Chapter 17

12th December, 1941

Peverell Cottage,

Scotland

It was early in the morning, daybreak a couple of hours away from rising over the clouded, starry horizon.

Harry knew that he should've been at Hogwarts catching up on some much-needed sleep, the bone-deep fatigue he felt promising only to get worse the longer he persisted on standing upright.

He'd already been on the verge of collapse before he spent the entire afternoon and evening reigning in the magic leaking out of him, having not wanted to alarm his company. And while that was typically something he did as effortlessly as breathing, it had suddenly become remarkably harder to keep up.

The power that had filled him when he'd bonded with Excalibur hadn't diminished. If anything, it only grew stronger and more unruly the longer it settled into him.

Harry wasn't accustomed to the tremendous amount of magic coursing through him, constantly cackling under his skin and at his fingertips, begging to be released.

He almost couldn't restrain it, and Harry feared that if he allowed himself to sleep—that if he let go of this vice-tight grip he had on his magic—it would flood out of him in unexpected ways that he didn't fancy testing. So, it wasn't that he didn't dearly crave to rest his head on his soft, feathery pillows and welcome deep slumber like an old friend, but he was afraid.

However, the somewhat expected power boost and his inability to immediately control it wasn't the only thing that kept him awake at these ungodly hours.

There were other gifts that he'd been granted—beyond the reservoir of magic suddenly accessible to him—that were undoubtedly more unsettling.

One of these gifts was a sudden, unforeseen connection he was experiencing. One that had most definitely not been there before, at least, not that he'd been aware of.

This connection, it was profound and infinite. It allowed him to feel everything.

It connected him with every root of every single tree—every blade of grass and flower petal—every river vein that streamed out into the deep oceans—every mountain top and every deepest cave.

Most notably, however, was the connection he felt to each creature that roamed the earth—all types of magical creatures, wizards and witches, muggles, animals.

If he allowed himself to open that door, he could feel them all.

It was all very overwhelming and thoroughly maddening in a way that had him wanting to clamp his eyes shut while pressing his palms against his ears in a futile attempt to block them out.

Everything was just so bright—so unbearably loud.

And his control was slipping further away from him the longer he sat there doing nothing.

Rationally, Harry understood that what he was being allowed to experience was something incredible—something undeniably breathtaking. But it was simply too much.

And then there were the prayers he heard whispered to him, needling into his brain—prayers for clemency and mercy, for aid, for the long departed.

He was drowning under it all, and he had to regularly remind himself to breathe.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

Too many voices calling him.

Too many feelings crushing him.

Too much power suffocating him.

He felt as if stranded in quicksand, being dragged down into some other place—some different reality that even with all the experience he's had, he could have never imagined.

And at that moment he found himself longing for the long-forgotten cupboard under the stairs of Number 4 Privet Drive. He yearned for sanctuary, protection, and peace from it all—from this unsought change.

Who am I? Harry couldn't help but wonder, his thoughts gaining a hysterical edge to them. What am I?

He felt like himself enough, if well buried under everything different about him. He had the same thoughts, hopes, and fears he had before bonding with Excalibur. But then there was also everything else.

He simply didn't understand the entire implications of the transformation he'd undergone—was still going through.

What Harry did know was that he had to do something about it—now—before he lost his mind.

And that's why Harry found himself visiting his old cottage, sitting with his back leaning against the polished, wooden door and his knees drawn to his chest.

"You need to get yourself under control, Harry," was the first thing Death finally deigned to say, ever so bloody helpfully.

And Harry simply wasn't in the mood.

"Don't," Harry snapped, a few seconds away from giving in to the urge to place his head in his hands "This is enough of a fucking nightmare without having to endure your smart-ass comments," he grumbled moodily. "Be useful for once and tell me that you'll help."

Death stared at Harry, his azure eyes assessing him calculatingly through a lock of golden hair.

"You know what you have to do then," Death stated, causing Harry to bare his teeth and throw him an irritated glare.

"Do I know that I have to die? Yes, I'm fucking aware," he growled impatiently.

Death lowered his hood and stepped closer to the crouched wizard, concerned eyes taking in his trembling body and the apprehension in his emerald eyes, taking note of the way they kept flickering between green and gold.

Harry was on the verge of bursting, and Death didn't particularly want to see what would happen if he spontaneously decided to release the energy that so obviously wanted to break free. Not to mention that Harry's unbalanced emotional state wasn't exactly helping circumstances.

"It will be the last time," Death decided to clarify.

Harry had to understand—had to know that there would be no going back from this.

Death watched as Harry's glare dropped from his face, replaced by a resigned understanding.

Harry's eyes darted away from the beautiful features he was still getting used to, and fear and uncertainty filled him once more.

"What will I become?" he whispered with a broken voice.

Death pondered how to answer without frightening Harry—knowing that he didn't want to hear the straightforward answer.

"What you were always meant to be, Harry," he decided on.

Harry tightened his hold on his knees and chuckled hollowly, his eyes momentarily closing of their own accord.

"And what happens after?" he questioned tiredly.

Death sighed, his eyes wandering to the sword resting at Harry's feet.

"Nothing is going to change, Harry, besides your ability to do all that it is you're already hoping to accomplish," he pointed out delicately. "You'll be free to be Harry, the wizard that wants to change laws and protect his charges. You'll be free to be the wizard bringing balance back to the world. You'll be free to love and live as you have. But you'll also be like me—bound to your purpose until the very ends of time. Indestructible and everlasting. Connected to the world and its souls as I am. Protector of the cycle."

Death took a deep breath, azure eyes locking onto Harry's piercing stare.

"This has been building since the beginning of time, Harry—ever since my creation," he told him gently, knowing that Harry already suspected all of this. "Beings like us," and as he said this, he ran a hand over his black robes as if to make a point. "Beings like us need time to be made, Harry," he explained. "Time to build and adapt—and a vast amount of energy."

Harry's breath hitched at having all his fears confirmed.

He'd known. On some level, he'd suspected it from the moment he'd touched Excalibur. No, maybe it had been even earlier. Maybe he'd started suspecting when Merlin had first told him of his destiny. But he'd allowed himself to stay blind to the evidence.

Wasn't it Death that had titled him Son of Magic?

"I was the first half created," Death whispered cautiously. "And now the second half is almost complete."

Harry swallowed, and his eyes glossed over—remembering.

"An extension of Magic," he breathed, getting lost in his memories.

"How do you work, exactly?"

It had been an average day, a typical Tuesday like any other Harry had experienced over the past few months.

He'd spent the whole day taking care of Teddy and playing with him, trying to tire out the energy-packed little wizard so that he'd hopefully sleep through the entire night. Something which his godson had thankfully gotten better at in the past weeks.

And now, finally, he was leaning back against the armrest of his recently-acquired couch, his body stretched out comfortably over the entire length of it with his bare feet dangling off the other end. He was sipping on some well-deserved hot cocoa while randomly asking questions that academics all over the world would die to know the answers to.

"I mean, how were you created?" Harry simplified while trying to get his thoughts in order. "What are you?"

Death looked at him, and even with that damned hood obscuring his face, Harry knew that he felt annoyed with his questions—could feel the almost indiscernible dropping of the temperature in the room.

"I am what I was created to be," Death drawled evasively, knowing that it would irritate Harry to no end.

Harry rolled his eyes and took another sip of his hot cocoa.

"Yes, alright. You're, like, some sort of bridge between the living and the dead. But what does that make you?"

Harry felt like Death was tempted to let his question go unanswered. He probably knew that Harry would let it drop once he realised that Death had no intentions of indulging him, but he surprisingly found himself receiving a reply anyway.

"It makes me an extension of Magic, Harry. A part of a whole."

Death's eyes softened as he watched comprehension wash over his companion.

"Alright," Harry murmured somewhat dazed but accepting. "How are we going to do this?"

Alphard had honestly thought that he was done being shocked by Harry. He'd resolved barely two nights ago—when Harry had casually slipped in that comment about delivering Death his regards—that he would take everything the immortal said with a grain of salt. He'd vowed to remain flawlessly stoic in the face of all of Harry's ridiculousness.

But from the moment Alphard woke up that morning and caught his first glimpse of Harry after his disappearance the other day, he hadn't stopped feeling bewildered and unsettled.

Ultimately setting aside Harry's impromptu need to wear jewellery and braid his hair, as well as the interesting addition of green to his raven curls—and was that a fresh-looking rune branded into the flesh of his back?

But besides all that, there was something else that was different about Harry.

He looked awake, for lack of a better term. The usual tiredness that was typically ever-present in his eyes was utterly extinguished, replaced by startling vivid alertness.

Harry's presence always had a way of filling the entire room he was in, but there was a specific something else to him that morning that he just couldn't place.

His observations had come to a quick halt when Harry had noticed that he'd woken up. He'd bade him good morning with a large grin on his face and promptly started excitedly telling him all about the adventures he had over the past few days.

And it had all started making a little bit more sense. At least, that's what Alphard chose to believe.

"...and that's it really," Harry babbled on with a touch too much enthusiasm for Alphard's sluggish mind to keep up with.

Harry, for his part, was in the process of plaiting an intricate braid, twisting the last few strands at the side of his head, into what he hoped was an accurate copy of the ones the little fae girl had done for him while he'd been lying unconscious. She had also been responsible for colouring the tips of his hair a deep but vivid green—Slytherin green.

And while Harry could technically remove it, he found that he rather fancied this new look. There was something decidedly Viking about it. Maybe he'd add a bone and a few feathers to complete the look.

At that moment, Harry had his hands awkwardly angled behind his head and was so absorbed with what he was doing that he'd almost tripped over a scattered pair of dragonhide boots. A blast of magic was the only thing that kept him from planting his face to the floor.

"Not much else happened after that," Harry went on as he started rummaging through his wardrobe, not noticing that for the past fifteen minutes he'd been very much having a one-sided conversation. "We discussed the bill. I assuaged some of Henry's fears. We stayed for dinner, had another few drinks, and then Arcturus, Monty, and I left on amicable terms," Harry said as he pulled out a pair of black slacks, his naked, muscular back facing Alphard.

And yes, that was indeed a fresh-looking branding on his back.

As Harry retold the events of the past few days to Alphard while running in and out of their bathroom, he'd barely spared Alphard a glance, much too busy prettying himself up for the day. If he had, he would have noticed that Alphard had stopped getting dressed a long time ago—right around the moment Harry had coyly brought up the Fae Realm—clutching his now severely wrinkled shirt for dear life.

By the end of Harry's retelling, Alphard had lost all colour in his face. His mind was whirling with impossible images of fae queens, shadow beasts, and Excalibur—the same sword, presumably, that was casually leaning against Harry's bedpost like it was an everyday occurrence.

And Alphard couldn't help but think that being friends with Harry was a severe health hazard. His heart hadn't stopped pounding in his chest since it had stuttered to a split-second stop only to proceed to triple up its tempo.

It was only when Harry started buttoning up his pristine, white shirt that he noticed Alphard's stumped stupor.

"Al?"

"Yes?" he gasped out, still paralysed to the spot next to his dresser.

"You alright, mate?" Harry asked him, brows furrowed in mild confusion. Was it something he'd said?

Alphard looked at his friend, face devoid of any emotion, having descended into an all-consuming kind of numbness that he was becoming all too familiar with.

"You know, Harry. Sometimes I truly wonder if knowing you might have reduced my life expectancy by half," he murmured, not taking his eyes off Harry.

Harry frowned as he pushed the last buttons through their slots.

"How can any of this still come as a surprise to you?"

Alphard huffed, and if he thought that he'd be able to land one, he'd have shot a stinging hex at him.

"Yes, well, normal people don't descend into shadow realms on expeditions to retrieve legendary swords that grant you even more power than you already had," he pointed out none too gently, his exasperation bleeding out of him. "So excuse me if I need some time to process the ridiculousness that is your life."

Harry tried not to laugh and his friend. Al's reactions were always so very delicious. He honestly couldn't wait until he told him about that morning's events.

But maybe it was best to wait for Al to adjust to everything else before thrusting any more secrets onto him. And maybe Harry needed some time to digest the news himself.

Harry gave Alphard a light shrug. "That's reasonable enough," he acquiesced.

Alphard sighed and peered down at his ruined shirt. He mumbled a quick charm to return its freshly pressed look and quickly shrugged it on before Harry could decide to disclose any other heart-stopping tales.

He looked up just in time to watch Harry grab the sword and fasten it to his hip.

Harry wasn't going to carry that thing around with him, was he?

"Don't you suppose that running around with a sword at your hip is a tad conspicuous?" he asked him, tone relaying his disbelief.

"Huh? Oh, don't worry," Harry hummed absently. "She's going to hide from sight. Aren't you, sweetness?" he crooned while lovingly caressing her sheath. "You'll do that for me, won't you?"

And as if on cue, the sword disappeared from sight.

Alphard tiredly shut his eyes and resolved just to accept it, because the fact that the sword was sentient was most assuredly not the most shocking thing he'd learned that day—and they hadn't even been to breakfast yet.

"By the way, do you have that petition scroll for me?" Harry asked him. "I'm going to be meeting Dippet about the duelling club this morning, and I need it."

The sudden change in conversation gave Alphard a headache.

One minute Harry was talking about destiny and dragons, and the next he was bringing up mundane things like petition scrolls. Honestly.

But was he willing to argue about the pleasant reprieve? No. No, he wasn't.

If Harry wanted to act as if nothing had changed—as if there wasn't something obviously different about him—Alphard could do that for him. He could be the one, normal thing in his life.

A friend.

Alphard took a deep, calming breath, and allowed everything he'd just been told to slip away for later perusal.

"I slipped it into your bag last night," he informed him, pulling his robes over his head.

Unsurprisingly, Orion decided to burst into their room without so much as a single, polite knock.

"Morning!" the young Black heir sang loudly, causing Alphard to grind his teeth together.

Unlike Alphard, Harry was much happier with Orion's sudden appearance, not minding his exuberance one bit.

"Good morning!" Harry chirped back, all broad grins and wild gestures. It was as if Orion's presence had given Harry's exhausting enthusiasm of that morning permission to come rushing back. And Alphard watched, with no small amount of dismay, as both of them started bouncing on the balls of their feet.

"Woah! Harry, what's with the new everything?" the younger Black asked, wide grey eyes taking in all of Harry's changes.

Harry shrugged and ran a hand through his freshly braided hair, allowing his thumb to graze over the length of his silver earring. It had a few runes carved into it, specially designed to keep his head completely quiet when needed. A thoughtful gift from a few lifetimes ago.

Harry was laying upside-down on one of the couches in the Gryffindor common room, his legs dangling over its back and his head tilted backwards, attempting to read a Russian novel.

He'd gotten to the part where the author was escorting the prostitute back home when he suddenly felt a body drop itself unceremoniously next to him.

Harry allowed the hand holding up his novel to loosely drop over his head, the book and the back of his hand casually resting on the fluffy carpet. He turned his head to the side, and emerald eyes impassively watched the boy he'd known that he'd find next to him.

Not in the mood for one of Sirius' games, Harry sighed. "What are you doing here, Black?" he asked him when it became clear that Sirius wasn't going to be the one to break the ice.

He'd been avoiding him for the past two weeks, and that suited Harry just fine. So why was he here? Disturbing Harry's peace?

Sirius wasn't looking at him, the flickering fire in the hearth holding all his attention as he lost himself in thought. His back was hunched forward, his elbows resting on parted knees where his hands were clasped loosely together.

"Sometimes—" Sirius started to say, his voice breaking from lack of use, or maybe nervousness, Harry couldn't tell.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, a slight tremble to his agitated movements, and roughly cleared his throat.

"Sometimes, when you're with me, you look like you're stuck in a nightmare," Sirius eventually spoke, his words no more than a whisper. "You get this glazed look in your eyes as if you're reliving something truly awful. Sure, most of the time you snap out of it quickly enough, and you're back to being your charming self."

Sirius smiled wryly to himself at that, eyes still pointedly staring away from Harry.

"But, sometimes it takes longer and I- I can't stand it, Harry," he forced out, breath catching painfully in his chest. "I can't stand knowing that the fucking sight of me—" Sirius broke off and rapidly shook his head. "I know it's selfish, but I don't want you to think of anyone but me when we're together. I don't want you remembering whatever awful shit I remind you of. I want- I need," he corrected, swallowing down his palpable desperation. And finally, he looked at Harry, grey eyes shining stubbornly.

"I need you to see me. You, more than anyone else, Harry. I need you to see me."

Harry's thoughts screeched to a sudden halt, and his eyes widened, stomach knotting uncomfortably.

"Sirius," he croaked out, turning around to sit up and face the boy who was wearing his heart on a sleeve for him. He reached out for his hand, but Sirius stopped him before their fingers could meet.

"Don't," Sirius begged. "I'm- I have to get this out."

Harry gave him a nod and leaned back, hand falling limply to his side.

"My insecurities and fears don't justify how I treated you," Sirius told him, and Harry thought that that was possibly the closest the wizard would get to apologising.

"Nor does this," he said while holding out a small, black box for Harry to take. "It's a selfish gift," he mumbled as Harry carefully took the box. "It's more for me than it is for you," he went on to explain nervously.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Sirius, trying to bite back a smile at how adorable he was acting.

He opened the box and couldn't help but blink at the earring he found nestled between red velvet. It was a replica of the one that Sirius tended to wear, down to the runes carved into the silver.

"I've got the same one," Sirius said, confirming Harry's thoughts. "I had mine made when the- when the family curse became unmanageable."

Harry's eyes shot up to Sirius.

He hadn't known that it had already become so bad for Sirius. He'd only just recently turned seventeen.

"It helps me keep my mind quiet when occlumency fails me," he explained when he watched Harry run his fingers over the runes. "It also helps me keep some of the darker urges away," he gritted out, clearly finding it hard to share this with Harry.

"I thought that explaining why I was avoiding you would be pointless unless- unless I had some sort of solution, you know? So I sent for this earring to be made, thinking that maybe- maybe it would help you too—that it would make you stop seeing all those things I remind you of."

Harry bit his bottom lip and looked down at the silver earring. It was a thick piece of silver curved to sit on the helix of his ear. Embedded into the middle of it was a small labradorite stone, with runes carved intricately around it.

Harry loved it.

He didn't think it was a selfish gift at all.

He looked up from the box and found Sirius watching him expectantly with guarded eyes.

Harry grinned at Sirius and watched him exhale the breath he'd been anxiously holding.

"For a self-proclaimed player you can be quite sweet, Black," he teased him, emerald eyes bright and forgiving.

Sirius smiled at him—a shy, delicate thing he'd never seen on the typically cocksure face.

It was then that Harry realised he was in trouble.

"-arry! Harry!"

Harry blinked and came back to the present, slightly disoriented.

"Sorry," he heard himself say. "Right. It erm- it all just sorta happened, and I'm rolling with it."

Orion and Alphard stared at him for a second before shrugging the moment off.

"Looks good," Orion approved, not lingering on the subject. "Are we heading to breakfast or what? I'm starving," he groaned, rubbing his rumbling stomach.

"You could have gone without us," Alphard pointed out as he slipped on his shoes.

Orion shuddered and grimaced. "After father's explicit orders to show a united front? I think not."

Harry smirked at the younger Black. "Arcturus been giving you a hard time?".

Orion wrinkled his nose, about to tell Harry to shove off, but then a sly grin slid onto his face. "From what I hear, probably not as hard a time as he's been giving you."

Harry snorted and shoved the young boy away from him.

"Let's just get to breakfast, sunshine."

Breakfast had turned out to be a horrifying affair, and, frankly, Harry had been more than ready to flee the Great Hall.

With everything that happened over the past few days, he'd forgotten—how could he have forgotten?—about the article Arcturus had warned him about.

Harry had to admit that after his brief vacation in the Fae Realm, questing through the Shadow Realm, and that pitstop earlier that morning in limbo—being back at Hogwarts and indulging those gossiping children had felt even more daunting than usual. So, he'd been quite relieved to leave for his morning appointment, which is where Harry currently found himself—at his meeting in the headmaster's office, with Dumbledore occupying the seat next to him.

The presence of the deputy headmaster had been an unexpected addition, albeit not necessarily unwelcome. After he managed to persuade Dippet that a duelling club was indeed necessary, a chat with the wizard wouldn't be remiss. There were a few things Harry needed to settle with Dumbledore before he could set some of his next plans in motion.

"Headmaster, with all due respect, I think that you're being rather short-sighted," Harry suddenly interrupted, preventing Dippet from reciting the rest of the reasons why they couldn't form a duelling club. "As the unfortunate events of last week have demonstrated, the students of Hogwarts are not exempt from this war, and I think that we can both agree that they were wholly unprepared for what they faced. They have every right to be outfitted with proper instructions. It could very well mean the difference between life and death. Sir," he added as an afterthought, belatedly remembering himself.

Dippet stared at Harry for a moment—his brown eyes appraising him and trying to discern the root of the changes he sensed in the boy.

It was nothing as superficial as the change in his appearance, and it wasn't the way Hadrian carried himself. Hadrian had always conducted himself with assured confidence that flirted on arrogance. It had something to do with his presence, but words failed Dippet beyond that.

'What a peculiar young man,' the old headmaster couldn't help but think. Hadrian had practically appeared out of nowhere, and already he had proven himself a force to be reckoned with.

"While I admire your concern for your peers, the Defence Against the Dark Arts class covers more than enough defensive magic, Hadrian. The students are being well prepared for war outside Hogwarts' walls," Dippet defended genially, seemingly not at all upset by Harry's outburst.

"Sir, forgive me, but we both know that that's a load of tosh. The DADA curriculum is less than abysmal. How you expect your student to pass their exams, let alone survive this war, I've no idea."

Armando stared at the young man sitting on the other side of his desk, thinking that everything was going rather beautifully—perfectly according to plan.

As Dumbledore had predicted, telling the boy that he wasn't allowed to form a duelling club had indeed caused him to fight all the harder to achieve his goal.

Harry didn't care much about appearing respectful and catering to the whims of others. The Headmaster would hazard to guess that the boy never tried appearing as anything other than what he was. He wasn't afraid of being blunt when he needed to be. Armando could respect that.

Hadrian did not, in fact, seem like a person that would easily take no for an answer.

A truly formidable individual, one best had as an ally.

He could see why Lord Black had attached himself to Hadrian.

As Hadrian had acutely stated, their DADA class was rather abysmal. But unless the Ministry allowed it, they couldn't do anything about it.

He'd been discussing that very problem with Albus earlier that week when the brilliant man had suggested that Hadrian Peverell might have enough sway to secure such permissions for Hogwarts.

"As Hogwarts' rules decree, any new club within the established parameters will be allowed to be instated if a petition has gathered over two-hundred and fifty signatures. Seeing as I've provided the required signatures," at this, Harry pointed at the rolled-up scroll on the desk, "I don't understand why we are still discussing this. I'm more than willing to take this to the board of governors, sir. I'm sure that they will be most agreeable to this extra-curricular—seeing as it will benefit their own children."

Harry noticed Dumbledore trying to bite down a small grin twitching ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth, while dark brown eyes scrutinized Harry. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the headmaster's disposition shifted, and he started nodding his head approvingly with a mischievous smile blossoming over his wrinkled face.

"I see politicking has agreed with you, Hadrian," he remarked almost proudly.

Harry tilted his head to the side, "Sir?" he questioned, unsure of how the compliment had any place in their current argument.

But Dippet waved him off.

"I see that you will not be dissuaded from this, my dear boy. If you manage to find a suitable instructor, I will give you my permission to form this duelling club," he informed Harry.

Harry didn't bother trying to figure out the wizard's agenda, simply pleased that he'd won yet another battle.

"My sincerest gratitude, Headmaster," Harry said with a pleased smile, meaning every word. "But as fortune would have it, I've already found a suitable instructor. Lord Black was most helpful when I informed him of my plans and has already contacted an old friend of his that would be all too pleased to take on the responsibility. He's simply waiting on your owl, sir."

"Oh?" the headmaster questioned, sounding somewhat startled. "I thought that maybe you would volunteer to take on the role yourself. I wouldn't have objected," he added.

Harry visibly shuddered at the thought. No, he definitely didn't have the patience to lead a duelling club.

"While I am flattered that you consider me qualified for such an important task, I'm much too busy to take on such a time-consuming responsibility. With my studies, quidditch, and the Wizengamot I scarcely have time to sleep."

Dippet looked disappointed but tilted his head in understanding.

"Alright then, my boy. Now that we've settled this matter, was there anything else you wanted to discuss? The abysmal DADA curriculum, perhaps?"

Harry had the decency to look abashed at the headmaster's offhand mention of his earlier rudeness.

"My apologies, sir," he said sheepishly while rubbing the back of his neck. "That was rather rude of me."

"Now, now, Hadrian. There is no need to apologise for your honesty. But I do wonder what you would like to change about the curriculum.

A hundred things came to Harry's mind, but he reminded himself that genuine progress was achieved slowly.

"You're treating the students with kid gloves, sir. And while that may be affordable in times of peace, all that it's doing in our current climate is putting them all at a disadvantage. The enemy will not fire stunning and disarming charms simply because their opponent is underage."

Dippet shared a furtive glance with Dumbledore and turned his attention back to Harry.

"And what would you suggest we do about it?" he asked him, sounding genuinely interested in his opinion.

"Broaden their spell repertoire," Harry replied automatically. "I'm not saying that you should start teaching them Dark Arts, but make them aware of the darker spells that the enemy will likely be using and teach them the counters. How are they going to stand a chance if they're wholly ignorant of what they will be facing?"

"While I agree with what you're saying, the Ministry might take issue with any such changes being made," Dipped pointed out, and suddenly it dawned on Harry where this entire conversation had been leading to.

Sneaky little headmaster

Harry really couldn't trust anyone not to have an ulterior motive, could he?

"Would you seriously consider these changes, sir?" Harry demurred, wanting to be sure.

"If Hogwarts were to be granted permission, I would certainly be willing to make these changes, Hadrian. All I wish is for my students to be prepared and protected, and you've raised quite the valid point. These are not times to shelter our students from the horrors of the Dark Arts."

"Well then, just leave the Ministry to me, Headmaster. I'll have your permission on your desk by the end of the week," Harry promised him, not minding his small manipulation seeing as it benefited Hogwarts' students. "Although, sir, if I may be so bold as to point out that if you had just asked, I would have been more than willing to do you this favour. There was no need to orchestrate this to make it look like it was my idea. In fact, in the future, I would very much prefer it if you were upfront with me about these matters."

That remark startled out a chortle from the old wizard while Dumbledore bit back a grin.

"Always so sharp, Hadrian. I should have known that you would see right through our small ruse."

Harry smiled at the wizard and graciously accepted the compliment.

"Was that all, sir?"

"Indeed, my boy. That is all for today. You have my sincerest gratitude for all that you've been doing for our beloved school."

"It's my pleasure, sir," he assured him.

With one last nod, Harry stood up and turned towards Dumbledore.

"Professor, might I entice you to a nice stroll around school grounds? The weather has been especially agreeable today, and I find it would be a shame to waste it."

Dumbledore looked amused by his request, probably, not least in part because it had been snowing earlier, but didn't seem all that surprised.

"Of course, my boy. A stroll sounds lovely. That is, unless you need me for anything else, Armando?" he asked the headmaster.

"No, no. Everything has been settled, Albus. You go and enjoy the rest of the morning," he said, waving them both off.

"Have a good day, Headmaster," he politely bade him farewell before heading to the stairwell gargoyle.

Harry and Dumbledore walked in comfortable silence for a while, both of them seemingly waiting to get outside of the castle and away from any possible eavesdroppers before sharing words.

Once cool, crisp winter air hit Harry's lungs, he marginally relaxed, momentarily allowing himself to enjoy the simplicity of walking outdoors on the snow-covered grounds. The sight of the castle in winter had always held a special spot in Harry's heart. There was something just so magical about it that it took his breath away.

Hogwarts would always be Harry's first, real home.

Dumbledore was the first to break the silence hanging between them.

"Tell me, Hadrian. What is that you brought me out here to discuss?"

Harry glanced at him through the corner of his eyes, noting the carefully concealed suspicion on the wizard's face.

"Don't worry, Professor. I didn't ask you out here to argue," he reassured the man, an amused smirk falling into place.

"Well, that's always good to hear," Dumbledore stated, fighting off a grin of his own.

"Firstly, I wanted to thank you for not undermining my efforts with the Wizengamot," Harry told him, earning himself a surprised glance from the auburn-haired man. "Henry mentioned to me yesterday that he'd spoken to you about me. It would have been all too easy for you to try and discourage him from proffering me his aid, but you didn't. So, thank you, Professor. I truly appreciate that."

After a moment's pause, Albus smiled and tilted his head in acknowledgement. "You're most welcome, Hadrian. Advocating for the safety and inclusion of all magical children is a cause that I am willing to get behind," he assured him, but then his smile wavered. "Which brings me to what I'd liked to discuss with you."

Harry had an inkling as to what the man might want to relate to him.

"This is about Grindelwald, isn't it?"

Blue eyes flashed in startled surprise before Albus gave his student a curt nod.

"I fear that he will take this bill you're pursuing as a personal affront. After all, you are doing the exact opposite of what he's been trying to accomplish for decades."

It was a safe assumption to make, one that Harry had already accounted for before he ever stepped foot into the Ministry. In Harry's experience, Dark Lords and Ladies didn't appreciate challenges to their authority.

Harry was, however, startled by Dumbledore's apparent need to warn him and look out for him.

Their last meeting before the battle at Hogsmeade hadn't exactly gone without a hitch, Harry having shown Dumbledore quite a few of his cards in his attempt to intimidate the meddling man into submission.

But it seemed like Harry had unintentionally endeared himself to the wizard.

"Gellert is by no means a stupid man," Dumbledore cautioned him. "While he might appreciate your efforts in strengthening magical blood, he will not be blind to the bigger picture."

"The Statute of Secrecy," Harry agreed, not seeing the need to beat around the bush. "No, I suppose he wouldn't. He'll probably be calling for my head," Harry agreed with a careless nonchalance that, in hindsight, had been ill-advised seeing as Dumbledore proceeded to gawk at him like he's lost his mind.

"Indeed," Albus murmured after regaining his composure. "I fear you've made yourself a target, Hadrian," he informed him with a remarkable amount of worry in his tone.

"Is that concern I detect, Professor?" Harry inquired with a boyish grin, trying to lighten the sombre mood they'd fallen into. "I'm touched."

Dumbledore didn't seem amused by Harry's efforts and shot him a sharp glare. "This is no laughing matter, Hadrian," he snapped.

"It isn't," Harry swiftly agreed. "But there isn't much to be done about it," he denoted. "If he comes after me I'll just have to defend myself, won't I? I simply hope that you won't be too cross with me if, at the end of that confrontation, it is Grindelwald that ends up dead rather than me."

Albus stifled an alarmed gasp. "And you believe that you would stand to win against him?"

"Your vote of confidence is well received, sir," Harry groused, not that he blamed the man. In his eyes, Harry was still a seventeen-year-old boy with minimal life experience—especially compared to the Dark Lord.

"You know very well that I think you are a remarkable young wizard, Hadrian," Dumbledore chided. "Prodigious, even. But I fear that remarkable is simply not going to cut it in the face of a wizard who's already brought half our world to heel. It is no mere coincidence that he's revered and feared by so many."

If only the Dumbledore knew.

"I appreciate your concern, sir, and I shall endeavour to be constantly vigilant. But if it would temper some of your worries, I would be more than happy to oblige you in a duel," Harry proposed with an innocent smile.

A disbelieving laugh slipped out of Albus, who was unable to decide if he was appalled by the boy's brazenness or reluctantly delighted.

"Is there anything at all that scares you, my boy?" Dumbledore asked him curiously.

Harry shrugged. "No, sir. I don't believe so," he replied honestly.

"You would have made a great addition to my house, you know," Albus commented lightly, sounding somewhat regretful.

Harry appreciated the thought but was quite happy to once again find himself in the house of snakes.

"The hat considered Gryffindor for a few seconds, something about an innate recklessness I've never grown out of," Harry decided to share. "But in the end, it thought better of it. If I recall correctly, its exact words were, 'No, better not Gryffindor. You'll only end up causing mutiny in the house of lions. Best for everyone involved if we place you in Slytherin'."

Dumbledore chuckled at Harry's rather impressive imitation of the hat's voice.

"Yes, I can see why the hat might have gotten that impression," Albus grinned wearily.

They settled into a pleasant silence, allowing their feet to carry them through their stroll around the partially frozen lake.

Harry pondered over his next words carefully, trying to articulate his thoughts in a way that wouldn't offend the wizard.

"Sir, I don't wish to cross any boundaries, but I think it prudent to offer you some advice."

Albus eyed him cautiously, suddenly looking much more guarded.

"And what would you like to advise me on, Hadrian?"

Harry gave the man a small, wry smile, and his brows drew together.

"Professor," he started hesitantly. "If I had a loved one, no matter their erm- constitution, and I was uncertain of their fate or my own…. Well, I would make sure that there wasn't anything left unsaid between us."

Albus gulped at Harry's none too subtle message, immediately looking away from his knowing gaze.

"I see," Dumbledore whispered almost inaudibly, his blue eyes gaining a far-away sheen to them, obviously lost in his thoughts and memories.

"I've lost someone, once," Harry chose to confess somewhat uncomfortably, more than capable of empathising with that lost look in the wizard's eyes.

It wasn't easy to love someone you knew you shouldn't, and no one knew that better than Harry.

But no one ever said that love was meant to be easy.

Dumbledore's attention snapped back to him, and he watched him silently—patiently waiting for Harry to share his story.

"It feels like it was aeons ago, and at the same time, it feels like it was yesterday. The wound is as fresh today as it was the day he was taken from me, even though we hadn't spoken in years before his passing," Harry said softly, and suddenly he couldn't stand to look into Dumbledore's eyes anymore—hating the sympathy he saw there.

"There had been so much left to say, so many things I'd wanted to confess. But, unfortunately, I will have to carry those words with me for the rest of my life."

Harry sighed and threw Dumbledore a meaningful look. "I wouldn't wish that type of regret on anyone, Professor, not even my worst enemy."

Albus flinched and seemed to arch into himself.

"Gellert is not a good man. He—"

"We do not get to decide who we love, sir," Harry quickly interjected. "The world would be a much simpler place to live in if we had such a luxury. In the end, the heart wants what it wants, and there is no shame to be had in that."

Dumbledore closed his eyes and chuckled mirthlessly.

"But what does it say about me? That my heart still belongs to a man that would see our world destroyed?" he asked him somewhat frantically, and Harry wasn't sure if Dumbledore was talking to himself, but decided to give the man an answer anyway.

"It says that your capacity for empathy and love is well-nigh unmeasured, sir. It says that you're human," he told him kindly.

At the wizard's defeated look, Harry reached out for his shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Just think about it, sir. It was merely a suggestion, that's all."

"Thank you, Hadrian," he said earnestly, and Harry was horrified to note that his bright, blue eyes were gaining a suspicious glittering shine to them.

Well, he could strike out 'Make Dumbledore Cry' from his bucket list.

Harry quickly dropped his hand, and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"You're welcome, sir."

Harry noticed that they were about to arrive at the castle, so he stopped in his tracks, wanting to get one last thing off his chest.

"Hadrian?" questioned Dumbledore when he noticed his abrupt stop.

"There is one last thing I need to ask of you, Professor."

"Oh?" Dumbledore was curiously peering at him from under his half-moon spectacles.

"It's about Tom Riddle, sir."

Just the mention of Tom's name seemed to be enough to set the wizard on edge, his expression immediately darkening.

"What about Mr. Riddle?" he asked him, tone curt and decidedly harsher than it had been throughout their entire conversation.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the wizard's glaring dislike for the young boy.

"Regardless of the outcome in the coming Wizengamot vote, I'll be petitioning for Mr. Riddle's guardianship," Harry informed him.

Dumbledore looked quite bothered by this new tidbit of information Harry had offered up.

"Mr. Riddle is—"

"—still a boy," Harry interrupted him, having no desire to listen to the wizard caution him away from Tom. "Tom is a lonely young wizard in need of guidance. Abandoning him to the muggle world and its war at the end of each year is simply cruel. And while I suspect that the only reason you insist on this is because of some misguided attempt to teach him some humility—that is not the way to go about it. All your actions have accomplished is the fostering of more hate in him, and I will not have it go on any longer," he insisted adamantly.

Dumbledore took a moment to turn over Harry's words and to take in his resolved expression.

"Mr. Riddle may portray himself as a charming individual, but has the potential to grow into a very dangerous wizard, Hadrian," Albus couldn't help but warn him.

"That may be so, sir, but he needs to be treated as the boy that he is and not as the threat he might become. You'll be surprised to find that kindness might go a long way."

There was a pregnant pause between them, in which Dumbledore stared at him with an impeccably occluded expression.

"I will not stand in your way," Dumbledore finally acquiesced, if somewhat grudgingly.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was on a mission.

He was stalking the halls of Hogwarts with a single-minded determination that had every one misfortunate enough to come across him hastily shoving out of his way.

It had taken him the entire morning and afternoon, but he'd finally come to the decisive conclusion that he had to confront Hadrian Peverell.

Ignoring the situation hadn't done Tom any good, so he'd decided that confusing and mortifying kiss aside, he couldn't stand not knowing anymore. He simply had to speak to Hadrian about his bill, had to ask about his plans for muggle-borns like him—the abandoned ones with no home to speak of.

He had too many questions, and it was distracting him from some crucial matters. Namely, continuing his research on his ancestry and some other, less legal projects.

He needed to be able to focus, and that would only happen once he'd sated his curiosity.

And maybe that was all merely an excuse to speak with Hadrian.

And maybe Tom missed him.

And maybe Tom didn't care to analyse the exact purpose for his reasoning.

Not wanting to wait for even a second longer, Tom had gotten up from his bed where he'd been in the middle of reading Forgotten Pureblood Houses Through The Ages and left his empty dorm room in search of the wizard.

Preferably, he'd wanted to catch Hadrian on his own. But seeing as he always had at least one Black at his side and Potter was never far behind, it didn't seem likely no matter the time of day he chose to face him. So he'd have to settle for asking Hadrian to have a private word.

Tom had searched the Slytherin common room, the kitchens, the library, and some of the empty classrooms he knew Hadrian frequented. Still, it hadn't been until he came across a gaggling group of Hufflepuffs looking out of a second-floor window that he'd finally located the elusive Hadrian Peverell.

For some reason Tom couldn't begin to comprehend, Hadrian was outside in the freezing weather with the top half of his body completely bare. And seemingly of his own volition, he was performing what looked to him like a complicated set of exercises, which consequently allowed Tom to see Hadrian's muscles flex rather distractedly.

And as he'd predicted, Hadrian was surrounded by no less than three Blacks and the Potter heir.

Lucretia and Orion, fully clothed, were trying to mimic Hadrian's movements, while Alphard and Potter were scribbling away on some piece of parchment, looking as if they would rather be anywhere but in each other's company.

Tom's eyes fell back onto Hadrian's distant form, and he was utterly incapable of stopping his eyes from roaming the entire length of him—taking in every inch that he'd offered up so carelessly.

It was decidedly hard to accomplish, but Tom managed to tear his eyes away from Hadrian's partial nudity and started making his way outside, but not before placing a powerful warming charm on himself.

On his way outside, Tom repeatedly reminded himself that a bare chest was nothing to be embarrassed about—that it was nothing to lose his composure over. So, when he was a mere few meters away from Hadrian and his friends, his steps didn't falter as they probably would have had he not been mentally preparing himself and kept on walking until he came to a stop directly in front of Hadrian's startling figure.

Grey eyes peered determinedly into emerald.

"I was wondering when you'd come to find me," Hadrian murmured, his gaze gentle and welcoming.

Tom ignored him and kept his eyes fixed firmly above Hadrian's neckline, attempting not to gape at all the changes in the wizard's appearance.

And standing this close to Hadrian—so close that he had to actively stop himself from subtly inhaling his enticing scent—Tom couldn't help recalling their kiss.

The way his lips had felt pressed against his own.

The way he'd tasted.

The way he'd gasped and closed his eyes—lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

The way it had ended.

"If you have a moment, I'd appreciate a word in private," Tom said smoothly, his tone belying the apprehension churning in the pit of his stomach.

"Of course," Hadrian said with a kind smile, never taking his eyes off Tom.

Tom was taken aback by the affection he saw shining in Hadrian's eyes and had to swallow down a surprised gasp. He took an involuntary step back and looked away from his intense stare before he began blushing.

Hadrian cleared his throat and turned to look at his little group of associates.

"I'll catch up with you at dinner," he told them while waving a hand over himself, instantly replacing his previous pair of loose-fitted pants with black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a set of open, casual, black robes.

Tom pressed his lips together at the offhand show of power and headed back inside, not willing to spend a second longer outside than he had to.

Harry quickly caught up to him, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he kept up with the fast pace Tom had set.

Seeing as it was Sunday and the castle was crawling with students wanting out of their common rooms and looking for a secluded classroom, the only place Tom was positive they wouldn't be interrupted was his dorm room. Deciding to ignore the possible implications that Hadrian could read into his actions, Tom allowed his feet to carry him down to the Slytherin dungeons, Hadrian steadfast and silent at his side.

As they made their way down to their common room, Tom allowed himself to observe the older wizard—subtly, of course.

There was something distinctly different about Hadrian that had nothing to do with all his superficial changes. Although, those were quite notable as well.

He was calmer than he'd been in their last meeting. He looked less burdened—settled even—and at peace.

With his hands shoved in his pockets and the slight skip in his step, he looked like he didn't have a single care in the world.

It was slightly unnerving, especially given their last encounter.

Did he not care at all that he'd all but broken Tom's heart?

Did he not know that all he'd been able to think about was him?

Had he found their kiss that unremarkable?

Once Tom led Hadrian through the portrait and to his room, his only reaction had been the slight raising of his eyebrows, but had thankfully kept any thoughts to himself.

Tom held the door open and tried not to think about the fact that it would be Harry's first time in his living space.

Hadrian lingered at the door for a short second before pushing past Tom into the room.

Tom quietly shut the door and promptly turned to face Hadrian, grey eyes watching the other wizard take in the room Tom had the misfortune of sharing.

"I've read yesterday's Prophet," Tom blurted out as he leaned back against the door, hands carefully folded behind him.

Hadrian halted his observations and turned to give Tom a wry smile. "As I'm sure has the rest of the wizarding world," he stated indifferently, his words infuriatingly lacking any sort of smugness.

"I have some questions," Tom informed him bluntly.

Harry hummed. "I'd have been surprised if you didn't," he said and pointed at the chair next to Tom's desk. "Mind if we sit?" he asked him, tone cheeky.

Had it been anyone else acting so impertinent, he'd have already begun hexing them into submission. But as it was Hadrian, he couldn't bring himself to be angry, especially since it showed a level of friendliness he wasn't sure they still had.

"Make yourself comfortable," Tom mumbled, pushing himself off the door.

Harry pushed out the chair and turned it in a way so that could straddle it.

Tom blinked at the action, wondering where Hadrian's sense of decorum had vanished to over the past days.

After a moment of contemplation, Tom decided to make himself comfortable on his bed, hoping that his casual stance would set a more welcoming tone to the conversation.

Tom kicked off his shoes and sat cross-legged on his bed, facing Harry.

"Ask away, Tom," Hadrian urged, watching him expectantly.

"First of all," Tom drawled, "since I have a hard time believing anything that drivel publishes, I wanted to ask if you're pushing forward a bill to bring all magical children into the wizarding world at birth."

Hadrian snorted. "Not a fan of the Prophet, I take it?"

Tom didn't even bother dignifying that with a response.

Hadrian grinned and absently started playing with his lordship ring. "For once, the Prophet was surprisingly accurate in its reports."

Tom took a moment to allow that information to sink in, trusting that his annoyance wasn't blatantly written across his face.

"What a noble cause," he murmured silkily, unconsciously leaning away from Hadrian.

It was irrational. Of course it was. But Tom could help the feeling of betrayal that washed over him at the confirmation.

And it was astonishingly petty, even for Tom, but he couldn't deny that he was disturbed by the fact that while he'd been acting like a love-sick teenager, Hadrian had been out in the world trying to make a difference.

Tom never felt more like a child than when he was in the presence of Hadrian Peverell.

Harry followed Tom's movements, noticing the way he'd suddenly tensed—closing himself off from him.

And Harry knew how sore a subject this must be for him—like prodding at an old wound that wouldn't properly scab over.

The fact that other children would be getting what Tom had been denied was only adding insult to the injury which was his less than stellar upbringing in that muggle orphanage.

Harry's heart ached for him, wondering, and not for the first time, what kind of difference it would have made if he'd had a kinder childhood—if he'd been spared from learning at such a young age how ruthless the world could be. But there was nothing to be done about that, and Harry could only hope that he would make enough of a difference. He could only hope that he's not too late.

"And what about the older children?" Tom rasped before he could change his mind, hating how weak he sounded.

Not wanting to make Tom even more uncomfortable than he was already feeling, Harry was quick to reply.

"Well, to start with, there will be a mandatory class for every muggle-born and half-blood student at Hogwarts who was raised in the muggle world," Hadrian revealed. "Its aim will be for them to gain a better understanding of the world they've become a part of."

Tom could appreciate the logic behind that. It would be akin to Muggle Studies, but instead, it will be something along the lines of Wizarding Studies.

Tom had always wondered why that had never been a subject they offered, and like many other muggle-raised children, found it rather neglectful. It would have saved him quite a bit of embarrassment in his first year, as well as a few months of researching.

Envy once again pricked his conscience.

"It gets a little bit more complicated for the younger children under eleven," Hadrian said, drawing Tom out of his musings. "They're going to have to go through a whole process before they can get any sort of lessons. Especially since there will be muggle parents and guardians involved."

"And what's this process?" Tom pressed, intrigued.

Hadrian smirked and ran a hand through his braids. "First, we locate the children," he drawled teasingly.

Noticing Tom's unimpressed stare, he released an exaggerated sigh and pushed on.

"Once we find them, we approach their parents or guardians who will be the first to be informed of our existence by our trained agents. They will log their reactions and depending on their following conversation; various steps can be taken," Harry informed him. "The list is long, but the gist of it is that the muggles that are willing to become part of our world, abide by our laws, and sign secrecy contracts will be welcomed with open arms, as well as given the opportunity to learn about us and how best to help their charges."

Tom grimaced at that, appalled by the notion that such a privilege will be offered to the muggles.

It was unfathomable to think that muggles were going to be embraced into a world they had no right being part of.

Harry caught Tom's disguised flinch and had to bite back a laugh at how predictable he was.

"We've already had this conversation, Tom," Harry pointed out, referring to their first tutoring session. "You know I think that we need muggles. And this is an easy way to incorporate them into our gene pool."

Tom didn't bother hiding his scepticism. "Just because something passes your lips, it doesn't automatically turn it into gospel, Peverell. No matter the fact that the rest of the world has started acting like it."

If Tom thought that Hadrian would be offended, he was left frustratingly disappointed.

Hadrian chuckled and mumbled something that Tom didn't quite catch.

"This isn't a debate, Tom," Hadrian reminded him. "I'm just informing you of my plans, as per your request."

Tom ground his teeth together, not liking the not-so-subtle reminder of his lack of power over the affairs of the Wizengamot.

"You would stand to benefit from seeking my opinion, especially if you're relying on advice from the likes of Orion Black and Fleamont Potter," he drawled silkily, thankfully keeping the bite from his tone.

Tom hadn't wanted to admit it, because such feelings were beneath him, but could no longer deny that it irked him—irked him something fierce—that those people were so obviously in Hadrian's confidence. While he, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was so obviously not.

What could Hadrian possibly see in them? Besides Alphard Black, who Tom had to begrudgingly admit was indeed quite bright, the rest of his clique was hardly the epitome of insightful wisdom.

So, really, it was the principle of things. Tom was rather obviously more skilled than them, and ergo, Harry should automatically be more drawn to him.

So, why wasn't he?

"When the subject doesn't involve any muggles, I'll be glad to consult you on your thoughts, Tom," Hadrian reassured him as if he'd read his mind, causing Tom to fortify his occlumency shields.

Tom was torn between feeling offended and pacified.

On the one hand, Hadrian assumed that Tom was incapable of taking an unbiased view on muggles, which, perhaps, he wasn't so mistaken about. And then there was the fact that he'd inferred that he would be seeking Tom's advice in the future.

Tom wasn't unaware of the fact that Hadrian was purposefully stroking his ego, but decided to let it slide.

"And what of the other muggles?" Tom asked him, deciding to get back to their previous conversation. "You implied that not all muggles might be accepting of our existence. What do you plan to do about them?"

Harry grimaced. "Well, the muggles less receptive to the idea of caring for a magical child will be wiped off their memory, their charges to be relocated to a safer environment."

Tom could scarcely believe his ears.

Many muggle-lovers were sure to protest against such a blatant invasion of the muggle's privacy. Not to mention the uproar there would be once they figured out that children were to be taken away from their families.

Many from the light side would protest this course of action on principle because the only way to execute any of these plans was by using the mind-arts and some other currently illegal measures.

Could Hadrian have already built enough influence to make that happen?

"And they're going to simply allow that?" Tom asked him, his incredulity evident.

Hadrian looked amused. "It's not exactly going to be easy," he allowed. "Nothing is set in stone. But I do believe the Wizengamot can be persuaded. Hopefully on time for the next vote."

Tom couldn't help but think that the entire Wizengamot were pushovers.

"What happens after the vote? Assuming that they pass your bill," Tom inquired, ever curious.

Hadrian stared at Tom, absently tracing patterns into the wood of the chair he was balancing on two legs.

"The children under the age of eleven and their parents will be the first to benefit from classes outside of Hogwarts, designed to teach the uninformed about the way the wizarding world works," he explained. "From using a quill, understanding our banking systems, to honouring our traditions and everything in between." Harry paused for a moment, hesitating, before adding, "At least, that's what its focus will be on for the next couple of years. Other helpful subjects for growing witches and wizards will be made available in time."

A school, Tom thought dazedly.

Hadrian was building an entire school.

The sort of funds it took to build a school were astronomical. And if rumours were to be believed, ever the hero, Hadrian had just opened a shelter.

And then there was the small matter of the housing for the children that were to be relocated to a 'safer environment'. Tom had a hard time believing that their Ministry would be forking out any funds for that cause. Still, the possibility that Hadrian was the sole benefactor was even more unbelievable. For an orphan that never had a penny to his name, that sort of money was unimaginable.

Suddenly, Hadrian leaned forward and dropped back onto all four legs of his chair, his expression grave.

"As for the students of Hogwarts that currently find themselves with unsuitable guardians," Hadrian started delicately, causing Tom's heart to beat faster than he was comfortable with. "They will be collected and welcomed to the—" Hadrian paused and winced. "Well, it will work much like an orphanage, so I suppose we might as well call it as it is. I hope that in time we can find them all a suitable family, but until we find such families the children, and young adults," he added hastily, "will have a safe place to call home," he concluded softly, by which time Tom had already looked away from him.

"Why are you doing this?"

Tom wanted to know—needed to know—why this boy only two years older than him cared about these things when no one before him ever seemed to have bothered.

Harry looked at Tom's confused face, noticing the way his eyes had dilated—watching the way he fought the flicker of hope that had been sparked.

Harry knew that Tom had been disappointed one too many times, understood that it would take a long while before Tom stopped anticipating the worst. But Harry hoped that this could be a step forward for them.

"Because I don't see why I shouldn't do the right thing," came Harry's straightforward and honest reply, even if it wasn't the complete truth.

Tom scoffed and turned his sceptical gaze onto Harry. "No one is that selfless."

Harry grinned. He'd simply have to prove him wrong, wouldn't he?

"The construction on the orphanage won't be finished until summer…" Harry trailed off, biting his bottom lip undecidedly. "I was going to give this to you for Yule, but it can't hurt to give it to you now," Harry said as he summoned a box from thin air and threw it in Tom's direction.

Tom nimbly caught the box with his right hand and turned it around in his fingers, brows furrowed in startled confusion.

A Yule gift? Not that Tom didn't appreciate it. But he couldn't quite connect how the one thing had anything to do with the other.

"Go on then, open it," Harry pressed, resting his chin on his folded arms as he waited.

Tom opened the green box and found himself even further confused.

"A key?" he questioned as he gently picked it up from its box, noticing upon closer inspection that it was in the shape of a beautiful serpent, adorned with small emerald stones as its eyes.

And suddenly Harry felt his throat go dry, anxious and unsure of how Tom would react to his gesture of goodwill.

Because, knowing Tom as he did, it could go either way.

"It's mostly symbolic," Harry rushed to explain. "You know. Seeing as you're more than capable of wandlessly opening a door," he babbled nervously.

Tom tilted his head to the side, trying to make sense of the confounding wizard.

"Symbolic?"

"It's the key to your room at the orphanage," Harry clarified and watched as Tom's grey eyes widened and instantly dropped back to the key.

"Obviously, no one is going to force you to stay there," Harry reassured him, hoping to put out any fires before they started. "Just know that you don't have to go back to the muggle orphanage unless you choose to."

Tom stared down at the key, transfixed by what it meant.

He would never have to go back there.

He would never again have to reduce himself to the company of muggles.

He would be protected from the sirens and the bombs and the hunger.

But then again, it all seemed too good to be true. Nothing, besides his magic, had ever come easily to Tom.

"I will be allowed to stay there?" Tom verified, Gryffindor's head of house immediately coming to mind. The meddling wizard had already ensured his stay at Wool's the previous summer when he'd lowered himself to begging to stay at Hogwarts. What is to say that Dumbledore wouldn't insist upon it once more?

"Yes," Harry confirmed smoothly and firmly, not wanting to leave Tom with any doubts.

Tom nervously bit his lip, not wanting to allow himself to hope. The disappointment he'd feel if anything were to go awry and he was shipped back to the muggle orphanage would be devastating.

At that thought, Tom clenched his jaw.

"I understand that you seem to have made it your mission to be everyone's hero, Peverell. But I don't need your charity, nor am I in need of your rescuing," he bit out defensively. Tom Marvolo Riddle didn't need anyone—not even Hadrian Peverell.

Harry winced, fire catching despite his attempts. Of course Tom wasn't going to make this easy. He'd been a right idiot to think otherwise.

"Tom," he sighed. "You can return to Wool's if that's what you really want," he informed him. "As I said, no one is going to force you to do anything you're not comfortable with. All I am doing is offering you another option—offering you a place far away from the muggle war. I know that it can't be pleasant for you to stay there all summer long, cut off from our world. "

Tom was tempted, so very tempted to give in and trust Hadrian. But trusting anyone had never gotten him anywhere—had only ever reaped pain for him.

"You know nothing," Tom hissed. "I tire of your baseless presumptions, Peverell. You know nothing about me, so I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped acting like it."

Harry had to bite back a groan. Why did Tom have to make everything so difficult? Why did he have to act like such a brat?

"Merlin, why are you being so stubborn about this?"

"Stubborn?" Tom repeated in a positively insulted manner, his narrow-eyed glare turning even harsher. But Harry wasn't intimidated by the little wizard.

"Yes, Tom. Stubborn and prideful," he added.

Tom's hand itched to reach for his wand. How dare he?

"You've got some nerve," he snarled. "I will not have you insult me in my own dorm room, Peverell."

Emerald eyes narrowed. "That wasn't my intention, Tom, and don't try to deflect. All I'm trying to do is look out for you—help you," Harry insisted.

"I've already told you that I don't need your help, Peverell," Tom snapped.

"Be that as it may, I'm still offering."

"And what if your vote doesn't pass?" Tom pressed, angry grey eyes searching Hadrian's face.

"The orphanage will still open," Hadrian reassured him determinedly, sounding rather sure of himself.

"And if I decided to move to your orphanage, I'd be allowed to leave? To Diagon or to meet with friends?" Tom queried further, hope growing the longer the thought of never having to step another foot in that muggle orphanage again settled into his mind. Not that he'd outwardly allowed it to show, grey eyes filled to the brim with mistrust and scepticism.

Harry smiled at him and gave him a nod. "There will be a curfew depending on age, but you'll be allowed to leave the premises. It's not a prison, Tom."

Tom frowned, turning the offer around in his head.

He wouldn't—couldn't—make a decision on this yet.

"Alright," he said as nonchalantly as he could, losing the bite in his tone. It wouldn't do to offend the wizard that could possibly be his ticket out of Wool's.

Harry's eyebrows drew together, and his lips pursed into a frown.

"Alright?" he asked him. What did that even mean?

"Alright, I'll think about it," Tom expanded casually with a light shrug of his right shoulder while on the inside, he was beyond conflicted.

Harry stared blankly at him for a moment before rolling his eyes at the young wizard, but even as he did so, he couldn't bite back his pleased grin.

"Alright," Harry breathed, his heart expanding with a sudden rush of fondness as he watched Tom tenderly wrap his fingers around the key he'd gifted him.

Harry looked away from Tom, chewing on his bottom lip while pondering his next words, wondering if they would be well received.

"It's not my place," Harry started with a small sigh, immediately catching Tom's attention. "But I'd still like to offer my sincere services, should you ever want to talk to anyone about…" he trailed off, looking meaningfully into grey eyes.

Grey eyes clouded over with momentary confusion before understanding settled into them.

"There is nothing about that place worth mentioning," Tom sharply shot him down as soon as he cottoned on to what Harry was alluding to, his eyes once again narrowing into a harsh glare.

Instead of persuading Tom otherwise, Harry gave him a short nod and decided to take another route.

"Do you want to know why I'm really doing all this?" Harry asked him abruptly, causing Tom to clench his jaw.

"I did ask you before, didn't I?"

Instead of answering, Harry looked at Tom, willing him to read the sincerity in his eyes.

"I know what it's like to be in the tender care of people that...aren't fond of you," Harry settled on cautiously.

Tom inwardly scoffed at that.

"My parents were busy people with a dangerous career," Harry spun, trying to stay as close to the truth as he possibly could. "They couldn't afford to take me with them, so they left me with some muggle relatives, thinking that given some people's obsession with the Peverells it would be the safest place for me to be."

Tom shot him a surprised look, quietly wondering what Hadrian's parents could have possibly been thinking.

Harry cleared his throat and looked away, remembering the Dursley's always an unpleasant business.

"Suffice it to say that they didn't like the fact that I was a wizard," he mumbled darkly. "I didn't even know I was a wizard until my parents came to pick me up on my eleventh birthday," he confessed, and then decided that he'd shared enough for one day.

Tom knew how hard it was to share something like that. Knew that it would probably be prudent of him to thank him or offer him some sort of comfort, but he couldn't bring himself to.

So Tom gave him a curt nod, the closest he would ever come to expressing any sign of sympathy.

Harry smiled at him, appreciating the awkward gesture.

"The point is that I know what it's like to be mistreated by adults that should be caring for you. I don't want that happening to anyone else, not if I can help it."

Tom watched as Hadrian's eyes shone with conviction and determination, unable to find even a glimmer of deceit in those mesmerising green eyes of his.

"That's very admirable," Tom complimented, once again looking down at the key now clutched in his hand.

Freedom, he couldn't help but wonder in barely concealed awe.

Tom picked the box up from where he'd discarded it on the bed and placed the serpent-shaped key back inside. He got off his bed and went to his trunk where he safely tucked the priceless gift away. Because even if it didn't work out—even if Tom was sent back to Wool's—the key was a well-intentioned gift from Hadrian. And despise him as much as he did at that moment, for bringing up things Tom would rather leave forgotten, it didn't squash the hopeless affection he felt for the older wizard.

As he turned back to face Harry, he was unsure of what to say next, the sudden silence hanging between them almost suffocating.

Green and grey locked together, and neither one of them could look away.

"Did you feel that magical surge yesterday?" Tom whispered once the silence became unbearable.

"Maybe," Harry replied, just as quietly.

Tom looked away, eyes dropping to his dishevelled bed which he immediately started putting to rights.

"Do you know what it was?" Tom questioned further, breathing easier now that he wasn't looking at the handsome wizard.

"Maybe," Harry replied cheekily while leaning back into his chair, his arms stretched out in front of him.

Tom shot him an irritated look from where he was bent over the bed, attempting to remove the last crease from his duvet.

"Are you going to expand on that or do I have to guess?" he asked him as he straightened out, his tone on the verge of mocking.

"Neither," Harry shot back, causing the younger boy to grit his teeth together.

"You're infuriating," Tom snapped, but it lacked any real bite.

Harry chuckled and shrugged. "Pick another question," Harry negotiated.

There was only one question Tom was desperate to ask, but he couldn't, not when he was so afraid of the answer he'd receive.

"Was there any particular reason you decided on this sudden, complete change in appearance?" was what Tom asked him instead, allowing himself to properly take Hadrian in for the first time since he caught a glimpse of him from the second-floor window.

His raven-coloured hair was braided in several small braids, forming patterns and designs Tom simply wouldn't have the patience for. Hadrian had gathered his braids into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, where one could see the vibrant, Slytherin green colour tinting his hair.

With his hair out of the way, Tom could also see a rather fetching looking silver earring adorning one of his ears. And around his neck rested a black leather cord with a fairly intimidating looking dragon tooth hanging off it.

It was quite the jarring contrast to the typically proper looking wizard.

"I needed a change," Harry settled on after a moment. "You don't approve?" he asked him with a goading smirk.

Tom huffed and looked away, not caring for the warmth that had started creeping up his neck.

"You look fine," he told him as he tried to expel the unprompted image of his bare chest from his mind.

"Only fine?" Harry pressed teasingly.

Tom's breath caught in his chest, wanting desperately to kiss that smug smile off his face.

And he couldn't not know anymore.

"Did you handle them?" he blurted out, wincing at his lack of tact.

Harry's grin fell from his face. "Pardon?"

"Earlier this week, when…" Tom trialled off, unable to bring himself to say the words, his silver eyes looking anywhere but at Harry. "That night at the Astronomy tower you said that you had to handle some things before you could enter into any sort of relationship," he reminded him, his palms beginning to sweat. "So, I'm asking if you've handled them yet," he finished with more bravery than he ever suspected he had.

Harry, not having anticipated that Tom would broach that subject, was stumped for a moment.

Amidst everything that was going on, could he afford to be with Tom?

But then again, Tom was already approaching the time where he'd started looking into horcruxes, and Harry was sure that he wouldn't suddenly stop his pursuit for immortality simply because he'd been allowed to leave that muggle orphanage.

Logically, Harry knew that dating Tom would help him with his mission to prevent him from becoming a genocidal lunatic. And yet, he didn't want to date him merely as part of a mission.

So for the first time since his arrival in this time, Harry looked at this Tom, as he was now, and seriously asked himself, 'Do I want to be with him?'

This young wizard that still had the ability to be somewhat sweet?

This possessive yet innocent boy that had never been with anyone before?

This angry, smug, narcissistic boy who thought himself above everyone?

This boy who openly looked at him the way his older-self had only dared to when he thought Harry wasn't looking?

This prickly, smart, talented, and sarcastic boy. Did he want him? Truly want him?

Yes, his heart stuttered as he gazed into those silver pools of Tom's.

Always, his heart screamed.

"I have," Harry finally told him as evenly as he could, watching as Tom's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

Harry got up from his chair and went to slowly stand in front of Tom.

Tom dropped his gaze, but Harry gently took hold of his chin and tilted his head up. He ran his thumb over his cheek, relishing in the fact that he was being allowed this intimacy.

"Mr. Riddle," Harry breathed formally. "Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you out sometime?"

There we go, another chapter done. Hope that everyone missing some Tom/Harry interaction liked this chapter :)

Thanks to everyone that's left a review on the last few chapters. Really appreciate your kind comments guys! Makes me want to work so much harder on this story! You're all so very awesome 3

Till next time ^_^