stole the House Cup from my House. His antics could have gotten me killed. I wouldn’t have made it if he’d stopped Hermione.”
“Oh, well then hating him is pretty understandable…Hi Terry!”
Terry Boot, a boy about Harry’s height with sharp blue eyes and short black hair, walked over to them. “Hello Harry, Hermione, Mandy. How were your summers?”
“Good, but we should get in a carriage,” Hermione pointed out, “they are leaving soon.”
“I’ve got one with Lisa,” Terry said. “Why don’t the six of us ride together?”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Harry said. They walked out of the station and headed for where the carriages were. Suddenly, Harry froze, his eyes widening.
“Harry? Are you okay?” Mandy asked, concerned.
“Thestrals,” he breathed. Mandy looked puzzled, while Hermione’s eyes lit up with realization.
“Harry, you can see them, can’t you. Because you saw Quirrell die.” Harry nodded dumbly, the realization that he had seen someone die a horrific death in front of his very eyes. Memories of that night in the Chamber, from the Cruciatus Curses to the Slicing Curse hitting Hermione’s chest, and then her body lying limply on the floor, her blood staining the stones, rose in his mind unbidden. He suddenly felt very cold.
Terry was confused. “Well, you certainly didn’t mention that. But what does this have to do with the carriages?”
“They pull them,” Hermione explained. “Only a few students can see them, so no one asks questions.”
“Thestrals pull the carriages? They allow creatures that are classified as Dark, are extremely difficult to domesticate, and are considered unlucky by the general wizarding world to pull the carriages? How long have you two known?”
“Since last Christmas Break,” Harry said, his eyes still not moving from the dark, red-eyed flying horses.
“What? How did you-“
“They reacted strangely to Harry, so Hagrid told us. And for second, Harry said he could see an outline.”
“I saw a flash of the thing,” Harry clarified. “Hagrid was surprised I couldn’t see them.” He turned back to them. “My mother died in front of me.”
“That’s awful,” Lisa Turpin said, emerging from the carriage. The bespectacled girl with mahogany-colored hair and light blue, almost gray eyes, stared at Harry expectantly. “Was that before you got the scar?”
Harry closed his eyes. “It was because of her that I got the scar. She sacrificed her life for me. Her magic saved me. I was just a baby, I didn’t do anything.”
“So you aren’t really powerful or anything like that?” Mandy asked. Harry shook his head, but remained silent, trying to fight down the memories of the past.
“No. He’s a skilled wizard, but he can’t take credit for stopping You-Know-Who,” Hermione said for him.
On that note, they boarded the carriages. Hermione was mystified by the strange, alien look in Harry’s eyes. He suddenly looked a hundred years older, and she couldn’t figure out why seeing the thestrals caused such a reaction.
The carriages rolled up the hill through the cold night, and Mandy and Lisa huddled in a corner, while Hermione lit some of her patented bluebell flames to warm the carriage. Harry remained distant.
As they walked through the massive front doors, a far cry from the underground entrance, Harry spotted what looked like lights out on the dark, misty surface of the lake. Obviously, it was Ginny and the other First Years making their way across the water.
Harry smiled at Hermione before they went their separate ways (it was traditional for the Welcoming Feast that students sit with their Houses), and walked over to where Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, and Elisha Moon were sitting, well away from Draco Malfoy. Speaking of whom, the pureblooded heir was eyeing him with a curious expression, as if searching for an expected sign of weakness. Harry did feel a little lightheaded. The realization that a man, no matter how evil he may have been, had died in front of him, and how close he himself had come to death, not to mention Hermione, had hit him hard.
The doors opened, and the First Years came in. Harry noticed Ginny out of the corner of his eye. Her flaming red hair was hard to miss. He looked up at her with a calculating expression, finally offering a small smile when she met his eyes. She was standing next to a curious-looking girl with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, oddly protuberant (I love that word) blue eyes, and a very vacant expression. Her wand was tucked behind her ear, and she was wearing a necklace of…butterbeer corks?
Harry turned to Zabini, who was sitting next to him. “Zabini,” he said in greeting.
“Potter,” he replied. “How are you faring today?”
“Pretty well. Cold tonight,” Harry said, trying not to think about the thestrals.
“Yeah. You look spooked though. Any reason for that?”
“You do look like you’ve seen a ghost, Potter. And I don’t mean any of the ones at the school,” Nott observed.
“Are you alright, Potter? You do look rather pale.” Greengrass asked, a hint of concern entering her normally apathetic voice. Harry never would have imagined he’d resent that his classmates cared about his welfare.
“I’m okay…have you ever heard of thestrals?” he asked the three. Daphne nodded, Zabini looked confused, and comprehension dawned in Nott’s beady brown eyes.
“You’ve seen death. Quirrell, I’m guessing. Unless somebody died in front of you this summer,” he said confidently. Harry stared at him in a mixture of amusement and admiration.
“You do amaze me sometimes, you know that? How the bloody hell did you see me at Flourish and Blotts?”
“Good eyesight,” Nott replied smartly. “Honestly, Harry, do you think I’d tell you my secret?” Harry was somewhat surprised by the enigmatic boy’s use of his first name.
The Sorting was going on as they spoke. They were currently on
“Lovegood, Luna,” who appeared to be that odd-looking girl. She was Sorted into Ravenclaw, and skipped over to the table like a girl that had just been asked out on a date or something. Very odd.
The Sorting continued, and Harry’s sight drifted over to Ginny, who was nervously staring at the table. Zabini frowned. “What are you looking at, Potter?”
“Weasley’s sister. Seems like a smart girl, actually. A bit awkward around me, but she’s not all like her brother,” Harry said, turning back to the black boy.
Zabini shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it. Too bad she’ll be lost to Gryffindor, then?”
“Really more that she’ll be poisoned against Slytherin. Me, more specifically. But it’s not a real loss.”
“You and Granger seem pretty close,” he observed.
Harry turned to stare at him, as “Morgan, Laurey” ran off to the Hufflepuff table. “What is that supposed to mean, Zabini?”
The boy shrugged. “I wasn’t implying anything, just making an observation. She’s the only one you ever talk to.”
“I’m talking to you right now,” Harry observed.
“You know what I mean…hey, it’s the Weasley girl’s turn.”
“Why bother watching?” Harry asked. “She’s a Gryffindor for sure.”
“If that’s true, she must be putting up a fierce fight with the Hat, because it’s sure taking a while for a sure-fire Gryffindor,” Nott commented.
Harry turned to watch the girl. She was sitting relatively still under the hat, and seemed to be shrugging often. Maybe she’s not as Gryffindorish as the rest of her family. Personally, I can’t believe that the Weasley Prefect is a Gryffindor.
The hat seemed to straighten, coming to a decision. “Why bother watching, Potter?” Elisha said. “She’ll obviously be in-“
“SLYTHERIN!” The Hat cried. Harry’s eyes widened.
“Well that was unexpected,” he said softly.
Ginny was wearing a look of pure horror, and Harry glanced over to see what her family’s reaction was. Fred and George were frowning, trying to force a smile onto their faces to support their sister, but failing miserably. Percy was wearing a look that could best be described as contempt. Great way to show support for your sis, git.
Of course, as Harry could have predicted, Weasley (He refused to think of the boy as Ron), was not staring at his horrified sister, who was being guided towards the Slytherin table by Professor McGonagall, but at Harry. His glare might have set Harry on fire and vaporized the ashes if such a thing were possible. He was obviously blaming the entire thing on Harry. Hermione, sitting nearby, looked like she was one nasty comment away from slapping him. As it was, Katie Bell, one of the Gryffindor Chasers, was holding her arm.
McGonagall let go of Ginny, whose arm fell weakly to hang at her side. As if in a trance, she wandered towards the only friendly face: him. Deciding that he’d spare her the embarrassment of rejection, he quickly gestured to Zabini, who scooted over so that a stool was available next to Harry.
A glance at Ginny’s face revealed that it was screwed up in an effort not to lose her composure. Her warm brown eyes glistened with tears. She lifelessly sat down next to Harry, and as the Feast began around them, she buried her head in her hands and began sobbing. Harry, recognizing that her situation was all too similar to his own, patted the distraught red head on the back.
Her reaction to this was unexpected, as she suddenly, and without warning, hurled herself into his arms, sobbing madly. Harry jerked back and stiffened in surprise, while Nott raised an eyebrow suggestively. Harry glared at him, and relaxed his body, patting the girl lightly on the back.
Malfoy saw this, snickered, and opened his mouth the say something. Harry removed his right hand from Ginny’s back and slid his robe sleeve down, revealing his wand holster. He then sent a looking of pure malice in the arrogant prat’s direction. Malfoy jerked back in alarm, and Zabini was looking at him strangely.
Harry dutifully held his unwilling Housemate as her tears soaked his robes.
When Ginny had emptied her emotional reservoir, she let go of Harry and turned dark red, her eyes widening. Harry took a bite of his food, which he had been attempting to eat with one hand, and nodded. “It’s alright, Ginny. You’ll get through this.”
She nodded, still bright red. “I’m…sorry,” she said weakly.
Harry shook his head. “Don’t be. I did the same thing,” he said quietly.
Surprisingly, Ginny smiled. “You hurled yourself at and cried all over your childhood idol?” she asked with a hint of amusement shining through her sadness.
Harry grinned. “More than once. After all, I admired Daphne more than anyone.”
Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, wiping tears away from her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know it isn’t. It’s okay, Ginny.”
She frowned, worry evident in her eyes. “No, it’s not…they hate me now…” she said sadly, referring to her family.
“No they don’t. Percy is just being stuck-up as usual, Fred and George are a bit unhappy, I think, but don’t blame you. And Ron, as usual, blames me.”
As he said this, there was a resounding SLAP from the direction of the Gryffindor table. Harry looked over and as he expected, saw a bright red Ron Weasley and an angry looking Hermione Granger. Harry sighed as he saw his best friend disappear out the doors of the Great Hall. It was half and half odds as to where she was going: Library or Dormitory.
“Well, he probably deserved it,” Ginny said, sniffling slightly.
“Oh, I guarantee he deserved it. It was likely about me coercing you with Dark Magic or something equally ridiculous. Any idea why he does that?” Harry asked, hoping to gain some insight into the mind of his other nemesis, the stupid one.
“Well, I think he was as big a fan of you…maybe not as much as I was,” she admitted shyly. Still, her willingness to speak freely like this seemed to be a good sign.
“That’s what I thought.”
Harry luckily did not have to make sure Ginny made it to her dormitory. As soon as they had entered the dungeons, her depression had returned with a vengeance. She’d managed to avoid tackling him this time, though. When they reached the stairs, a girl named Anne Grunitch led Ginny up the stairs.
Zabini was standing near the door looking oddly at him.
“Sod off, Blaise,” Harry snapped. “I had a lot of trouble also. You can’t blame me for-“
“It’s fine, Potter. That was very rude of me. Whatever you did obviously helped.”
“I hope so. She’s seems pretty bright, a nice person.”
“Hope she’s not too nice for Slytherin,” Zabini said. “She’s lucky she’s not in this year, Pansy and Millicent would tear her apart. Daphne seemed to feel a slight bit of sympathy.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, “and getting Greengrass to show sympathy is like coaxing an ass out of a ditch.”
Zabini sniggered. “We’d best go in before Flint gets us. I swear, what was Snape thinking making that troll a Prefect?”
“Flint’s still here?” Harry asked. “Didn’t he graduate?”
“No luck avoiding deadly Quidditch practices, I’m afraid. He failed every N.E.W.T. but Astronomy. Go figure that.”
“Which?” Harry asked. “The failing all his N.E.W.T.s? Or the Astronomy?”
“Shut up,” Blaise snapped.
The two boys headed into their dormitory. Malfoy complained about the light they let into the dark room. Harry didn’t even give him a glance, yanking a random book out of his trunk, closing it with his foot, and jumping into bed, before locking the curtains and pulling his wand out.
He lit his wand with a whispered “Lumos,” and pulled out the book he had taken. It was the odd diary that had inexplicably appeared in his cauldron. Harry shrugged; it would probably do him some good to write down his thoughts. He extinguished the light, stuck his hand in his trunk, and pulled out a quill and ink.
September 1st 1992, he wrote
Suddenly, the words disappeared, and words appeared on the page.
I don’t work like that.
Harry frowned, surprised. He dipped his pen in ink and wrote:
Well, I’ve never met a diary that talks back.
I’m not an ordinary diary, appeared on the page. Harry got the idea that if it had been spoken aloud, there would have been an undertone of smugness.
Obviously
< i>So now that you know that I’m special, do you still want to use me. I assure you, I can help you on a great many things.
Well, it would help by telling me who made you. Because you seem to have an actual personality.
I’m basically the personality of a sixteen-year old boy named Tom Marvolo Riddle. Harry had inkling to ask someone if they’d ever heard of him, but something told him it wasn’t necessary.
My name’s Harry. Harry Potter. A second after he wrote this, he wondered if it was best to reveal this. But Tom didn’t react in any special way.
Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Harry. Where are you right now?
I’m at Hogwarts. I’m a second year in Slytherin.
A Fine House indeed. I too was Slytherin. Most believed that as a half-blood, I was unworthy.
Harry grinned. Maybe he’d finally found another boy who might understand what he had gone through.
Well, I come from a family of Gryffindors, a light family. And a lot of students think the Slytherins are all Dark.
Yes, I’ve heard of the Potters before.
You have?
Yes. I know a great deal about family. You learn a lot in Slytherin. So people ostracized you?
Yes.
I know a great deal about that. For while I had roots in an ancient pureblooded family, Slytherin, of course, I was born a half-blood. My father left my mother, and she herself died giving birth. I grew up in an orphanage.
Well, I lost my parents too. They were murdered by a Dark Wizard named Lord Voldemort. I’ve lived with my mother’s best friend, who used to be an Auror. She’s a powerful witch.
Then you know what it’s like. To wish for guidance and aid, and to not have your parents to ask for advice and comfort. I’ve never really known love.
Well, I’ve been really lucky. Daphne Dressler, the woman that raised me, loves me as much as life itself. She cares a lot about me and my happiness.
I’m glad for you, Harry. So, do you have many friends?
Well, I’ve got a few back home. We live in Newfoundland. I know an Auror Trainee named Tonks who is like an older sister. And my best friend is a Gryffindor girl named Hermione.
Interesting. A Slytherin, ostracized by the rest of the school, befriended by a Gryffindor. Obviously, you choose your friends well.
Well, I had to save her life to get her to talk to me. It took off from there.
You saved her life?
I distracted a mountain troll that got into Hogwarts, and got hit by the club in the process. She felt guilty and tried to get to know me, and we both got along very well.
I wouldn’t recommend making anymore friends like that. Being hit by a troll’s club will take a toll after a while.
Harry laughed. I’d say so. It’s getting late, I need to be ready for school.
I wouldn’t dream of interfering in learning. Goodnight, Harry.
Goodnight, Tom.
It hadn’t been easy, but Tom Marvolo Riddle had done it.
He had established the connection. As long as Harry kept writing in the diary, he would be able to possess him completely, without the boy’s knowledge. However, two things had surprised him about the boy.
First, he claimed to have been orphaned by a person bearing the name he used only among his closest followers, such as Evan Rosier and Roland McCourn. In all likelihood, the mysterious Dark Wizard was the future version of himself.
But if that was the case, why wasn’t the boy concerned about the possibility of danger from his future self. He seemed to write as if it was long in the past.
As if he had been defeated.
There was also the matter of his guardian, Daphne Dressler. He knew the Dressler name, they were a Light-dominated pureblood family. She was either a female heir or had married into the line.
Most importantly, she was an ex-Auror, and Harry had another friend who was in the training program. In all likelihood, he was very sharp. While Tom had been able to suppress the desire to find out about the diary or tell others, the speed at which the thought entered his host’s mind seem to confirm his theory.
Speaking of which, the boy had a number of natural mental defenses. He either was born with them, or had repeatedly been exposed to Legillimacy from a young age. He’d have to find out more about the boy’s guardian. He also needed to know if Albus Dumbledore was Headmaster. He had been on the track at the time, and the man never let Tom out of his sight. He’d have to tread carefully.
But for Tom Marvolo Riddle, a.k.a. Lord Voldemort, nothing was impossible. After all, despite the boy’s mental resistance, he’d established the link that would allow him to possess the boy.
He wondered absently if Mytle, that whining mudblood, had returned as a ghost.
It would be just like her.