lomonaaeren

Chapter Ten.

Chapter One.

Title: That Glorious Strength (11/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Background canon couples, otherwise gen
Content Notes: Massive AU (no Voldemort), blood prejudice, mentorship, angst, drama, violence, torture, gore
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU. Instead of becoming Voldemort, Tom Riddle established a school of “secondary importance” for Muggleborns, half-bloods, and Squibs. Since the school frees Hogwarts to continue drifting more towards the purebloods’ whims and wishes, they haven’t raised any large fuss. Besides, everyone knows that half-bloods and Muggleborns don’t have any real power. Just look at Riddle, who had ambitions that outpaced his magical strength. They don’t see the revolution coalescing under the surface.
Author’s Notes: This is a story idea I’ve been brewing in my mind for a long time, and finally decided to write. I don’t have any idea how long it will be at the moment. The title is a twist on “that hideous strength,” used as a title by C. S. Lewis and from a poem by David Lyndsay.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Eleven—Beginning, Again

“Where are we going, Professor?”

“I have someone I’d like you to meet, Harry.”

Harry blinked in confusion, but lengthened his strides to keep up with Professor Riddle. It was kind of strange, though. He was sure that he’d already met all the professors at Fortius, and most of the students, too. It wasn’t that big.

The sensation of warmth touched his left shoulder, and Harry smiled. No matter where he went, the hovering gryphon magic of his House would keep him safe. So he was more curious than frightened as Professor Riddle led him into the healing hall.

The building was beautiful, with polished stone walls and windows that glittered as though rainbows were being lit in them, but Harry’s attention immediately focused on the two men in the center of the healing hall. One of them was sitting up in bed, and the other one was sitting on a chair next to him. Both of them looked kind of—wild. The sick one had black hair that looked as if he’d just had a bath and cut after years of not having one, and the other one had silver hair like fur.

They turned around and stared at him, and the eyes of the man on the bed filled with tears.

“Harry,” he croaked, reaching his hand out.

Harry blinked. This had to be someone who knew him from before, and he thought that it wouldn’t be someone who had had any part in killing his parents, given that Professor Riddle had brought him here—

And then he knew. There had been an old picture in the Daily Prophet when the escape happened, but it had still looked enough like the man in front of him that Harry was suddenly certain. “Sirius?”

“You remember me!” Sirius said happily, and tried to get out of bed. The other man restrained him with nothing more than a hand in the middle of his chest, which meant either he was strong—Harry thought he might be—or Sirius was really sick.

“Hold still, Sirius. He probably realized who you were from that stupid newspaper article,” the silver-haired man murmured. He glanced at Harry with golden eyes. “I suppose you don’t remember me?”

“I don’t really remember either of you,” Harry said, although he wished he hadn’t when he saw how devastated Sirius looked. “But I know that you must be Remus Lupin if he’s Sirius Black.” Harry hesitated. “You didn’t come back to Britain to bite everyone, did you? I left the Dursleys’ because Headmaster Riddle asked me to, not because someone kidnapped me and tried to kill me.”

“Yes, I know that.” The silver-haired man smiled and lifted his hand from Sirius’s chest now that Sirius was staying still. “Although I must admit to some surprise that you know about me being a werewolf and you’re not running in fear.”

“Why would I? You were my parents’ friend. You helped avenge them. And what Professor Riddle told me is true.” Harry grinned at Professor Riddle, who raised an eyebrow at him, the nearest he would probably come to a grin right now. “There are advantages to having grown up with Muggles who didn’t even know that werewolves were real. I didn’t get told all the stories I think pureblood kids did.”

“Hey, I got told those stories and I still made friends with Remus!”

“Yes, yes, Sirius, you’re very special,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. He stood up and walked slowly around the edge of the bed to study Harry. It was a little unnerving, Harry had to admit, but just because Remus stared harder than anyone he’d ever met. He still lifted his chin and looked right back.

“I can see so much of both of them in you,” Remus whispered, and Harry didn’t need to ask who he meant. “Are you—can I hug you?” He held out his arms as if to say that he wouldn’t touch Harry without his permission.

“Yes,” Harry said, and lunged forwards and wrapped his arms around Remus’s middle, burrowing into him the way he imagined he might have when he was a baby.

It was all right if he did that now. The only people around to see him were on his side. And if he even cried a little, well, it wasn’t like anyone would see it, with his face buried against Remus’s robes.

*

Tom was pleased to see that the reactions were as he had foreseen.

Harry did have a burning desire to know more about his parents, one that Tom couldn’t really gratify beyond what he knew of their deaths. They hadn’t been significant enough figures in the fight against Lucius Malfoy to attract much of his attention. But Black and Lupin would fulfill that need, and that would bind Harry more securely to Tom’s side of the war.

Black, himself, would do anything for his godson. That was brimful in his eyes as he looked at Harry. And the bonds that tied Harry would be doubly tight on him.

Lupin was more of an enigma. Werewolves weren’t supposed to be as mentally stable as he was after this length of time alone. But then again, neither were werewolves supposed to be able to wield magic with a wand or turn whenever they wanted. Tom thought, however, from the way he held Harry, that Lupin would find a pack in his old friend and his old friends’ son, and that would keep him at Fortius, too.

Tom smiled. He was looking forward to finding out what Black knew about some of the weaknesses of his family, many of whom were high up in the Ministry thanks to their blood relation to Narcissa Malfoy.

But for now, he could enjoy himself watching this reunion.

*

“But I can’t do it, Professor Elthis.”

“I know you can’t do it yet, Miss Granger. But I need you to concentrate.”

Hermione scowled a little. Professor Lavinia Elthis was always calm and cool no matter how people complained to her or how many times she had to show them something. Hermione usually appreciated that in a teacher, but she’d never had it so consistently, and, well…sometimes she just wished Professor Elthis would show a little sympathy.

Professor Elthis lifted an eyebrow, and Hermione blushed when she realized that those thoughts had probably literally been floating on the surface of her mind. She sat back down at her desk and closed her eyes with a deep breath. She could do this.

Professor Elthis’s Legilimency classroom was a good place to concentrate, most of the time. The walls were in a sort of muted blue-white color, and they curved inwards to make it feel as if the students were sitting inside a giant egg. The windows showed only a clear, rippling light, no visions of the outside, real or enchanted. And there were a few chimes hanging from the ceiling that moved with no wind and played only soothing tunes.

But Hermione just couldn’t get Legilimency. She could meditate well, and Professor Graphorn had said that she would pick up Occlumency easily. But Hermione wanted to do both.

“Sharpen your mind,” Professor Elthis murmured, the soft sound of her footsteps mingling with the noise of the chimes as she glided around the classroom. “Picture it as your weapon, ready to cut, ready to slice…”

Hermione nibbled her lip without opening her eyes. It was terrible to think that a professor didn’t know what they were doing, but she didn’t think she could use Legilimency if she went on thinking of her mind as a weapon.

Surely she could think of it as something else? Professor Elthis wouldn’t know.

Yes, she will, the moment she looks into your eyes.

But Hermione just wouldn’t look the professor in the eyes for the rest of the session. She steadied herself with a deep breath, and thought of her mind as a mirror instead, reflecting back the harmless impressions of someone else’s mind. If she was walking into a guarded house, she could hold the mirror up and reflect back their faces and make them think she was one of them and should be welcomed…

That should work, right?

Hermione concentrated on the image of a mirror so hard that her head was aching by the time Professor Elthis murmured, “Open your eyes.”

Hermione did so with the mirror still hovering behind her eyes. Professor Elthis gave her a thoughtful glance, but turned towards the oldest student in the class instead. From what Hermione had heard, Adelaide Finch-Fletchley had been a student at Hogwarts until last year, and had been expelled. So right now, she was taking the Legilimency classes with the first-years, because Hogwarts didn’t teach mental magic at all.

Hermione didn’t know why. It was dead useful—or would be if she could master it.

“Miss Finch-Fletchley.” Unlike some of the other teachers, Professor Elthis never called the students by their first names, no matter how small the class was. She tilted her head, her long white hair cascading down her neck. “Have you made your mind into a weapon?”

“Um. Sort of.” Adelaide was flushed, and she had her hands twisting back and forth in her lap.

“Tell me what you have done.”

“I made it into a hawk,” Adelaide blurted, and then took a deep breath and hastily added, “Professor.”

Hermione stared, wondering how that was a good idea. She caught Harry’s eye from across the classroom, and he gave her a minute shrug. He wasn’t better at Legilimency than Hermione, although he worked at it with the same grim determination he did anything. Hermione knew he wanted to master all the magic possible so that he could avenge his parents.

“Why did you do that?” Professor Elthis didn’t sound puzzled or upset. She sounded calmly curious. Hermione began to wonder if her mirror idea was such a bad one after all, although she still hoped she was the first one to think of it.

“Because hawks strike their prey quickly and kill it,” Adelaide said. “Or they can fly away. I’m having trouble thinking of Legilimency as something that would let me escape from someone’s mind if it turns out they’re a practicing Occlumens. I thought this would work. Um, if that’s okay, Professor.”

Hermione blinked. That was a really good idea. And it made her think that her mirror was also a good idea, because it meant that she could get around the mental block she had when she thought of hurting someone with Legilimency. If she was just reflecting back what they expected to see, it was a gentler approach.

“I see.” Professor Elthis took a small step back, still holding Adelaide’s eyes. “That may be well done. Fly your hawk into my mind, Miss Finch-Fletchley, and we will find out.”

Adelaide looked as if she was about to wring herself out of the chair in her nervous shock. But she leaned forwards and maintained the intent stare into Professor Elthis’s eyes that she’d taught them all to do when they were trying to practice Legilimency.

A second later, Professor Elthis laughed in what sounded like pleased surprise. Hermione squirmed in her chair, a little jealous that she hadn’t made Professor Elthis make that sound.

“Excellent, Miss Finch-Fletchley. I believe your hawk will work for you.”

“But I didn’t get through your shields, Professor.”

“You struck them, and then glanced away when you realized you couldn’t get through.” Professor Elthis was smiling as if she knew something everyone else didn’t. Hermione absently wondered if that was true, and then told herself of course it was; of course a professor would know more than students. “Now. Miss Granger.”

Hermione concentrated on her mirror as Professor Elthis turned and gave her the same intent gaze. Her pale blue eyes had brightened a bit, and Hermione knew what that meant. At the moment, Professor Elthis wasn’t practicing active Occlumency, so they had more ability to attack her, or at least get close to it.

Getting close was the problem, of course.

Hermione took a long breath and did her best to press forwards without moving out of the chair. That was a problem she’d had, too. She always wanted to move around physically when she knew she was moving in her mind, but that would disrupt the locked gaze that was necessary for Legilimency to work.

She felt as if she was passing through a dark forest for a long second, and the gleam of light through the classroom windows grew small and strange. Hermione swallowed, and swallowed again. She clenched her hands in front of her on the desk, and Professor Elthis stared right back at her.

Hermione saw something reflect in her mirror, which was suddenly in her hands, as solid as if it had been there all along. The reflected thing reached out for her.

Hermione tore herself away with a gasp. And there was the bright classroom again, and the other students, including Harry, looking at her in concern.

But it was all worth it, because Professor Elthis was smiling with raised eyebrows, even if she hadn’t laughed the way she had for Adelaide.

“That went well, Miss Granger,” she said. “When one of my traps reached for you, you saw it coming and managed to get away in time.”

“Traps?” Hermione stared at the professor. Somehow, she hadn’t absorbed the knowledge that there would be traps involved. She’d thought it would just be shields, and prepared herself to bounce from them.

“Of course.” Professor Elthis shrugged a little. “You don’t want someone getting into your mind unwatched, do you?”

“But I thought—this was Legilimency class, not Occlumency.”

Professor Elthis nodded. The smile had already left her face, and she looked as calm and collected as always. “It is, Miss Granger. But Occlumency is a passive defense, a different discipline, and one that I also said I wouldn’t practice against you, so you had more of a chance to get through. That doesn’t mean I’m not defending my mind with Legilimency, which is an active and relentless discipline.”

Hermione winced. That was a simple answer, and she should have guessed it.

“Do not look downcast, Miss Granger. Your mirror is an interesting idea, and I think it will work better for you in the future as you perfect it more.” Professor Elthis turned away. “Now, Mr. Thomas…”

Hermione nodded slowly. Maybe this was good, in a way. School sometimes came to her so effortlessly when she was in primary that she got bored and frustrated. Struggling with something like this would challenge her. Mum was always saying that she could use a challenge.

Hermione swallowed and straightened her back. All right. She would do this. She went back to envisioning a mirror harder than ever.

*

“Mr. Weasley, it appears that you are struggling in my class. As your Head of House, I will make sure that you don’t fail Potions.”

Ron tried to hide his wince and to keep his posture alert and stiff, the way he’d seen other Slytherins do it. He was sitting on a chair in Professor Snape’s office, and Snape was watching him with that blank, bored look that Ron had learned since coming to Hogwarts was anything but real.

Draco was the one who had warned him that Professor Snape could read minds. So Ron looked a little to the left of Professor Snape, and even if that meant he probably looked a bit of an idiot, so what? It was better than having his mind read. Ron treasured the privacy of his mind. Sometimes it was the only privacy to be had, at home.

“Yes, sir,” Ron said, when he realized Professor Snape was waiting for an answer. He cleared his throat a little. “I think—I think that I don’t know what too many of the instructions mean.”

Professor Snape stared at him. Even when he wasn’t looking at him directly, Ron could feel the pressure of those eyes. He did his best to hide his shiver.

“Explain,” Snape demanded.

“I don’t know the difference between crushing and half-crushing, sir.” Ron looked at the floor, and then back up when Professor Snape cleared his throat impatiently. “I just—don’t. The pictures in the book aren’t clear enough to tell the difference. And I can’t measure the slices I need to make as being a quarter of an inch long or a sixth of an inch long without comparing them to something else, and I’m never sure that thing is the right size.”

He cut himself off, furious with himself for babbling. People who did that would never get ahead in Slytherin House, Draco had told him. It was all about being calm and controlled, the way Draco was almost all the time, and the way Professor Snape was.

Snape leaned back in his chair. He seemed to be thinking. Ron hoped it wasn’t about what an idiot the first ever Slytherin Weasley was.

He wanted to make his friend proud. He wanted to make himself proud. His parents had written back acknowledging his Sorting but not seeming upset. Then again, they were all concerned about Evangeline.

And so was Ron. But for the first time in his life, someone didn’t expect him to stop doing everything and just focus on his sisters. Oh, Professor McGonagall had told him he could have an extra week to do the Transfiguration essay, but she still expected him to do it.

“All right,” said Snape at last, abruptly enough to make Ron jump and yank on his wandering thoughts to pull them back together. Snape’s face twitched, but he didn’t outright sneer. “I will give you private lessons, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron swallowed nervously. That hadn’t actually been the point of coming to Snape’s office. He’d hoped the man would show him a book with actual pictures, or design something for him that was the right length, such as a quarter of an inch, and let him use it in class.

But it was better than no help, so Ron forced a smile and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

*

Severus waited until the unexpected Slytherin Weasley had left his office, and then reached down into his desk and retrieved the obsidian orb that Riddle had granted him. This was the third one, although they were only a few weeks into the term. Severus recorded as many impressions of magic as he could get away with, and sent the filled orbs to Riddle when he could.

Some of the impressions were repeats, but Riddle had told him that it didn’t matter. In fact, it helped him to have multiple orbs from which he could compare the different kinds of magical records, and see if perhaps one of them had made a mistake and one of his enemies was stronger than he had imagined.

Would Lily approve?

Severus shook his head. Lily wasn’t here to approve or disapprove. That was part of the point. That was part of the reason he was doing this.

She had died because she had violated the rules of the terrible world where Severus still lived. And Severus had dreamed of vengeance, but in his dreams, suicide or flight followed any revenge he took. The purebloods like Lucius Malfoy, or Malfoy’s allies if the man was dead, would permit nothing less.

This way, Severus got to live and enjoy his revenge, and not even have to take the risk of delivering it himself.

I hope you would approve, Lily. Both of me and of what your son has to be learning at that strange school Riddle runs.

*

“Arthur.”

Arthur jerked his head up from his folded hands. He’d given up resisting sleep sometime in the early hours of the morning, even though he desperately wanted to be awake if Evangeline was.

Lucius Malfoy was standing in the doorway of the hospital room with a glinting vial of blue liquid in his hand. Or maybe it wasn’t liquid. It looked thicker, somewhere between a potion and a drink.

Arthur scrambled to his feet. “You found—you found—”

“I did.” Malfoy came a step further into the room and opened the vial above Evangeline’s face. Arthur watched, trembling, certain that at any moment he would wake and see that this was only a fever dream.

But he didn’t. The potion splashed onto Evangeline’s cheeks and eyes, and she gave a great gasp as a soft blue glow ignited there. It swirled over and under her skin like stars in water. Arthur grabbed her hand and watched as her chest heaved and she began to breathe more regularly, as the magic of another child soaked into her and stabilized the waning power that had created her.

Arthur found himself trying to care about where that magic had come from, but he couldn’t. If it had been a Muggleborn child’s, then the child would have been harvested by Malfoy’s administration in any case. Arthur couldn’t do anything for someone who was already dead, but for his daughter, his baby, he would do anything.

Evangeline breathed softly some more, then opened her eyes and blinked at him, looking concerned. “Daddy?” she whispered.

“You’ve been sick, sweetheart, but you’re all right now,” Arthur whispered, stroking her hair. He hoped that she couldn’t see he’d been crying. “You’ll get better.”

“Where’s Mum?”

“She’s at home with Ginny. But I’ll Floo her. They’ll be very excited to come here and see that you’re better.”

Evangeline nodded drowsily, and then rolled over and went back to sleep, as if she had never been sick, as if everything had always been fine. Arthur shook his head in disbelief and glanced over at Malfoy.

The Minister gave him a slight bow, and murmured, “I would have done anything for a pureblood child I had helped bring into the world. I’ll leave you to contact your wife and second daughter.” He turned and swept out of the room.

Arthur swallowed. There had been so many reminders in that seemingly simple statement: Evangeline’s blood status, that she had been born in the first place as part of the potions research that enabled him and Molly to have a daughter, that Malfoy knew exactly how many daughters they had.

But at the moment, Molly and Ginny were waiting for the news.

*

“Why are you sitting out here, Harry?”

Harry started, tensed, and then relaxed with a sigh, shaking his head. He wished he could hear Professor Riddle sneaking up on him instead of just getting used to it after the fact, but so far, the Headmaster surprised him every time.

“Just thinking,” he said. He knew he sounded sullen. He hoped that would be enough to make Professor Riddle go away and leave him alone.

But instead, Professor Riddle sat down next to him and studied him. Harry looked away. They were on the grass near the dome that contained Belasha’s lair, and now and then Harry could feel the heavy shift of her moving around through the earth. It was comforting, in a way. He licked his lips and wondered if he should stand up and leave.

“What are you thinking about?” Professor Riddle asked.

Harry studied him through his fringe. That wasn’t a normal question, he thought. Even Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn’t ask Dudley that.

But Professor Riddle wasn’t really a normal person. And from the comfortable way that he’d started to lean his elbow on the grass, he wasn’t going to go away until Harry told him what he wanted to know. That kind of leaning from someone by reading their gestures was something Harry had started to study in his Spycraft class.

“Legilimency,” Harry finally muttered.

“Do try not to mumble, Harry. We want our spies and revolutionaries to have polished elocution around here.”

Harry swallowed and sat upright. “Legilimency,” he said, and the words spilled out of him despite himself. “Everyone else in the class has done something really clever with it! Even that girl Adelaide who didn’t know anything about it before this year and ‘s older than me. The others are moving on. But I can’t do it. I can’t see into Professor Elthis’s mind, no matter how hard I try.”

Harry finished his complaint, and then flushed in embarrassment. Probably Professor Riddle would be upset about him complaining about one of the teachers. The Dursleys and the teachers at primary school had always reacted that way if Harry dared complain.

But instead, Professor Riddle shifted and said in a low voice, “May I look into your mind, Harry?”

Harry turned around towards him. “Do you think you can help me learn Legilimency?” he blurted.

“I am unsure. But I will have a better idea once I have looked into your mind and seen if there is a barrier of some sort standing in the way.”

Harry nodded rapidly. He wanted to be the best spy and revolutionary he could be. He wanted to avenge his parents’ deaths and what they’d done to Sirius and Remus so bad. But he couldn’t do that if he couldn’t defend his mind or read other people’s minds casually.

“All right. Relax and fix your eyes on mine.”

Harry relaxed as much as he could. His heart was surging around inside his chest, so he didn’t know how much that was, but he stayed still as Professor Riddle leaned towards him.

He didn’t feel like Professor Elthis reading Harry’s mind. She was always like a cool breeze with a keen edge that might slice you. Instead, Professor Riddle felt like nothing at all. Harry blinked uncertainly, but that didn’t disturb the Headmaster’s intense concentration on him. He sat back a second later and shook his head.

“I can’t do it?”

Harry heard the heaviness in his voice and winced, but Professor Riddle only looked at him and said, “You have a barrier in the way. Your magic shielded you from intense trauma at a young age, and unfortunately, that makes your mind more like a turtle shell than it should be. It might actually make you better at Occlumency, because not every Legilimens will anticipate that problem or know how to get around it. But it means that you’re unable to reach out to others like a proper Legilimens.”

“Can you get rid of it?”

“Harry.” Professor Riddle looked uncertain. “You know what trauma your mind must have protected itself from.”

Harry opened his mouth to say he had no idea, given the kinds of things the Dursleys had liked to do to him even when he was a little kid, and then winced. “Oh.”

Professor Riddle nodded. “If I break this barrier, it’s likely you will remember your parents’ deaths. You told me that you had flashes of them in dreams already. Do you really want to remember their last moments on earth? Especially given how violently they died? Who butchered them?”

Harry hesitated. He would have said yes if he’d thought he could punish the people who killed them, but Sirius and Remus had taken care of them already.

Then Harry thought about the people who were still out there, like Minister Malfoy. The ones who would authorize more harvesting, more raids, and kill more people like Mum and Dad if Harry let them.

“I want to know,” Harry said, and stared at Professor Riddle. “Break the barrier.”

*

Tom glided gently back into Harry’s mind. It was full of churning, whirling energy, and Tom could see why Lavinia hadn’t spotted the barrier before now. Harry was riding so many emotions and ambitions so constantly that it was easy to assume nothing would block or stop his potential.

But that was not the case, and little though he liked the idea of shattering the barrier as a professor, Tom was coldly pleased from the perspective of a leader. If Harry had any doubt or hesitancy, these images should act like a lightning strike, searing them away.

Tom reached the barrier, and paused for a second against the coolness like a tortoise’s shell. It pressed against him as he raised his magic. It was an interesting defense, hyper-reactive in the presence of magic, and Tom almost regretted that he had to destroy it. It would have been interesting to keep around and study a little more.

But Harry had asked him to.

Tom stirred his magic and unleashed a ram of power against the barrier, shattering it.

*

Harry fell to his knees, screaming.

Suddenly he was there, in the middle of the hunt, being jounced in his parents’ arms and seeing their desperate faces. The wail of the horns and banging of the drums was all around them, and James Potter, his black hair flying behind him, turned with his wand in his hand.

“Lily! Take Harry and go!”

His mum shook her head and laid him down on the ground. Harry could only see her face clearly for a moment before she stood up, but she was beautiful, and her green eyes really did look like his. “No,” she said quietly. “They would just track me down and kill me later. This is the only way Harry might survive, and—” Her voice wavered. “I want to be with you, James.”

“Lily—”

That was all he got the chance to say before Harry’s mum began to trace her wand in patterns so complex on the air that Harry felt dizzy just watching them. And then the Hunters burst through the trees.

They were wizards and witches, Harry knew that, but the magic of the Hunt had made them into something else. Steel claws sprouted from their hands. Spiral horns like a goat’s rose from the sides of their heads. Their voices rang on the air as snarls and howls and screams that made them sound like they were being tortured.

Instead of the torturers. They ripped past Harry’s dad and whatever spell he’d been trying to weave, and struck out with claws and horns. Harry stared as he watched his father’s belly burst open, intestines collapsing around him.

His mum, meanwhile, had finished whatever spell she’d done and was standing there, eyes wide. Harry wanted to scream at her to run, run, but he already knew that he’d be too late. What had happened, had happened.

The Hunters ran straight up to her, and cut her belly open, too. One of them bared pointed teeth and bit into her neck, slicing sideways and cutting her head off. Harry screamed aloud as blood sprayed him, and his baby self was wailing along with him.

The blood ignited as it struck the air, and then there was a huge ringing sound that made some of the Hunters fall back. A golden dome blazed into being over Harry, covering him like he was a dinner under the lid of a dish.

The Hunters hammered on the dome with their fists, but they couldn’t get through. Harry, gasping and retching, remembered, distantly, what Professor Riddle had said about his mum creating a sacrificial defense for him based on her death.

In a few minutes, the Hunters gave up on reaching Harry’s baby self, and turned back to their slaughter and butchering. From the angle Harry was lying at now, he couldn’t see everything that had happened. But he could hear.

The squelching and the breaking of bones and the laughter would remain with him always.

*

Tom eyed Harry’s face carefully as he emerged from the memory. His mouth was locked in a twisted grimace, and he was bent over, panting, as though about to empty his stomach.

Then he looked up, and Tom started a step back despite himself.

He’d seen fury like that before, but only when looking in the mirror. And only when he’d been older than Harry was now.

“I know the Hunters are dead,” Harry whispered. “But everyone else made them think this was a good idea. And other people are out there Hunting and harvesting people. Kids like me and Muggleborns like my mum. Right?”

Tom nodded. He thought silence was the best course at the moment.

“I want to kill them.”

Tom smiled a little. Killing was not always the best course of action, but he was confident that Harry’s rage could be directed into the appropriate channels, once he realized that he wouldn’t achieve what he wanted with just mindless slaughter. Or Tom could always explain that doing that would make him too like the purebloods that he didn’t want to imitate.

“Welcome fully to our cause,” he whispered, and let his left hand rest on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry stood still, his eyes blazing. It was a fire that Tom would be more than happy to kindle higher.