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Vera )1941( The library was eerie in the evening. Especially on the weekends when few students would be caught dead bent over a desk and diligently studying. Not that Tom was studying exactly. Independent research was more like it. Information on Parseltongue was, quite naturally, scarce. As far as Tom knew, only he and Harry could currently speak it and they were the first in centuries. Mostly the sprawl of books around him contained a line or two about the mysterious gift and they usually paraphrased the same two bits of information: Parseltongue was the ability to talk to snakes. It was a rare and dark talent. This was about as useful as a spoon against a hydra. "Merlin's balls." He muttered, enjoying the small use of dirty language. Of course, there was always the restricted section. There was no way he could gain legal access to that part of the library, for one he was too young and for another, he had no desire to explain what he was looking for and why. Not to mention that some of those books could be quite temperamental. He sat bolt up right in his chair, nearly knocking over the mug of chocolate he'd had balanced a few inches above the table. The books of the restricted section had life of their own and surely he couldn't be faulted if one decided to come with him. Sneaking as only a Slytherin could, he cased out the rest of the library. Three other students remained. One had fallen asleep at their books while two others were sitting, no doubt Ravenclaws, in the midst of voluminous texts. The librarian was carefully charming shelves wider. Wary, he set muffling charms and crept to stand at the entrance of the forbidden books. ~Hello?~ He called cautiously. ~Is there anyone in there?~ ~Who disturbs our rest?~ Hissed a deep and hypnotic voice. ~Who speaks with a forked tongue?~ ~I am called Tom Riddle Dover.~ ~How came you to my language, Tom Riddle Dover?~ ~I was born with it.~ ~Then you are who I have waited for. Come, retrieve me from this shelf.~ ~I cannot reach you. I am not allowed within.~ ~Worthless.~ There was a long pause, a thump and the distinct sound of a slithering snake. The book appeared at Tom's feet, emerging from the shadows with a long undulation movement. The cover was snakeskin, but the pages were vellum, falling open to Tom's reverent touch. The words were legible to his eyes, though the characters were foreign. He would have to translate it by hand. The first page was a note: "My precious heir. Read well this book and learn these lessons. Go forth and find your destiny." Tom clenched the book closer and made for the dungeons, barely stopping to gather his things. Had he been more aware, he would have seen Professor Dumbledore rushing in through the library's back entrance. He would have seen the dark look on that face as he observed Tom's retreating and the slow, search for the book that had disappeared. )1942( Taking to the air, she let out a very unfeminine whoop, turning circles around her housemates. The other Gryffindors hooted and cheered her on as she climbed higher, taking her position against the Slytherin seeker. They exchanged their traditional handshake and settled in to watch the game. "Your keeper is drifting to the left again." She pointed out. " I think he's gone to sleep. You really must work on your offense." He drawled back, keeping his eye to the sky. "True." They hung lazily there for a moment longer, before she caught a glimpse of gold out of the corner of one eye. Out of the other, she saw him twitch. Without another word, they were off, racing through space without regard to anything else. All became air, wind sky. The snitch dove near the dozing Slytherin keeper, nearly knocking him to the ground. She had her fingers on it, when it shot upwards eluding her. She could feel him along side of her and together they bore upwards, fighting the wind and each other. On the field the commentator was really getting warmed up. "And our two Seekers are giving us another battle royal, neck and neck, they're into the clouds down and ooooh down they come, Gryffindor's own Minerva coming within a hair of the stands, Dover close on her heels and another upturn. The winds are playing havoc today...and they're nearing the field now, interrupting a stunning move by Holt....and they've crashed! But the Snitch was caught! Who has it?" Minerva let out a breathless laugh. "You complete bastard." She coughed. "You did that on purpose." "Of course I did. You would have caught it otherwise." He rose triumphantly, opening his hand to show off his prize. They would both need a few hours in the Infirmary which they would use to criticize each other's techniques, but for now they both stood, glorying in the moment. When his team swept him up and away, she let out a shaky breath and limped off the field. Flying against Tom was like any drug. Exhilarating and wonderful when high, horrid and draining the moment it was over. And like a drug, she felt hopelessly addicted to the nimble boy. )*( The script blurred under his vision as his thoughts wandered yet again. "Down, you insolent bastard." He muttered at his lap. "Problem there?" Avarus looked over with vague interest from his bed where he was eating candy and perusing a novel. "No." He turned back to his book, wishing that Parseltongue were as easy to read as it was to speak. "You don't have to lie to me." Unfolding gracefully, Avarus stalked over stopping just behind him. Silently, Tom spelled the book blank. "What's a little physical reaction between friends?" A hand soft from luxurious living rested delicately on Tom's own, spelled clean, one. Even after writing reams of translation his hands remained clean of ink and well manicured. These two hands briefly united were a mark of the Slytherin ideal. Appearance, regardless of background or situation, should be a smooth mask that gave nothing away. "I was watching you." Avarus purred. "Out of the robe with your crisp shirt sleeves rolled up to your elbows, legs spread and that wrinkle forming between your eyes. And I thought, now what could a friend do to ease his friend's serious, overwrought mind." Clever fingers worked open his belt and the button fly of his trousers. Tom watched in bemusement, listening to the smooth cadence of the voice in his ear. "You think too much. If you want to be as clever as you are smart, you'll have to learn to relax" A whispered lubrication spell and Avarus' hand was on Tom's cock, slick and stroking. Mindlessly, the raven-haired boy bucked up. "Vermillion says that you tried this on her, but she's saving herself for marriage. Know your friends, Tom. If you need this," a pointed squeeze which drew a moan, "you will come to me for it." "But you hate to be touched..." "Who said anything about touching me? You are too strong, too much of a genius to dally with silly girls, my friend. Come to me for this and nothing more. No kisses and flowers between us. No, no, sweetheart." He flicked his wrist faster, keeping his lips soft near his ear, "you would have your love own you utterly. A very pretty bauble you are, but far too volatile for my tastes." On the heels of 'tastes', Tom came with a short, stifled scream. Within moments, Avarus was back on his bed, nibbling a honeyed candy and reclaiming his novel. The only concession he made to the event was the handkerchief he summoned to fastidiously get the nooks and crannies a cleaning spell would miss. Languidly, Tom tucked himself away, banishing the mess and was soon translating with new swiftness. After a few minute, he started to hum tunelessly. Avarus smirked, licked one fingertip and turned a page. )1943( "I'm telling you, it's none of your business." Harry curtly informed the overeager woman leaning over his counter. "Oh spill, Harry. You know I do love a good bit of gossip." "Minnie, back off." He said tartly to the seventh year girl. Why, why, why of all the other inter house mates Tom could have made had he chose Minerva? There weren't any other over bright, keen eyed girls he could have a weird platonic friendship with? "You're such a stiff. If Tom didn't think the world rose and set on you..." "Tom does what?" The boy himself bustled into the shop, dropping a handful of books on the counter. "I swear the books this year are the heaviest yet." "Or perhaps you are merely weakened from far too much studying and not nearly enough Quidditch." The girl poked her friend in his softening stomach. "I told you Minnie, I can't possibly do Quidditch and be Head Boy." "One of the only sixth years in history to be Head Boy. Have I mentioned that I'm proud of you? " Harry cut in, before Minerva started on the tired argument. "Only about a dozen times. Today." But a faint blush of pleasure darkened pale cheeks. "What were you saying, incautious Gryffindor, before I came in?" "I was commenting, suspicious Slytherin, that you idolize your Harry." And the color drained away. "No more then you think Professor Dumbledore holds the world in one hand." He managed to retort though Harry caught the bobbing throat and had to wonder what subtext he was missing here. "That's because he's gorgeous." Minnie replied rather matter-of-fact. Both men made near identical faces of distaste. "That's disgusting. The man is nearly a century old!" "So? That's not bad for a wizard. And he doesn't look a century. He barely looks thirty." "You're mad." Patting a stray hair back into place, Tom looked to Harry for help. "I think that Professor Dumbledore might be out of your league, young lady. At least until you graduate." "Men." The young lady huffed like the matron Harry had known her to be. "It's not as if I actually want to marry him! I just like to look." "I think I'm going to be ill." Tom muttered. "Lovely. Don't be sick on the floor. I'm going to go do the accounts. Wait on anyone who comes in?" "No, I think I'll just let them stand at the counter with that hopeful confused look they get when no one comes to attend on them." "Monstrous child." The affectionate smile took out any sting in the barb as Harry disappeared into the back. When he was gone, Tom let out a long breath of air and went to stand behind the register while Minerva watched him with sharp eyes. "Harry is quite the looker." "A compliment coming from the lover of senior citizens." "It's all right, you know. I won't say anything." "About what?" He sniped back, keeping his eyes firmly on the book he was tickling open. "Don't be such an impossible Slytherin." "Only if you can stop being such an honorable Gryffindor." "It...I understand it, if that helps." "I don't know what you're talking about." Amazing, she thought as he went about charming the book open with lithe fingers. She was only a year older then him, but it suddenly felt like decades. Popular, handsome and brilliant, Tom was a catch for any girl, but she'd never had a single doubt about who he belonged to heart and soul. Until now, she'd said nothing. "Fine, but if you did know, I would just want you to know that you can talk to me about it." "Emotional, pushy..." The book snapped shut and he muttered a string of curses. "Tom." Tentatively, she touched his arm. "Please." The word startled her. Passionate green eyes took hers and she felt herself sinking. "Leave it, Minnie. I can take care of myself." "I..I.." She shook herself free, wondering if he'd tried to work some magic on her unintentionally. "All right." "Now. You were going to harangue me about Quidditch?" "It's just that Gryffindor will get lazy without their best competitor." She launched in merrily, relief prickling on her skin. Tom, she decided privately, was not to be underestimated. And he was a friend best kept close. )1944( Closing his eyes, Harry could still trace the lines of the photos beneath his hands. He would never meet them again. The timeline had severed utterly as Myrtle lived and breathed and Tom Riddle never made the jump to Lord Voldemort. Too many letters in his name for that, thank Merlin. He caressed Hermione, RonÉall of them products of their own timeline. Even he would most likely never exist here though his parents might. Even if they still got together and had a child, the chances of it being him were slim. His silly dream of changing reality dead, the renewed vision of a life with a good son and some hazy potential vision of a mate. A family of his own, different and gorgeous. The floor creaked. Whirling, Harry withdrew his wand and searched the room. It was dark in the back of the shop, the front long since closed. Someone was in the door. The cast of the lamp on the table made their eyes glint red. Only years of training stopped him from casting a hex right then. "Harry?" And then it was Tom stepping from the doorway, a tired teenager not an evil immortal. "Tom! You scared the shit out of me!" He scolded, clutching his heart. The boy stood in the doorway, poised and strained. "I'm sorry. They only just let everyone head home. They were worried about the air raids." He moved slowly, easing his way into the other chair wincing. "Are you sure you don't want to stay for the holidays?" "I want to be with you. There are only a few children staying back for the break and three teachers to watch them." A hard edge entered his voice, taking Harry by surprise. "I didn't mean I didn't want you here. Is everything all right?" "Yes. No." Hands scrubbed childlike at his eyes. "I'm so tired. The children are scared and they look to me. It's too much. And..." "Yes?" "It's just...what do you think about fate, Harry?" "Fate?" "If we're meant to do something, do we have to do it? Like if some relative told you to?" "Of course not. Is this about the league because I told you, you don't have to join if you don't want too..." "No, no, I was just thinking. Though IÕm not going to join the league." He shook his head. "Anyway, how are things here?" Harry allowed himself to be distracted, but the image of the haunted stranger at his door with a glint of red stayed with him long into the holidays. next part last part << |