Chapter Fourteen of 'The Onyx in Radiance'- Something Dark

[lomonaaeren]

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Chapter Fourteen—Something Dark

“Black.”

Harry didn’t really want to do this, but he did want to know why everyone in the common room was whispering about him and gaping at him. It couldn’t be the Patronus, not by itself. They didn’t gossip and whisper like that about Riddle’s equally powerful magic. And Harry had thought he’d face contempt and censure in the morning for barely dodging Riddle’s spells yesterday and raising a sloppy shield, not…

Whatever this was.

That meant he had to talk to the only sixth-year Slytherin who had acted as though he wanted to speak civilly to Harry. He hoped it wouldn’t be a long conversation. The sooner he could sink back into anonymity, the better.

“Potter,” Black said, and smiled at him.

Harry nearly froze in the middle of sitting down, but managed to continue. He couldn’t seem like he cared too much, or Black would probably lie to him for entertainment purposes rather than tell the truth. “Whatever. Why is everyone staring at me like I’m the second coming of—Merlin this morning?”

“Because you put Riddle on his back yesterday, Potter.”

“Oh…”

Shit, Harry was blushing. He knew he was. And Black was staring at him with his mouth slightly open and his buttered toast forgotten in his hand, probably about to burst out laughing at the sight of someone embarrassed by a display of power.

“Still strange,” Harry managed to say, snatching up a scone and taking a bite. “You’d think they’d be angry at me. You lot like Riddle, don’t you?” He knew it was more complicated than liking, but at least that should jolt Black out of staring at him.

In fact, it made Black stand up and jerk his head towards the entrance of the Great Hall. “Come with me, Potter.”

Harry was glad enough to follow Black, leaving his scone behind. He would get some answers, and he didn’t want to have food in his hand that might hamper his dodging. He could always go by the kitchens later if he was hungry.

When Black turned around in the alcove he’d led Harry to and smiled, Harry wondered if the duel was about to begin right there. His hand drifted towards his wand.

“It’s not a threat, Potter.” Harry peered at Black, whose eyes seemed to be shining. “You proved that you’re stronger than Riddle. And that you aren’t afraid of him.”

“But I am, though.” What the hell is going on here?

“Then you’re bloody good at not showing it. Trust me, Potter, most people are a lot more afraid than you.”

“But I know you’re Riddle’s—followers. That means you should be angry at me.”

Harry knew how the equation worked. He didn’t know everything Riddle would have offered his original followers, but he knew it would have included the chance to torment other people and spout their blood purity beliefs. And it didn’t seem as though the other sixth-year Slytherins had been shy about sharing those.

Black bowed his head a little. “I’ve been looking to break away from him for the last few months. He’s unstable, and he demands too much of me. But I didn’t see how I could with the rest of my yearmates and the years above and below committed to following him. And then you put him on his back.”

What the actual fuck.

Harry stiffened his spine against the panic sleeting through his mind. He hadn’t wanted to change the future. He hadn’t done it on purpose. And besides the fact that he had to try to change it back, there was the fact that Black sounded like—a Gryffindor or something, not the self-interested Slytherin that Harry had had no reason to think he wasn’t.

“Is that safe for you, Black? The others might not feel the same way. They could endanger you.”

“I know that you’ll protect me.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Black was relying on Harry. He sounded as though he was prepared to make a stand against Riddle not because he’d changed his mind about blood purity nonsense or Riddle’s level of power, but because he thought Harry would—

I can’t just abandon him. I can’t change the timeline. What do I do?

“I can’t promise that I’ll always be on my toes, though.” Harry lowered his voice. Maybe Black would let him go if reminded that Harry was just a student like the rest of them. “I was last night, but Riddle could curse me in the back any time. So it might still be best if you stuck with him and acted the part of his loyal follower, rather than risk your neck associating with me.” That wouldn’t take care of the problem completely, but at least it would buy Harry time to think, and it could remind Black of the “advantages” of following Riddle and allow him to drift “naturally” away from Harry.

“In public.”

“What?” Harry blinked at him.

Black was giving him the strangest look, as if he thought Harry was at least slightly stupid. “In public, I’ll act like that,” he replied. “Like Riddle’s loyal little follower. But I’ll spy on him and them for you, and warn you if it looks like they’re setting up some kind of trap.”

And doesn’t that sound familiar. Shit. Harry thought he might actually have said “Snape” out loud, but he managed to say the more important thing in a normal voice, which was, “It’s too dangerous. I can’t let you.”

“I choose to do this,” Black said, and in that moment, his stubborn look was all Sirius, which made Harry’s heart roar so hard he could barely hear Black’s words. “Are you going to force me not to?”

“No.” Harry couldn’t allow that kind of accusation to pass unchallenged. “I just—” He shook his head, mind reeling, and tried to bring in some common sense, because for some reason the actual Slytherin wasn’t. “You really know nothing about me, Black. You don’t know that I’m not just as unstable as Riddle.”

“I know.”

There was too much faith there. Harry hated the feeling of chains falling on him, but he also—he couldn’t back out and leave someone who was depending on him alone and facing the danger without protection. He hadn’t been able to do it when he was twelve and it was Ginny and a basilisk. He hadn’t been able to do it when he was eleven and he’d thought the only thing in danger was a Philosopher’s Stone. He shook his head and laughed in despair.

“All right. Fine, Black—”

“Orion.” Harry stared at him, but Black looked as though he was entirely sincere. “Please.”

“Harry, then.” Harry couldn’t not offer his first name, either.

This is all going to go to hell. They’re going to discover that I’m not a good leader or a good politician. What do I know about either? I’m barely a Slytherin.

But Black was smiling at him for some insane reason as they walked out of the alcove. Harry tried to remember if he had seen him smile like that before, but it was all mixed up with memories of Sirius and whether Black would have smiled or laughed in the Slytherin common room without it being a ploy of some sort to fool Riddle. Harry gave it up as a bad job.

He’ll still be disappointed, but in the meantime, I’ll do my best to keep him safe.

*

The check of Riddle’s wand confirms that he did cast the Unforgivables, of course, as well as whatever spell put Alphard in the cage—or so Orion assumes from the small silvery cage that forms above Riddle’s yew wand and the cold, furious way Professor Dumbledore’s face tightens.

Dippet is sitting with his hands over his mouth at this point. He really is useless. Orion plans to share this memory with his father if he asks why Orion chose to depend on Harry rather than go to the Headmaster about Riddle’s behavior.

Harry is watching the shapes form with a distant, sick expression on his face. Orion wonders if it’s because he’s had experience with the Unforgivables before he came to Hogwarts, or what.

But he can ask later.

“Well,” Professor Dumbledore says at last, lowering his own wand. “That is more than enough evidence to expel Mr. Riddle. Mr. Malfoy, would you mind fetching Mr. Riddle’s possessions from your bedroom? We’ll make sure that he has everything he owns with him when he leaves.”

“Except his wand,” Harry says softly.

Orion starts. He didn’t forget that someone’s wand would be snapped when they were expelled, exactly, but he wasn’t thinking primarily about that. He’s just been contemplating their future with Riddle out of Hogwarts and potentially trying to build a power base beyond its walls. What steps they can take to counter that, too.

Riddle reacts for the first time since the shapes of the spells started coming out of his wand. His lips peel back from his teeth, and he hisses something. Harry watches him with cold, silent, shining eyes and says nothing.

“Would you mind translating for the rest of us, Mr. Riddle?” Dumbledore asks, with a gleam in his eye that makes Orion wonder if that rumor about Dumbledore understanding some Parseltongue is true.

“Potter has something of mine,” Riddle says curtly. “I want it back.”

“Mr. Potter, you shouldn’t steal from other students,” Dippet says instantly. He looks as though he’s happy to have something to scold Harry for. “No matter what Mr. Riddle has done, he doesn’t deserve to—”

“Theft is worse than the Unforgivables, sir?”

Harry has turned sideways in his chair so he can look at Dippet, as if the Headmaster isn’t even worth looking at straight on. Orion hopes that he’s hiding his own desire sufficiently.

“O—of course not, Mr. Potter, but two wrongs don’t make a right!” Dippet wags his finger at Harry. “You ought to know that. You’re old enough.”

Harry half-smiles. It looks more contemptuous than ever. He reaches into his robe pocket and produces a little black book. Orion thinks it’s probably the same one that he used to distract Riddle when Riddle was holding Alphard in the cage, if only because the original book is important for some reason and Harry would want to keep it. “Here you are, Riddle,” he says, and flips the book towards him.

Riddle catches it and stares at it, then lifts his burning gaze back to Harry. Orion takes a step back despite himself at what’s in Riddle’s face. “This isn’t the original,” he says, right on the edge of Parseltongue.

“Oh? How would you describe the original, Riddle?”

“A small black diary!”

Harry tilts his head at the book, which Orion can’t see the cover of but is probably blank, and raises his eyebrows.

“This isn’t it!” Riddle looks as if he’ll fling himself at Harry, and the only reason Orion doesn’t draw his wand is because he sees Professor Dumbledore subtly readying his own. “Where is it? Where did you put it?”

Harry’s smile deepens. “I didn’t put it anywhere, Riddle. That’s the book I tried to give you the other day, only you were so distracted by the Dark magic you were casting that you let it drop. You can search all of my possessions and my trunk if you want. You won’t find this ‘original’ that you’re claiming I had.” He turns his head. “I do ask that you be there if a search is necessary, sir,” he tells Professor Dumbledore. “I don’t like to think what petty revenge Riddle might take on me otherwise, when he already did this.” He lifts his left hand.

“Quite sensible as a precaution, Mr. Potter.”

“Where is it?”

Harry glances back at Riddle with blank eyes. “Right there on the floor by your foot.”

Riddle hisses something long and vicious. Harry doesn’t reply. Dippet tries to intervene, maybe because he can see Riddle is on the verge of turning homicidal and wants to avoid Dumbledore delaying the expulsion until December, when Riddle will be of age and could go to Azkaban. “Now, now, Mr. Riddle, the description you gave is a little vague, and Mr. Potter might reasonably argue that it could apply to another book. Can you describe what makes this book special other than being black and a diary?”

Riddle’s hands twist in front of each other. Orion watches him and holds back a snort. Riddle can’t, which means that it’s probably radiating powerful Dark magic or something similar that he can’t confess to.

And Harry has been telling the absolute truth in front of Dumbledore the Legilimens. Orion’s admiration for him grows.

“He knows what he took from me,” Riddle whispers at last. Orion has never seen hatred like the stare he’s giving Harry, but Harry seems to take it in his stride.

Harry half-shrugs. “A book. I thought it was valuable because it was wrapped up in protective spells inside his trunk, but I didn’t know exactly what value Riddle places on it.”

Riddle looks as if he will explode. Orion ponders, wanting to be close enough to see it if it does happen, but not close enough to be covered in bits of bone and flesh and brain.

“Searching through Mr. Riddle’s trunk was very wrong of you, Mr. Potter.”

“Sorry, sir.” Harry ducks his head in Dippet’s direction. “I was just searching for something that would make Riddle stop attacking me and the younger students and the ones like Orion and Abraxas he put under the Cruciatus…” He bites his lip and might look contrite if you didn’t know him.

“Mr. Riddle, if you will tell us why the book on the floor cannot be yours?” Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.

“It doesn’t feel like mine,” Riddle says between his teeth.

Orion perks up a little. Is it possible that Riddle is really going to admit something like it having a stench of Dark magic?

“Sorry, Riddle. I can assure you that I didn’t tear any pages out of that book. I didn’t even really handle it all that often, and I can’t have affected it if there was a special texture to the paper or anything like that.”

Orion will not choke on laughter at the way Harry keeps not-lying and getting away with it. He will not.

Riddle opens his mouth to say something else, but Abraxas comes in just then with Riddle’s trunk floating behind him, along with what seems to be a bundle of Riddle’s dirty clothes wrapped together. His face has a bright pink tinge, and he’s swallowing noiselessly, his eyes darting around.

Orion opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but then he smells it himself. There is a stench of Dark magic coming from Riddle’s trunk, although he has faith that it isn’t the book Harry apparently stole.

“Mr. Riddle, what is the meaning of this?”

Albus Dumbledore sounds genuinely intimidating when speaking like that, his voice a roll of quiet thunder. He Summons the trunk from Abraxas before Riddle can reply or anyone else can do anything, and flings the lid back.

Orion gags as the reek floods out. He’s smelled some pretty Dark things in his family’s library and collection, but they’re old and—passive is the best way Orion can think of to put it. Their curses haven’t found victims in a long time, or they’re charmed not to hurt people. This is active Dark magic, greasy against Orion’s skin and tongue, and throbbing in the back of his head like nothing else he’s ever felt.

It must really affect Harry. He has his hands clasped to his forehead and is drawing in noisy breaths through his nose. Orion moves a little closer to shield Harry from the possibly prying gazes of the adults.

“Why did we never sense this before?” Abraxas whispers, sounding dazed.

Dumbledore is the one who answers him. “There are traces of wards on the trunk that would have tied into the wards around Slytherin’s common room and dormitories and used their strength to conceal this—object—as long as Mr. Riddle’s trunk was in his bedroom. I assume that he probably made the necessary adjustments and concealments himself when he had to move it…ah!”

A small, round object floats into the air at a jerk of Dumbledore’s wand. Orion stares. It’s a heavy golden ring with an even heavier and frankly ugly black jewel set in it. Why in the world Riddle would wish to keep it when it isn’t even delicate and graceful like half the Dark objects in the Black family collections—

“What is it, Albus? What is it?” Dippet is practically cowering behind his desk.

“I don’t know for sure, Armando.” Dumbledore doesn’t take his eyes off the ring. “I would have to do some research to discover the extent of its taint. But I am going to do the necessary research and come up with ways to destroy it, be sure of that.”

Riddle goes mad.

Dumbledore is paying too much attention to the ring, and Dippet to him. But Orion is watching, and that means that he sees it when Riddle loses it and lunges straight at Harry, his hands spread wide and a hiss escaping from his mouth that is meaningless to most of the inhabitants of the room.

All but one, anyway.

Before Orion can even do anything, Harry’s rolled neatly out of the way and left Riddle to crash into his empty chair. He surges back to his feet on the other side of the Headmaster’s office with his wand aimed straight at Riddle. His eyes are brilliant with fury, but he doesn’t say anything, maybe because that would reveal to the professors that he understood Parseltongue.

“Mr. Riddle!” Dippet clucks uselessly.

Dumbledore does something that keeps the ring floating in the air and turns around to calmly Stun Riddle. “Mr. Riddle has committed murder at the very least, Armando,” he says. “I ask that you allow me to summon the Aurors, so that we can turn him over to them. It may well be Azkaban after all.”

“But he’s underage…”

“Only for a few more weeks, sir,” Orion says, because he’s not sure that either of them knows when Riddle’s birthday is. “He’ll turn seventeen on the thirty-first of December.”

“Ah, well.” Dippet seems to give up on any defense of Riddle then, staring from the boy sprawled on the floor to the ring floating in the air. “Then, yes, I think the Aurors would be best, Albus.”

Dumbledore nods and Stuns Riddle again for good measure, a piece of common sense Orion appreciates. Then he steps over to the fireplace and the bowl of Floo powder that everyone knows the Headmaster keeps on the mantel.

In the silence that follows, ringing as though a coin has been dropped on the floor, Orion meets Abraxas’s eyes, and then Harry’s. Abraxas looks as stunned as though he was the one hit by Dumbledore’s spell. Harry looks startled, grim, satisfied.

And although Orion does want to ask him later about the bit of blood on his forehead over his scar, that can indeed wait for later. For now, Orion’s content to gaze at Harry and daydream about what he’ll look like in the new robes that should be arriving tomorrow, Orion’s first courtship gift.

He can afford to feel smug. He’s made a wonderful decision in aligning himself with Harry, better than he could possibly have known before.