Chapter Thirteen of 'The Onyx in Radiance'- A Gryffindor in Slytherin's Clothing

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Chapter Thirteen—A Gryffindor in Slytherin’s Clothing

Harry could feel the mood in the common room shifting a second before Riddle spoke the words.

“I challenge you to a duel, Potter.”

Harry took his time looking up from his homework. He’d deliberately chosen a table near the windows that looked out into the lake, because no one else wanted to sit there due to the distance from the fire, and it made people turn their heads away with sneers. So far, despite the fact that Riddle and everyone else kept calling him Potter, his plan was mostly working out. Slytherins thought he was crass, or forgettable, or a Mudblood. They paid no attention to him sneaking out to fly or going to the library.

Well, except for Black, wanting tutoring in dueling spells. Harry wished he knew what that was about.

And he wasn’t about to ruin his near-perfect cover with a duel in the common room against Tom Riddle, of all people.

“No.”

Harry could hear more than one person drawing in a gasp. He didn’t look up. It wasn’t his fault if Riddle made himself look like a fool because he absolutely couldn’t leave Harry alone. It was just his job to sit here and work on homework, and that’s what he was doing, while Riddle’s mouth opened and shut a short distance away.

“What did you say?” Riddle finally snapped. He sounded as if he might be about to drop into Parseltongue, but he didn’t. Harry was glad. He would have had to pretend that he didn’t know what Riddle was talking about, if that was the case.

“I said no,” Harry said, and looked up. “Do you need someone to explain one-syllable words to you now, Riddle?”

Riddle made some kind of undignified spluttering sound and pulled out his wand.

Slytherins gasped and cleared their homework and games out of the way. Harry wanted to roll his eyes. They prided themselves on being above ordinary human emotions and sneered at the Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs for laughing with their friends, but they were teenagers, in the end. And Harry had to decide what to do next, how much he wanted to stand out among them.

He should be able to defend himself from Riddle, of course. But he shouldn’t look too good, either, or there was a chance that Riddle would simply challenge him again, or other people would decide he was a dueling prodigy the way Black had and start following him around. Harry was quite enjoying the holiday from people following him around, thanks.

Riddle fired Torqueo. Harry waited, counting seconds, and lifted a shield at the point where the curse would have hit him otherwise. The curse bounced off and twisted the legs of the table. Harry caught his homework before it could slide off and smiled at Riddle.

There. He’d shown that he wasn’t going to lie down and roll over for the bastard, but he’d also shown that he was lazy, too, or at least didn’t take dueling seriously. It ought to be the right middle road.

Riddle’s eyes said that he might not care. Harry tensed in spite of himself, and then he opened his big mouth and said something he probably shouldn’t have.

“I’m sorry, you were looking to challenge me?”

And a storm of curses flew at him.

Well, shit. Harry leaped to his feet and tried his best to compromise, to live through the curses but not be extraordinary. He had to think on two levels at once, try to make his shields sloppy but also there, had to dodge but also try to look as though he wasn’t all that good at dodging and certainly hadn’t done something like this before.

“Crucio!”

Harry’s mind filled with the graveyard, with trying to use the Cruciatus on Bellatrix, with his grief for Sirius. And his mind leaped from Sirius to Dementors to the way that he had saved Sirius from Dementors—saved him then, couldn’t save him when it counted—and he lifted his wand and shouted, “Expecto Patronum!”

Prongs charged out, antlers lowered and hooves making an audible sound on the floor of the common room. Harry had only a moment to get used to that before Prongs knocked Riddle to the floor with an easy shouldering motion. Harry held back his laughter at the sight of Riddle on his arse and Disarmed him.

Harry looked around. People were gaping at him.

And it occurred to him what he’d done. After all his work to look ordinary and as if he wasn’t anything or anyone good in particular.

Harry’s skin prickled all over, and he tossed Riddle’s wand back to him. Then he picked up his homework and scurried to the bedroom where he slept with the other Slytherin boys in his year, cursing steadily inside his head.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Well. There were still his manners. There was still his blood status. That ought to prevent people from looking too closely at him.

And if it didn’t?

Harry would just have to work out a way around it. He wasn’t staying here.

*

“I have been hearing some serious accusations about you, Mr. Potter.”

Orion catches his breath and bites back the impulse to defend Harry. It would do more harm than good right now. Besides, Harry has to prove that he can stand on his own.

Harry nods, his eyes wide, as he sits down in the chair across from Professor Dumbledore. Orion leans against the wall behind him, smiling a little when Professor Dumbledore glances at him. He’s not leaving unless Dumbledore actually orders him away. Abraxas is waiting down the corridor, and Orion knows he feels the same.

Dumbledore looks vaguely uncomfortable as he turns back to Harry. “What have you to say to me, Mr. Potter?”

Harry swallows. “Have you always found Tom Riddle to be completely trustworthy, Professor?”

“Well, no,” Dumbledore says, looking a little startled. “But you should know that the rest of the professors do believe him, down to the point of accepting that you started the fight and used a very Dark curse on yourself to make you look like the victim.” His eyes linger on Harry’s blackened left hand. “Mr. Riddle claims that this was actually a sacrifice that you made for power, and that you would have sacrificed the younger Mr. Black if he hadn’t stopped you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Sir, Riddle is upset because Orion and I made him swear an oath to leave the younger years alone. He had Alphard in a cage made of power I didn’t recognize, and he said only a sacrifice of pain, not by the caster, could end it. I chose to sacrifice my fingers, yes, but it was to free Alphard.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widen. Although he teaches Transfiguration, Orion is aware of how well wide-ranging his knowledge is, and he probably recognizes the curse Harry’s talking about.

(Orion has never denied how intelligent Professor Dumbledore is. Just how fair).

“If I called the younger Mr. Black in here, would he tell the same tale?” Dumbledore asks.

“Yes.” Harry sets his shoulders. “And I—I didn’t want to really face down Riddle or anything, sir, but I couldn’t let him hurt Alphard. You understand? Not when similar things happened to—” He cuts off and bows his head. His shoulders tremble a little, but not as if he’s crying, not as if he’s overdoing it.

Orion catches his breath in admiration. He once thought that Harry wasn’t good at lying, but he supposes that he was looking for skill in the wrong medium. Harry might not be good with words, but he can make his body do exactly what he wants.

And from the look on his face, Dumbledore is lapping it up. Maybe the Slytherins who refuse to show weakness in front of him have had the wrong tactic all along.

“My dear boy,” he whispers. “Of course. I should have thought about the way the circumstances of your childhood would have affected you.” He shoots a quick glance at Orion, as if thinking that maybe Orion doesn’t know this and should leave, or that Orion would make fun of Harry for it.

Orion gives Dumbledore a bright smile and stays right where he is.

Harry catches his breath as if stifling sobs and looks up. “I do want to protect people,” he says, low and fierce. “And I don’t want power. I just want to stop Riddle from hurting people. Yes, you can call Alphard here if you want. And I did want to ask if Riddle had approached you, if he was going around and talking to all the other professors.”

Dumbledore gives a small, wintry smile. “He has not.”

Of course not, Orion thinks suddenly, startled. Not with all the rumors that Dumbledore is a Legilimens, and can detect lies. And that would be one reason why Harry’s truth, and actions, are passing muster.

Harry isn’t lying with his words. He doesn’t need to. He knows he shouldn’t. Or maybe both. It comes down to the same thing.

Orion is so proud of him, and so grateful that Harry chose a tactic that would work in his appeal to Dumbledore. He would like to take Harry somewhere and show him his gratitude.

He manages to shove the gratitude away to a low simmer as he sees Dumbledore’s eyes turn towards him. The last thing he wants to do is express that in front of this man.

“So it seems as though we have a case to bring before the Headmaster,” says Dumbledore, and glances back and forth between Harry and Orion, clearing his throat a little. “Is there a reason that you need to come with us, Mr. Black?”

“I was a witness, sir. So was Abraxas Malfoy. And, well, if you’re going to call in my cousin to talk about it, I think Alph would probably want me with him.”

Dumbledore half-sighs, maybe in protest at the thought of having to deal with more than two Slytherins, but he nods. “If you’ll fetch Mr. Malfoy, then, Mr. Black.”

Orion nods as if nothing has ever made him happier than obeying Dumbledore, and goes to the office door to call to Abraxas. He can hear Dumbledore asking something about abuse and delusions behind him, and tenses a little. If Harry’s “delusions” cause Dumbledore to discount everything he’s saying…

But they’ll have testimony from three witnesses. And even if Riddle convinces someone to lie for him, that’s not going to be easy to overcome.

*

What Orion can’t help but think of as an impromptu Wizengamot session is held an hour later in Headmaster Dippet’s office.

The Headmaster sits behind his desk and frowns, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him, probably to keep them from trembling. His eyes are watery and dart back and forth uncertainly between Harry and Riddle.

Riddle has a faint smile on his face, as if he knows that Harry and his enemies are preparing some stupid trap to bring him down but intends to let them get on with it. He balances his own clasped hands on a propped-up knee and keeps his wand in his holster. He’s looked at Harry’s hand only once, but with a curl in his lip and a gleam in his eyes that makes Orion want to punch him.

He had to hold his breath for a moment to jolt himself into focusing on something else. Yes, there will be revenge, but for the moment, they need to stop the story Riddle is spreading, and buy time for Orion’s father to read the letter Orion sent him.

“Mr. Potter,” says Headmaster Dippet at last, apparently deciding to start with the person he approves of least in the room. “Will you tell me the story again of what happened to your hand yesterday afternoon?”

“Of course,” Harry says, his voice calm. “I sensed through monitoring charms that I’d placed on Alphard Black that he was in danger—”

“He placed monitoring charms on you, Mr. Black?” Dippet interrupts. He stares at Alphard, who sits on the chair furthest from Riddle. “Why would he do that?”

“I asked him to,” Alphard says, ducking his head. He looks smaller than Orion thought he was, but maybe it’s in comparison to the large chair he sits in. “I was—terrified of Riddle. I wanted to be protected from him.”

“Now, what can Mr. Riddle have done that was that bad?” Dippet chuckles. “Schoolboy pranks, a few hijinks here and there—”

“He used the Imperius Curse on me, sir.”

Orion sucks in a blast of startled air, and coughs. He sees from the brilliant, hard smile on Harry’s face that he expected this, but Orion didn’t. Mostly because he didn’t think Alphard would have the courage to confess that with Riddle in the same room.

“What?” Dippet squeaks. Riddle’s smile has vanished. “Mr. Black, that is a very serious accusation! Are you sure that you aren’t confused and—”

“He’s telling the truth, Armando.”

Dumbledore hasn’t said much since he escorted them to the Headmaster’s office, but he steps forwards now, smoothing down his robes. Riddle shoots him a look of loathing, but then goes back to staring at Alphard.

“Yes, I know about your little ability to detect lies, Albus,” Dippet says, and waves his hand around. “But all that proves is that Mr. Black believes it was the Imperius. It doesn’t say anything about it really being that curse! As if a respected student would do that inside the school—”

“He used the Cruciatus on me,” Orion says softly.

Dippet stares at him with his mouth open. Orion manages to control his contempt. This man is the Headmaster of Hogwarts? This man is the one he’s supposed to respect and fear?

At least it’s easier to see how Riddle has wrapped the idiot around his little finger, now.

“A-are you sure, Mr. Black?” Dippet sounds as though someone’s slapped him and he hasn’t recovered from the shock yet. “That is—a bold claim. If you were willing to make it under Veritaserum—”

“He isn’t lying any more than the younger Mr. Black is,” Dumbledore interrupts smoothly. “And I’m sure you’d agree that it’s much harder to mistake the Cruciatus for anything else than it might be with the Imperius, Armando.”

“I did not do these things,” Riddle says loudly.

“You are lying,” Dumbledore says.

“I am not! I am not!” Riddle is shrieking in a high voice now, and Orion’s eyes widen. He’s only ever seen the other boy lose control like this in the privacy of the Slytherin common room. “They are lying, they are!” He stands, and now he draws his wand. “If you are going to believe them over me—”

“Mr. Riddle, sit down,” Dippet is bleating.

“Mr. Riddle.” Dumbledore has his hand on his wand, but hasn’t drawn it yet, which Orion thinks is a stupid mistake.

“Shut up, Riddle.”

Harry’s voice, out of all of them, is calm and firm, and washes over everyone there like a cool wave. Abraxas takes a deep breath and straightens his back. Orion moves a little closer to him. He wonders if Abraxas will speak up about being tortured, too.

Riddle is staring at Harry with his eyes wide and his teeth bared, but he seems to have regained enough control to realize that shouting in front of the professors, and cursing people, won’t serve him. A pity. Orion would have been willing to endure another few seconds of the Cruciatus to make sure that Riddle’s cover with Dippet is blown forever.

Harry has turned in his chair to face Riddle, and the look of disdain on his face is perfect. He looks at Riddle as if the force of all the hatred and fury and fear and sickness that other Slytherins have felt because of Riddle is beaming through him.

“You used the Imperius on Alphard,” Harry says flatly. “And the Cruciatus on Orion and Abraxas, and tried to use it on me, and did this to me, because I had to make a sacrifice of pain to get Alphard out of the cage you set up.” He extends his wounded hand. Dippet flinches. Riddle stands still. “It’s about time you were punished.”

“Why did no one ever tell us that this was going on?” Dippet whispers, sounding on the verge of having a tantrum.

Harry turns to stare at him. “Because you and all the teachers except Professor Dumbledore favored Riddle so much that no one trusted you to set it right. Because they had to sleep in the same room or share the same common room as Riddle, and they didn’t know what he might do if they exposed it. Because they were in pain. Because they were afraid of being tortured again.”

“You are exposing it,” Riddle hisses, his voice low. Orion wonders if he’s going to try and build a case that things can’t have been so bad because Harry is talking about them.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Harry’s voice rings as clear as a bell, and his eyes are fixed on Riddle’s, and there’s a faint smile on his face. The smile of someone who has indeed faced worse than this, and survived.

Riddle can’t scare him.

Orion swallows. He glances sideways at Abraxas, and sees that Abraxas’s eyes are wide in a way that indicates he’s falling into his own kind of devotion. Orion won’t have to worry about competition for Harry’s heart, but maybe for Harry’s company.

And as Dumbledore confirms the truth of what Harry is saying, and Riddle descends into stammering denials, and Dumbledore insists that Riddle hand his wand over for a check of the spells it’s been casting, Orion’s gaze swings over to Harry.

Harry, who winks at him.

Orion can’t feel better right now than he does. He literally can’t. Or his heart will probably leap out of his chest and dance on his ribs.

But Merlin, he’d like to see what kind of good feelings Harry can bring him in the future. He really would.