Fleur and Gabrielle both laughed lightly at my remark, though their smiles soon faded slightly into twin expressions of visible concern. Fleur's grip on my thigh tightened just a little more, signaling me to pay attention as she took a deep breath. "Unfortunately," she said more seriously, her voice now tinged with regret and sadness, "Papa's reaction was... far from positive."
Gabrielle nodded somberly beside me, her pretty face growing troubled. "We did not realize just how deeply religious Papa is. He was very angry, Harry. He said zat he would never allow his daughters to become evil monsters-zat we must abandon zis foolish idea immediately, and zat we should never associate wiz you again."
Her voice trembled slightly on those last words, and the hurt shining clearly in her eyes sent a pang of genuine sadness through me. I reached out instinctively, gently taking Gabrielle's delicate hand into my own and softly stroking my thumb across her knuckles.
"I'm so sorry he reacted that way," I told her sincerely. "And I'm sorry you had to experience such harsh words from your own father just because of your involvement with me."
Fleur sighed softly, her elegant features drawn into a pained frown. "Zere was a very heated argument between zem both. Papa was so angry zat he immediately returned home to France. Maman was furious wiz his behavior, and now she has chosen to remain nearby in Hogsmeade for ze time being."
"Your maman is here?" I asked, somewhat surprised at this revelation. "In Hogsmeade?"
Gabrielle nodded quickly, her expression brightening again slightly. "Oui. And she wishes very much to meet you, Harry. She wishes to get to know ze man who has captured ze hearts of both of her daughters."
I smiled warmly at that, deeply touched by the sincerity and affection in Gabrielle's voice. "Of course," I replied genuinely, squeezing both of their hands affectionately beneath the table. "I would absolutely love to meet your mother. How could I possibly pass up the chance to meet the woman who raised the two incredible girls that I've grown to love so much?"
Both Fleur and Gabrielle immediately melted at my words, cooing softly in delight.
"Oh, Harry," Gabrielle cooed softly, her accent rich and sweet as she gazed lovingly into my eyes. She leaned in, gently kissing my cheek again. "You always know just the perfect thing to say."
Fleur mirrored her sister's actions, pressing a warm, lingering kiss against my other cheek as well. Her voice was low, sensual, and deeply affectionate. "C'est vrai. We love you so very much, Harry Sitri."
I felt a cautious tap on my shoulder.
Turning away from Fleur and Gabrielle, I glanced up and was genuinely surprised to see Ron Weasley standing there, shifting nervously from one foot to another. His cheeks were pale and freckled, his red hair messier than usual, and he looked awkward as hell, clearly uncomfortable under the curious stares from nearby students.
"Hey, Harry," Ron said hesitantly, his voice a bit unsteady. "Can we, uh... talk for a sec?"
I sighed deeply, trying to mask the immediate surge of irritation I felt. The last thing I really wanted to do tonight was deal with this conversation-especially after the wonderful afternoon I'd had with Ginny. Yet Ginny's heartfelt words about Ron earlier echoed in my head, and despite myself, I knew she had a point. He hadn't been himself when everything had happened. Hell, he had been more of a victim than anyone else.
"Yeah, Ron," I finally conceded with a reluctant nod. "Give me just a minute, alright?"
Ron nodded stiffly, stepping back and shoving his hands awkwardly into his robe pockets. I turned back toward Fleur and Gabrielle, meeting their questioning gazes.
"Excuse me for a minute, ladies," I told them softly. "Ron wants to have a quick chat."
Gabrielle's delicate eyebrows rose in surprise, and Fleur's icy-blue eyes narrowed with cautious skepticism.
"Are you sure, Harry?" Fleur asked gently, clearly wary after what had happened the last time Ron and I were alone together. "Perhaps we should come wiz you?"
I shook my head, offering them a reassuring smile. "It'll be fine. He's not dangerous. Besides," I said, lowering my voice further, "if he tries anything again, I promise you both that I'm more than capable of handling him."
Fleur and Gabrielle shared a brief, uncertain glance, then reluctantly nodded.
"As you wish, Harry," Gabrielle said softly, her eyes following me with visible concern as I stood up.
Ron was already making his way toward the doors. As I walked behind him, I noticed several students whispering furiously, clearly speculating whether Ron might suddenly go berserk again. I caught snippets of conversation: "Is Ron gonna attack Harry Sitri again?" and "Why did they even let Weasley back in?" Apparently, none of them had been informed about the involvement of Peter Pettigrew-only that Ron had been mind-controlled by some unknown dark wizard outside Hogwarts.
It wasn't their fault they were wary, I supposed.
Ron paused in the corridor just beyond the Great Hall doors, turning to face me with an uneasy grimace. He shuffled nervously, eyes cast down to the stone floor.
"Look, Harry..." he started, voice thick with embarrassment and guilt. "I'm-I'm really sorry about... everything. Everything that happened. All of it. I just-I never got to apologize to you properly before, so I wanted to do it now."
I sighed again, rubbing the back of my neck tiredly. I studied him for a long moment, noting how genuinely remorseful he seemed. Ginny had been right-Ron deserved a second chance. It was that fucking rat's fault. Pettigrew. Just thinking about that vile creature made my blood boil with hatred. That traitorous little rat had cost me my birth mother, Lily Evans, all those years ago. And now, he was responsible for tearing Ron's life apart as well.
"It wasn't your fault, Ron," I finally said quietly, my voice surprisingly even and sincere. "Trust me-I don't blame you. The blame lies entirely on that damned rat."
Ron's shoulders sagged visibly in relief at my words. He looked up at me with genuine gratitude and a hint of surprise, as if he hadn't really expected me to forgive him at all. "I appreciate that, Harry," he said earnestly. "Merlin, you have no idea how bad I've felt. They told me bits of what happened, you know... and I bloody hated myself for it, even knowing I couldn't control it."
I nodded slowly, a thoughtful silence settling between us. Ron scratched nervously at the back of his head before giving me a sheepish grin.
"You know," he said, with a slight chuckle, "when I was a kid, I actually used to idolize you. Pretty stupid, I guess-but everyone talked about the Boy-Who-Lived. I always thought you must be so bloody cool, some kind of hero. Kind of ironic, huh?"
His admission startled a genuine laugh out of me, and I shook my head in mild disbelief. "Seriously? You idolized me?"
He gave an embarrassed shrug. "Yeah, I know-it sounds dumb now, but it's true."
"Wow," I said dryly, amusement coloring my tone. "Well, life sure does have a twisted sense of humor."
"Tell me about it," Ron muttered with a small grin. After a brief pause, he asked, "So, um... did I miss anything important while I was locked away at St. Mungo's? And what happened to that bloody rat anyway?"
I sighed again, more heavily this time, leaning back against the cool stone wall. "You missed a few interesting events from the Triwizard Tournament. Some of them were actually pretty fun," I admitted, thinking briefly about the tournament of me vs Sona. "As for Pettigrew-the rat escaped, unfortunately. But there's currently someone tracking him down. Honestly, I don't know how reliable that bloke is, though."
My voice darkened bitterly as I considered Sirius Black. Sirius held a grudge against me simply because I wasn't the son of his precious James Potter. Even though he and Lily had supposedly been very close friends as well...
Ron frowned thoughtfully, absorbing my words before nodding slowly. His expression hardened noticeably, eyes blazing with determination. "Well, if that rat bastard ever shows his face here again, I swear, Harry-I'll bloody kill him myself."
"You'll have to get in line," I replied grimly, a harsh chuckle slipping past my lips despite the seriousness of the situation.
We both stood silently for a moment, allowing the weight of everything between us to settle. Then I met his eyes again, deliberately offering him a nod of sincere acceptance.
"Look, Ron-I mean it. You and I, we're good now. No grudges, alright?"
Relief flooded his features, and he smiled in genuine gratitude. "Thanks, mate. I really mean that. It's... it's a huge weight off my chest, you know?"
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I can imagine."
Ron visibly relaxed further, the tension draining from his posture. He grinned sheepishly, a hint of playful curiosity lighting his eyes as he finally asked, "Alright then-so now that's out of the way, there's something else I really need to ask you about."
I raised a questioning eyebrow, sensing the tone shift to something slightly awkward. "Oh? What's that?"
His expression grew more serious again, though a faint protective edge lingered. "Well-what exactly is going on between you and my little sister?"
I chuckled quietly, already anticipating this particular conversation. "Ah. I had a feeling this was coming..."
Ron crossed his arms, arching a challenging eyebrow in a distinctly brotherly manner. "Well, yeah, mate-I'm her big brother, after all. It's my sacred duty to find out exactly what's going on with blokes who shag-I mean, who date my sister!"
— Tom —
At the same time...
Tom found himself-or rather, his spiritual body at the very least-standing in the center of an unfamiliar yet unmistakably mental space. All around him stretched an endless expanse of swirling gray mist.
Directly across from Tom stood an older version of himself. His counterpart appeared somewhere between forty and fifty, the sharply chiseled handsomeness of his youth now warped into something cold, inhuman, and snakelike. The older Tom Riddle wore dark robes of expensive, finely tailored silk, though they hung loosely on a frame that appeared gaunt, as if decades of dark magic had begun eating away at his very essence.
Both figures faced each other silently for a moment, appraising the other with undisguised disdain. The elder's pale face twisted with irritation, crimson eyes narrowed into thin, sinister slits. "I have nothing to talk about with my sniveling sixteen-year-old self," the older Tom declared coldly, his voice harsh and rasping as it echoed across the empty mindscape.
Tom's lips curled into a cruel sneer, contempt bleeding from every word as he replied. "Hoh? And here I was, generously planning to forgive my older self for becoming such a disgraceful failure."
The elder soul-fragment stiffened visibly, red eyes flashing dangerously. "What was that, boy?" the older version of Tom snarled, stepping forward threateningly, the movement sending ripples of magical energy cascading outward in every direction.
Tom raised an eyebrow coolly, his voice dripping with scorn as he elaborated, "It's true, isn't it? Look at yourself-pathetically aged, clearly twisted by your foolish experiments and reckless dark rituals. And yet, despite all your grand schemes, not only did you spectacularly fail to conquer Britain and subjugate the wizarding world, you couldn't even accomplish our backup plan! You couldn't even succeed at becoming a Hogwarts professor, much less oust that worthless old fool Dumbledore and seize control of this castle from within. Honestly, future me is downright pathetic!"
The older Tom growled furiously. "And past me," he hissed venomously, "is nothing more than a naive sixteen-year-old brat who still has absolutely no concept of how this world actually operates. You think taking over Britain is our greatest obstacle?" His lips curled back, revealing teeth sharper than they should have been-another unsettling side-effect of years of soul-fracturing and dark magic experimentation. "You haven't even begun to understand the true monsters that lurk in the darkness beyond the wizarding world! Creatures and entities so ancient and powerful they make witches and wizards look like mere talking monkeys."
Tom tilted his head, momentarily intrigued by the elder fragment's implication. What precisely had the older fool encountered in the years separating them that he would speak so fearfully of such threats? The idea was unsettling. But it seemed obvious by now that this exchange would yield nothing of productive value-just arrogant posturing and pointless insults.
As he studied the twisted visage of his older self, Tom reached a swift, decisive conclusion.
He would not be receiving willing aid...
There was no point prolonging this pathetic confrontation. Far better to simply absorb the weaker, smaller fragment and claim whatever valuable knowledge it might possess.
He was confident he would prevail-after all, the pitiful shard of soul housed in Ravenclaw's diadem represented barely three percent of the original Tom Riddle's essence. Meanwhile, he himself-the Diary Horcrux-contained a powerful and stable half of his former self. Absorbing this other piece would provide a minor but welcome strengthening of his already formidable soul.
Yet, from the arrogant gleam in the elder fragment's crimson eyes, Tom understood clearly that his older self had reached precisely the same conclusion about him.
They were each determined to consume the other.
Silently, the two soul-fragments raised their wands in perfect synchronization.
"So eager to be erased from existence already, boy?" the older Tom mocked.
"Pathetic," Tom countered coldly, his voice icy calm despite the surging currents of power. "You'll make nothing more than an insignificant addition to my strength, old fool."
Without further preamble, both soul-fragments unleashed devastating magical assaults simultaneously. Bolts of sizzling dark magic erupted violently from their wands, colliding and bursting into brilliant explosions of crackling, destructive energy. Waves of violent force swept outward across the chaotic mindscape, ripping through the swirling mists and fracturing the space itself with each explosive impact.
Tom felt no sympathy whatsoever for the hapless, weak-minded student whose consciousness served as their current battleground. Indeed, he cared nothing for the permanent, devastating damage their duel was inevitably causing to the vessel's mind.
The elder fragment hissed a furious incantation, summoning a blazing serpent of fiery green magic which lunged hungrily toward Tom's spiritual form. Unfazed, Tom responded effortlessly, conjuring an impenetrable shield of shimmering black energy. The serpent exploded upon contact, shattering into sparks of emerald flame that dissipated harmlessly into nothingness.
