Hadrian followed a blonde boy, whom he suspected (alright more than suspected) to be a Malfoy, down to the common room. Professor Slughorn had asked the Head Boy to escort him to the Dungeons before the other students made their way down after the feast. As they did, the boy absently pointed out portraits or suits of armour that would help him make sure he didn't get lost on his way from or back to Slytherin common room. Harry did find it helpful, and was surprised and suspicious as to why he would be nice. Draco and Lucius would have rather bitten their own hand off than be seen doing something nice.
"The password to gain entrance is Sovereign; speak it and the door will open for you," the blonde explained before the door opened and they both entered Slytherin common room. The room was empty, since the other students were still in the Great Hall for the time being. "Welcome to Slytherin common room. My name is Abraxas Malfoy, and you may come to me if you have any problems, either that or find our Prefect Mark Flint."
Harry couldn't help feeling the urge, but managed hide a smirk. Well, well, Marcus Flint's grandfather was Prefect; it seemed to be something of a tradition then. Then there was Abraxas Malfoy, Head Boy, and he would bet his last Galleon that he had been Prefect as well, just like Draco had been. Voldemort had been a Prefect and Head Boy as well. Seeing he was staring at him waiting on an answer he nodded his head in understanding.
"The dorms are up there, boys to the left, girls to the right; your trunks are already in the room you'll be sharing with the other boys," Abraxas informed him, before moving towards the left staircase, and began to make his way up the stairs until he reached the third-year boys' dormitory.
"This is your room, you'll be sharing with Avery, Lestrange, Nott, and Riddle," Abraxas informed him.
"Thanks," Harry murmured, opening the door and going in, leaving Abraxas to do whatever he needed to do. He had spoken Riddle's name with reverence and with, unsurprisingly, a bit of fear. Which meant he had already started gathering followers, and establishing a power base. His bed was obviously the one without the trunk at the foot; he noticed it was closest to the wall at the back of the dorm. Great, he was basically going to be boxed in with guys that were curse happy. His bed, he also realized, was next to Tom Riddle's ― that trunk had TMR on it, which gave it away.
"Engorgio!" Harry cast, returning his trunk to its correct size and placing it at the foot of his bed. Grinning savagely, he cast as many spells as possible to keep the contents of his trunk safe. Tom Riddle with his sticky fingers would be in for a surprise if he tried to take anything of his. Once he had run out of possible spells, he stood back up. Deciding that he didn't want to deal with any of them tonight, he slid into the green silk sheets, flicking his wand and closing his curtains so only he would be able to open them.
Grinning in amusement, he laid back and quickly found himself thinking things through. He was shorter than the rest of the third-years; he would need to rectify that as soon as possible. It was unfortunate, but he didn't think the potion was available in this time; luckily for him he had brewed it often enough that he knew the recipe off by heart. The ingredients he had bought in Diagon Alley, weren't enough to make the potion; he was missing quite a few crucial ingredients. He would need to get them from the store cupboard, which meant waiting for his first Potions class, much to his consternation. If Slughorn was anything like Snape, he would have his cupboards warded; even taking the wards down would alert him. He hadn't tried anything while Slughorn was at Hogwarts that year; he'd been too interested in finding out what was going on ― like an idiot. He couldn't wait to get out of Hogwarts and get to Gringotts; he wanted his money, as it would make things infinitely easier instead of resorting to stealing stale ingredients from cupboards. He wasn't staying this short and thin, he absolutely refused.
Thinking back on tonight, he couldn't help but muse on the fact that Tom Riddle had dismissed him; he didn't deem him worthwhile or a threat. He didn't know why but that got under his skin… and also made him want to laugh. His life had revolved around Voldemort for so long; both of them had, in their own way, been obsessed with the other for all the wrong reasons. Voldemort in trying to kill him, and he in trying to figure out what he was up to. He would need to speak to Death; he honestly didn't know where to start.
It wasn't surprising really; this was like a whole new wizarding world. The classes… Merlin, the classes they had here. He was actually looking forward to half his classes, something new that he didn't know much about. Although, whether they were interesting or not would remain to be seen. Then there were the people, especially Dumbledore. When he'd asked during his other life whether Dumbledore knew he was talking to the next Dark Lord, he had said no. What a load of crap; Dumbledore had been suspicious of Tom all along, just like he was with him and he had done nothing to warrant it. One could argue that Tom Riddle hadn't either. Dumbledore didn't like powerful up-and-coming wizards, that much was becoming glaringly obvious. Rolling over, he wondered, could it have something to do with Grindelwald? He was very powerful in his own right, right up there with Dumbledore himself… but nothing on him or Voldemort. Dumbledore did like collecting powerful wizards though, for his precious Order. There was no denying they had been powerful; not enough to best Voldemort in a duel when he came for them, but enough to give the Death Eaters a challenge. Admittedly he didn't know a great deal about the first Order members who were killed, just that the majority of them had been dealt with by Voldemort himself. Just like he had gone after Amelia Bones; from the reports in the newspaper he knew she had put up one hell of a fight.
Just then he felt a subtle shift in his mind; it was rather disconcerting just how quickly he was getting used to that. Death had come to pay him another visit. Would this be a regular thing? Or did he just realise that he wanted to speak to him?
'I will always know when you need me,' Death told him, causing Harry to shiver; he would definitely need to watch his own thoughts when he was around.
'I have some questions for you, if you can answer them for me,' Harry admitted, feeling extremely odd that he was in essence talking… no, asking himself a question in his own mind. 'Can I actually stop Tom Riddle from turning into Voldemort? I think he's already aware of his heritage, isn't he? He already hates his name… in a few years time he'll have Myrtle killed, and then his father and grandparents… how can I honestly stop all that?'
'There are some things you won't be able to stop; some things are written in stone, as contradictory as that is. The anger Tom holds towards his relatives is profound; nothing, not even you, can save them,' Death informed him without care or pause.
'So, Myrtle?' Harry mused thoughtfully. He could live with those deaths if it saved the magical world, he guessed, and he wasn't really surprised by the fact that nothing could stop their deaths. Tom wasn't one for having control over his temper. Even as an older wizard, with as much magic as they both had, he'd understood where he was coming from. It wasn't just being angry. Magic stirred when you were emotional, you felt its power like nothing else, and it boiled over until you got rid of it.
'There is a way, but you must do things for yourself. I cannot give you all the answers, the decisions must be yours alone to make,' Death answered. The boy would begin relying on him for answers if he did just give them out, and things wouldn't play out like they were supposed to. No, the boy could do it on his own, he was independent enough despite the fact that it had been suppressed for the majority of his life and he'd been forced to rely on others through no fault of his own. The boy would thank him one day.
'Thank you,' Harry admitted, 'Although you could have warned me about this rubbish body!'
Death chuckled, 'In no time at all you'll be fine.' And gaining the attention of nearly all Houses. He would be stunning, at least to the humans; he held no such feelings, not even for the young Master of Death.
'If I ever choose to jump in time, would my body end up different again?' Harry enquired remembering the list of questions he had for him.
'That is your body, just without the most obvious Potter traits you had previously. That means your eyesight is perfect, with no distinguishing Potter characteristics, and of course without the short bird's nest hair all Potters seem to have and can never get rid of. That and you also do not have the scar. It's a body you would have had in the Dursleys' care, nonetheless, and it had to be this way for your plan to work,' Death replied. 'And yes, I knew your plan before you did ― I waited a long time for it to happen.' In fact he looked a little like Ignotus had when he was a teenager. The Peverell lineage was there for all to see, but nobody would realize that until they went looking for information.
'Oh, right. I have another question… why did I become Master of Death? I mean, Dumbledore had all the Hallows in his possession before me.'
'He is not of Peverell blood. The gifts were meant for you and you alone, nobody else can ever harness your abilities. Even if somehow the abilities could be transferred, he isn't worthy of them; he would have abused them,' Death answered him firmly.
'I am not the only one with Peverell blood,' Harry pointed out seriously, and considering how terrified of Death Voldemort was… it would have been at the height of irony if he became the Master of Death. Then again, it wasn't as if it would have prevented him from dying, now was it? He wasn't one hundred percent sure what it meant to have these abilities.
'Being Master of Death, young Harry, means that you can never die. You can go to all the edges of the world and explore everything, anything your heart desires.' Death replied. 'To the end of time itself, should you so wish.'
'I guess I will always be alone,' Harry said, his heart breaking at the thought. Despite the constant betrayals, the hurt he'd endured, he had always felt lonely, but it was something he was used to. He hadn't had a single friend the first ten years of his life. The friends he'd had since then always used him for their own ends. He guessed it was too much to hope for that his life could have been better… the way he wanted it here.
'Anyone you bond to will be the same as you, two halves of a whole, co-joined souls that are destined for great things' Death felt the need to explain, sensing the human emotions. Just because Harry was Master of Death now didn't make him unsusceptible to human desires.
'I would never trust anyone to bond with them,' Harry vowed vehemently. He had been hurt too many times in the past for that. Yet in his heart of hearts he wished he could trust someone enough to do that, to have a family, a relationship. Who knows, maybe in a few months' time he could leave this time and go somewhere else… his parents' time? See them for himself? So many possibilities now, he could do whatever he liked, go wherever he wanted. 'Are you still there?' he asked after a few seconds, feeling confused. He hadn't felt him go at any rate but he had gotten lost in thought.
'I am; do you have any other questions for me?' Death enquired; it was time to get back to work ― it was a never ending task, transporting the souls of the dead to the other side. He knew he didn't have to worry about the young Master, he would be just fine. He had his moments of insecurity but would be back fighting after a good night's sleep.
'No, thank you for answering them.' It made him feel a little better knowing what he did. 'Wait; will Dumbledore ever realize what I am? He IS obsessed with the Hallows.'
'Yes, yes he is, and no, he won't… and obviously you have no intentions of telling him,' Death proclaimed.
'No,' Harry scoffed at the thought of confiding in the old fool. 'If I do manage to stop Tom from fully becoming Voldemort… will Dumbledore still have such a strong hold on the magical world?'
'He will,' Death revealed, 'There is but one way to prevent that, but as I said before, the choices are yours alone to make - and the ideas yours to have. Now I really do have to go; if you need me, I will know.'
With that the feeling of Death leaving caused Harry to shudder at the somewhat odd sensation. Despite how early it was, Harry felt tired, but he knew it was fully because of his aching, malnourished body. He allowed himself to drift off, knowing he was safe, nobody could get through the curtains, and if somehow they did, he would be immediately alerted.
"Do you think he's a descendant from THE Peverells?" Avery whispered, watching the boy leave with Malfoy, "Rumour has it that he was in Bulgaria when he was attacked; if he is one of the Peverells, then he will be powerful. It makes no sense. Grindelwald would have wanted him on his side, why attack him?" he wondered quietly, playing with his food as he thought on what little information they did have.
"Good question," Rabastian Lestrange muttered as he swallowed down his treacle tart. "Did you see what he was reading? A second-year charms book; he obviously didn't attend magical school."
"That's right, Professor Slughorn asked everyone to help him feel welcome, that he wasn't used to the magical world," Antonin Dolohov commented. "He'll be just as pathetic as the rest of the Mudbloods!" He did admit to being curious as to why the boy hadn't been at Hogwarts. Even those with no fortune to speak of a way of attending.
"I don't know about that," Aiden Avery said rejoining the conversation. "I mean, if we are right and he knew nothing about the magical world… he survived a vicious attack and came out on top. He Apparated all the way from Bulgaria to Scotland; even with wish magic he must be pretty powerful." He hadn't gotten a good look at him, but from what everyone was saying he'd been in a right state.
"Who cares?" Thaddeus Nott grouched, "He looks more like a first-year anyway, doesn't he, Tom?"
Tom Riddle turned to stare at Nott, nothing giving away the immense dislike he had for that name, or the fact he wanted to curse Nott for using it. Truthfully it was better than Riddle, since he had, unfortunately, had to come to terms with the fact his father might not be a wizard at all. He had searched through the trophy record rooms, Hogwarts Prefect records, and records in the library regarding wizarding history and found no mention of the name. It was repugnant to him, along with the thought that his mother was a Witch, but a weakling who'd died giving birth to him. "He does," he replied smoothly. That couldn't be denied; the new boy was extremely short for his age, albeit first-year was a slight exaggeration.
"He's a third-year though; I wonder where he will be sleeping," Rookwood said, "I hope we don't have to room with him." A stranger in his dorm, with the others? No, he didn't like the thought of that at all.
"We will find out soon enough," Nott mused, his head moving to the side when he saw Tom getting up. Despite the fact he hadn't quite finished his dessert he stood as well; the other two followed his example and they left the Great Hall together ― a united front.
"Have you finished your homework for Ancient Runes, Aiden?" Lestrange asked, as they walked down into the dungeons, keeping up a fast pace as set by their 'leader'.
"Yes, last night," Avery replied, "You aren't copying from me again, the professor noticed and took points. I'm just glad she didn't give me detention or a bad grade." He scowled at the thought of her.
Lestrange grumbled under his breath, they had Ancient Runes tomorrow, and it had to be handed in then. Maybe he should pretend to be sick, that way he would have the entire weekend to do it. Even as he said it, he knew he wouldn't get away with it ― and if he lost House Points… well, it didn't bear thinking about.
"Sovereign," Tom stated haughtily, and almost immediately Tom relaxed marginally, a layer of his masks peeling off and revealing his more shrewd nature. He gazed around, noticing that the boy had evidently not remained in the Common room; perhaps he had already gone to bed?
Lestrange grumbled quietly to himself as he moved to the stairs, climbing up them to get to his homework. He hated Ancient Runes, but the others seemed to have no problem with it. It hadn't been his choice; his parents would have killed him if he had taken something as ridiculous as Divination. No, as the heir of the Lestrange line, he was expected to do well at Hogwarts and take over from his father.
Entering the room, he moved towards his trunk and immediately began rummaging it in, letting out a triumphant hoot when he found his book; he absently grabbed an ink pot, quill, and parchment for his designated task. Having gotten the items he needed, he was just about to leave when he realized that something was very different about the room. And it actually took him a few minutes to figure out what, not that he would tell anyone that. There was an extra bed in the room; the new student was in their dorm! He briefly wondered how Tom would feel about that.
Hastily exiting the room, he ran down to inform the others what he had just found out, only slowing down as decorum dictated as he reached the bottom step. Walking towards the table, he took his place as the others conversed around him; he would occasionally give his input but mostly he scribbled away on his parchment, trying to get his homework done as quickly as humanly possible.
Unfortunately he just couldn't wait, he had to tell them. "The boy, Peverell, he's in our dorm― there's an extra bed," he said casually as if he hadn't been dying to tell them for the past nearly half an hour.
Tom's eyes darkened and the others said nothing.