A/N: You're in for a lot of dialogue again. Sorry! .


Evan and Harry soldiered on together through Harry's first year at Hogwarts. Harry was practically glued to the living room television and getting better and better each day at simply looking through his bodies eyes, and thus was learning much in school. In addition to mentally attending classes with his literal other half, he was taking extra classes with Evan and Tom on weekends and mealtimes. He forced himself to sleep whenever the 'other' Harry slept, after deciding that he couldn't bare being awake to experience the boy's bizarre dreams.

Tom, who Harry was quickly realizing had just as much control over this place as he did, had managed to create a rather large library, and added it directly behind the Dursley's home, so that their kitchen door lead to the new wing of the house rather than the back yard. Usually, this library was where his lessons with Tom were held.

Evan had other preferences, and liked to teach Harry right in the living room, which, Harry eventually noticed, Evan never really left. When questioned about the why of this, he revealed to the Potter boy that he was rather uncomfortable not being up-to-date with the current events of the wizarding world, especially now that he was having dreams of the future.

Harry found this to be reasonable, and left Evan to do as he pleased. Presently, he was in the middle of a lesson with Tom. The older boy was teaching Harry wandless magic. He insisted that it was absolutely necessary for Harry to progress symmetrically with his other self, since he couldn't be wanded whilst trapped in his own head, and without knowing the proper wand for him, couldn't simply imagine one into existence. Harry still didn't know how to look at his other selves memories, so he had no idea what sort of wand had chosen him.

He could agree with Tom, to a point. Certainly, he should be able to cast a levitating charm if his other self could do it – but what Tom had him doing first was actually nothing that he suspected was on the Hogwarts curriculum. Or, at least not for first years.

Harry was attempting to block several very mild stinging hexes that Tom was casting at him. Tom was being very patient, understanding that Harry was without a wand, and teaching wandless magic was hard enough for wizards who at least knew how to do the same spells with one.

"I'm terrible at this aren't I?" Harry asked sadly, rubbing at his now red arm.

Tom gave him an encouraging grin, summoning up every single ounce of charm, "I'm sure you'll be better in a truly dangerous situation. At your age, wandless magic still comes naturally when you're afraid – I just don't want to frighten you," He assured, "Are you ready to try again?"

Harry nodded, "The spell is Protego, right?"

Tom nodded, offering his student a winning smile. He pointed his wand and Harry and made a face as if to ask if the child was ready. At Harry's firm nod, he cast the stinging hex again.

"PROTEGO!" Harry shouted, holding out a single palm forward in the position that Tom had said wandless casters use.

The spell smacked him right in the forehead this time, but felt kind of warm in the pit of his belly rather than unpleasant. Tom, seeming to sense this, chuckled a little and rolled his eyes.

"Harry what does this sound like to you?"Tom asked, suddenly, as if considering something for the first time.

Harry shrugged, "Normal, I guess?" he replied, a little confused.

Tom truly laughed this time, a melodic yet menacing sound that Harry immediately wanted to hear again when it was over.

"Repeat after me: Pro-Te-Go."


Tom grinned, "We're going to try again, and this time say it just like you just did, alright?"

"Protego," Harry said again, it did seem to taste a little different on his tongue but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Tom didn't warn him this time, but he saw the stinging spell coming – to his chest this time – and did as he'd been told.


The spell rebounded away from him, and Tom caught it with his wand, which seemed to absorb the magic right back into itself.

"Excellent Harry," He said, and Harry felt as if he was speaking differently this time, though he still couldn't quite sort out how. "Let's see if you can do it again, I'm going to send something a little stronger this time, okay?"

Harry nodded, and with another shout of "PROTEGO!" He deflected an unknown spell that he would later in life learn was a blood-boiling hex.

Tom, for his part, seemed downright jolly. "I'm very proud of you, Harry," He said, just as Evan slammed the doors open.

His eyes looked like the sound of thunder captured into something visible, and his wand was drawn and pointed directly at Harry's chest.

"Pulmones Evomet!" He screeched with rage and Tom watched with amusement as Harry, in a panic, shoved the bronze colored spell away from his body with his hands. It bounded to the child's left, and several books exploded, their pages torn from them and spilling all over the floor.

Harry stared at the remains of the bookshelf, eyes slowly widening as he took in that the curse had been aimed originally at him.

"What was that spell?" The boy whispered fearfully.

"It forces you into a slow building fit of coughs until you vomit out your own lungs." Tom answered, honestly, giving Harry a sympathetic look when he paled and began to tremble.

"W-Why would Evan d-do that t-t-to me?" He asked, stuttering in his fear, even as Evan nonchalantly waved his wand over the mess he and Harry had caused, and the books neatly hovered back into place, pages repairing themselves midair.

"One must wonder," Tom answered, gazing curiously at Evan.

"I have just had an epiphany that is worthy of a grand entrance." Evan said with his head held high, "And I have the utmost faith in my dear protégé," He added, winking at a still horrified Harry. "I know damn well that the kid can block more than a stinging hex."

Tom seemed to accept this as a worthy answer and nodded. "Good, because you will soon be taking over the entirety of his basic education – the why of which I shall gladly explain after you reveal this epiphany of yours."

"A horcrux, in and of itself, is a magical object – not a magical person. Right?"

"Traditionally, yes." Tom answered, sitting down for what he expected to be a very complex discussion. He levitated a book towards Harry, and the boy took the silent suggestion and began reading on pureblood etiquette – a side subject that both of his teachers expected him to master somewhat independently.

"Harry, however – is a living breathing person, and a Horcrux all the while."

Tom nodded along.

"I, technically, am not a magical person or a magical object. I'm not a horcrux, I'm the soul within the horcrux. A soul shard, as you know – cannot perform any magic independently that was not predetermined by the creator of the horcrux, and I wasn't exactly sophisticated with the way I split my soul. I wasn't expecting to live within the pocket watch for very long. I have no magic to speak of, technically."

"Yes, technically," Tom said, offering a pointed look at the bookshelf that Evan had just massacred.

"My magic is still my own because my soul is my own, so if I do cast magic, it's still mine, but I have no magical core to draw from outside of my body. I am, for all intents and purposes – a squib."

Harry's ears perked up at that. "That's a magical person with no magical core, right?" He asked, excitedly. "Like Mrs. Figg!"

"Read your book, child." Tom reminded, gently. He turned to Evan. "Thus far I haven't heard any epiphanies, Rosier – just paraphrased information that we both already have."

Evan's eyes went downcast, and when Harry looked up he thought for a moment that his friend might actually be about to cry. It didn't happen of course, but Harry knew how for some reason Evan really couldn't handle any sort of negative criticism from Tom.

"Sorry for the preamble," The curly-haired man said, shaking away his bad mood, "The point is that I've been using Harry's magical core instead of my own, every time I do anything – even if I'm just making potions ingredients appear in this headspace. I think the solution to this would be if I could get Lucius to do some kind of rune magic on the pocket watch and attach it to my body's own core."

Harry snorted as he turned the page in his book and Tom glanced down at him, raising a brow.

"Evan thinks Lucius can solve all the world's problems," The boy explained, shaking his head with mild fondness for his mentor.

Tom didn't reply, only looking directly at the book Harry was supposed to be reading. Sighing loudly at his teacher, he focused back on the next paragraph of the boring etiquette tome.

"Is it my turn yet?" The red eyed man asked, somewhat playfully.

Evan, of course, nodded with much enthusiasm, as he always did if Tom had any sort of suggestion or whim.

"I'm going to begin teaching the boy Parselmagic." He revealed, smirking lightly at the surprised look on the death eater's face.


Harry figured the look on Tom's face must have been used exclusively as a nonverbal response to stupid questions.

"Harry show Rosier your new trick."

"What new trick?"

"Holy shit!" Evan exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, "How'd you get him to do that?"

Harry was thoroughly disoriented at this point. He, of course, had no knowledge that he had just spoken parseltongue, or that he was – in fact – a parselmouth. He only had a base and factual understanding of what Parselmagic was. He got that it was dark – very dark; but hadn't quite caught on that you had to be able to speak a hereditarily given language just to do the stuff.

Tom seemed predetermined to ignore his student's ignorance and go right on with his point.

"Just small things at first. I'm thinking that dark magic will be easier wandless than light, and his Protego is already excellently cast that way."

Evan beamed down at Harry and ruffled his hair, kindly. "So you want me to keep teaching him wandless magic alongside the Hogwarts lessons."

"No," Tom amended, "I want you to teach him at least a year ahead of Hogwarts lessons. Thus far I've had you teaching him with the first years while I work on more advanced material. You will now be doing both of those things."

Harry groaned, and collapsed backwards onto the hard wood floor. A pillow appeared just before his head hit, but it didn't lessen the dramatic visual that he was going for.

Tom waved his wand and four glasses of varying shapes appeared next to Harry's dramatically hung head. "Which is which?" He asked.

Harry lazily opened a single eye, "Water goblet, white wine goblet, red wine goblet, champagne flute." He answered with a weary huff of breath, "Why do I have to learn this stuff? It's too much!"

"If you can eavesdrop on our conversation and read the etiquette book at the same time – which clearly you can, since that chapter's on dinner settings – then you can learn two years of school at once as well."

Harry blinked, and threw his arm over his eyes. He was exhausted, and sick of learning every hour of every day. Learn how to be a good little pureblood (even though he was really a half-blood). Learn how to be a good Slytherin (even though he was really a Gryffindor). Learn how to cast spells wandlessly (even though he technically had a wand). Learn how to revise like he was studying for O.W.L.s (even though he was still a first year).



"Are we speaking a different language right now?"


There was a pause before Harry responded.


Tom laughed uproariously, a sweet but demented sound that cracked through the air like a whip but lingered with a melodic charm. His head thrown back, and his teeth showing. Harry considered that this was perhaps the first time that he had seen Tom truly humored.

"I have never heard anyone using that word in parseltongue before," He said, voice still quaking with mirth.

"Fuck?" Harry asked.

"Yes, that one." Tom responded, joyously.

"Maybe this is the first time I've cursed in parseltongue."

Tom seemed to consider that for a moment, cocking his head to one side in thought.

"That might have been the first time you've cursed in front of me anyway. Careful, you wouldn't want me to think you're losing respect for me."

Evan seemed to freeze at the mere suggestion. Harry really didn't understand why it was that Evan's entire 'I'm a haughty pureblood and bow to no one' persona seemed to completely contradict itself lately, but he vowed to get to the bottom of it. Later. When he wasn't pissed off and tired and-


"Was that the television?" Tom asked somewhat nonchalantly. Evan bolted out of the room.

Harry was also relatively unconcerned, all things considered. It was his life after all that was playing on that damn TV so one would think he'd take more interest. He decided he was too busy with his silent tantrum to be bothered, though. So even when Tom himself went to see what all the fuss was about, Harry remained sprawled out on the floor.

He lied there, in deep thought. He was pondering how abnormal his life was. Here he was, an eleven year old boy, trapped inside his own head – being tutored in dark magic from one person who was nothing more than a soul shard and one person that could have been a complete figment of his imagination for all he knew. And he listened to both of them. He must be some kind of idiot. But he did care for Evan and Tom. They and Lucius were his first real friends, honestly. Surely, he would credit Ronald Weasley with that title in the 'real' world, and there was something to be said for a companion that was actually his age, but he knew that morality was relative, and who knew if he and Ron would really be close once he really knew the boy.

"Harry get in here!"

He ignored Evan's call.

"You might literally get eaten by a troll within the next two minutes!" The man shouted, sounding genuinely worried.

Harry had no idea where the blind faith he had in himself came from, but he wasn't too concerned with the troll. Perhaps it wasn't blind faith. Maybe it was just apathy, plain and simple.

He dozed effortlessly against his accidentally conjured pillow, and did not wake until an hour and a half later when Evan began ranting and raving about how the other Harry had befriended "the little mudblood cunt."

He knew that he was lucky to be getting any sleep at all this early, but he felt fatigued. He didn't know how he was supposed to be going about getting rest, but this whole 'sleeping whenever the other Harry sleeps' thing wasn't working out considering he was spending the entire rest of his day in lessons.

Vaguely, he registered the now familiar scent of Tom, as the man picked him up and carried him to the pull-out bed in the living room, where he'd been sleeping. It was an odd thing, being carried to bed by Tom. Odd in its intimacy, since the man could easily have done it with magic, and even more strange considering Tom himself. He wasn't a gentle or kind person. He behaved in a gentle and kind manor with ease, because he understood how important it was for him to appear that way – but Harry knew better.

If Tom was being this nice to him for this long, despite his cruel nature, then there was something he wanted from Harry. Something he wanted desperately enough to work hard for.

Harry didn't care what it was though. He coveted the opportunity to learn from the man just as much as he resented it. He drifted slowly into sleep again, and had dreams of hissing wands that shot out brilliant green light.

A/N: Another chapter done! Sorry for the wait but I've re-written this chapter about a thousand times. This one is probably not the best it could be but it's what I'm going to settle for because I can't keep stressing myself out. *wailing face*

I really wish you could use emojis in authors notes. They portray my emotions so well. (Watch how every review is gonna be about emojis now. Ugh)

Love you guys for reading!