The hero of the magical world was heading to the Great Hall, finally looking forward to having a hearty and delicious meal. As he patted the knot in his pocket and quietly whistled, a persistent thought kept swirling in his mind—that he hadn't considered everything. Specifically, how the fact that he was actually Thomas Riddle on the inside would affect his life as Harry Potter.
Harry hadn't expected Ron and Hermione to appear like jack-in-the-boxes at the door right after he was released from the hospital wing. Still, even though classes had ended the previous week, and the last exams were taken on the day after his fateful encounter with the Dark Lord in the back of Quirrell's head, his hopes weren't fully met. They could have at least inquired about his health or written a note and left it with some sweets. Instead, it felt like a faceless greeting—just "we came by" or something like that. Such a simple gesture could have meant a lot to him, but the empty hallway suggested that there was a significant crack somewhere in their trio's idea of friendship. The fact that he had been discharged early wasn't an excuse.
In proud solitude, not dwelling too much on his silly disappointments, Harry briskly walked toward the Great Hall, not encountering any of his classmates along the way. Only near the doors did he see two older Ravenclaw girls who weren't in much of a hurry.
Harry entered the hall, skillfully blending in behind the tall girls, knowing that none of his classmates would pay much attention to upperclassmen from another house. They didn't even turn their heads toward the newcomers. Students were eagerly eating, discussing exams, the upcoming holidays, or engaging in meaningless chatter and gossip.
A pang struck Harry's heart. None of the Gryffindors he knew, none of his housemates, even noticed his arrival at the table after a two-day absence from the tower. Of course, without Dumbledore to announce his grand return, why would they bother looking around? Silently and without drawing attention to himself, he slipped back toward the doors and sat at the far end of the table, where the seventh years usually gathered. He didn't know their names, and none of them seemed interested in talking to him, so without hesitation, he began filling his plate. The graduates, who had been discussing their N.E.W.T.s and their famous first-year student, glanced in surprise at the unexpected addition to their conversation topic. As they eyed him with confusion at his unusual, almost brazen behavior, they said nothing, tactfully dropping the subject of him. Once he left, they'd likely resume the well-worn conversations about the hero of the magical world, adding fresh details about his presence among the traditional graduating group.
By the time Harry finished his third plate, with seconds added, they had stopped all conversation and watched him with thinly veiled irony, making bets with their looks and gestures on how much more he could eat. After devouring the last dish, and praying he wouldn't vomit in the nearest bathroom, Harry Potter could congratulate himself—he had almost managed to break his friend Ron's record. After some thought, Harry decided to make a small stockpile for later, in case he got hungry before the next meal. With the skill of someone well-practiced, he began making sandwiches—chicken, cheese, ham—until one of the seventh-year girls couldn't hold back a giggle. Unfazed, Harry lifted his eyes from the bread he was buttering and looked toward the laughing girl. She, with a barely hidden smile, passed him a tray filled with sausages, after which she openly chuckled, as Harry accepted the tray with dignity and, like a hamster, continued to stuff himself with the new dish. He shrugged and said, addressing no one in particular:
"What? I'm a growing boy, and I need a constant supply of calories!"
He then loaded the prepared sandwiches onto the tray beside the sausages and took it in his hands.
"Aren't you afraid you'll burst from all that happiness?" asked a tall boy with a mop of wheat-blond hair sitting across from Harry.
"If I burst, then that's my fate. But at least I'll burst full."
The quiet and good-natured laughter of the older students unexpectedly lifted Harry's spirits with its carefree nature, helping ease the heavy feeling that had been weighing on him since he left the hospital wing, putting all the pieces of the puzzle into place. On one hand, he was extraordinarily pleased with what had happened to him. The incident with Quirrell, the meeting and reunion with Tom, had brought him inner balance and harmony with himself. The unexpected sympathy from Madam Pomfrey brought him a quiet joy and hope for the best. As for everything else, he decided not to delve too deeply and not to pay attention for now, so he shook his head to dispel the intrusive thoughts that occasionally slipped into his mind, stood up, and, without even using a wand, levitated the tray of food in front of him as he walked.
No one in the Great Hall noticed his unusual magic, or if they did, they didn't show it. As if it were perfectly normal for a first-year to perform such magic for something so trivial. Perhaps somewhere in a parallel reality, it would be.
"Good luck!" the same blond-haired boy called after him, receiving only the swish of Harry's cloak in response.
Harry made his way toward his tower, not understanding where the emptiness in his chest came from.
Only when he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady did he realize he had dined practically alone, without the usual chatter with his friends. In fact, he hadn't exchanged a single word with any of his friends—neither Ron nor Hermione—over the past two days. He hadn't even bothered to look for them, standing like an idiot just a few feet away from their "friendly" group at the table, as though he were invisible to them.
Then again, he thought, they hadn't looked for him either.
They were equal in their detachment.
The identity crisis Harry Potter had been experiencing since leaving the hospital wing, and his musings on his true name, wasn't something he could quickly or painlessly shake off. But unexpectedly, he found himself enjoying this state of affairs with his few friends. Loneliness and uncertainty were closer and more familiar to him.
Walking quickly past the entrance to the common room, without even glancing at the surprised lady in the portrait, he continued onward down the empty corridor. He felt drawn upward, toward the staircase, and following his desire, he moved in that direction. The tray floated beside him, occasionally distracting his gaze and tempting him to eat more.
"What does it matter who I am—Harry Potter or Tom Riddle—if everyone sees me as the son of Lily and James Potter?" he concluded his long internal monologue, moving further and further toward his goal in the Gryffindor tower.
The solitary, peaceful walk through the castle corridors, free of constant bickering and trouble caused by his beloved "friends," brought him to the upper floors of the school, closer to the Astronomy Tower, where few ventured during the day. His inner dialogue helped bring some order and calm to the storm of emotions swirling inside him. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, perhaps due to the potions he had taken, his bones and muscles ached, his head was spinning a little, there was a ringing in his ears, and his heart pounded somewhere near his throat. Yet he didn't stop, nor did he think of turning back. He was drawn to the height, the boundless sky, and the fresh air of the Astronomy Tower, where he could rest alone and make plans for the summer with his relatives.
Unexpectedly, near the foot of the staircase leading to the Astronomy Tower, Harry felt a CALL.
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