Page 223 - creative spark 2020

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have suffered gravely from Riddle's…retributions. Their hawk eyes
followed his actions and interactions. Riddle didn't want suspicion,
though that didn't stop his taunts in some moments. His pride and
ego were almost tangible — it'll bring him to his demise — and
Henry knocked a leg off it daily. He was lucky Riddle couldn't touch
him.

As the class went on, Henry took his mind off the boring
subject to think about this whole thing. During the past weeks he
did not really have time to think about what he could do here,
spending most of his hours avoiding interactions (which he failed
at atrociously) and figuring out how he might even dream to get
back to his time. Maybe I'm here for a reason. Random scenarios
started popping up in his mind. Am I here to kill Lord Voldemort?
Henry chuckled at the absurdity.

The thought lingered.
The day ended on the same stale note. The World War
gripping the fear of muggleborns, to the purebloods' dismissal.
Grindelwald still spreading dark magic propaganda somewhere in
France. The suffering of muggles from bombings countrywide.
Hogwarts as a whole being ignorant to it all, floating in bliss.
This was where Riddle's face irked him the most. They were
blind to the danger looming within the castle walls. He counted the
faces he'd remember as dead not even forty years from now. The
magnificent feast seemed even less appetizing than it already was.
He kept thinking back to potions. Maybe it did make sense.