Harry Potter and the Time Fluke

The Come And Go Room

Harry scowled. He didn't think a kiss was such a minor thing. He also didn't believe what the voice had said about Tom harboring secret feelings for him to be true either, but realized how imprudently and thoughtlessly he was acting about the situation. Tom was his friend, and if one day Ron had come up and kissed him, Harry wouldn't have abandoned the redhead just like that. He wouldn't have spitefully tried to get back at the other boy either. He would have been surprised, sure, but–had Ron dashed off like Harry with Tom–Harry would have dropped the subject until Ron brought it up, while sustaining his camaraderie with the youngest Weasley male. If he could be that way with Ron, why couldn't Tom be that way with him? Their friendship should be just as strong, if not stronger since he and Tom had known each other for ten years rather than six.

However, Harry didn't feel as though running away from the scene was too rash of an action to have taken. The probability of something going terribly, irreversibly wrong was exceedingly higher, if he had stayed.

But now there was the dilemma of facing Tom again. It would be remarkably cowardly of him if he stayed in the Room of Requirement for the rest of his life, no matter how much it seemed like a good option now. On the other hand, he didn't feel as though he could handle being in Tom's immediate company at the moment. Harry had literally just come to terms with the very high and inauspicious probability that he felt something deeper than friendship for Tom, and not in a brotherly way.

He needed time to think–to come to terms with this epiphany, and the Room seemed like the best sort of place...

Yes, that was it. He'd spend the rest of the day, night, and most of the following camped out in the Room dealing with hysterical "what-ifs," and when he emerged in time for Slughorn's party, he'll have accepted his odd emotions for Tom, one hundred percent.

Or, at least, that was the plan. And maybe not one hundred percent per se. Being around seventy-two or even forty-three would be fine. Not the greatest he could do, but still better than zero; one hundred percent denial.

After pondering over the notion some more, Harry decided that most sensible way to regain control over his tempestuous emotional mentality, was to simply block it all out. Distract himself by doing something else. So he settled down to read.

It was an interesting book he was provided–taken from the bedside stand–and looked vaguely familiar. He couldn't place where he'd seen it before, but there was an itch in the back of his mind he couldn't get rid of. Two chapters in and, right when he felt like he was about to remember where he'd seen the text, his thought process was interrupted by a small pop, signaling the appearance of a house-elf.

And indeed, there was now a house-elf, wrapped in a tea-cozy with the Hogwarts emblem on it, standing at the foot of Harry's bed.

"Master Harry Evans, sir?" it squeaked. Harry assumed it was a male, since the pitch of its voice was more reminiscent of Dobby as opposed to than Winky.

"Yes?" he asked cautiously. Harry had no idea why a Hogwarts house-elf would be seeking him out. The only time that had ever happened was when Dobby had given him the gillyweed that the elf had stolen from Snape's stores.

The house-elf before him now gave a little bow. "Fizzy has been asked by the master Tom Riddle to finds master Harry Evans!" While Fizzy appeared delighted that he was able to fulfill a request from a student, Harry felt his blood freeze in his veins.

No, he couldn't let Tom find him yet. He wasn't ready; it was too soon!

"Erm, Fizzy," Harry said, awkwardly sitting up from where he'd been lying on his stomach. "Is it possible for you to not tell Tom where I am?"

Fizzy's face fell and the elf shuffled its weight from foot to foot nervously. "Master Tom Riddle is wanting to know where master Harry Evans is... Master Tom Riddle is a prefect, Fizzy should be helping... Master Harry Evans isn't being up to no goods, is he?" Fizzy's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Harry quickly held up both hands and denied the accusation. "No, no; no trouble at all. I just want to be alone–I don't want anyone to find me. It's why I'm here."

"Yes, Fizzy noticed yous being in the Come and Go room." Fizzy surveyed the conjured surroundings. "But when students don't wants prefects finding them, they's is usually ups to no goods!"

Harry sighed, rubbing a tired hand down his face. How could he make this house-elf understand?

"Well, Fizzy," he began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "I don't want to be found because I'm working on... a surprise, of sorts. It's for Tom–his birthday's coming up–and that's why I'm hiding here. I don't think he knows about this place, and if he does, he can't get in because I've locked the door." He prayed the elf would buy his lie.

Fizzy's already bulbous eyes widened even further and he nodded quite excitedly, ears flapping back and forth. "Fizzy understands; Fizzy loves surprises!"

"That's great, Fizzy," Harry said with a grin. "So you see why Tom simply can't know where I am right now? It would ruin the surprise."

Fizzy went back to being nervous in a quick second, fiddling with the hem of his tea cozy. "Fizzy doesn't know... Fizzy doesn't know if he shoulds be lying to master Tom Riddle about not finding master Harry Evans..."

"Just tell him you found me, but I'm hidden so well that Tom won't be able to, even if you tell him my exact location," Harry suggested quickly. It wasn't a complete lie, and Fizzy would have fulfilled his requested duty, so there wouldn't be any need for the little elf to punish himself later. Fizzy's eyes became alight at the idea, and his whole being perked up.

"Fizzy will do just as master Harry Evans says! Master Harry Evans is such a smart student!"

"Thanks, Fizzy," Harry said, smiling.

"Yous is very welcome, sir!" Fizzy left with a pop, and Harry felt his body sag. That was a close save...

Reaching out to pick up his forgotten book, he paused, eyebrows rising in slow realization as he remembered where he'd seen it before. It was, in fact, the sister text to that useless tome on blood-warding he'd purchased in Diagon Alley all those years ago.

Frowning disgustedly, Harry stared at the book, contemplating whether or not he should continue reading such obvious trash. It shouldn't hurt, I suppose, to read it. So long as I never try out any of the spells within...

With that justification, Harry spent the rest of his time in the Room reading the book, treating it as if its contents were pure fiction. It was possible, of course, that some of the spells it held might work as depicted, but–having already had one colossal mishap brought about from the series–Harry chose to treat it as though the entire book was nothing but make-believe. The only time he paused in his reading was when he fell asleep, and when he snuck out to the owlry in the wee hours of the morning to spirit off a letter to Dmitry, informing the Russian that he would still be taking him to the party and offering a time to meet.