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Chapter Text

The Great Hall in the morning was always a chaotic symphony of clashing silverware, boisterous chatter, and the flapping wings of hundreds of mail-delivery owls. But this morning, the sound seemed to be vacuumed toward the long, crimson-draped table in the center of the room.

Gryffindor House. The home of the brave. The home of heroes. Or, as Harry Evans silently called it in his head while sipping a bland pumpkin juice: The home of the loud and self-satisfied.

At the center of that attention, as always, was Tom Riddle.

Harry sat at the far end of the Slytherin table, where the shadows from the floating candles seemed to pool more thickly. This position allowed him to observe the entire Hall without having to lift his head too high. He saw Riddle standing up, his perfectly coiffed black hair artfully mussed—that "just woke up but still charming" look that the Hufflepuff girls swooned over. The Head Boy badge gleamed on his robes, right next to the Quidditch Captain insignia. The red and gold of his Gryffindor tie complimented his pale skin and dark eyes, creating a contrast that was both vibrant and dangerous.

"He's incredible, isn't he?"

A voice sounded next to Harry.

Harry didn't need to turn to know who it was. Alphard Black, one of the few pure-blood Slytherins who didn't show open contempt for Harry's mixed-blood status, though his friendliness never went beyond superficial pleasantries.

"Who?"

Harry asked, his voice flat, eyes still fixed on the advanced Potions textbook open on his lap.

"Riddle."

Alphard jutted his chin toward the Gryffindor table, where Tom was laughing loudly, clapping a trembling first-year on the shoulder, causing the boy to spill an entire inkwell on the table. Instead of scolding him, Riddle drew his wand, a stark white yew, and gave it a slight wave. The ink stain vanished, replaced by a single, crimson rose.

The entire Hall 'oohed' in appreciation. The Ravenclaw girls giggled, and the Gryffindor boys pounded the table as if Riddle had just slain a dragon instead of merely cleaning a table.

"He's the embodiment of everything Dumbledore wants in a student."

Alphard continued, his voice laced with a mixture of envy and admiration.

"Brave, gallant, and terrifyingly talented. Heard he's planning to sign up for the Aurors right after graduation."

"Gallant."

Harry repeated the word, tasting its bitter, acrid flavor on his tongue. He allowed his lips to quirk slightly, a sarcastic smile so fleeting Alphard missed it.

Harry had seen it.

Just seconds before the inkwell tipped, he had seen Riddle's fingers twitch beneath his voluminous robes. A gentle Pushing Jinx, non-verbal, wandless. Subtle, precise, and cruel. Riddle had intentionally knocked the inkwell onto the first-year, just so he could have the chance to play the rescuing hero and show off his superior magical ability.

That was how Tom Riddle operated. He created chaos to sell order. He manufactured fear to sell safety. And this entire idiotic school, from the naive students to the veteran professors, bought it at the steep price of blind loyalty.

Harry snapped his book shut, the sound of the leather cover closing echoing dryly.

"He's a good actor, Alphard. If being an Auror doesn't work out, he should try the stage."

Alphard frowned, not understanding Harry's meaning, but before he could ask, the bell signaling the first class of the day rang.

Sixth-year Defence Against the Dark Arts was always a subterranean battlefield. Professor Galatea Merrythought, an old witch with sharp eyes and the demeanor of a war veteran, always enjoyed pairing students from opposing houses to "promote unity." A terrible idea, in Harry's opinion, especially when Gryffindors and Slytherins were crammed into one tight classroom.

The air in the room was thick with the smell of gunpowder and animosity.

"Today, we will be practicing the Stunning Spell and the Shield Charm."

Professor Merrythought announced, her voice booming across the room.

"But I don't want you just standing still and firing spells like statues. This is combat! I want to see movement! Creativity! The... bloodthirst of youth!"

She clapped her hands, and the desks and chairs automatically flew to the sides of the room, creating a large open space in the middle.

"Riddle."

She called out, a satisfied smile plain on her face as she looked at her star pupil.

"You come up and demonstrate. And... well, who will be a worthy opponent?"

Her gaze swept over the Slytherin students clustered in the corner. Most of them avoided her eyes. Facing Tom Riddle in a public duel was tantamount to social suicide, not to mention the risk of a few broken ribs from a "professional accident." Riddle was known for being heavy-handed in practice, always pushing the limits of "defensive" magic to the very brink of brutal assault.

"I will, Professor."

Abraxas Malfoy, a Slytherin with the usual arrogant expression and platinum-blond hair, stepped forward. He wanted to show off, or perhaps he thought his high pure-blood status would make Riddle go easy on him.

Harry leaned against the cold stone wall at the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He knew the outcome before the duel even began.

"Begin!"

"Stupefy!"

Malfoy shouted, a brilliant red light shooting straight at Riddle.

Riddle didn't even flinch. He simply leaned slightly to the left, a movement as graceful as a dance, letting the spell singe the air beside his shoulder. The smile on his lips never faded, the smile of a predator toying with its food.

"Protego."

Riddle said softly, his deep voice nonetheless echoing. An invisible shield sprang up, blocking Malfoy's next series of charms.

Then, he counter-attacked.

It wasn't with common curses. Riddle's fighting style was thoroughly Gryffindor, or at least the Gryffindor persona he wanted everyone to see: Overwhelming, direct, and explosive.

"Expelliarmus!"

The red light from Riddle's wand was not merely a Disarming Charm. It carried a horrific physical force. Malfoy was thrown backward as if kicked in the chest by a Hippogriff. His wand flew high into the air, spinning, before landing neatly in Riddle's left hand. Malfoy slammed hard against the stone wall and slid to the floor, coughing, his face drained of all color.

"Excellent! Excellent!"

Professor Merrythought clapped in approval, while the Gryffindors roared.

"A perfect Disarming Charm, Mr. Riddle! Strong enough to neutralize the opponent immediately without causing permanent injury."

Riddle strode forward, offering a hand to pull Malfoy to his feet. He returned the wand to his opponent, his face a mask of false concern.

"Are you alright, Abraxas? My apologies, I went a bit too far."

"It's... fine."

Malfoy mumbled, snatching his wand back and retreating, the humiliation stark in his gray eyes.

Harry observed it all. He saw the way Riddle squeezed Malfoy's hand just a little too tightly when pulling him up—a warning grip. He saw Riddle's gaze sweep the crowd, soaking in the adoration like a god accepting a sacrifice. And then, those eyes stopped.

Through the noisy crowd, through the magical dust still hanging in the air, Tom Riddle looked directly at Harry Potter.

It wasn't the first time they had looked at each other, but it was the first time Harry felt the weight of that gaze. It held none of the false friendliness he offered others. It was sharp, dissecting, and invasive. Riddle was looking for something. Perhaps he sensed the difference in Harry's aura, or perhaps he was just curious about the only person in the room who hadn't clapped.

Harry didn't look away. He maintained his position against the wall, his emerald-green eyes narrowing slightly, returning the stare with cool indifference. In his mind, the walls of Occlumency were erected, solid and sure, turning his thoughts into a flat, waveless, emotionless lake.

Don't bother, Harry thought, directing the sentiment at the figure in the center of the room. You'll find nothing here, you Counterfeit Lion.

Riddle seemed to pause for a split second. The smile on his lips stiffened slightly, and then he turned away, continuing to accept the Professor's compliments. But Harry knew. He had just been marked.

At lunch, the library was deserted. Most students were enjoying the rare Scottish autumn sun out in the courtyard. Harry chose a hidden corner behind the History of Magic shelves, the dustiest and quietest spot. This was his sanctuary, the place where he could drop the defensive shell of an isolated Slytherin and just be Harry.

Slytherin House was not an easy place to live. For someone of mixed blood like Harry, every day was a battle for survival. He had no illustrious family name like Malfoy or Black to rely on, no money to buy respect. He had only his wits and the necessary ruthlessness to make bullies regret their actions in silence. He had learned how to brew itching potions that lasted a week without leaving a trace, how to cast tripping jinxes on staircases just as an enemy passed by, and most importantly, how to become invisible.

But his invisibility had been shattered today.

Footsteps echoed on the stone floor, steady, confident, and heading straight for him. Harry didn't look up from his book, but his right hand had already slipped inside his robe pocket, fingers tightening around the oaken handle of his wand.

"A History of the 18th Century Goblin Rebellions."

A voice spoke from above.

"Dry, boring, and filled with wizarding prejudice."

Harry slowly raised his head. Tom Riddle was standing there, hands in his pockets, tie loosened slightly, looking as comfortable as if he were in his own common room. He was tall, blocking the light from the window, casting a long shadow that engulfed Harry.

"If you're looking for an autograph, you're in the wrong place, Riddle."

Harry said, his voice cool.

"The Gryffindor Fan Club meets on the other side of the castle."

Riddle let out a low chuckle. It sounded like the purr of a large, amused predator. He pulled out the chair opposite Harry and sat down without asking permission.

"Sharp."

Riddle observed, his dark eyes drilling into Harry's.

"And prickly. Quite different from the quiet, bland facade you usually present in the Great Hall, Harry Evans."

"I wasn't aware the busy Head Boy Riddle had time to pay attention to an unknown Slytherin."

Harry replied, closing his book. He knew this conversation wasn't a simple social call. Riddle wanted something.

"Unknown?"

Riddle tilted his head, his expression one of mock contemplation.

"I don't think someone who can cast a non-verbal Protego to stop a cauldron from exploding in Potions last week is 'unknown.' Or someone who silently fixed a Slytherin Seeker's jinxed broom in the middle of a match."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He had been so careful. He always covered his magical signature. How did he know?

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Harry lied, his face remaining a perfect mask of calm.

"You know perfectly well."

Riddle leaned forward, invading Harry's personal space. His scent, old parchment, sandalwood, and something sharp, like ozone before a storm, enveloped Harry.

"You're very good, Harry. Good at hiding, good at observing. This morning, in the Great Hall, you were the only one not looking at the inkwell. You were looking at my hand."

Harry remained silent. Denial was useless now. Riddle wasn't the type to ask a question unless he already knew the answer. He asked to see his prey's reaction.

"So what?"

Harry challenged, his voice dropping, shedding any false respect.

"Do you want me to applaud your acting skills? Or perhaps you want me to report to Dumbledore that his Golden Boy is actually a cheap manipulator?"

The smile vanished from Riddle's lips. The air around them suddenly dropped several degrees. The magical pressure radiating from Riddle was heavy, pressing down on Harry's lungs. This was the real Tom Riddle. Not the kind Head Boy, but a dangerous, arrogant, and ruthless predator.

"Who do you think Dumbledore would believe?"

Riddle whispered, his voice smooth as velvet but laced with venom.

"A sullen Slytherin orphan, or the model Gryffindor Head Boy? You're smarter than that, Harry."

"I'm not going to report you."

Harry said, maintaining his calm even as a cold sweat began to prickle the back of his neck. He knew he was playing with fire, but he also knew Riddle wouldn't attack him here, in the library.

"I don't care what you do, Riddle. As long as you stay away from me."

"Stay away from me?"

Riddle repeated, the smile returning, colder this time.

"But you intrigue me, Harry. Why would someone with your talent choose to scurry in the shadows? Why not shine? Gryffindor honors bravery, but Slytherin honors ambition. I see no ambition in you. I only see... existence."

"Survival is my greatest ambition."

Harry answered, looking Riddle straight in the eye.

"Not all of us need an audience to prove our worth, Riddle. Some of us prefer to hold real power rather than empty applause."

Riddle's eyes widened fractionally. A gleam lit within them—surprise, and then, a rabid fascination. He looked as if he had just found a new toy, a puzzle more interesting than any dark arts book he had ever read.

"Real power."

Riddle murmured, as if tasting the phrase. He stood up, adjusting his robes.

"You're right, Harry. Applause is just noise. But fear... fear is the most sincere form of respect."

He leaned down, close to Harry's ear, his hot breath fanning the shell of it, making Harry shiver.

"You and I, we're more alike than you think. I'll be watching you, Harry Evans. Don't disappoint me."

Riddle turned and walked away, his black robes billowing behind him like the wings of a great crow. Harry sat frozen in place, his hand still gripping his wand in his pocket, his breathing ragged.

He knew his peaceful, false life at Hogwarts had just officially ended. He had fallen under the gaze of the monster in human clothing.

And the most terrifying part wasn't Riddle's threat. The most terrifying part was that when Riddle said "we're alike," a deep, dark part of Harry's soul had quietly vibrated in agreement.

That evening, the Slytherin Common Room was submerged in the eerie green light filtering in from the Black Lake. The fireplace crackled, but it wasn't enough to chase away the damp chill characteristic of the dungeons.

Harry sat alone at a corner table, trying to finish his Transfiguration essay, but his mind kept drifting back to the encounter in the library. He felt as if an invisible leash had just been fastened around his neck, with the other end held firmly in Tom Riddle's hand.

"Evans."

The drawn-out, whining voice of Walburga Black rang out. She stood with a group of pure-blood Slytherin girls, looking at Harry with familiar disdain.

"I heard you were talking to Riddle in the library today? Don't tell me you're trying to suck up to a Gryffindor for a bit of fame? A Mudblood is still a Mudblood."

Harry sighed, setting his quill down. He was too tired to deal with this stupidity.

"First, Walburga, I'm a Half-blood. Second, if you spent as much time worrying about your abysmal Potions grade as you do prying into other people's business, perhaps you wouldn't have had to repeat your fifth year."

The surrounding students gasped. The usually quiet, reserved Harry Potter rarely fought back against taunts.

Walburga's face flushed crimson with rage. She drew her wand.

"You dare..."

"Tarantallegra!"

The curse hadn't even left Walburga's wand before she shrieked and fell to the floor. A Leg-Locker Curse had struck her from behind.

The entire room turned. Standing in the entrance to the dungeon was none other than Tom Riddle. He wasn't in his Gryffindor uniform but in simple black robes, yet the kingly aura radiating from him silenced the entire arrogant Slytherin common room.

Riddle entered, strolling casually as if walking in his own garden. He didn't look at Walburga struggling on the floor, but walked straight toward Harry.

"Head... Head Boy Riddle?"

A Slytherin boy stammered.

"What are you doing here? This is the Slytherin dungeon..."

"I was asked by Professor Slughorn to deliver a message."

Riddle lied smoothly, his eyes still locked on Harry. He stopped in front of Harry's table, planting his hands on the wooden surface and smiling, a smile that sent a chill down Harry's spine.

"I forgot to give you this, Harry."

Riddle placed a small glass vial on the table, containing a shimmering, silver liquid. It was Felix Felicis, a very small amount, just enough for an hour.

"What is this?"

Harry asked, wary.

"A reward."

Riddle replied, his voice just loud enough for the room to hear.

"For your clever answer in the library. And perhaps... you'll need a bit of luck in the near future."

He turned to the stunned Slytherin crowd. His gaze swept over Walburga, cold and merciless.

"And I hate loud people. Gryffindor is noisy enough. I expect Slytherin to maintain better order. Don't make me come down here again for such trivial matters."

With that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving behind a common room in utter confusion. Walburga had been freed by her friends, but she now looked at Harry with a mixture of fear and hatred. The entire room looked at Harry with new eyes. No longer just simple contempt, but now with scrutiny, suspicion, and apprehension.

Harry stared at the vial of liquid luck on the table. He knew this wasn't a gift. It was a trap. Riddle had just publicly laid claim to him. He had both protected him and thrown him into the spotlight, isolating him in an entirely new way. Now, every Slytherin would wonder what the relationship was between Harry and Riddle. Those who hated Harry would be wary, but those who wanted to get close to Riddle would now come to Harry.

Harry's hand tightened around the vial. He felt anger surge, but with it came a strange thrill. Riddle was challenging him. He was inviting him to join his insane power game.

"Alright, Tom."

Harry whispered into the empty air, his green eyes flashing with a cold light.

"You want to play? I'll play with you. But don't expect me to play by your rules."

Outside the dungeon window, the giant squid drifted past, its massive shadow falling over Harry, signaling a storm that was beginning to brew at the bottom of the tranquil lake.

The mask had begun to crack, and beneath that glittering gold, the darkness was stirring.

Chapter Text

Dawn in the Slytherin dungeons never truly brought light as it was known on the surface. It was merely a slow, heavy shifting of shadows, as the thick blackness gradually dissolved into a gloomy, cold leaden grey that filtered in from the depths of the Black Lake.

Harry Evans awoke long before the magical alarm clock had a chance to ring and break the silence.

Waking early was not merely a habit; it was a survival instinct honed sharp over six relentless years of living amidst a nest of calculating vipers.

He lay motionless on his bed, listening to the steady breathing of his dormmates deep in slumber.

Abraxas Malfoy, Nott, and Lestrange—names that represented supreme power and proud purity—slept soundly beneath fine silk blankets embroidered with splendid family crests.

Harry slowly sat up, reaching for the old round glasses on his bedside table and putting them on.

His sharp gaze immediately fell upon the foreign object lying starkly beside his glass of water from the night before.

It was the tiny vial of Felix Felicis with its exquisite label, deliberately left by Tom Riddle as a message laden with implication.

Under the dim, ghostly green light filtering through the window that looked directly into the deep lake, the golden liquid inside the vial seemed to glow with a mesmerizing shimmer, yet it also held a deadly threat.

Harry had no intention of touching it, not even with a fingertip.

He stared at the precious item with heightened wariness, as if facing a highly venomous scorpion raising its sharp stinger, ready to strike.

"This is not a gift" Harry thought to himself, feeling a chill run down his spine.

It was precisely a dog collar disguised beneath a glamorous and expensive exterior.

Tom Riddle had arrogantly declared his ownership of Harry before the entire Slytherin house.

He didn't need to say it out loud, but the act of brazenly walking into the Slytherin dungeons—forbidden territory for a Gryffindor—and placing the potion right in front of Harry was an undeniable message of power.

The message was so clear that anyone with eyes could read it: This one is mine, and don't even think about touching him unless I allow it.

Harry let out a scoff, a dry, bitter sound in his parched throat.

He stood up, shoved the potion deep into the furthest corner of his drawer, and quickly locked it with three of the most complex non-verbal protective charms he knew.

He didn't need the fake luck bestowed by Tom Riddle.

What he needed most right now was absolute clarity to deal with the turbulent waves about to crash down.

The Slytherin Common Room early in the morning usually sank into an eerie silence, but today the air was thick and heavy, as if a great storm were about to make landfall.

As Harry took slow steps down the spiral staircase of black marble, dozens of cold, sharp eyes immediately fixed on him like poisoned arrows.

The whispering gossip about last night's event abruptly ceased, giving way to a deadly silence.

Harry maintained an emotionless, cold expression and walked with a proud, straight back, completely ignoring the scrutinizing gazes piercing his skin.

He intended to head straight for the heavy stone door to reach the Great Hall, but his path was brutally blocked.

Orion Black and Walburga Black stood right in the narrow passageway with undisguised hostility.

Walburga still wore the same sullen and bitter expression from the night before, standing with arms crossed, her dark eyes narrowed with malice and contempt.

Orion appeared calmer, but his gaze was no less dangerous as he stood beside his cousin like a silent bodyguard, ready to strike at any moment.

"Who do you think you are, Evans?" Walburga hissed through her teeth, her sharp voice echoing and slicing through the quiet space of the cold stone room.

"What kind of dark enchantment did you use on Riddle?" she continued to interrogate, mad jealousy evident in her rapid breathing.

"Or did you despicably sell out the dark secrets of House Slytherin to that Lion in exchange for his lowly protection?"

Harry was forced to stop in the face of her unreasonable aggression.

He slowly raised his hand to adjust his crooked robe with movements so leisurely and calm that they infuriated her to the breaking point.

"Move aside, Walburga," Harry said gently, but the cold timbre in his voice made listeners shudder. "I don't want to be late for a delicious breakfast just because I have to stand here listening to paranoid conspiracy theories spewing from your empty head."

"You dare speak to me in that condescending tone?" Walburga screamed in uncontrollable rage, instantly drawing her wand and pointing the sharp tip straight at Harry's left chest.

"A filthy, lowly half-blood like you never has the right to order me around."

Her wand arm trembled with anger, mixed with the excitement of releasing her fury.

"Do you think just because Riddle stepped in to protect you, you'll be safe forever?" She sneered wildly. "This is the deep dungeons, Potter, and fatal accidents can happen at any time without anyone knowing."

The crowd of students around them began to close in, forming a circle of excitement and curiosity, waiting for a bloody brawl.

They wanted to see blood flow.

They craved to see the hierarchy re-established through violence.

A lowly half-blood was never allowed to stand higher than the noble pure-bloods.

Harry calmly looked down at Walburga's slightly trembling wand tip with fearless eyes.

He had no intention of drawing his own wand to retaliate.

Instead, he unexpectedly took a strong step forward, closing the dangerous distance so that her wand tip pressed firmly against the fabric of his robes at his chest.

This reckless and insane action made Walburga freeze in utter surprise and confusion.

"Do it" Harry whispered the challenge, his voice cold and sharp as an ice blade cutting into flesh.

"But remember this well, Walburga." His emerald green eyes bored deep into the panicked mind of the girl opposite him. "If you cannot take me down instantly with that curse, I guarantee you will never have the chance to hold a wand again."

He leaned his face close to hers to whisper the cruelest threat.

"Do you remember the tragic incident that happened to Avery in third year?"

Avery was the fool who had stupidly tried to hex Harry, and the result was that both his arms were mysteriously shattered right in the prefects' bathroom.

He had lain groaning in St Mungo's Hospital for a whole month in agony as Healers reconnected every severed tendon in his arms.

No one could find proof that Harry had done it, but the invisible fear still haunted everyone's minds to this day.

Walburga's face paled, drained of blood as that terrifying memory came rushing back.

She remembered very clearly Avery's scream of pain that day.

"And there's one more important thing you should know" Harry tilted his head, speaking quietly enough for only the two of them to hear, but every word weighed a thousand pounds, embedding itself straight into her mind.

"Riddle doesn't protect me because he likes me, you stupid girl." A fleeting sarcastic smile appeared on Harry's lips. "He protects me only because I am a useful tool for his ambitions."

Harry paused for a moment to observe the fear spreading across her face.

"If you stupidly break his favorite toy, what do you think he will do to your proud, declining Black family?"

It was a blatant lie, or perhaps a cruel half-truth.

But it struck the greatest and deepest fear of the pure-blood students who always took pride in their lineage.

That was the fear of brutal punishment from someone infinitely stronger than themselves.

Tom Riddle, despite bearing the title of a brave Gryffindor, possessed terrifying magical power and an underlying cruelty that made even the oldest pure-blood families wary and submissive.

Walburga's wand arm slowly lowered in helplessness.

She gritted her teeth in humiliation, forced to step back to make way for the person she hated most.

"You will pay dearly for this arrogance, Evans" she spat a glob of saliva onto the cold stone floor to salvage a shred of dignity.

"Put it on my tab" Harry replied curtly with disdain, then squeezed past her and walked quickly out of the stifling dungeons.

Behind him, the whispering gossip flared up more violently than before, but absolutely no one dared to chase after him to cause trouble again.

Harry let out a long sigh of relief once he had escaped the encirclement.

His right hand, hidden tight in his robe pocket, had been soaked in cold sweat for some time.

He had just won a tense psychological battle, but he knew full well that the real war was only just beginning.

The Great Hall was flooded with bright early morning sunlight, creating a scene completely opposite to the gloom and dampness of the Slytherin dungeons.

But for Harry, this glaring light only made him feel more exposed to lurking dangers.

He had just chosen a secluded spot at the end of the Slytherin table and tried to keep a safe distance from the others when a brilliant red figure suddenly flashed across his vision.

Tom was striding confidently down the wide aisle between the tables with the demeanor of an uncrowned king.

Surrounding him were the loyal and noisy Gryffindor Knights, always ready to cheer his every word.

He laughed and chatted happily, waving to Ravenclaw girls who were blushing shyly, radiating the dazzling aura of a natural leader.

But as his steps passed the Slytherin table area, his pace suddenly slowed with calculation.

Harry shuddered as he felt that burning gaze directed straight at the back of his neck.

It was a heavy gaze, filled with extreme possessiveness.

Riddle didn't stop, nor did he open his mouth to speak to Harry in front of everyone.

He only glided past like a breeze, but his long fingers lightly tapped twice on the oak table surface right next to where Harry was sitting.

Two light taps rang out dryly, like a rapid heartbeat or the cold countdown of a time bomb about to explode.

Harry kept his face buried in his cold fried eggs and didn't look up.

But he knew perfectly well that Abraxas Malfoy, sitting not far away, had seen that entire ambiguous action.

He was staring at Riddle's hand that had just passed by, then looked back at Harry with a calculating and suspicious expression.

"Evans" Malfoy called out with the distinctive drawl of arrogant nobility. "You and Riddle seem suspiciously close, don't you?"

"He's the School Prefect, Malfoy" Harry replied in an indifferent tone, while his hand used a knife to cut a sausage with more force than necessary. "He has a responsibility to care for all students in the school, and that is simply his job."

"Care?" Malfoy repeated the word, then curled his lips in a smirk full of sarcastic implication. "I've never seen a proud lion care for a venomous snake unless it was planning to eat the snake to fill its empty stomach."

"Or unless that lion is smart enough to realize it's trapped in a cage too small for its ambitions" Harry muttered the philosophical answer in his mouth, quiet enough that Malfoy couldn't hear every word clearly.

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing important" Harry looked up and gave a bland social smile. "Eat quickly, Malfoy, or you'll be late for Professor Slughorn's Potions class."

He deliberately mentioned the name that made Malfoy wary.

"And I heard a rumor that today he'll have a very difficult practical test."

The name Slughorn immediately made Malfoy's handsome face wrinkle with worry.

Horace Slughorn was the Head of Slytherin House and also a person who extremely valued true talent and social connections over pure blood, although he would never admit that publicly.

And Advanced Potions was the only place at Hogwarts where noble family status could not save anyone's stupidity or clumsiness.

The Potions classroom lay deep underground, cold and always pungent with the smell of acrid sulfur mixed with rotting herbs and steam rising thickly from boiling copper cauldrons.

Pale green light reflecting from glass jars containing grotesque specimens preserved in formalin placed along the stone walls created a ghostly and creepy atmosphere.

Harry quickly chose a desk located in the most hidden corner of the room with the fragile hope of spending two hours of study in rare peace.

But cruel fate or someone's subtle arrangement did not allow that small wish to come true.

Professor Slughorn walked into the class with his potbelly jiggling with every excited step and his rosy face beaming with joy.

"Welcome, welcome students to my class" he shouted and clapped his hands loudly to attract the attention of the noisy students.

"Advanced Potions is the pinnacle of the mysterious art of brewing” he moved around the classroom with extreme passion. "Today we will not make trivial and boring things like Swelling Solution or simple Antidotes anymore, but we will challenge our limits."

He waved his wand and elegant white chalk writing immediately appeared on the old blackboard.

Draught of Living Death.

The whole class gasped softly in surprise and fear.

It was an extremely complex and dangerous potion, one of the foremost in the brewing world.

Just a small mistake in weighing the Valerian roots or handling the Sopophorous bean juice could cause the drinker to fall into an eternal sleep or, worse, turn them into a soulless living corpse without consciousness.

"However, do not worry too much," Slughorn continued, and his eyes lit up with excitement. "With danger always comes dazzling glory."

He looked around the classroom with a challenging look.

"Whoever among you brews the most perfect potion sample will receive a very special reward taken from my precious personal collection."

He paused for a moment to add drama.

"And to ensure absolute safety for this difficult practical session, I have decided to pair you up myself."

Harry stiffened, and a feeling of unease began to creep into his heart.

He hated working in groups with incompetent people with a passion.

Others only slowed him down and got in his way.

Slughorn pulled a long roll of parchment from the pocket of his velvet robes.

"I have painstakingly arranged this list based on your complementary abilities," he began to read the list aloud in an excited tone.

"Malfoy will work with Nott, and Lestrange will pair with Black."

He read names consecutively until only two people remained.

"Ah, and our brightest star."

Slughorn's gaze stopped fondly at the front desk where Tom Riddle sat with absolute confidence and poise.

"Tom, you are truly excellent, but sometimes the innate boldness of a Gryffindor needs a bit of the calm and meticulousness of another to reach perfection."

Slughorn said, then his gaze swept across the classroom and stopped precisely at the back corner where Harry was trying to shrink into himself.

"Harry, my dear Evans” he smiled, satisfied with his choice. "You always have a very stable academic record, although you always appear a bit quiet and reserved."

Slughorn clapped his hands once loudly to finalize the decision.

"I think you two will be an incredibly interesting pair because the combination of Gryffindor and Slytherin always creates perfect surprises."

The whole class seemed to hold its breath at this impromptu arrangement.

The Gryffindor students turned to look at Harry with visible jealousy and unconcealed contempt.

The Slytherin students looked at him with pitying eyes as if he had just been sentenced to death by a judge.

Riddle slowly turned around on his wooden chair.

He didn't offer a social smile like usual.

He looked straight into Harry's eyes with pitch-black eyes, deep as an abyss filled with dark calculations.

He began to gather his books, then stood up and took slow steps toward the back of the class.

Each of his footsteps hitting the stone floor created heavy sounds like a hammer nailing a coffin shut.

"Hello, partner" Tom said as he placed his shining solid gold cauldron next to Harry's old and dented copper one.

His voice was warm and polite to perfection, but Harry could clearly hear the mockery underlying it.

Harry didn't bother to reply to the greeting.

He just nodded slightly once and started arranging brewing ingredients on the table.

Shriveled Valerian roots, wrinkled Sopophorous beans, and bitter wormwood.

"You don't seem happy to have the honor of working with me, do you, Harry?" Tom whispered in Harry's ear as he started using a silver knife to cut the Valerian roots.

His sharp silver knife glided smoothly on the wooden cutting board, creating surprisingly thin and even slices of root.

"I prefer working alone” Harry replied curtly while maintaining intense focus on crushing the Sopophorous Bean with the flat of the knife instead of cutting it as instructed.

This was a little trick, incredibly useful, that he had figured out himself after hundreds of failed experiments.

"Truly interesting” Tom stopped his hand to observe Harry's strange action with curiosity. "The textbook clearly instructs to cut the bean into small pieces."

He narrowed his eyes, analyzing.

"Crushing it like that releases more juice, but it's also very easy to cause an explosion if you can't control the temperature of the potion cauldron."

"Textbooks are written only for those who like absolute safety, Riddle” Harry said while carefully pouring the glistening silver bean juice into the boiling cauldron.

"You're a brave Gryffindor, so I thought you'd like adventure."

"Calculated adventure is wisdom, Harry, while stupid recklessness is only for madmen" Tom leaned to the side so his shoulder lightly touched Harry's.

The heat from Tom's large body transmitted through the thick robes made Harry feel stifled and breathless.

"And I see your hand is trembling slightly" he whispered with delight. "Are you afraid of me?"

Harry was forced to stop midway.

He turned and looked up straight into Tom's deep black eyes.

The distance between them at this moment was too close.

Close enough that Harry could clearly see every one of his long, curled eyelashes and smell the cool scent of mint mixed with danger radiating from his person.

"I am never afraid of you, Riddle" Harry lied without blinking.

In his heart, he wasn't afraid of him; he felt extreme terror at his presence.

But that terror was accompanied by an indescribably insane excitement.

"I'm just afraid you'll clumsily blow up my cauldron and get me wrongly put in detention."

Tom chuckled softly in his throat.

"You possess a sharp tongue, little snake” he smirked with hidden meaning. "Let's see if your true talent can be as sharp as your words."

And then they began the tense brewing process.

It was like a strange, deadly dance between two opposing poles.

Riddle brewed potions with the absolute precision of a perfect machine and the flamboyance of a talented performer.

He stirred the cauldron with broad, decisive movements full of power.

The magical fire under his cauldron blazed a brilliant and strong blue.

completely contrary to that style, Harry worked in absolute silence and minimalism.

He added ingredients to the cauldron at the most unexpected moments that no one could predict.

He adjusted the flame to the lowest level and constantly whispered ancient incantations to stabilize the potion solution that no one could hear.

Real conflict erupted when it came to the most important stage: stirring the potion.

"Seven counter-clockwise stirs and one clockwise stir" Tom ordered with the tone of someone used to commanding, and his hand held the stirring rod ready to perform the action.

"Wrong” Harry, quick as a flash, reached out to block his hand in mid-air.

The moment their skin touched, a powerful electric current seemed to run down both their spines, numbing them.

Tom looked down, staring at Harry's small hand gripping his firm wrist tightly, and his eyes darkened with anger.

"If you do that right now when the solution hasn't turned pale purple, it will turn into a terrible skin-corroding poison."

"But the instruction book says..."

"Forget that damn book”  Harry snapped irritably, forgetting to maintain his guard in front of others.

"Look at the smoke rising over there," he pointed at the cauldron's mouth. "It's still grey, so we have to wait fifteen more seconds."

Tom watched silently.

He didn't pull his hand away, nor did he intend to push Harry away.

He stared at the smoke billowing from the cauldron.

Ten seconds passed in tension.

Twelve seconds.

Fifteen seconds.

The grey smoke suddenly turned a beautiful pale purple exactly as Harry had said.

"Now it's okay” Harry released Tom's hand and stepped back.

Tom immediately performed the stirring action skillfully.

The solution in the cauldron instantly turned a beautiful clear ruby red, but also looked full of death.

Slughorn happened to walk past their table and had to stop and exclaim in surprise.

"Merlin, look at this wonderful color" he bent down to smell the rising potion fumes. "Excellent, truly excellent”  he cheered happily.

"This sample is even better than my own."

He turned to look at his two favorite students.

"Tom and Harry, you two have truly made me exceedingly proud today."

He patted Tom's shoulder excitedly.

"I knew it; Tom is always a rare genius."

Then he turned to Harry with surprise.

"But Harry, I must also praise you because you supported your friend very well."

Tom beamed with his trademark flawless Golden Boy smile.

"Thank you very much, Professor” he said modestly. "But actually, most of the credit for this potion sample belongs to Harry because he has very good intuition and keen sense for the timing of adding ingredients."

Slughorn looked at Harry with a re-evaluating gaze full of surprise and interest.

"Oh, really?" he nodded in approval. "Modest and quiet but full of hidden talent," he laughed loudly. "Very truly Slytherin, and I extremely like that about you."

Harry clenched his fist under the table in anger.

What the hell did Riddle just do?

Did he just open his mouth to praise him in front of a teacher?

It wasn't that simple.

He was deliberately pushing him out into the glaring light for everyone to notice.

He was ruthlessly stripping away the camouflage of an average student that he had painstakingly built over the years.

He wanted the whole world to know how capable and dangerous Harry Potter was so he could own a more valuable trophy in his collection.

When Slughorn had left their table, Harry turned to Tom and hissed through his teeth.

"Why did you do that?"

Tom tilted his head to look at him, and the smile on his lips vanished instantly, replaced by a look cold and cruel enough to make one shudder.

"Because I'm sick of seeing you pretend to be stupid, Harry" he leaned down to whisper. "A precious gem should be placed solemnly atop a crown of power, not buried under filthy mud."

He leaned close to Harry's sensitive ear, and his voice carried an intense possessiveness that made Harry choke.

"And I am in the process of forging my own crown."

The bell signaling the end of class rang, saving Harry from the awkward situation.

The dungeon corridor was quite empty now as most students were rushing to the Great Hall for lunch.

Harry tried to walk as fast as possible to escape Riddle's pursuit, but a strong hand like iron pliers suddenly grabbed his arm and jerked him back.

Harry was shoved hard into a dark alcove hidden behind a giant stone statue of Salazar Slytherin.

His back hit the cold stone wall hard, causing him sharp pain, and immediately Tom Riddle pressed his large body against him, blocking all exits.

"Let me go immediately” Harry growled like a wounded beast and quickly drew his wand, pointing it straight at Tom's stomach threateningly.

"Calm down, Harry" Tom said with composure, unflinching at the wand tip pressing hard into him. "I just want to talk to you privately for a bit because the classroom is too noisy and has too many eyes and ears."

"We have nothing to say to each other," Harry gasped in anger and fear.

This distance was too dangerous for him.

Tom's absolute dominance in physique and aura made Harry feel small and weak, but he absolutely refused to cower before his enemy.

"Yes, we have a lot to talk about” Tom bent down low, and his sharp gaze scrutinized every line of expression on Harry's face.

"About how you took the liberty of modifying Libatius Borage's potion formula" he listed each offense.

"About how you know how to crush Sopophorous beans proficiently” his voice dropped with suspicion.

"About how you clearly know the dangerous side effects of the potion when it hasn't turned color" he looked deep into his eyes.

"Who taught you those dangerous pieces of knowledge, Harry?" he asked rapidly. "Some secret tutor, or are you actually a natural born genius playing hide and seek with the world?"

"It's knowledge I learned myself" Harry retorted strongly, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "I read books a lot, and read more than you think."

"There isn't any textbook in the Hogwarts library that teaches that reckless method" Tom retorted immediately with a firm voice.

"That is combat experience forged in blood" he asserted. "You brew potions proficiently like someone who has had to use potions to kill people or to save their own life in the nick of time."

Tom's hand left the stone wall and reached up to lightly touch Harry's chin, forcing him to look up at him.

His fingers were cold as a corpse, but that touch made Harry's flesh feel like it was burning.

"Who are you really, Harry Evans?" Tom asked, and his voice no longer held a mocking, teasing tone, but became unusually serious and grave.

"A poor orphan raised by Muggles, then thrown into harsh Slytherin house and isolated and despised" he described his life with a tone of fake sympathy.

"But deep inside you..." he slid his long finger down Harry's neck and stopped right at the pulse point beating wildly with nervousness. "...inside you lies hidden a terrifying monster exactly like me."

That sentence was like a sharp knife striking the deepest pain Harry always tried to hide.

"I am never like you" Harry swatted Tom's hand off him roughly. "I don't use my power to manipulate others, and I don't wear a fake mask to deceive this whole world like you."

"Everyone in this world wears a mask, Harry" Tom smirked bitterly. "Mine is made of glittering pure gold, while yours is made of boring mediocrity."

He looked at Harry with eyes that pierced the soul.

"But admit it, Harry, because you also despise them just like I do."

He continued to attack his psyche.

"You despise the stupid Gryffindors, brave but brainless, and you also despise the arrogant, empty Slytherins who only know how to rely on their families."

He painted a dark picture of Harry's inner self.

"You sit there silently and observe them all like tiny ants, then secretly judge them in your head."

He laughed triumphantly.

"That feeling is truly wonderful, isn't it, the feeling of standing above everyone else; you're addicted to it, right?"

"Shut up" Harry hissed furiously at being hit on the mark.

"I see the darkness swirling in your eyes, Harry" Tom continued to attack relentlessly, and his voice was smooth as a sweet curse. "Extreme loneliness and potential cruelty waiting for the day to explode."

He asserted firmly.

"You understand me because you are my copy, and we are two halves of the same soul separated by fate."

He bent down lower until his forehead touched Harry's intimately.

"Join me, Harry" the tempting invitation rang out. "Not to follow as a lowly henchman, because I have more than enough fools following to serve."

He looked at him with burning desire.

"I need someone who truly understands me and a worthy partner or an opponent of equal talent and strength."

Harry looked deep into Tom's eyes, and in a moment of weakness, he almost nodded in agreement.

That invitation was truly too attractive for a lonely person like him.

To have his talent recognized and his soul understood, as well as sharing supreme power with the most talented wizard of this generation.

But then the image of Walburga's bossy face, along with the weak people trampled by Tom, and the fake smile on his lips appeared clearly in his mind.

Harry knew very well the tragic end of following Tom.

It was complete destruction.

He would swallow Harry and consume him until nothing was left but an empty shell.

Harry smirked, and it was a cold smile that made Tom stunned with surprise.

"You're right, Tom, I understand you very well" Harry said with a mocking tone. "I understand you so well that I know for sure you are never looking for an equal partner."

Harry pushed hard on Tom's chest to create distance.

"You are just looking for a shiny mirror to reflect your own delusional greatness."

This time Tom was forced to step back a bit, surprised by the strength of Harry's resistance.

"You want me to belong to you?" Harry asked back challengingly. "Then prove you deserve it."

He looked at him with contemptuous eyes.

"Not with cheap psychological manipulation tricks and not with borrowed power from the stupidity of the crowd out there."

He declared firmly.

"Defeat me with real power and break my iron will if you can."

Harry stepped out of the narrow alcove and turned to look at Tom one last time.

"But until then, never think you have me in the palm of your hand."

Harry turned and walked away very quickly, and his heart pounded as if it wanted to burst out of his chest from tension.

He had just officially declared war on the devil.

He had just provoked the most dangerous monster in Hogwarts.

In the dark alcove, Tom Riddle stood motionless like a perfect sculpture.

He slowly raised his hand to touch the place on his chest where Harry had just pushed him away.

A strange smile slowly spread across his face.

It wasn't the usual social smile, but a wild and mad smile full of desire to conquer.

"Truly interesting" he whispered to the surrounding darkness. "Very interesting."

His eyes lit up in the night.

"Run, my little snake, for the hunt has only just truly begun."

That afternoon passed in an atmosphere of suffocating tension.

Harry could clearly feel Riddle's gaze watching him everywhere, even though he didn't appear in front of him.

During Transfiguration class, Professor Dumbledore also constantly looked at Harry with a worried, contemplative look over his half-moon spectacles, as if he also sensed the unusual change in the energy field around the little student.

But the peak of the conflict did not come directly from Tom, but from the fools who wanted to curry favor with Tom.

When Harry was on his way back to the dungeons after dinner, he was unexpectedly blocked in a deserted third-floor corridor by Cormac McLaggen and two other large Gryffindor boys.

McLaggen was notoriously arrogant and rude, and he was also one of Tom's most loyal Knights, even though he was too stupid to understand his master's true nature.

"There you are, Evans" McLaggen grinned and cracked his knuckles menacingly. "I heard you dared to show a disrespectful attitude to Riddle in Potions this morning."

He stepped closer to Harry.

"Who do you think you are to dare do that to my respected Prefect?"

Harry sighed wearily at this unnecessary trouble.

"Cormac, if your brain were half the size of your muscles, you would know to get out of my way immediately."

"You dare insult me, you brat?" McLaggen roared in anger and immediately drew his wand to attack. "I'll teach you a lesson you'll remember about respect."

"Furnunculus!" McLaggen shouted the disgusting boil curse.

Harry didn't bother to draw his wand.

He just leaned lightly to dodge the magical beam and waved his left hand decisively once.

A powerful non-verbal spell was immediately launched, knocking McLaggen back hard against the opposite stone wall, making him cry out in pain.

The other two Gryffindors were stunned by that power, then also shouted and rushed to attack at the same time.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Harry spun around very fast, causing his robes to fly up and create a natural shield.

This time he drew his wand as fast as lightning.

"Protego!"

The transparent shield appeared, blocking the two attacking spells.

"Depulso!"

A powerful banishing charm was launched, knocking both of the others rolling on the cold stone floor.

Harry stood proudly in the middle of the corridor with his wand still pointing straight at McLaggen's face, who was lying groaning clutching his bloody nose.

"Go back and tell your noble master," Harry said in a voice cold as ice. "That if he wants to teach me something, then drag himself here to say it."

His eyes burned with anger.

"Don't ever send stupid guard dogs to dirty my robes ever again."

"Harry!"

A stern and authoritative voice rang out from behind, making everyone startle.

Albus Dumbledore appeared at the end of the corridor with a look more serious than ever seen before.

And standing right next to him was Tom Riddle.

Tom looked at the chaotic scene before him with three Gryffindors lying groaning and Harry Potter standing there with his wand still smoking and a cruel, cold expression.

"Professor" Tom spoke up first, and his voice was filled with fake concern to perfection. "I happened to hear the sound of fighting so I ran to see."

He ran to help McLaggen up with utmost concern.

"Oh my, Cormac, what happened to you guys?"

But his eyes secretly glanced at Harry and sent a look full of hidden meaning.

Well done, Harry, I really like seeing this wild violent look of yours.

"Harry" Dumbledore stepped closer, and his blue eyes no longer held the usual kindness but became sharp as a blade scrutinizing the soul of the person opposite.

"Can you explain to me what is happening here?"

"They attacked me first, Professor” Harry replied and slowly lowered his wand but still didn't put it away. "I was merely acting in legitimate self-defense."

"Self-defense my foot" McLaggen yelled, and blood from his nose was still streaming down his robes. "He used Dark Magic to attack us, Professor."

He lied blatantly.

"He attacked us brutally when we only wanted to come and greet him in a friendly way."

"Greet me with a boil curse?" Harry raised an eyebrow and asked back sarcastically.

Dumbledore stared at Harry, then looked at the injured Gryffindor students.

He sighed a breath full of disappointment.

He knew well McLaggen's aggressive nature, but he also saw the terrible magical power Harry had just released.

It was too great and too controlled, as well as heavily imbued with dangerous Slytherin quality.

"Twenty points from Slytherin for brawling in the corridor" Dumbledore announced the punishment.

"And twenty points from Gryffindor for unauthorized fighting."

He waved his hand to order.

"Disperse immediately."

"But Professor, this isn't fair” McLaggen tried to open his mouth to protest more.

"I said disperse immediately” Dumbledore cut him off with a commanding voice that dared no one to utter another word.

The Gryffindor students scrambled up and supported each other towards Gryffindor Tower, but they didn't forget to cast hateful looks at Harry to the bone.

Tom lingered a bit before leaving.

"I sincerely apologize for the thoughtless behavior of my housemates, Professor" Tom said with the perfect remorse of a model Prefect. "I promise to discipline them strictly regarding this matter."

Then he turned to look at Harry with a deep gaze.

"And I also apologize to you, Harry, hope you weren't injured anywhere."

"I'm fine" Harry replied curtly and turned his face away.

When Tom had left and disappeared, the corridor was left with only Harry and Dumbledore facing each other in stifling silence.

The old professor looked at the Slytherin student for a long time with a heavy, thoughtful look.

"Harry” he said gently, but his voice contained a serious warning. "I have observed you very closely since your first year until now, and you always try to become invisible to everyone."

He stepped a bit closer.

"But it seems today darkness has started to find you."

"Darkness is always there, Professor" Harry replied and looked straight into Dumbledore's eyes without shy away. "It's just that people are usually too dazzled by fake glamorous lights to see it existing."

Dumbledore paused at that implied answer.

He understood very well whom Harry was alluding to in his statement.

"Be careful, Harry" Dumbledore said, and his voice dropped with anxiety. "When you look too long into the dark abyss, that abyss will also look back at you."

He warned with an ancient quote.

"And remember that there are dazzling lights even more dangerous than darkness a thousand times over."

"I know that, sir" Harry said, and a bland smile appeared on his lips. "That is precisely why I prefer to stay in the peaceful shade rather than step out into the light."

Harry bowed to him politely then turned and walked away towards the dark dungeons.

He knew Dumbledore was starting to suspect him.

He suspected he was following in the footsteps of previous dark wizards.

But Harry didn't care about that suspicion.

He didn't need Albus Dumbledore to save his soul.

And he certainly didn't need Tom Riddle to own his body.

He was Harry Evans, and he would survive in his own ruthless way, even if he had to burn both heaven and hell to do it.

In the thick darkness of the deserted corridor, Harry lightly raised his hand to touch the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

That place was throbbing with intense waves of pain, signaling an increasingly strong and terrifying connection between him and the one wearing the golden mask.