Chapter Six of 'The Onyx in Radiance'- Good Intentions

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Chapter Six—Good Intentions

Harry walked out of the Leaky Cauldron with as steady a step as he could manage, trying not to think that he might not see it again, depending on what waited for him down Knockturn Alley.

But as it turned out, what waited for him there wasn’t nearly as dangerous as he’d been thinking. It wasn’t hags chasing him to yank his fingernails and toenails out, warlocks menacing him with Dark magic, or werewolves snarling around a corner. Instead, it was just rejection and disappointment, one after another.

“You haven’t finished Hogwarts, have you?”

“Yer too young. You’ll have parents looking for yer.”

“My shop doesn’t cater to children, boy. Out you get.”

By the middle of the afternoon, Harry’s stomach was aching and his head spinning with hunger and a different kind of fear. What the hell was he supposed to do if people didn’t even give him the chance to open his mouth before dismissing him?

He was moving back towards Diagon Alley when he heard someone call his first name. Harry’s head snapped up and his wand snapped into his hand, although a second later he hesitated, wondering if there would be a Trace on it or not. He didn’t have the faintest idea about how or whether the Ministry was tracking young wizards and witches during this time.

“Harry, my dear boy!”

It was Dumbledore. Harry lowered his wand and swallowed. At least anyone who might have been coming up behind him in Knockturn Alley would take warning and back off, he thought. But he had no idea why Dumbledore had come to find him when it was obvious that he didn’t believe Harry’s story about having time traveled.

“Hello, sir,” Harry said cautiously as Dumbledore came to a stop near a building that looked like it might be an apothecary and motioned to him.

“Come, come, Harry, let us fine more congenial surroundings, and talk.”

Harry followed him, not looking back in case someone was staring at him. He was too busy wondering about Dumbledore.

Had he changed his mind?

But Dumbledore didn’t say anything to indicate he had. He just led Harry straight back to the Leaky Cauldron, ordered them both a shepherd’s pie, and politely looked the other way while Harry devoured it. Then he cleared his throat and turned back to face Harry, his face as kind as Harry had ever seen it.

“I told you that I did not believe what you told me, and why I could not use Legilimency to confirm the truth,” he said softly.

Harry nodded, keeping his head half-bowed over his plate and his fork scraping the last of his pie around.

“But it occurred to me,” Professor Dumbledore went on in a musing tone, “that if I truly believed that you had gone through such a traumatic experience that your memories would resonate with the delusion, that did not mean your trauma itself was less real. And that you probably wouldn’t have the money for school.”

Harry blinked at him. Then he said, “I wasn’t thinking about going to Hogwarts.”

“I know, but you are only fifteen, aren’t you, dear boy?”

Harry shrugged and agreed. He might be sixteen now, for all he knew. He had no idea how time in this future moved relative to his original time, or if he should even try to count it.

“Then you belong in school,” Dumbledore said firmly. “And I suspect that any family you might have would not be…accommodating if approached for funds.”

His eyes lingered for a second on Harry’s face. Harry flushed hot at the resemblance to his father and the Potter family in general that Dumbledore was probably seeing. But he had no idea who was alive right now, and no idea what to claim about them—he didn’t want to burden any Potters with his presence—so Harry sat back and shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Then I am going to pay for your robes, schoolbooks, and other necessities.”

“Sir, I can’t let you do that—”

“Trust me, Harry. I have earned enough money over the last few years that I’m not sure what to do with it, not when I live in Hogwarts and my food is taken care of there. There are only so many robes and books that one can buy for oneself.” Dumbledore’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And I do think, Mr. Potter, that you could use the help.”

“What did you call me?”

“You are a Potter. It’s utterly obvious in your hair and your face, at least if you know what to look for. Charlus Potter has been one of my Transfiguration students for the past three years.”

Harry licked his lips. So pretending with Dumbledore wouldn’t fly, then. But there was no reason that everyone at Hogwarts had to know.

(Hogwarts? I’m really going there?)

“Could I go by some other name instead? So I don’t change—I mean, so that the Potters have no reason to be angry at me for coming to a school where one of their kids already is?”

Dumbledore gave him a thoughtful look. “You could try. I must warn you that if I can recognize the resemblance, others will, as well. What name were you thinking of?”

“Harry Evans.”

“That last name is not a pureblood one. It might get you in trouble at Hogwarts with…certain people.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t care, sir. It’s for the best if people like the pureblood bigots I assume you’re talking about ignore me, anyway. And my mother was Muggleborn, and that was her name. Better to honor her.”

He meant that it was better for the timeline if people ignored him and he was just another Hogwarts student who slipped through the cracks, but Dumbledore could take it as better for the Potter family and Harry’s eventual reputation. He nodded, his eyes twinkling again, and cast a glance at Harry’s plate. “Am I right to assume that you haven’t eaten in a while, Mr. Evans?” he asked gently. “And that you’ve been through similar periods of starvation in the past?”

Harry opened his mouth to object that what had happened to him at the Dursleys’ wasn’t starvation, then closed it again. Why in the world did he care about defending Muggles from the future this Dumbledore would never meet?

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I’ll give you enough money for a stay at the Leaky Cauldron as well, and to make sure that you’re well-fed,” Dumbledore said firmly. “Please don’t object, Mr. Evans. I do want to take care of my students. There just aren’t many who need it as badly as you do.”

It wasn’t like Harry had bad options, after his utter failure to get a job of some sort in Knockturn Alley, so he nodded and murmured his thanks. Dumbledore stood up in a swirl of bright robes and smiled at him.

“Well, Mr. Evans, let’s be off and get you sorted with at least robes and books for today. And we’ll have to see about signing you up for OWLS if you’re planning to go into sixth year…”

*

Orion sits in the common room, staring at Harry across it, near the fireplace, where he’s working with Alphard.

Alphard came back from the hospital wing after Riddle cast the Imperius on him with the same hero-worship in his eyes that Orion saw that first day. And now he’s asked Harry with help on Transfiguration and Charms, and he’s getting on to Potions. Harry did try to demur on that one, saying he’d never been very good, but he does all right in Slughorn’s class, and Alphard insisted.

And Harry is utterly ignoring Orion.

It’s not just not talking to him. Harry lets his eyes slide across Orion without acknowledgment at meals. He moved his seat in Defense and Charms so he’s not next to Orion. He spends all his time in the common room either doing homework or helping someone else, like Alphard. He hasn’t even spoken with Abraxas, or so Orion heard from Abraxas yesterday.

It’s only a few more hours until the three days have gone past, Orion tries to console himself. A part of a last evening, one night, and then early in the morning, it’ll be three days.

He had no idea it would be so hard.

Abraxas plumps down next to him in the chair and murmurs, “You might do something else other than staring at him, you know. People are starting to talk.”

“What are they saying?” Orion does manage to tear his eyes away from Harry and turn to his friend.

Abraxas hesitates. “That you want to follow him more than you want to follow Riddle.”

Orion snorts a little and leans back in his chair, staring up towards the ceiling of the common room. “It could be worse. They could have decided that I’m weak enough to attack or curse.”

“They will, if they keep staring like that.”

“You said he hasn’t been talking to you, either. Do you get the sense that he blames you for what I did?”

Abraxas breathes out slowly. “No. I think what he’s trying to do now is take a step backwards from the position of prominence that we were leading him into.”

“But helping Alphard—”

“There’s a world of difference between helping a kid with his homework and being a lord.” Abraxas lowers his voice until it seems like Orion is feeling the vibrations more than hearing it. “Or Riddle would be doing it.”

Orion has to nod at that, and he looks speculatively back at Harry. Harry is sitting nearer the fire than he used to—even he seems to realize that displaying such power in the Slytherin common room and then cowering in a corner would be counterproductive—but he’s wholly focused on Alphard. He hasn’t paid attention to a few cleared throats and hovering people obviously wanting to talk to him. He hasn’t called out snakes from the carved ones or made some grand display of power, either.

“He doesn’t want to be a lord. At all.”

“No,” Abraxas agrees. “And you know that he has enough power that we can’t force him to become one.”

“Forcing isn’t what we want to happen, anyway.” Orion leans back in his chair and thinks a bit. Abraxas is patiently silent next to him. At last, Orion smiles and sits up. “All right. Then we take a drastic step. I take a drastic step,” he adds, seeing the way that Abraxas has become even paler. “It’s a little early, but I’d need to do it anyway, and I’d rather Harry knew about it before the answer comes back.”

“What answer?”

“I’m going to write a letter,” Orion says, and whips parchment out of his pocket.

And no matter how Abraxas presses him, Orion doesn’t tell him anything else. He’s got to get this letter exactly right.

*

“Could you pass the butter, Orion?”

Orion turns to Harry with a smile. It’s nice of him to say, in the hearing of what seems like half of Slytherin, that the punishment is over. “Sure, Harry,” he says amiably, and pushes the butter towards him. “By the way, I have a letter I want you to look over before I send it to my father. Do you want to do that after breakfast?”

Harry stares at him warily over the toast that he’s buttering. Orion puts all his effort into beaming back at Harry, and takes the letter out of his pocket when Harry motions that he wants to see it now. It’s amusing to him that Harry is perfectly comfortable giving orders when he isn’t thinking about it.

Harry stares at the letter, and his eyes almost bug out of his head. Orion grins when Harry chokes. At least he didn’t have actual food in his mouth when that happened.

“Are you out of your mind?” Harry hisses, leaning towards Orion and waving the letter around for a second. “Are you—you have to be out of your mind! You’re really going to write to your father and say that you’re going to marry some half-blood Slytherin who just showed up this year?”

“Yes,” Orion says. “He’ll understand. It was like this for him with my mother, too.”

“Your mother’s a half-blood?”

“You focus a lot on blood status for someone to whom it purportedly doesn’t matter.”

Harry splutters at him again and nearly gets butter on the letter with the violence he uses to lay it down. Orion is glad he doesn’t. He didn’t really want to copy the letter over again—unless, of course, Harry tells him to make a big change to the wording. Then he would. “You can’t just say that you’re going to marry me!”

“Well, no, not when I haven’t asked you,” Orion agrees. “Would you like me to court you, Harry? Or not court you?”

Harry’s mouth freezes halfway open, and he stares at Orion with an air of helplessness that Orion didn’t expect. He leans back a little and cocks his head.

Riddle is watching them from down the table, Orion knows. He can feel that burning stare. But he doesn’t think that’s the reason why Harry’s hesitating the way he is. Not even possible danger to Orion in the future seems to be worrying him unduly.

“You could give me an answer, you know,” Orion says, putting his chin in his hand and fluttering his eyelashes at Harry for a moment. “You don’t have to say that you’re going to marry met right on the spot, but courting? One way or the other? Yes or no, Harry.”

Harry splutters some more. He stares at Orion again, and there’s a yearning in his eyes that Orion doesn’t understand.

Orion slowly leans forwards. He fully intended to retreat if Harry told him off and just ask about courting him again later, when they knew each other better and Harry wasn’t coming off being angry again. But this isn’t a reaction he expected.

“Yes?” he asks quietly, gazing into Harry’s eyes. “Or no?”

Harry closes his eyes and bows his head. His hand grips his fork, which Orion thinks he’s half-forgotten he’s holding, to the point that perhaps the patterns of the handle will be imprinted in his palm. He mutters and swears softly.

But he doesn’t say no.

Orion tilts his head. He would back away and give Harry more time, if they were alone. But they aren’t, and more than the Slytherin table is watching them now. Some people from Ravenclaw are even leaning over as if they can’t wait for Harry’s response. And Orion is as sure as he can be without looking towards the Gryffindors that Charlus Potter is watching, too—probably with his mouth open and half-masticated food visible.

“Yes?” Orion whispers. “Or no?”

Harry stands up abruptly, staring at him, then sits back down and leans in until Orion thinks not even Walburga, craning her neck towards them with a desperate look on her face, can hear what Harry says next.

“Yes,” Harry whispers.

Then he snatches a scone and flicks butter at it with magic that only Orion seems to realize is wandless, and trots out of the Great Hall the way he did the other day when he told Orion he wouldn’t speak to him for three days. This time, though, Orion is relatively certain it’s to keep anyone from seeing the stormy blush that has traveled across his face from one end to the other.

Orion sits there and blinks and tries to understand. He doesn’t think he does, not really, not even when Walburga pokes him in the side and leans in to yammer at him. He doesn’t pay attention to her words, either. He’s lost in his memories, the endless images of what Harry said and didn’t say.

He wanted to say no, Orion is almost certain. If Abraxas is right that Harry was trying to use his silent treatment of Orion to draw back from being a lord, then he would probably have taken this chance to draw back from being courted and brought into prominence as the future husband of a Black, too. Or any pureblood.

But Harry also wanted to say yes. Orion wonders if it’s because of the devastating loneliness that shows in Harry’s eyes sometimes when he’s staring into the fire, or his Muggle upbringing. Harry might think it’s unwise or shouldn’t happen because of his magical power, but he wants to be treasured, to be treated right, to have friends.

And poised on a knife’s edge where he could have chosen either way and probably didn’t know that Orion would have backed off for a time and asked again later, he’s chosen the side that said yes.

Orion smiles a little as a feeling of warmth rises through his chest like dragonsbreath. Harry took a risk, trusting him, especially because he doesn’t know Orion that well despite the months they’ve spent together in Slytherin. It’s only in the past few weeks that they’ve really got to know each other, trust each other, exchange confidences.

Orion will make sure Harry never regrets it, and has all the things he’s ever wanted and desired, which Orion has ever wanted and desired to shower on a spouse.

“Orion!”

Walburga sounds as if she’s been shouting for an hour. Orion turns towards her and raises one eyebrow curiously. “Yes?”

She looks taken aback to have got his attention now, but she folds her arms and manages a smile as she asks, “What was that all about?”

“Something my father deserves to hear about first,” Orion says, and snatches the letter from the table and folds it up. Walburga looks sorry that she didn’t figure out a way to snatch it for herself before now. Indeed, Orion thinks, it’s kind of a miracle that the other Slytherins let it alone.

Whistling, Orion leaves the table and heads for the Owlery, ignoring the stares from the other tables, the throb of burning magic from Riddle’s direction, the chatter of people behind him. He’ll have to deal with all that later, and Riddle in particular will barely be tolerable.

But for now, his memory is full of Harry’s blush, Harry’s smile, Harry’s wandless magic, Harry’s genuine flustered response to the offer of someone wanting to court him. As if no one has ever offered before.

Perhaps they haven’t. Merlin, let me be first with this as I was with offering him friendship at Hogwarts.

Let me come first with him in all things.