Chapter Text
Chapter I: What Death Doesn't Touch
"Immortality through transformation is nature—within the world there is no place for other creations. There is just an opportunity for reintegration and continuity. Everything that could exist already exists. Nothing else can be created but revealed."
-Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart.
Prologue
On December 25th, 1991, Harry found two very special things that would become his very first secrets.
When Harry found the room of hidden things, he promised himself that he wouldn’t tell anyone else about it. Not because he didn’t trust them, but because it was the first thing that he had ever found that truly and solely belonged to him.
That room became his very first secret.
His second was the boy in the mirror.
It was a kind of magic that he had never encountered before. None of his professors spoke of talking mirrors, or of people trapped within them.
The conversations he had with the boy in the mirror made him feel special. He didn’t think it was wrong that he didn’t want to share that feeling with his classmates. It’s not like anyone asked him where he was going anyway.
December 25, 1991
Harry was celebrating his first Christmas at Hogwarts, and despite being lonely it was the best holiday celebration he had ever experienced. For the first time in his life, he woke up to a present under the tree. More than one, actually. Although he didn't know who the invisibility cloak was from.
Mrs. Weasley, a woman who he had never even met, was the first person to ever give him a present. The present was wrapped in Slytherin green wrapping paper, and it even had a beautiful silver bow. The package so pretty that he hesitated to tear into it. When he finally did, he put on the hand knitted jumper immediately. For the first time in his life, upon feeling that soft emerald wool against his skin, he felt like he finally understood why people love the holidays so much.
He really hoped that he would have the chance to meet her someday.
The joy from opening his presents started to fade into something more familiar after dinner. He was still grateful, he really was. The feeling of scratchy wool against his skin a constant reminder of how he felt that morning. But the elation was more subdued.
Sitting alone in the great hall, most of the other students long gone, made him more aware than ever of his lack of a family. He had always missed them, but this Christmas made him finally understand, for the first time, what exactly he was missing out on.
The lonely feeling lingered, even when he tried to make himself happy.
At least he had the portraits to talk to though. They didn’t leave for the holidays—or at least most of them didn’t.
Harry decided to wander the halls of Hogwarts. He wasn’t really looking for anything specific, but that hollow heavy feeling followed him and kept him moving. Exploring the castle made him feel a little better, a little less alone. The murmur of the portraits, the echoing click-clack of his shoes on the stone floors, that mystified feeling that he still hadn’t shaken after four months of living here. All the things that made Hogwarts so special were the same things that made this particular Christmas feel all the more lonely.
The castle, the magic, the friends—it still didn’t feel real. He always felt like he was one misstep from losing everything. That one day he would wake up back in the cupboard to realize that it was all just a silly fantasy. For the first time in his life, he was happy. He hated that it didn’t leave him, that worry, that ungrateful little voice in his mind trying to convince him that none of it was real.
At some point he had wandered into the seventh floor corridor. He was taking his time, exploring and talking to the portraits he encountered. He liked talking to them, so many of them were desperate for company, so willing to dote and be kind to him. The way they spoke to him made him feel warm. Only a few of them were mean, and honestly, he couldn’t blame them. He wasn’t sure he’d be very happy about being trapped inside a portrait either.
The first time he made the room appear, he wasn’t exactly sure how he did it. He was pacing, trying to push away all of the negative thoughts that made him feel so ungrateful. There was no reason for him to feel so sad, he had a Christmas present, a full belly, and he was living in a castle. Things had never been better for him, and the fact that he couldn’t let go of that awful longing made him feel even worse.
He was spiralling. Wishing that there was something, anything to do for the next two weeks that could keep him occupied until his friends came back from the break. Everything would be okay again once he was surrounded by people, when there was a constant chatter surrounding him, buffering him from his thoughts.
It was when he was wrapped up in his thoughts that he noticed the wall had shifted. There was a door where there hadn’t been one before.
Grateful for the distraction, even if the nagging in his gut told him that it was a bad idea. After a brief moment of consideration, he opened the heavy wooden door.
There were things everywhere. Odds and ends, trinkets that sparkled and shined in the light. Hundreds—no thousands—of things, furniture, jewelry, china, things that he couldn’t identity. He couldn’t see the end of the room through the piles of stuff.
What was this place?
Immediately his curiosity got the better of him. He could practically feel the magic in the air, a dissonant humming coming from all directions. Even knowing that he probably shouldn’t be there wasn’t enough to discourage him.
Harry’s desperately made wishes for something to distract him came true that night.
He wasn’t sure how long he had spent wandering that room. Digging through drawers, looking in chests and boxes, holding different strange objects and feeling the magic that they carried. It wasn’t until he pushed aside a wardrobe that was blocking his way and entered a new unexplored area that he started to feel like something was off. At first he thought he was just paranoid, the guilt of wandering somewhere that he shouldn’t be getting to him.
But it was unmistakable. That feeling, the eyes on his back. Someone was watching him. Like he was being observed from the shadows. It’s how he used to feel when he was out in Petunia’s gardens during the summertime, right before a holler from the darkened window about something he had done wrong. He no longer felt alone.
Harry looked around, squatted, and stood on top of desks, searching for the source. He was about to give up when he caught it, just out of the corner of his eye. There was a dark shadow, a blur of a person moving, just watching from the other side of the room.
It was a boy. Taller than him, but he couldn’t have been much older. At first glance, he thought the boy was standing in a doorway. That he had managed to sneak in without Harry noticing and decided to simply watch rather than announce himself.
He wandered closer, inspecting the odd figure. Dark hair, unfamiliar but still dressed in Hogwarts robes. He wasn’t moving, didn’t make any motion to speak to Harry—didn’t even give him a wave. The boy simply watched, with a gaze far more calculating than any of Harry’s other first year peers.
When Harry smiled, the boy didn’t smile back.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize there was anyone else here. What’s your name? I’m Harry.” When Harry spoke, he made a deliberate effort to be polite, trying to remember the ways he had seen the other boy’s in his year introduce themselves.
The other boy was wearing Slytherin robes, and based on the tilt of his chin and generally immaculate grooming, he was probably the type to get irritated at any perceived rudeness.
After a few months as an outcast in the house, he didn’t have it in him at this point to put his pride above the chance to make a good impression on at least one person.
The boy looked at him speculatively for long enough to make Harry uncomfortable before finally breaking the silence and responding simply, “Tom.”
Tom was clearly wearing his house colours, but Harry is positive he would have seen him before if they were truly in the same house. Suspicion tangled with confusion had him immediately weary. Careful to not make the question sound like an accusation, Harry kept his voice as neutral as possible, “It’s nice to meet you Tom. You’re in Slytherin too? I’ve haven’t seen you around at all before.”Sure, Hogwarts was big enough to have a few unfamiliar faces, but there was only a handful of students who were in their first few years—and despite Tom’s intimidatingly mature persona, he couldn’t pass for older than third year, and that was if he was being incredibly generous.
If Tom was a student, there was no way he wouldn’t have at least seen him around, “What year are you in?” Harry continued, not sure what to say.
“I’m in my first year. You?” Tom was looking at him with narrowed eyes as he spoke. It was intense, more so than he was comfortable with. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that. People at Hogwarts tended to either ignore him deliberately, or stare with wide-eyed, starstruck awe that made him squirm uncomfortably.
Harry couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his tone this time, entirely unsure what to make of the situation, “I am too!”
“No you’re not.” Tom narrowed his eyes at him, the words coming out as simultaneously condescending and defensive.
He wasn’t really sure what to say to that—he wasn’t lying, but understood enough from living with the Dursleys that words and denials meant very little when it came to accusations against your character, “What?”
“There’s only six male first year Slytherins, myself included. You’re not one of them. Who are you?” Tom said, tone irritated. The way he stared at Harry made him feel like… a criminal. Or a test subject. He wasn’t sure what exactly—but he didn’t like the way it made him feel in his chest. It was tight like anger, but somehow different.
It’s not like Harry hadn’t had a similar line of thought, but the accusation in the boy’s tone was enough to irritate him, "I told you. I’m Harry.”He wasn’t sure what else to say, the boy’s demeanour was harsh and he didn’t have an explanation that would satisfy the boy—it’s not like he had a lie to confess.
“Then how do you suppose that it is we haven’t met before, Harry?” The way he said Harry’s name was derisive.
“I dunno.” He tried not to sound as put off as he felt. Who was Tom to act like he was some kind of liar? It’s not like he’d seen the other boy before either and he hadn’t felt compelled to accuse him of… whatever Tom was implying, “Maybe it’s enchanted?” He said, voice cracking embarrassingly, gesturing to the mirror.
Tom thought, to his surprise, didn’t scoff at the idea. He also didn’t laugh at Harry’s embarrassing voice crack, which he was infinitely grateful for. Even if he didn’t like the smirk on his face. He merely looked at Harry with speculation and amusement, “Clearly.”
Harry flushed, looking at his feet and hoping to hide his face until he wasn’t so red. He couldn’t tell if he was blushing because he was irritated or embarrassed. The way Tom was speaking to him made his stomach do something strange and unfamiliar.
When Harry didn’t reply, Tom continued, voice somewhat softer, “I’ll have to do research into what kind of enchantments can be placed on a mirror. If you’re more than an illusion, I’d like to know where you came from.” Was he actively trying to sound like a ponce? The way he spoke couldn’t be natural—not even Malfoy sounded so… adult.
Realizing what Tom had implied, irritation seeped into his tone,“Hey! How do I know that you’re not the illusion?” He looked back up at the other boy, his nose scrunching up in that way that Aunt Petunia would have called ‘uncouth’, “For all I know, you’re some kind of trick.”
Infuriatingly, Tom smirked in response to his anger, raising his eyebrows, “I suppose you don’t.” Tom scrutinized Harry’s face, eyes narrowed and quick. He must have been pleased with something he saw—Harry had no idea what—because he continued, “I’ll just have to figure out exactly what’s going on here then.”
“I could figure it out if I had to.” Chin up, Harry projected all of the confidence he didn’t feel. He wasn’t going to let this boy who was his own age, talk to him like he was an idiot. An imaginary idiot, at that.
The pinched smile he got in return just fuelled the fire in his belly, “But you don’t have to, so will you?” Tom’s head cocked in a challenge, that smirk on his face looking particularly punchable in that moment.
Harry straightened his back, for the first time meeting Tom’s gaze and holding it, “Yeah. And I bet I can even figure it out before you can, too.” Harry knew himself well enough to know he couldn’t pull of smug or condescending, but he had never been meek. He would be willing to study if it meant winning whatever strange game Tom had just initiated.
Harry was proud of himself for recognizing the game for what it was. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad Slytherin after all. It had taken him a while to get used to the way everyone was always talking without saying what they actually meant, but he found himself enjoying it more and more these days.
At first, it confused him. The way his Housemates spoke around one another—always snarky, a bit condescending. Almost always with some kind of double meaning. It was oddly deliberate for people so young, but he supposed their parents were to blame for that.
Thinking about all he had seen in his Housemates this year, he puzzled over Tom's attitude. What was he hoping to get out of this interaction? It was clear his tone shifted in the last minute or so—but the implications of that shift lay just out of his reach. At the outskirts of his mind, waiting. Figuring out what Tom's goals were had to be a priority.
Tom’s tone was heady, something in his challenging gaze shifting just slightly, “We’ll see, I suppose, Harry.” Smile sharp, he somehow looked more feral than before. Still staring uncomfortably at him, calculating, but his gaze was softer. Almost fond? But that couldn't be it.
Harry realized exactly what the shift in Tom’s demeanour meant. He was intrigued. Not just amused at his naivety, or analyzing his face for tells that he could be lying. The exact same expression Zabini had when Harry won their last duel—not exactly happy, but interested enough to not be irritated.
Harry hoped his smile still looked challenging, because it felt dopey, “We will.” He suspected that he failed, at least if the amused smile that flashed on Tom’s face was any indicator.
Neither of them stayed very long after that. Based on the way Tom spoke, he was heading straight for the library. Briefly, the thought of going passed through his mind, but his feet took him back to the dungeon.
His eyes were heavy, and his mind felt like it was stuffed with cotton, Harry let them carry him into bed. It had been a long enough day.
Harry really hoped that the boy would come back. It seemed like he might, if only to satiate his own curiosity. There was no doubt in his mind that he would go back tomorrow to check.
If he stayed up a little bit later than normal that evening, imagining the soft swoop of the other boy’s somehow immaculately styled curls (seriously, how did he do it? There was no amount of brushing that would make Harry’s curls look like anything other than an absolute mess), that was no one’s business but his own.
It was early, but it was Christmas. He could do whatever he wanted, it’s not like there were any students in the dorm who would make fun of him for going to bed at 7:00pm like a baby.
Not that his dorm mates really made fun of him—that would require speaking to him, which for the most part they refused to do. The collective rejection felt really strange to Harry, he was sure he hadn’t don’t anything horrible. When Malfoy tried to shake his hand while mocking Ron, he was a bit harsh, but he didn’t think that something so small would be enough to make everyone so indifferent to him.
They had rules in Slytherin though, ones that he didn’t quite understand. Did the other students just figure it out on their own? He can’t imagine being able to figure it out on his own, he’d been trying and failing to wrap his head around the strange and complicated social dynamics that determined most of one’s experience in the house all year.
It was clear enough that there was some kind of hierarchy, but other than understanding that Malfoy was at the top—only for first years though—he couldn’t follow who else was where. It didn’t help that no one wanted to talk to him so it’s not like he could get to know them better and find out that way. He was oddly ashamed to admit it, but sometimes he did regret letting himself get sorted into Slytherin.
He tried to ask for Gryffindor, tried to insist to the had that that was where he wanted to be. But even he knew it wasn’t true.
He wanted to be brave. Wanted to be strong. But more than anything, Harry was scared. This was supposed to be his home, the first place that he was ever going to be safe in. He didn’t want to have to be brave anymore. Every day spent living with the Dursleys was a day spend putting on a brave face. Smiling to himself in quiet moments, alone in the cupboard knowing that if he wanted someone to be kind to him he would have to do it himself.
So he did. He would spend hours alone, talking to himself in the softest whisper he could. Every day, after a long day of work, he would sit by himself and list all of the things that made him happy that day.
On June 22nd, 1989, he saw a cat when he was weeding the garden. It let him pet it, and when he did it let out the loveliest little rumbling sound. He didn’t learn until years later, in the common room at Hogwarts from an irritated Pansy Parkinson that that lovely little sound was called a purr.
On August 13th, 1989, he spotted an owl outside in broad daylight while he did dishes. It was the prettiest shade of white, like snow, and for a moment he let himself fall into a daydream where he would be able to have a pet that was as gorgeous as that little owl.
On September 4th, 1989, there was a new transfer student to his school, and for the first period of the day, before he had the chance to talk to anyone else, Harry almost had a friend. In the break between classes the other students successfully warned the other boy away from him, but even that didn’t stop the warmth in his chest from spreading whenever he thought of those few untainted interactions they had that morning.
He had hundreds of moments like those, catalogued in his mind. They helped to keep the darkness away. Helped keep him grounded in moments where he wondered what the point of sticking around was at all.
It might not seem like bravery to the other students, but to him it did. He had to be brave, had to be everything that he didn’t feel like on the inside. It was the only thing that kept him from getting lost in the darkness.
When the sorting hat told him that he had plenty of courage, he couldn’t stop the wave of anxiety that jolted his body. He was ashamed. Embarrassed to show that kind of cowardice, even if it was just in front of a strange magic hat. He was brave already, but more than anything else he wanted to be more than that. He wanted to make his own life, be his own person free from the shackles that other people put on him his entire life.
“Hm. Not keen on the courage, are ya? That’s alright, a little bit of self-preservations nothing to be ashamed of… better be SLYTHERIN.”
The hat hadn’t even given him the chance to argue back, and there’s a small part of him that’s grateful for that fact. He would have argued, and maybe he would have been able to keep his friends from the train closer, and maybe he wouldn’t have disappointed the professors so much, but that small selfish voice inside his head was grateful. He didn’t want to be bold, or daring. He didn’t want to play the hero. For once in his life, he wanted to learn, to make friends, to be safe, and maybe even to be great.
That little bit of gratefulness quickly gave way to guilt. Because instead of clapping and cheering like with the other students, the room was silent. A handful of first year students started to clap before noticing that nobody else was, and they quickly stopped looking bashful and cowed.
He wasn’t sure how long it was before Headmaster Dumbledore broke the silence, clapping a little too loud. Soon everyone was reacting like normal, if a bit hesitant, or in the case of his Slytherin cohort, a little bit too enthusiastically.
Even then, with limited social prowess, he knew he had done something wrong. Suddenly, he found himself wishing that he had insisted on Gryffindor. He didn’t want to disappoint people already, not on his first day.
The other first years still greeted him as he sat down—if a bit hesitantly, and he couldn’t help the spark of hope that he felt. Maybe the hat was right, maybe he would finally be able to find true, real friends here.
He couldn’t help but notice Malfoy pointedly ignoring him. It wasn’t like he expected otherwise—he had been the one to refuse his hand—but he still, being ignored so blatantly wasn’t a small thing that others were going to miss. Dread pooled in his stomach at the thought of what tales Malfoy might spin when he was inevitably asked why he had no interest in Harry.