Son of Magic

Chapter 5

November 12th, 1941

Slytherin Dungeons,

Hogwarts

There were several reasons why Harry had initially argued so vehemently against going back to Hogwarts, besides wanting to avoid Tom that is. For starters, he hadn't particularly fancied the thought of keeping up the charade of being a normal seventeen-year-old boy and having to go through the seventh-year curriculum for the third time. Then there was the fact that he was once again going to be surrounded by severely personality-lacking, prejudiced children . From experience, Harry knew that mortals around that age weren't exactly stimulating company.

There were a million other reasons why he'd been so set against going back to Hogwarts, reasons that saw him avoiding Hogwarts grounds for 389 years. Yet there he was, back to face all the ghosts and memories he'd run away from.

It is true that Hogwarts used to be a place of comfort and a symbol of hope. It is also true that he'd made some memories there that he was rather fond of, but unfortunately they were all tainted by the steady pain of loss. Such was the curse of being an Immortal—outliving everyone that had ever touched your heart.

Over the past few centuries, Harry thought that he'd managed to sever any ties and responsibilities he felt he had towards the mortals roaming the earth, even if he'd never quite mastered the absolute indifference Death felt towards everyone that wasn't Harry. In any case, he'd done a fine job of keeping out of everyone's business and pretending that he didn't care two wits about anything, but that's all he'd done, pretend and deceive himself.

While Harry had known that being back at Hogwarts would be painful and make him feel uncomfortable, he hadn't known that it was going to be like this—haunted at every corner by a multitude of memories from different timelines, all of them evoking several complex emotions he didn't much care to dwell on. No, he didn't care to dwell on them at all, but it was becoming increasingly hard for him to simply ignore the mess of emotions building inside him.

The nights spent within the castle walls were by far the worst. When everyone's gone to sleep, leaving the castle deadly quiet and without any distractions for him to cling to, his subconscious tended to stir in directions he wasn't at all comfortable with. Even in his sleep, he found no respite, not when his dreams were plagued by vivid scenes he'd rather not relive.

Unfortunately, tonight was no different. Harry was in his bed, limbs tangled distressfully around black, Egyptian silk sheets. His features were twisted into a glare, and his eyes were fluttering restlessly behind his eyelids. His skin looked fevered, a sheen of sweat had already gathered around his brows. His shoulders were tense and he was clutching a fistful of his sheets as he agitatedly turned his head from side to side.

He was haunted by memories tonight, just as he was any other night.

Loud footsteps could be heard resonating around the dark and empty corridor, sounding rushed in their purposeful strides and eager to reach their destination. Quickly, one after the other the steps fell in place, and if you listened closely enough, you could hear the faint but telling tune of a heartbroken man in flight, desperate for escape. Then, if you cared enough, you might find yourself wondering about the possible circumstances that led such a powerful man, one able to produce such heavy steps, to flee.

On that ordinary winter day, Hogwarts castle found Harry walking briskly down its cold hallways, trying his very best to earn his mastery in evading one Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Over the past week, he had been gracefully successful in avoiding him, but he was willing to bet that it was only so because Tom hadn't bothered to seek him out. He had actually acted as if he didn't exist which was fine with Harry, he very much preferred it that way. It didn't sting at all. It truly didn't.

Now though, now he had this foreboding feeling building inside him, telling him that his luck was about to run out on him. Probably because Tom had unfortunately managed to catch Harry's gaze before he was able to exit their shared Runes class.

Sure enough, just a few short steps away from being able to cleanly make his way through one of the secret passages, he heard his name being called out from behind him, freezing him in place. He stopped walking but didn't turn around. No, looking at Riddle would be a grave mistake, mostly because if he did he was liable to hex him to oblivion, but also because he didn't trust himself to look into those beautiful, deceiving grey eyes of his.

"Harry James Stevenson, is it me or have you been avoiding me?" Tom asked him when he was close enough to use a civilised volume, always so well mannered in public. Harry was surprised that he'd actually called his name from halfway up the corridor. It was so very unlike him and so very uncouth. He must have really wanted to talk to him. Tough.

Harry sighed and kept on walking, past the secret passageway and towards what promised to be a vexing conversation.

Tom glared at the back of his head but gave him an inch and decided to follow after him. "You're acting completely irrational," he informed him in that arrogant tone of his. Harry felt like punching him in the face, but instead, he picked up his pace and continued walking, focusing on his breathing.

Tom quickly caught up to him and growled impatiently next to him.