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He's quick in his assessment, eyes trailing down the other’s body, categorizing each imperfection and tucking it away for later. Tom’s nothing but thorough when he’s meticulously focused on a task, even one such as a wayward transfer student.
Especially when this was the first time in a long while that Tom had felt some semblance of delight. Hogwarts had grown stagnant in the past few months, since the start of his seventh year. Hurling hexes and the cruciatus at his followers had done little to quell his apparent boredom. An unexpected change that Tom hadn’t foreseen.
After an eventful past year, with the murder of his ‘Father’ and the framing of his Uncle, little could bring him such a rush. Until… him.
It’s when he’s deep in thought that Malfoy decides to clear his throat, hoping to catch Tom’s attention. Tom grits his teeth briefly and addresses the other with an exasperated, “Yes?”
Although the least tiresome of the Slytherin boys, Abraxas himself was still a handful. The boy in question leans over Avery, white hair falling into his face, “You’ve finished Slughorn’s assignment already, right Riddle?”
A ridiculous question to ask, Tom wasn’t one to slack off even if the assignment wasn’t due till the following week. Malfoy knows this.
“I assume you’re asking because you yourself have yet to do it?” He nods, his lips quirked slightly, and after Tom hands over his duplicated parchment, the other begins scribbling away on his own. Malfoy mutters a quick thank you and thus Tom resumes his staring.
Evans, the transfer’s very muggle name, is speaking vibrantly to a few of the Gryffindors. His tie is crooked like the previous day and his glasses are halfway to falling down his nose. He’s gesturing animately and Tom assumes the conversation is about Quidditch even if he doesn’t care to know much about the sport.
His eyes crinkle when he laughs, pushing the Gryffindor- Prewett he believes- away. Prewett flicks a grape in return, but it lands in some girl’s tea next to Evans. She grabs it and throws it back, tea flying off and creating even more of a mess. But Harry is entertained, and leans forward to talk to the student across from him.
After he finishes speaking, as if something suddenly dawns upon him, Tom finds himself staring directly into those hypnotic green eyes. A peculiar shade, matching the killing curse in deadliness as Evans glares before turning away to resume his conversation.
Of course he doesn’t let this behavior deter him, even if Tom’s well liked among the rest of the school. There were exceptions, though the list very rarely grew until his arrival.
The night hadn’t been any different than his usual; he was sitting near the common room’s fireplace and indulging himself with a book about cursed runes. It was nearing curfew, and Tom had just begun closing the book when Slughorn burst through the entrance.
“Tom!“ He’s a bit frazzled, red in the face, and catching his breath as he makes his way over. “Dippet requests your presence in the Headmaster’s office. I believe I heard whispers about a newly transferred student.” Slughorn’s cheerful and begins to ramble a bit more. Tom chooses to barely pay attention.
“-Galatea overheard from Albus that they sorted Slytherin as well! Isn’t that great, Tom?”
He’s already intrigued without the added advantage of the transfer being in the same house. Hogwarts rarely had transfers, although that had increased due to the war, and even then there had only been two in the seven years he’s been attending.
“Yes, sir.” He stands and steps around Slughorn. “I’ll be on my way, then.” Slughorn wishes him a good night and he’s out the entrance, moving quickly towards the Headmaster’s tower.
The corridors are quiet at this hour, and any student truly sneaking about knows how to do it discreetly. After speaking the password, he slowly makes his way towards the door that’s between him and the office. He can hear Dippet’s voice as it filters through the door and draws closer.
The floorboards make the slightest creak and Tom hopes they remain ignorant of his spying. The conversation resumes with a new voice, masculine, and he can pick out only a few minuscule words. Before he can hear more, the door abruptly swings open. Tom steps back so he’s not so pushed against the door just before the occupants of the room see him.
“Tom! Thank you for joining us at this hour; I understand how busy you’ve been keeping up with your Head Boy responsibilities.” Dippet’s tone is pleasant and he gestures for him to fully enter the room. “Of course, sir, but this won’t trouble me in the slightest.” He smiles indulgently.
The boy still hasn’t faced him, though he’s angled enough that Tom can see some of his features. He’s on the short side, but skinny and has incredibly messy hair. Quite the contrast to Tom’s own. Perhaps he senses his stare as he faces him fully, eyes a bright and piercing green as they narrow.
He hears a faint crackle in the air, like the sound of electricity, but it soon fades. His magic responds by wrapping around him, as if sensing a threat. Tom tilts his head, curious, as the transfer looks away. Vexed.
He politely clears his throat and offers out a hand; the boy’s eyes follow his movement adeptly. “Tom Riddle, and you are?”
Amusement briefly flickers across his eyes before a palm grasps his, the skin rough and calloused. “Harry Evans. I'll be joining your year according to the Headmaster.”
As if burned, Evans is quick to rescind his hand. Though they continue to stare at one another.
Tom is the first to break eye contact as he glances at Dippet. “Yes, yes! You’re both in your final year of Hogwarts. A shame we couldn’t have you for longer Mr. Evans.”
“Very unfortunate, sir. This place already feels like home.”
His brows furrow as he studies Evans, and the boy in question ignores his stare and reaches for the schedule resting upon the desk. Tom tries to read it, evening moving slightly to the left to do so, but he immediately puts it out of sight.
Dippet claps his hands and the candles grow dim, shadows forming across the walls. The already cramped office feels impossibly smaller. “I’ll leave you to it, Tom.” He then turns to Evans, “You’ll be in good hands, Harry, the Slytherin’s are known to look after their own.”
A curt nod, and he’s striding towards the door, leaving Tom behind. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.” And he’s following Evans down the steps, though skipping a few to keep pace. “That eager to get to bed?” He can’t help but snipe.
Harry doesn’t break his stride to even glance back, “It’s been a long day, Riddle.”
Portraits stir as their sleep is interrupted, glaring at the passing students. “Of course.” His voice comes out a bit breathy. “But I think you’re forgetting that you don’t know your way around Hogwarts yet, Evans.”
Evans immediately pauses, turning just before he steps upon a moving staircase. “Unless ..you’ve been here before?” Tom continues, the corners of his lips curling.
Harry rubs his forehead briefly before sighing. “Right.” A breath. “Sorry, I’m just tired. Would you mind?” He gestures in front of him.
Tom’s eyes narrow, teeth clenching momentarily as his head leans to the right, “Follow me. Do keep up, Evans, it's past curfew.”
—
The following day, Tom, fully expecting the new student to join him in the common room, is thoroughly disappointed when he doesn't show. The last few stragglers were racing to breakfast and yet there was no sign of Evans among them.
This continues throughout the day, except during their lessons where he’s forced to show, but upon dismissal he’s gone once more. Tom asks around, subtly, if anyone knows where the transfer student runs off to, but it seems no one does. At least in Slytherin.
Peculiarly enough, Evans avoids his own house like the plague, only showing occasionally. Malfoy tells him one evening that the boy didn’t even sleep in his bed most nights, and Rosier only laughs while calling Evans a trollop.
Months pass, and despite Tom’s best efforts to get the boy to even speak to him, he goes ignored. This continues even when they’re forced to pair together in potions. Slughorn had pulled him aside to ask if he’d be willing to aid Evans with his ‘poor performance.’
Tom, the model student he is, agrees and joins him at his side.
“Evans this juvenile behavior must cease if you wish to at least get an ‘Acceptable’ in potions.” He says one day after being continuously ignored for the past twenty minutes. Tom would consider himself quite patient, perhaps even pride himself on it, but even then he did have his limits. They seemed to be pushed considerably by Evans.
He continues to read the text, as if Tom hadn’t spoken and in a flash of anger he’s releasing a stinging hex at Evan’s wrist. A wince and he’s quick to face Tom with rage radiating in those green eyes, “You-”
“Ah, so he does speak. I was beginning to think I hallucinated our first meeting.”
“Prat.” Evans finishes and looks around the room, perhaps to see if Slughorn had been watching. Even then, Tom doubts the Professor would believe he’d done such a thing. “Now that we’ve established you actually can speak; are you finally going to end this silent treatment act of yours?”
The boy mumbles something under his breath, but whatever he’s about to reply with dies on his lips as the potion begins to bubble strangely. Tom, unbothered by the sight, drops the last ingredient in. They stare at one another for a minute until Evans breaks first. “Fine, Tom. You win.”
He preens, ignoring whatever slight Evans was hoping to achieve, “Lovely, Harry. I’m glad we’ve moved past such unpleasantries.”
Something was different about Harry- captivating, and refreshing. An abnormal breeze upon the steady sea. A change of pace.
Most importantly, something to do.
With his supposed victory in potions, Tom makes an effort to start more conversations with Evans. He moves seats in several of their shared subjects and his classmates look on and whisper amongst themselves at his strange actions. Though with one glance, the whispers cease and he’s back to indulging Harry.
Even then, Harry rarely says more than a few words, and continuously avoids his offers to study together in the common room or library. One common excuse being something about friendly quidditch matches with the Gryffindors. Tom’s anything but scorned, and already planning his next move in this chess game of theirs.
Now, he decides, it’s time for a more different approach.
Tom stands from his seat, drawing the gaze of his surrounding followers as they pause their conversations, “After Curfew, tonight.” Are his parting words as he moves towards his target.
He doesn’t bother to glance back, knowing the message is crystal clear and they’d do well to heed his words. Since the start of the term, he’d been too preoccupied with researching Evans to even acknowledge his knights. Nott asked about once every few nights when the next gathering was, so desperate was he in pursuing his knowledge of the Dark Arts, and Tom would always lie about his very busy schedule.
In fact, he has plans of recruitment even if he’s confident Evans has no desire to join.
The Gryffindor table is loud and obnoxious compared to the respectful quiet of his own. From the third years loudly cheering over a wizarding chess game to the sixth years bolstering about their latest quidditch feat to any within sight. Evans is unfortunately at the tail end of that crowd, off to the side with Prewett and Quinn. He’s amused about something Quinn has said. The latter is the first to notice Tom’s approach and elbows Prewett’s side.
The atmosphere surrounding the three immediately grows cool when Harry finally notices him. His face is blank, occupied with a faint tinge of annoyance represented by the furrow of his brow.
“Evans.” He starts, and then moves down the row, “Prewett, Quinn. Apologies for the interruption, but I need a word with Harry.”
The usage of his name in such a familiar way is enough to goad the other into a more pronounced reaction. His face immediately screws up tightly, eyes aflame.
“Right, well, feel free to say it, Tom.”
Tom’s reaction is only a sharp smile, before he makes a point of looking towards the Professor’s table and back, “I’m afraid this is a personal inquiry that Professor Slughorn has presented me with.” He looks at Prewett. “Surely you understand?”
Quinn only shrugs when Evans turns to him for help, “We’ll save you a seat in Herbology, mate.”
Moments later the two of them are outside the Great Hall down a more quiet corridor. The further Tom led him away, the more reluctant Harry grew, insisting they didn’t need to go far for a quick word.
When they reach a resting place, Tom shrugs his bag off his shoulder and sets it on the floor. Rain begins to pound heavily upon the nearest window while a single word isn't uttered between the two of them. Tom begins to consider that perhaps the silence is deadly as Harry continuously glares daggers at him. As if Tom simply breathing is enough to be furious about.
“To my understanding, Slughorn is close to dropping you from N.E.W.T. Potions unless your grade improves by Yule.” He begins, idly twisting his wand between his fingers, holding the other’s gaze. “Even with the two of us working together in class, he fears it won’t be enough before the practice N.E.W.T.” He’s half tempted then to try and sink into his mind again, though he doubts the impenetrable walls would collapse anytime soon.
“They will.” Evans bites out harshly before letting out a deep breath as he calms, “I’ve been studying with Brattleby on the weekends.”
Another Gryffindor. He can’t pretend he’s surprised.
“You don’t have to worry about your precious reputation as my potion’s partner much longer.” Evans finishes, looking as if he’s about to book it to the Great Hall or anywhere else by his stance.
Tom only laughs and leans closer, “If I truly had any qualms about my reputation as a tutor I wouldn’t be offering my continued assistance.”
He frowns in response, perhaps trying to think of a way to decline any help, especially from himself. “Look I don't nee-”
Tom doesn’t let him finish the thought, “You do, Evans.” He’s moving away from the wall, standing directly in front of the other. The floating candles flicker briefly, and the already dim corridor feels more enclosing. “Though I could offer another incentive.” Holding out his palm, and sitting idly in the middle is the Gaunt family ring. Surprise washes over Harry’s face, but he quickly masks his expression a second later, instead appearing unbothered.
“Am I supposed to care about some old family ring of yours, Riddle?”
The air is almost charged with electricity now, and Tom feels the other’s magic curling around him. His face falters, betraying his true reaction. He’s quick to mask it and instead stays silent. Evans is clearly lying, and from the knowledge he gathered from the quick dip into Prewett's mind the previous day, this is only proven.
Tom had seen him offering his assistance in obtaining two incredibly different objects; a ring, and a cloak. Though he didn’t understand the necessity, the fact that Harry even knew of the ring’s true origins (despite Tom never telling a living soul) was enough.
Tom shrugs, putting the ring back inside his pocket, watching as Harry’s eyes follow the movement. “I suppose not, Evans.”
“If that’s all, then.” And Harry’s attempting to move away, to run, but Tom reacts swiftly. He wraps his fingers around his upper arm, seizing it tightly. Before he can even speak, a stinging hex is striking his arm and Evans takes the distraction to bolt.
Watching his retreating figure sharply turn and leave the corridor, Tom is left alone to stew in his anger. Swearing under his breath, he peers out into the vastness of the Hogwarts grounds, spotting a lone figure hauling a giant fir tree into the castle as the rain continues to pour. Rubeus Hagrid, who was known for raising dangerous beasts and being expelled for it a few years prior. An easy escape goat for his supposed misdeeds.
He hadn’t been to the chamber since, not wanting to risk stirring the Basilisk. Tom had to regretfully put her into a deep sleep after Warren’s accidental end. The seclusion of the chamber had been wonderful when needing a space to practice more..unfavorable magic.
An idea slowly begins to form as he backs away from the window to retrieve his bag and find a wandering Malfoy.
—
It’s after dinner when he can finally enact his plan after waiting patiently the entire day, ignoring everyone besides Abraxas who he solely confided in. Due to being Head Boy, Tom had a room to himself and alas couldn’t access his old dormitory. Knowing the paranoia that ran rampant in his knights, he is well aware of the several curses the door carried to bar those from accessing the room.
Even as the heir of Slytherin, it wasn’t wise to attempt a break in and so he confronted Malfoy and claimed the favor he was owed. Now, he’s disillusioned and standing passively against the wall as the fire spits and sputters and low conversation fills the vast room. A magically refurbished record player spins in the corner, emitting a soft crackle as the soft melody fades out.
His followers are settled near the fire, writing away on their scrolls or reading. Regretfully, Harry is nowhere to be found. Tom was hoping to get the opportunity to watch him silently.
The hour wanes, and so does Tom’s patience. He quietly moves towards Malfoy, faintly brushing a finger near the pale neck as a signal to the other. Abraxas controls his reaction and disguises the shiver as he stands and gathers his things. Most of the others keep writing or talking amongst themselves, but Orion looks up at the retreating figure thoughtfully.
Tom doesn’t linger, and walks after Malfoy, slipping through the ajar door as Abraxas closes it after. He doesn’t remove the charm, and instead goes towards his old bed, taking in the sight of rumpled sheets and askew night clothes. Peering upon the wood, he finds a rune within the etchings. A protection rune, one in which he quickly added during his first year after researching runes in the library. Back when he wasn’t known as the heir. When the others thought him nothing more than a missorted mudblood.
A groan from the door and Tom is reminded why he’s here in the first place as Black enters the room. “Abraxas?” He rushes, locating the other near his bed and going towards him. “Are you alright? Is it… “ He swallows. “Is it about your Father again?”
Malfoy stills, and Tom’s attention is drawn to the interaction. “No. No it’s not that, I just.. ate something odd that didn’t agree with my stomach at dinner and needed to retire early.” Abraxas rambles while avoiding Orion’s eyes, though they briefly meet Tom’s unknowingly as he scrambles to gather his bathroom necessities. “You’d tell me, right?” Orion asks. “If his hounding progressed and you needed a place to stay for the holidays?”
He grabs a bottle off the bed and tosses it lightly to Malfoy who in turn catches it as Black continues, “It’ll be empty at Grimmauld this Yule with everyone traveling to France to visit family. Walburga will be going as well to shop around for the wedding.” He moves closer, and Abraxas hits the bed post. “It would just be the two of us.”
He becomes as pale as a ghost as he hurries towards the bathroom door. His hands shaking the knob with his tight grip. “I’ll let you know, Orion, swear it.” He finishes. The door closes and Orion gives the room a final look around before retreating back to the common room.
Faint hissing sounds from inside his pocket, and Tom plucks the snake and places it upon the bed. After getting the idea earlier, he made his way down to the dungeons and stole a stone snake that was carved on an abandoned brazier. He shrunk it down, making it merely the length of his finger before hissing instructions to it.
"Sspeaker I heard a rat in the room the ghost disappeared into.” It hissed excitedly, and Tom was barely suppressing the urge to roll his eyes and remind the snake that ‘it was stone’ and ‘it didn’t need to eat’.
“Remember your task, little one. Do not stray.”
The door opens once more, and Evans peers around it as if scoping the place out. Luckily, the snake was smart enough to hide after hearing the door, and so he didn’t immediately spot it.
Malfoy was still in the bathroom, the noise of the water running being the only sign. Harry moves towards the bed and reaches underneath to pull out an old box. From where he’s standing, he can’t see its contents unless he risks moving and alerting the other. Though before the thought can cross his mind, the box is closed once more and shoved underneath.
Harry moves closer to him, mere meters away, and deposits his bag on the bed before opening his trunk. Tom watches his spy swiftly slither into the open bag and nestle inside.
The water shuts off and Malfoy emerges from the bathroom, steam surrounding him and filling the room. Harry, surprisingly, ignores him and pulls out a book. “Ah so we do have someone who sleeps in that bed.” Abraxas abandons his towel on the floor before walking towards Evans. “I had a bet with Avery that you were a collective hallucination. I suppose I'll have to collect that galleon from him.” He says, smiling obnoxiously and reaching for the book Harry’s holding.
It’s quickly snatched away and held behind his back. “What are you even doing here, Malfoy? You’re never in the dormitory at this hour.” Harry’s shoving the volume into his bag and lifting it back on his shoulder. Abraxas being the horrible liar he is uses the exact same excuse he gave Orion. However; it comes out less hesitantly.
Evans isn’t convinced and begins looking around the room as if he knew they weren’t alone. “Did Riddle put you up to this?” He asks and Malfoy’s breath hitches. A minute passes in silence before a slightly shaken voice breaks it. “He asked me to keep a record of your coming and going, yes.”
If Abraxas could see the glare upon his face, he’d be quivering beneath him under a ‘Crucio’. In truth he hadn’t asked only Malfoy, but Nott as well and that was something he didn’t wish Evans to become aware of. But Harry looks hardly surprised by the response.
An airy laugh of, “Of course.” And he’s moving towards the door. He pauses just before leaving, and spins around towards Malfoy again. “Tell Riddle to keep out of my business.”
The door slams behind him and the disillusionment charm falls to the floor. Malfoy nervously runs a hand through his hair, ready to defend himself upon seeing Tom’s face. “My Lord, I swea-“
“Enough. Tell Nott that Evans is now aware due to your failures.” When he doesn’t move, Tom slowly draws his wand and Abraxas freezes. “Now.”
Silvery eyes alight with panic and he’s running out the door immediately after. ‘Little Snake.’ He hisses once the room clears, testing to see if the snake left with Harry. When he gets no response he begins to laugh and with one lingering stare at Evans’ bed, he’s off.
—
A week passes, but Evans slowly begins to change. For one, he’s been spotted more frequently in the Slytherin common room and actually makes an effort to sit with them at meals. He does choose to still seek out his Gryffindor allies to Tom’s dismay.
The castle itself begins to transform rapidly for the holidays; a giant christmas tree is decorated and placed in the Great Hall with wreaths adorning the walls and a light dusting of powder rains down from above. The temperature dips and snow coats the castle with many students using their study hours to instead indulge in snowball fights or snowman building with their peers.
Tom enjoys the change in atmosphere even if he doesn’t outright join the others in the festivities. He’s quite satisfied with watching from afar with a book and a hot chocolate beside him.
His knights terrorize the Gryffindors in the snowball fight a few feet away, and as he’s turning the page a shadow looms over him. Evans is looking down at him oddly, like he can’t believe his eyes. As if he can’t picture Tom doing something so mundane.
“Hello, Harry.” He smirks slightly while closing his book. Tom casts a heating charm on his drink before taking another sip, staring directly into the other’s eyes.
A snowball strikes the tree to their left and the snow falls upon Druella and Walburga, both immediately shrieking from the cold. Harry’s lips quirk up slightly before he returns the hello.
“Are you here to join me? Or perhaps help your Gryffindor friends with the fight against our house?”
Harry rolls his eyes before sitting down beside him, careful to not sit too close. “I think they’ve got it. After all, Ignatius isn’t one to back down from a challenge.”
“I suppose you’re right. Even if Lestrange is a bit of a wild card.” He adds, watching as Harry stares ahead at the fight, a faraway look overtaking his features. Tom wants to use the moment to ask Harry the questions he’s burning about, but decides not to, letting the other be lost in his thoughts.
Their conversation wanes from there and Tom decides to return to his book as Evans continues to sit beside him silently. He’d get his answers, eventually, but for now he was content with simply this. After all, Harry’s attention was almost solely on himself and not the others. A change from his usual avoidance ritual.
Later in the Great Hall, Harry approaches him once more and even sits in the empty spot to his right. Those around them pause. Orion begins to open his mouth in an attempt to say something, but is hushed by the look he shoots at him.
Tom, truthfully, is puzzled by the behavior, but continues to eat silently while the conversations around them resume.
He’s in the midst of an assignment when a voice interrupts him.
“You’re staying at Hogwarts for the holiday?” Harry asks quietly to his side while grabbing a serving of the roast turkey. “As always.” He replies, disinterested in the conversation even if it’s with Evans.
“Well.. I guess we’ll be the only two from Slytherin. Quinn and Prewett are returning home as well. Ignatius invited me to his, but I declined.” Harry rambles and Tom barely pays attention, instead focusing on his reading. “No offense, Evans, but why are you telling me this?” His voice flat with disinterest as he scratches out an incorrect answer.
Harry sighs, placing his utensils down and turning towards him fully. Tom notices Avery’s eyes stray from his conversation with Mulciber to observe the two of them. “Look,” He starts, “You mentioned wanting to study outside of class a few weeks ago and I.. rudely turned you down. Slughorn’s N.E.W.T practice examination is the week everyone returns from break, and now would be a great time, right?”
Tom wants to scoff. Harry couldn’t be more subtle if he tried. “Hmm.” he hums, turning his head fully, “Did your little study sessions with Brattleby not work out?”
Evans looks momentarily confused, opening his mouth before closing it, “No?”
He moves his hand suddenly, slamming his book closed before standing abruptly. His knights startle around him, expecting some sort of display. Even Druella is drawn to the scene, placing a hand on Walburga’s shoulder to pause her monologuing.
“Tomorrow. We’ll meet tomorrow in the library around sunset. Don’t be late, Evans.” And he’s gone, leaving the rest of the Slytherins behind to retire till curfew, for then they had a meeting planned.
—
He’s the first to enter the room, an abandoned classroom in the dungeons he had once discovered during his first year. Waving his wand he silently dispels the dust collecting over the furniture and moves the tables and chairs to their usual setup.
It’s an hour after curfew, but he knows the Prefects and their schedules so he’s unconcerned with getting caught. Even if, as Head Boy, he’d find some sort of excuse and talk his way out of it. His knights; however, well, that was a different story.
He’s in the midst of lighting the room with a few candles when they all enter, hoods covering their heads. Cloaks drawn around them.
Tom waves a hand at the table and they all unanimously take their designated seats, leaving the singular chair at the very end for Tom himself.
“Rosier,” he starts, “What of these supposed connections of yours with Grindelwald?”
The boy in question sits up, clearing his throat, “Stagnant, My Lord. He has gone quiet in these past few months. Rumors suggest he’s waiting for something…. or someone.”
“Dumbledore?” Tom can’t help but sneer. There had been anonymous articles in the Daily Prophet hinting at some sort of relations between the two of them. As the years went on, they only grew. “I believe so, yes.”
Tom moves towards his next target, standing directly behind his chair. “You’ve disappointed me, Malfoy.” He grabs the top of the chair, “Perhaps you achieved your task, but not without revealing… sensitive information to Evans.” He lets go, and the chair slowly dissolves into flames. The others watch on, and some, namely Orion, look on in fear. Lestrange, on the other hand, is laughing snidely at the display.
Right as the flames are nearing Malfoy and he’s letting out a series of whimpers and unsightly sounds, Tom cancels the spell with a wave of his hand. The wood, what’s left of it at least, is quickly disintegrating into ash. Tom rolls his eyes and begins his stride again. “Moving on.”
“My Lord!” Lestrange breaks the silence, though Malfoy is still sniveling in what’s left of his seat, “I have news of Evans.” He grins, with a wry smile. Tom pauses, eyes staring upon the ageing wall.
“Do you?”
“Yes, My Lord. After Transfiguration the other day, he stayed behind with Dumbledore. I decided to linger in the hall, but after twenty minutes or so, Evans had failed to emerge.”
“And you decided to leave? Instead of waiting a minute longer?”
“Ah, well, My Lord-“
“No excuses, Lestrange. However..” Tom leans forward on the table in between Avery and Orion, staring directly into those crazed brown eyes. “I do appreciate the information. Well done.” He praises and returns to his chair. “I trust even with Yule approaching, you all will continue your proficiency in the Dark Arts?”
A chorus of agreements sound across the room, and he’s about to summon a training dummy when something brushes across his back. “That’ll be all for tonight. Your train leaves early in the morning.” His voice lingers in the silence. “Dismissed.”
They all stand and quietly file out the room. When it clears entirely, and only the flickering flames of candlelight occupy the space, Tom speaks. “You’d do well to heed your own words.” He begins, scanning the room. “What was it you said, again? Something about ‘keeping out of your business’ was it, Evans?” His heart is racing with adrenaline, the yew wand in his hand practically vibrating and ready to attack.
But then, he considers his actions carefully. “Or perhaps…. No one else is here.”
There’s no response and Tom vanishes the candles, the room becoming drenched in darkness. ‘Soon.’ He promises and leaves the room entirely.
He turns the corner, casts a disillusionment charm, and returns to the door, waiting. Ten minutes later, it softly opens, but there’s not a soul present. Tom silently casts a ‘Finite’ and is thoroughly disappointed when Evans isn’t revealed.
Light footsteps walk past him and down the corridor, until he’s left alone in the night.
—
Tom watches on as the Hogwarts Express departs from Hogsmeade station, and exits swiftly. Only when he’s out of sight does he quickly apparate to Knockturn Alley.
Being so early in the day, the alley is quite dead as many shops open around midday. Though the only one Tom plans to visit is one of the few that does business at this hour.
The door lets out a soft chime as he enters, and the haggard man behind the counter quirks up. “A student?” He croaks while swinging around a bottle of fire whiskey, the liquid inside sloshing around loudly.
“Yes, sir. I’ve come with an inquiry in your potions. Specifically,” he pauses, “Veritaeserum.”
The man laughs and heavily sets the bottle down after another taking another swig, “You and every other ‘ogwarts student, lad.” He cackles.
Tom waits a moment before drawing his wand. The fool, as intoxicated as he is, has no time to react as he casts an “Imperio!”
His eyes cloud over, becoming colorless and Tom’s smiling victoriously. His first purposeful cast, and he had done so sufficiently.
Tom comes to find that the shop is rather expansive behind the counter, with rows upon rows of potions. In a dusty corner with only a few bottles left, he locates his prize and carefully pockets it.
He grabs another just because, and leaves the shop, only ending the spell when he’s out of sight. Tom apparates back to Hogsmeade and enters The Three Broomsticks through the side entrance. It’s rather empty with the exception of a few Ravenclaw Seventh years who are hunched together in the corner booth.
After ordering a butterbeer, he leaves the building and slowly walks back to the castle. The bitter frost nips at his face and the snow falls heavily, blanketing the ground in white. He’s not surprised when in the distance he spots movement behind The Hogs Head, and even in the howling snowstorm and its thin visibility, Tom identifies the culprit.
He enters the castle shortly after, knowing his stalker will be meeting him there shortly. With a few drying charms, the snow is gone and he’s unraveling his scarf. Professor Merrythought is leaving the Great Hall when she spots him, walking over immediately with a small smile upon her lips.
“Mr. Riddle, I hear you won’t be alone in Slytherin this year. Perhaps your housemate would be interested in some dueling credit?” She remarks, her sharp eyes staring into his own.
“Ah, Professor,” he takes a sip of his butterbeer, “Unfortunately we’ll be rather occupied with Harry’s potion revisions.”
Merrythought shakes her head, a few pieces of hair slip from her bun, “Even on holiday Horus is assigning you work?” She asks and then her eyes stray to something behind him. Tom’s half tempted to look himself, but refrains.
“No, ma’am. Harry is just a tad behind and needs help catching up with the rest of the class.” He says, like a concerned friend.
She nods sagely and bids him a happy holiday before going towards the defense tower. “Tom.” The man speaks behind him. “Professor.” He replies, perhaps a tad snidely, as he slowly turns around. Dumbledore stands in the entrance, his phoenix resting upon his shoulder. His auburn beard is dusted with a bit of snow from seeing the students off.
“I was quite surprised when you dropped my class to self-study for the N.E.W.T.”
No, he wants to sneer, you’re not. Instead he replies, “Well, Professor, with my Head Boy duties and all I found myself needing a bit more time for other responsibilities. Surely you understand, sir, as you were Head Boy yourself once.”
Dumbledore frowns in response, “Tom, I’m not sure what I’ve done to induce your scorn, but I am sorry. I hope after your graduation you can understand that.”
He’s gripping his wand tightly, the other hand squeezing the cooling liquid, and he’s barely constraining his burning rage when a hand rests on his shoulder. Tom startles, and finds himself staring into a green abyss. “Tom! I was looking everywhere for you after you decided to leave me behind at The Three Broomsticks.”
Evans stood in front of him, a friendly smile adorning his lips as he looked between himself and Dumbledore. “Harry,” he replies warmly, “I’m awfully sorry, I thought you wanted time to say goodbye to your friends.”
“Harry.” Dumbledore interrupts, “I thought you were leaving the castle for the holidays?”
“No, sir. Something came up last minute and I decided to stay at the castle instead.”
Evans is lying, but why? Lestrange had said that he saw the two of them speaking together in his office the other day. Tom’s left pondering when Dumbledore speaks again, “How unfortunate. Luckily Hogwarts has its own holiday feast!” He says cheerfully. “I assume you and Tom will be attending later?”
Before Tom can reply, Harry beats him to it, “Yes, professor and Happy Holidays sir!” And he’s grabbing Tom’s arm, dragging him away.
He’s too stunned by the other’s behavior to react and lets himself be guided to the same corridor the two had been in months before. “Where did you go earlier?” He fires instantly, eyes narrowing.
“Sorry?”
“Don’t play daft, Riddle. I saw you apparate immediately after the train left.”
“So much for absolving your rude behavior and then accusing me like this, Evans.” Tom digs, limiting the space between them. “And why, pray tell, were you spying on me in the first place?”
“Spying?” Harry laughs, “Ironic considering what you deposited upon me.” He’s reaching inside his bag, pulling out the familiar stone snake.
‘Master.’ The snake is wiggling inside Evans’ grip, ‘I have seen many interesting thingsS.’ It hisses and Evans is dropping it in his palm. The snake curls around his fingers, staring into his eyes. ‘The boy is a Sspeaker, like you.’
He freezes, eyes immediately darting to Harry as the other looks at the snake with a face of betrayal. ‘You promised!’
It’s one thing to hear the serpent’s tongue from the several reptiles he’d spoken to over the years, but another entirely to hear the same language upon human lips. For one, it sounds a bit strange, like a young snake first learning how to speak, but Tom can’t tell if that’s just because of Evans or not. His Uncle hadn’t sounded any different after all.
‘You aren’t my Masster, Sspeaker.’
He vanishes the snake, no longer caring about its findings and focuses solely on Harry who looks a bit put out currently. “You speak it?” He accuses and Harry falters, hesitant before replying, "Unfortunately."
One second they’re both staring oddly at one another, and the next Tom’s pointing his wand at the other. “Look, Riddle I don-“
“No.” The yew wand grazes Harry’s chest. “You won’t breathe a word of this ability to anyone besides myself.” His eyes narrow and there’s a hint of red in them, “You’ll swear by your magic.” He concludes sternly.
“Riddle… I didn’t even want you to find out about this let alone anyone else in the castle. Not until I found a snake in my bag hissing about food!” Harry’s yelling and Tom’s about to cast a Silenico before someone overhears when he pauses.
Harry’s stare is heated, encompassing Tom entirely. His eyes pull him in, perhaps unknowingly, and images flash before him. There’s blood flowing from an open wound on his arm, dripping onto the stone floor beneath. An abandoned sword lays to the side drenched in blood and…. venom?
Tom would be a fool to not take such an opportunity that’s been presented before him. He had no idea a little stone snake could bring such a turn of events for the two of them. If he truly didn’t want word to get out, then Tom would keep his secret and instead force the other into owing him a favour. A debt.
Harry’s still breathing heavily, eyes wild and itching for a fight. Unfortunately for him, Tom has other plans. “I’ll keep your Parseltongue a secret, Harry, but you will owe me a favour.”
His face turns perplexed, “You were just-“ Tom’s quick to cut interrupt. “Well,” he shrugs, “I’ve changed my mind.”
A laugh, and Harry’s staring at him incredulously, though a bit amused. “Fine, Riddle.”
He smiles at Harry, sharply, like a cat who got the canary. “Remember, Evans. Sunset in the library.” Tom doesn’t wait for the response and walks away, knowing that Harry would join him regardless.
—
The day passes, and the next. Harry, who truly did need the help, dutifully attends their study sessions in the library. Their conversations rarely stray from potions, but Tom can tell he’s curious about what he’s thinking.
Before long, it's New Year’s Eve. The snow falls softly outside as Tom looks on from his room’s window. It’s six in the morning and the castle is still sleeping, but Tom wraps the scarf around his pale neck and departs from the room. The common room is unsurprisingly empty. Harry wouldn’t rise for at least another hour, if his schedule in the past week was at all accurate.
The courtyard is a welcome change of scenery from the dreary dungeons. The sun has yet to rise, but the sky is slowly transforming before him and the snow is cold against his skin. A warming charm or two and the cold wanes, allowing Tom to enjoy the weather. Leaning against the castle’s walls, he removes his diary and summons a quill.
‘The 31st of December,’ he begins. The ink fades and new words form on the page.
Our birthday? You didn’t write for three weeks?
‘I was.. Preoccupied.’ He owes the Horcrux no explanation, but provides one regardless. ‘I found another parselmouth within Hogwarts.’
The diary seems to almost buzz beneath him, and the words quickly fill the page, demanding him to continue. He smirks, and writes, ‘Evans, the boy I wrote to you about months prior. He accidentally revealed it to me when the snake I charmed told his secret. Harry was quite alarmed.’
How? Then more words appear rapidly, stringing along the page. Is he related to the Gaunts?! Tom is quick to quell the diary’s distress, ‘From what I saw in the boy’s mind; no. He was unaware at the moment, forgetting about his shielding, and I saw a peculiar vision of us standing in the Chamber of Secrets. Though Harry was different, youthful, compared to now.’
The diary is quiet, the page remaining blank. Tom allows his words to settle in the Horcrux's mind and focuses on the sunrise. A plethora of colors alight the sky, washing away the night, and the snowfall has quelled.
Only when the diary warms does Tom glance down at the ink covering the page, A parallel world, perhaps? Or an odd form of Divination? Even in the days you first wrote about him, I did sense something strange about him compared to our peers. When you brought me near his presence I felt something familiar in his magic.
Tom had felt it as well, from the moment he had entered the Headmaster’s office. He closes the diary, not bothering to write a goodbye, and shoves it back into his robe pocket. The door nearest to him bounds open and a few second year Hufflepuffs run out excitedly, one boy immediately gathering a handful of snow to throw at the other.
When they spot him against the wall, they freeze. Tom smiles, gently, and gestures for them to go on towards the snowy field, and they hurry past. Once out of sight, the mask falls and he’s disappearing through the door they came from.
—
He’s basking in the heat of the fire, sprawled out against the large sofa when Tom finds him. The book is covering Harry’s face and he has half the mind to walk over and pluck it up. “Harry.”
It falls unceremoniously to the ground with a thud as he startles and sits up suddenly. His expression falls when he sees Tom, “Oh. It’s you.” He mutters underneath his breath, though Tom catches it none the less.
“Who else would it be?”
“Anyone else.” Harry responds and collects the fallen book off the floor.
After the New Year’s feast, they’d gone their separate ways and after an hour spent in the Room of Requirement, he’d grown bored. Especially with such an enigma in his grasp.
Harry maneuvers around Tom and collects his discarded belongings off the chair to his right. Tom catches his wrist, fingers curling around the flesh firmly. Harry quickly responds by attempting to free himself, “Let.” Another pull. “Go.” He hisses, not at all dissimilar to a snake.
His eyes grow dark with their animosity, curses flying from his lips. “Come with me.” He breaks the flurry of words.
Tom’s calm even in the building storm of magic filling the room. Harry pauses in his struggle, and shoots him a bemused look instead. “Where to?” He unclaps his wrist and adjusts his robes. “The Astronomy Tower.” Tom replies.
“You’re going to kill me on your birthday?”
Tom can’t hold in the incredulous sound that escapes him at Harry’s forwardness. “Excuse me?” He scoffs.
Harry’s previous disdain is replaced now by faint amusement and he sets his bag on the abandoned sofa. “Fine, but if Dippet notices I’m missing you’ll be the first to be blamed.”
He ponders for a moment over the other’s presumed jest, before nodding and following Harry to the entrance. Their walk is slow, becoming a bit of a stroll as they find their way. The halls are quiet, and their footsteps are the only noise heard. A few ghosts pass them, but don’t even take notice of their presence.
After climbing the winding stairs, the view before them expands. The castle is mostly dark with an exception for a few flickering lights. Snow continues to fall and settle upon the grey, coating it in a thick layer. Harry stands beside him, cheeks turning rosy in the cold, eyes wide as he takes in the view. Tom studies his reaction closely.
He walks towards the edge and sits upon the centenarian floor, leaning his back against one of the walls. The guard rail digs slightly into his left shoulder and the metal is freezing even against all his layers. When he turns his head towards the stairs, Harry is frozen there and looking at him strangely. “I don’t bite.” He quips.
“Right.” The other mumbles and finally walks towards him before joining him on the floor. Tom summons one of the castle’s house elves to bring them something warm to drink, and seconds later two steaming cups appear next to them. No words are exchanged as they revel in the winter night. He observes Harry silently as he gulps down the cocoa, a bit of melted cream coating his lips.
“For an old invisibility cloak, you do lock it carefully in your trunk.” He breaks the silence. “You went through my trunk?” And then after a moment, Harry sighs to himself. “Honestly, I can’t be surprised.”
‘When did you purchase it?” Tom asks, testing the other. “I didn’t. I stole it from the Potters’ about a month ago.”
Harry’s face is full of confusion as the words spill from his lips. “You stole it?” Tom laughs, finding this particular development comical. “Yes.” He’s clenching his teeth, though the word bleeds through.
Harry looks from his cup to Tom, and then back again. “You forced the house elf to drug me?” He says, stunned, and looking a tad paler even in the cold.
“Harry.” He starts, setting his cup down and moving forward, “Is it so wrong to want some truthfulness from you?”
“You?” His laugh is cruel, his words similar, “You haven't been truthful in a day of your life!”
“And how would you know that, Evans? We’ve only met a few months ago.”
Green eyes narrow, but before he can stop himself, the potion forces Harry to reply, “Not really.”
Tom moves closer to him, grin turning sharp, and Harry’s leaning further into the wall. “Not really?” He repeats, almost mockingly. Suddenly, Harry’s reaching into his pocket and grasping his wand.
Yet before the word can fall from his lips, they’re being forcefully pressed against another pair. Tom molds against Harry and the space between them is dissipating. They both stare at one another as Tom continues to take and consume, a hand reaching around the other’s neck with a slight squeeze. His nails dig in and form crescent moons upon Harry’s skin. He hears a faint whine.
The wand hits the floor distinctly as Harry reaches up with both hands in an attempt to pry him off. Tom leans further forward, their teeth clashing, and Harry’s drawing blood. There’s a slight sting before the kiss turns metallic. He can feel the mix of saliva and blood coating his and Harry’s lips.
Harry’s pushing him back roughly the moment his grip loosens, their lips separating in the process. Tom falls against the stone, the railing groans behind him, and a manic smile adorns his face. He watches as Harry fumbles for his discarded wand, and realization dawns upon his face as he looks down.
“What the fu-’ Harry begins to sputter. Tom rolls his eyes as he stands.
“Don’t be unclouth.”
He twirls the holly wand idly, then pauses. “When was our first meeting, Harry?”
“In the summer.” It comes out breathy and a bead of blood rolls down his neck. Tom’s silent and a minute passes, then two. Harry rises defensively in front of him. The wiry glasses of his are falling down his nose. Tom is almost tempted to snatch them away.
“Wools?” He questions, eyes squinting as he tries to remember. “I saw you- in the window- looking out while having a smoke. I felt your magic, but I was disillusioned.”
“And, then?” Tom moves closer, until Harry’s back is against the guardrail. “Why were you in London in the summer if you didn’t transfer till a few weeks after term began?”
He swallows, and Tom’s drawn to the movement of his throat. Harry’s pupils are still blown and he has a slight shake, but oddly enough he seems more relaxed. “My godfather. His.. his home is- was in London and he had left it for me in his will.” His eyes reddened slightly.
“We were on the run from the Dark Lord when he died and I was busy drowning in my grief. Hogwarts wasn’t even at the forefront of my mind.”
His thoughts continuously race as he processes all that Harry revealed to him. He’s confident by now that the truth serum has run its course and was otherwise non-existent in the other’s system.
Tom doesn’t entirely believe Harry’s tale, though it did seem like the truth. His voice had wavered and his emotions regarding his supposedly dead Godfather seemed real.
With one final look, he’s backing away and walking towards the stairs. He’s about to descend when Harry begins to shout at him to stop. Tom doesn’t face him, but replies nonetheless.
“You’re seriously not going to give me the antidote?”
He doesn’t stop the laugh that spills from his mouth as he spins to face him once more. Harry, who's looking more affronted by the minute, watches on furiously. “Harry,” he placates, “Did you truly believe I’d waste a vial of Veritaeserum on this?” The ‘on you’ goes unsaid.
“You-“ He pauses, his eyes squinting, “Huh?” As if he can’t believe Tom didn’t use the strongest truth telling potion in Europe on a student. Not to mention the extreme complexity of the brew and the value a single vial held. “Goodnight, Evans.”
—
Harry doesn’t show his face to Tom the following day. He refuses to join him for their remedial potions lessons in the library, and avoids the Great Hall during meal times.
Tom can barely restrain the eye roll as Dumbledore keeps shooting him accusatory glances as if it was his fault. He’s half tempted to play into it, to rile up the old goat with falsities, but restrains. For now.
Boredom seeps through the cracks once more and Tom finds himself almost missing Evans.
The rest of the break with the continued absence of his latest project is filled with an endless amount of reading and some dueling in the Room of Requirement. He charmed a few dummies to fight back against him, though they still couldn’t fulfill the rush of a true duel.
Time sludges on until it’s the day that the term commences and the Hogwarts Express rolls into the station. Tom chooses not to attend, the physical intimacy and emotions being nauseating, and remains in his room. When dinner hour strikes, he sets the book down softly and stands to open his door.
What he doesn’t expect is someone standing there. Harry’s hand is raised, as if he was about to knock, and he looks a bit nervous. “Riddle.” He starts, as he puts his arm down.
“Who are you?” He jests quickly, almost shocking himself. Harry’s lips lift slightly at the corner, “Haha, funny.” He clears his throat. “Your lack of apology is hilarious as well, but that’s not why I’m here.”
Tom raises an eyebrow, but lets him continue. “How does someone go about getting an… let’s say... invitation to Slughorn’s annual New Year’s party?”
“You want to attend a Slug Club party?” He asks disbelievingly. “Evans, have you seen your Potion’s grade?”
He opens the door wider and steps out. Harry’s stumbling out of his way as he rushes past. “Wait!” He calls, and runs after him. “Your best chance at receiving an invitation is not acquiring one.”
Tom stops before the common room entrance, and faces him. He studies Harry for a moment, leaning towards him. Tom’s breath causes a few strands to move aside, revealing a bizarre looking scar that connects his forehead and upper brow. For a moment, he’s tempted to brush a finger against it. To feel-
“You’d have a better chance at being someone’s plus one.” He says instead. “I heard that Rosier has yet to secure a date.”
Harry’s nose crinkles up at that, “Really? That’s who you’re recommending?” He asks, disgust leaking into his tone. “It is rather last minute to try and flail around for an invite, Harry. Your options are quite deficient.”
His mouth opens for a second, then closes and opens again, and just when Tom’s about to leave he asks, “Who are you attending with, then?”
“Interested?”
“Ha..” Harry controls himself, “So what if I am?”
Tinley, the Ravenclaw Head Girl, had asked him before Yule if he was planning on bringing a date. She had been attending with him for the previous Slug Club parties. Though in the years before he often went alone. “What’s in it for me, Evans? You already owe me a favour.”
“Right, and me not reporting your very illegal potion usage to Dippet was that favour. Unless..” He starts, “You don’t mind me telling him?”
Harry’s entirely too confident now, and Tom’s almost regretting leaving the memory. He leans back against the wall, hand near his wand, “Your favour is absolved.” He agrees.
The other perks up with a relaxed smile and sticks his hand out. “If and only if, I am your plus one, then I will continue to keep your long list of secrets, Riddle. Those are my terms.”
Bold. But Tom’s sick of Harry avoiding him and clasps his hand into his, “It seems we’re in agreement, Evans.”
They attend the returning feast together, Harry at his side as his followers fill the surrounding seats. Malfoy asks about the gift he’d given Tom for Yule, and if he approved, to which he lied and said yes. Harry snorts while looking down at his plate, shoveling peas onto the spoon. Malfoy ignores him, and instead asks about his break at Hogwarts. “Dull.” He replies, flipping the parchment over and continuing his writing.
“My L- Riddle, were you pleased with my gift? It’s been in the Lestrange family’s vault for many decades. I doubt Hogwarts has such a volume.”
He looks up, and the curl falls in front of his eyes, “Yes, Lestrange. It was quite interesting to read. I could see where your.. Inspiration comes from.” Tom muses.
Lestrange preens and shoots Malfoy a smug smirk, while he returns it with a glare. Tom has no time for their petty jousts. However, he does find it beneficial at certain times. Harry’s observing him as the other two continue their silent battle. When Tom is about to address Nott, Slughorn walks up behind him. “Tom!” He practically shouts and a few of the younger years jump in their seats. “Yes, Professor?” He sets his quill down and brings his hands together.
“You’ll be attending my little,” He covers his mouth from the other side of the table and lowers his voice, “Get together tomorrow evening, yes?”
For some reason, Slughorn is seemingly convinced his club is unknown to non-members and the younger years. Tom reasons with himself that perhaps the man is truly becoming senile. “Of course, sir. In fact,” He shoots Harry a smirk, but disguises it quickly, “I’ve secured my date as well.”
Harry sputters and coughs as pumpkin juice spills from his mouth and lowers the half empty drink to the table. He pulls the sleeve of his jumper further up and wipes around his mouth with it. Tom watches on with thinly-veiled disgust. “Uh..” He swallows, “Right. Hello, sir.” Harry greets and Slughorn’s eyebrows practically recede into his hairline.
“Oh!” He exclaims, looking back and forth between the both of them. “Well, Mr. Evans, I’ll be seeing you there as well.” Slughorn walks away swiftly, back to the staff table, and Tom doesn’t doubt he’s about to gossip.
Dumbledore is mid-bite when Slughorn leans over and whispers into his ear, and within a few seconds those icy eyes are staring at the two of them. Tom takes the opportunity to dab at Harry’s face with an unused cloth, coddling him. When he’s finished, Harry's face is as red as the Gryffindor uniform. Dumbledore looks away and Tom knows that he’s won.
“What are you doing?” Harry hisses quietly under his breath. “Simply cleaning the mess.” He replies quietly, shrugging and leaning away.
Harry whips around to look over at the staff’s table and Tom begins to stand and cast a drying spell over his parchment. His knights are staring at him, wide-eyed, as they had been for the past ten minutes. Tom doesn’t say a word when he abandons the table and the Great Hall entirely.
—
Since their return from the holiday break fell on a Saturday, that leaves the student body with another day to recuperate to their usual schedules and even more time to prepare for the evening’s celebration.
Abraxas had gifted him a fine set of quality robes before term started. They met in Diagon Alley in front of some Pure-blood version of Madame Malkin’s. The seamstress had guided her wand around his figure, taking his measurements thoroughly, and after an hour of discussing particulars, they left satisfied.
Malfoy swore to collect them and hold onto the robes until they returned to Hogwarts in September. Tom didn’t disagree.
He opted for his older, and admittedly transfigured robes for the previous Slug Club gatherings. Having no desire to wear something so flashy for more casual dinners. Tom ran his hand delicately along the deep green fabric, rubbing it slightly between his fingers.
Lord Voldemort would own more luxuries than imaginable. His coffers would be overflowing with an endless amount of gold and artifacts.
Lord Voldemort, he, would only feel contentment, and never the strain of hunger and the gritty feeling of dirt upon his skin.
'And to never fear for his life in that decrepit orphanage again’ his mind unhelpfully adds. He’s sucked into a memory and a piercing siren wails, only a warning, but nonetheless enough to disturb his peace. Tom remembers the shop around the corner being reduced to nothing but dust.
“Tempus,” he breathes and the silence of the room breaks. It's as if a bubble bursts as sound returns and he can hear the faint rush of the Black Lake around him once more. Twenty minutes had passed in the blink of an eye.
Tom peels his daywear off and dresses himself diligently, paying proper attention to any creases and smoothing them out. He runs a medium amount of gel through his hair, more than his usual, and sculpts the pieces away from his face. The mirror is quick to compliment him, but Tom ignores it as he grabs his Oxfords.
There’s a knock on his door just as he’s tying the last knot and so he stands to open it, already expecting Harry to be on the other side.
The door creaks open and he’s about to speak when Harry beats him to it, “Green?” He questions, and then, “Honestly, how much of a stereotypical Slytherin can you be?”
“It is in my bloodline.” He adds, flattening a stray curl in the mirror.
“Right, the whole ‘Heir of Slytherin’ thing. How could I forget?” Harry’s tone is drenched in sarcasm as he closes the door behind him.
“As if I’d ever let you.”
“If only you did.” Harry hisses back, and then sighs after he realizes what he had just done. “Are you about done?”
Tom slides the ring onto his middle finger and turns towards Harry, “Apologies for putting actual effort into my appearance unlike you who-“ He trails off, taking in Harry’s appearance fully for the first time. His hair is its usual mess, though it shines in the light as if he attempted to gel it, and his robes are a dark maroon that appear black where the light is absent. “Declined to.” Tom finishes, clearing his throat and reaching past him for the door handle.
Harry grabs it first and wrenches it open. “Rude.” He glares before walking through first with Tom following behind. “Alphard nearly had a heart attack when I mentioned offhandily how I didn’t have any robes for tonight.”
Alphard Black.
According to Orion, who he quickly learned couldn’t keep anything to himself, Alphard had been cut off from the family months ago for refusing a betrothal contract. Walburga noticeably didn’t even speak or look at him. Tom isn’t surprised Harry’s first Slytherin friend turned out to be the black sheep of the family.
“He did well, I suppose.” Tom says absentmindedly as they pass the large group of attendees in the common room. His followers are already near the entrance, not a hair out of place. Harry pauses just behind them and Tom brushes past him. “-Rosier and Macnair supplied enough alcohol to last us till dawn.”
“And where are the two of them?” Tom sighs and everyone turns towards him the moment he speaks. Avery snickers, and mumbles, “Probably getting plastered in the dormitory.”
He pretends to not hear a word and steps forward. “Open.”
The snake unfurls itself and reveals the door, “Do remember the rules. One hour for appearances and then you may leave.” He glances back, “If Slughorn is to become aware of your evening festivities-”
None of the boys so much as move. Nott swallows heavily.
“Well….let’s hope he remains ignorant.”
Malfoy is about to speak when he’s suddenly pushed forward. Harry emerges from behind him and walks towards Tom. “Evans. You sure know how to dress up well.” Lestrange comments as his eyes lower to take in the rest of him. “Thanks?” He replies hesitantly.
Tom has had enough of their stalling and wraps his hand firmly around Harry’s wrist, pulling him forward. “We have a schedule to keep if we’re going to arrive on time, Harry.” He explains pointedly. Harry’s wrist is warm in his grip, though before he can adjust his grasp, he’s shaking himself free.
“You couldn’t have just said that without grabbing me?” He mutters, speeding ahead. The walk is short, seeing as Slughorn used one of the many abandoned rooms in the Dungeons for his more extravagant events. His office is far too small even with expansion charms. There’s a slight queue at the door as many pause at the entrance and block the way. Tom clears his throat and they separate enough for them to pass through.
The other boys immediately split off, half of them bound for the refreshments section or more specifically the supply of alcohol Slughorn entrusts them with. It’s content isn’t much, but he knows for certain someone will rectify that.
Dark purple cloth drapes from the ceiling, pooling around the middle of the room. Snow lightly sprinkles down from above, similar to the Great Hall, and the tables are dressed in gold.
Walburga, Druella, and the rest of the Slytherin girls are all gathered around the middle of the party. They’re speaking quietly to one another, and occasionally glancing towards the entrance. Druella’s hand is running along Walburga’s left arm soothingly, tapping ever so often.
Slughorn’s guests have only just begun to arrive, and the volume picks up considerably. Tom recognizes many notable Ministry workers having spoken to them several times over the previous years. A few past graduates are here as well and he recalls that one of them is the previous Hufflepuff Head Boy.
Harry’s standing to his side, keeping his distance as he studies the room. His head tilts to the side as he peers around someone in front of them, and steps closer. Tom’s about to lean down and whisper in his ear when he hears his name being called.
“Tom!” Slughorn’s cheeks are rosy, a drink in hand when he finds him. Though when he looks back towards his side, the space is unoccupied. How Evans had managed to slip away within seconds is a skill that Tom was quickly becoming quite annoyed by.
“Sir.” He says, face perfectly cool and not betraying his actual emotions. Slughorn’s cap falls slightly, and his mead splashes only missing Tom by meters as he attempts to fix it. “Is Mr. Evans not with you? I had a colleague of mine interested in meeting with him this evening.”
“I’m afraid he snuck off the minute we walked through the door. Something regarding a few of his friends from the other houses.” Tom lies easily.
Slughorn beams, “Oh, of course! He’s quite sociable outside of Slytherin I’ve heard.” He winks and then leans closer, the stench of alcohol coating his breath, “If you find him once more, please tell him that Unspeakable Hawthorne is asking after him.”
He’s walking away shortly after, calling after another student or two. But Tom’s mind was preoccupied over what Slughorn had said. To enquire about Unspeakables would hint at perhaps only another layer of secrets that Harry was hiding. But getting him to reveal everything with another serum or even Veritaeserum would be boring.
Tom brushes past many shoulders, some pausing their conversations to say a quick hello. When he’s finally through the crowd and on the other side, he sighs and fills up a glass of wine. Normally he refrains from drinking, but he’s left with little else to do and knows one drink wouldn’t shatter his control.
He whispers a few spells, checking for anything irregular before taking a sip. To his side, a group of Gryffindor boys are gathering around the table. He recognizes Prewett almost immediately.
“Riddle.” The other says when he notices him, a few other heads turn in acknowledgment. “Prewett. How did your holidays fare?” He asks, though he doesn’t truly care for a response. Tom moves closer and off to the side, he sees Evans speaking with a tall man that he suspects isn't a wizard at all. He’s holding a glass that appears entirely too red to be wine. “-and Harry was supposed to come but alas he chose to stay in the castle the day before.” Prewett answers.
“Yes he was most concerned about the possibility of losing N.E.W.T potions and, at his request, we spent some time studying in the library.” Tom smiles pleasantly as Prewett seems to only grow more annoyed. “Did Harry not tell you so in any letters? I thought you both were the best of friends?”
“We are. You probably just kept him too busy to even find the time.” He glares. The rest of the Gryffindors have abandoned them by now, leaving only the two of them.
“Oh? How odd. We only studied in the evenings and kept to ourselves besides during meal times.” Then Tom adds, “Perhaps he just didn’t wish to speak to you.”
Prewett scoffs and sets his now empty glass down on a passing waiter’s tray. “Right. After how he spoke of you before Yule?”
Tom leans even closer, his lips tugging up at the corner of his mouth, eyes wide with sudden interest. “And how did he speak of me?”
His brows draw together as he frowns slightly. A spot of alcohol staining his coat collar. Prewett remains silent and then his gaze turns calculating.
“Why are you so interested in him?”
“Is it so hard to believe that the two of us are now friends, Prewett? That Harry would make amends with his own house?” He questions a tad smugly.
Prewett only shakes his head in disbelief before stepping away. “Whatever game the two of you are playing, I want zero part in it.” He’s storming away back to his Gryffindor friends and Tom’s left with a half filled glass. Yes he did suppose the two of them were playing quite the game indeed.
Harry’s still talking to the vampire when Tom enters the conversation, a hand ghosting the other’s back. ”Harry. Who’s this?”
The vampire’s dark eyes lock on him instantly and he feels a flair of unease settling over him. “Sanguini. I assume you’re Tom Riddle?” His voice is deep, though low in volume. “Yes. Has Harry mentioned me?” He smirks while looking towards him.
Harry steps back slightly, and the hand is now fully touching his back. He jumps and before he can face Tom to tell him off, Sanguini is replying. “Yes, he did mention you briefly. You’re quite the accomplished student.”
Tom preens and takes another sip of wine, “Yes, sir. I do tend to take my education quite seriously. Though Hogwarts’ curriculum is quite…. lacking, unfortunately. In History of Magic, for example, I feel we would be benefited by knowing about the community as a whole and not just the wizarding side of it. Even if Binns is prone to droning on and on about the Goblin rebellions.” He muses.
“You’re interested in magical creatures?” Harry asks mockingly, though after a moment his face screws together as if he ate something unpleasant. “I’m intrigued by all areas of magic, Harry.”
“A..friend of mine has seen Tom Riddle frequenting The White Wyvern during strange hours of the night. Always caught meeting discreetly with a wizard or creature.” Sanguini says pointedly to Harry.
“Interesting how a vampire would choose to shadow a student. Unless of course he was stalking his next meal.” Tom’s finger brushes against the rim of the glass, slowly. “I don’t appreciate being followed.”
Tom’s wand is drawn at his side, discreetly hidden under his robes when he feels a warm hand settling over his. It pushes down.
Sanguini’s expression shifts from boredom, transforming into something else entirely as a pointy smile greets him. “Yes, you are an interesting little wizard, aren’t you? Threatening a vampire you’ve never met.” He turns to Harry, “Quite the compelling companion you’ve chosen.”
“He’s not-”
Tom doesn’t let him finish and crowds into Harry’s space, his breath fanning against his shoulder. His wand is once more stowed, and so he grabs Harry’s hand fully while smiling at the predator before him. “Yes. My dear companion.” He purrs.
Sanguini seems satisfied as he finishes his drink, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. “I await our next meeting.”
He sinks into the shadows and within seconds the vampire is gone. Harry turns around to face him, quickly dropping his hand in the process. Tom breaks the silence, “Quite the disappearing act you pulled earlier, Harry. Slughorn was asking after you.” He steps forward, “And what exactly did you do to get into the Unspeakable’s limelight?”
“Not that it’s any of your information, but they were interested in a family artifact of mine.” Harry answers, shifting to the side and breaking any physical contact. “The invisibility cloak of yours?”
Harry’s silent as Tom thinks aloud, deciding to completely ignore the other’s question when he focuses on something behind him. Using Tom as an involuntary shield, he steps closer. Tom doesn't say a word, and simply watches Harry. “The Unspeakable?” Tom questions quietly.
He glares as he looks up, “No.” Though Harry is truly such a pitiful liar that he would be a fool to believe him. “Behind you and to your left. Move and I’ll follow.”
They continue to stand there and Tom is about to simply move to the side and reveal Harry when the other grabs his arm tightly and pulls him to the door. Once they’re outside the venue and in the familiar corridor, Harry let’s go abruptly. Tom smoothes out the wrinkled material as Harry leans against the opposite wall.
“What were you goading Ignatius about?”
Tom can’t say he’s quite surprised that Harry was similarly observing his own conversation with Prewett. “Well,” he begins, “I wouldn’t necessarily say I was goading the Gryffindor.”
Harry’s answering scowl is enough as he continues, “He wasn’t entirely happy with our holiday study arrangements. Or the fact you blew off your plans to spend the break at his. You know, I could list even more reasons-”
“I get it, Riddle.” Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair and revealing the familiar scar once more. “Did Grindelwald give you that curse scar?” Tom asks suddenly.
Harry startles and reaches up to feel the familiar scarring. He’s silent, contemplative, and seemingly lost in his thoughts. “When could you first see it?” He asks instead. Tom decides to indulge him with the truth, “Yesterday when you asked me about Slughorn’s club before dinner.”
“You shouldn’t have been able to-” The words die on his lips and he draws closer to Tom. Harry’s eyes are a sea of green and he finds himself drowning. Momentarily mesmerized by the sight.
“Even here, we’re still connected.” Harry’s words break his focus.
“Connected how?”
Harry’s expression falters, the reminisce replaced by indifference. As he breaks away, an odd glint catches his attention and Tom finds himself staring directly at his family ring, now resting on Harry’s finger. He doesn’t know exactly how to react, but he finds himself pointing his wand at Harry’s throat and breathing heavily. “When.” He’s hissing, stalking forward. The sconce to his right flickering as his magic fills the space.
Harry is calm, though he’s now holding his wand as well. Tom is growing impatient at the lack of response and aims at Harry’s finger instead. “Diffindo!”
What he doesn’t expect is Harry quickly darting out of the way and for it to hit the wall instead. He’s about to fire another curse, a much darker one, when the door opens. Harry takes the distraction to run, and Tom is quick to chase him, ignoring whoever had interrupted their quarrel.
He shoots a binding jinx, but it misses once more as Harry throws himself around a corner and into another hallway. “Harry!” He shouts, firing spell after spell, the spellfire being the only light in the darkness. Harry only stops when he runs into a dead end and Tom is smiling wildly as he nears him.
“I'm sorry, Tom.”
With those final words, Harry’s body warps and twists before the mass disappears with a sharp crack. Tom freezes, and the wand falls from his grasp, rolling to the floor.
He lost.