Warnings: Possible OOC, non-magic!futuristic(?)!fiction!AU, loosely based off of/inspired by Chobits and Angelic Layer (both anime and manga, go read or watch it seriously that stuff is cute), I shouldn't be starting anymore fics but seriously what can you do when your Muse strikes, good!grandfatherly!I-just-want-everyone-to-be-happy!sorta-plotting!Dumbledore, alive!sick!Merope, dead!not-a-wife-abandoning-scum!TomRiddleSr., not-dark!just-a-hard-childhood!mother's-boy-but-still-mature!Tom

Pairing: TMR/HP, (established/light/married) LE/JP

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. If I did, the series wouldn't be done right now and the pairing would be LV-TMR/HP.

The figure on the raised platform danced with the other, a violent and graceful depiction of skill and finesse. Stumbling back, the female flinched in pain as one of the male's attacks hit. She had broken their standstill state, and the other was certainly one to take advantage.

Or, well, not her opponent, so to speak, but rather her master's.

"Lightning Dissonance," came the command, and everyone in the audience knew who the victor was.

The male before her lunged forth, his rapid speed more for just intimidation. When he was positioned in front of her, which took nary but a few seconds, he kicked out, electricity sparking off of his body. She felt the paralysis, unable to do anything as she was kicked mercilessly out of the ring.

The end had come ridiculously fast—but wasn't that to be expected, when you were facing off against him—?

"And for the fifth time this year, we're all present to see Tom Riddle confirm his unquestionable reign as the European Champion of Ether Arena for the last three consecutive years! Going undefeated since his rise, and still continuing that trend, ladies and gentlemen, please give a round of applause for that spectacular performance—"

As the opponents were lowered from their elevated platform, the man known as Tom Riddle snorted quietly. Undefeated? Well, it wasn't like he'd spend the effort correcting the MC anyways, even if he had the chance to. He glanced up, looking at the Arena where, just moments ago, he had commanded his pretty little Marionette to kick the other out of the ring.

Said being was looking down at him, green eyes not quite lifeless but not human either. Hadrian waved, mouthing "I'll see you later, master," below, and then moved away from the edge.

Tom sighed. Yes, he would see his Hadrian later, but for now, it was time to deal with the ceremonies that always followed his victories… as annoying and a waste of time as they were. Then, perhaps, he would go visit his mother.

Idly, he fiddled with the chrome collar around his neck, only taking it off once an employee quickly waved him towards the main stage's exit. How much was the prize money again…? He'd have to calculate that into the hospital bill, and then scan for the next tournament he'd participate in.

But wasn't the annual English Regionals coming up? Hmm… choices, choices… Tom was quite sure it was paying even more this year, so he should probably make a note to enter. Again. Even if that meant seeing more of those irritating journalists from The Prophet.

Four hours, twenty minutes, five glasses of water (Tom wanted something stronger, but he wasn't stupid enough to get tipsy next to the ravenous reporters), three pesty journalists with two desperate photographers, and innumerous amounts of snarky comments under his breath later, Tom was finally given a breather.

It wasn't like the tournament he had entered was small, but it certainly wasn't a local-only either. Tom tended to stay out of those; they didn't exactly pay very well. For the few that did, he tended to stray from using Hadrian—that would bring him into all kinds of speculation of him getting weak and needing his best Marionette to defeat some nervous rookie—and preferred to use one of his lesser Marionettes.

"How did it go?" asked the light voice of Merope Riddle nee Gaunt, smiling as Tom opened the door. He looked no less than perfectly elegant—as he always should—but his mother was always an expert at reading him, no matter how hard he tried to hide something.

"I won," he said nonchalantly, moving over to set down a tray on the bedside table. Once that was done, Tom settled down on a chair next to the bed, one that seemed to have a permanent fixture there. It was his chair, as Merope liked to call it. Tom's chair—for all purposes.

She laughed, the sound pure and calm and Tom could not help but relax to it. His mother was his life—he would protect her, make sure she lived, and by the gods no one would be able to hurt her unless it was over his dead body. "Of course you did," she scolded lightly. "You know what I really meant."

Tom waved it off. "It was no challenge."

Merope sighed. "You absolutely must tell me of your next one! I want to watch it, even if it's only by TV."

To reply to his mother, Tom made a noise of accent at the back of his throat and began to focus on fixing the bed sheets, earning him a click of the tongue and a light smack on the hand.

"Oh, stop that! You fussed enough over it in the morning; won't you tell me instead how Hadrian is doing?"

Tom paused, reaching for the Ether Necklace kept under his shirt. It was the only Necklace he carried on his person, at all times; the rest of his Ether Necklaces containing his other Marionettes were kept locked in a box in his room. "He's fine," Tom said softly, brushing his thumb over the polished lightning bolt symbol. "His performance today was perfect. It seemed like he was eager to fight, as well."

Merope smiled knowingly. "Well, you didn't use him in the last tournament. If I were him, I'd be enthusiastic, too!" She laughed again when her son turned to give her an offended look. "I'm disappointed that I didn't get to see him; you'll use him again, right?"

Tom huffed. "Of course I will. But I don't want him to get bored—if he fights weaklings all the time, his interest will wane—"

"I understand," hummed Merope. "But it's been awhile—"

"Once your treatment is done and you're well again, I'll bring you to the Rings, and you'll see as much of him as you want, okay?" cut in Tom, and the only reason why Merope stayed quiet was because she sensed the shift in mood. Tom squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Okay," she slowly nodded. But they both knew the chances of her getting better were slim. "Okay."

For the next hour, they spoke in quiet tones, speaking of lighter things until it grew late.

"Oh, by the way, Tom, there was a call today earlier for you," Merope called, just as her son was about to leave to bed.

Tom turned around. "From who?"

"Hm… I think it was from a Lily Potter? Do you know anyone with that name? It doesn't sound familiar to me…"

"No," murmured Tom, "I don't. Did she say what she was calling for?"

"Something about the Winter Tournament coming up… a discussion for your attendance? She said she was also associated with Ether Co., so it must be official," replied Merope. The woman then reached over, grabbing a slip of paper to hand to her son. "Here. This is the address she wished to meet you at."

Tom took it; gently letting Merope put the note between his fingers. Sometimes, his mother was like glass… and he could never tell when until part of her cracked.

She smiled slightly at him and bid him goodnight, leaving him to mull about in his thoughts before bed.

The Rings were makeshift platforms for Ether Arena; basically, the place normal games were held at. Membership was, of course, needed to get in—but the only proof one needed was an id badge and a flash of one's Ether Necklace, which held the data of your Marionette. Some practiced alone at their own "ring", which was a slightly raised platform (smaller than a tournament's) that was fenced off by a translucent barrier made of magick, the energy source used to fuel the whole of Ether Arena.

Others were versing off against each other, some in friendly battles, others in training, and even more in competitive matches. The Masters, as they were called, stood at opposing ends of the rings, shouting commands to their Marionettes to obey.

Tom passed this all with indifference; he had gotten accustomed to seeing the powerful displays that the Marionettes could exuberate. Custom made to be limited AIs specifically for the game of Ether Arena, they were able to dodge most simple attacks on their own, the more complex forcing them to depend on their Master's intelligence. For the most part, they were incredibly life-like holograms, but the fields they were placed in made them become "solid", or, well, to a point, Tom supposed.

Only Ether Co. knew what their technology really did, and that was a secret that wasn't going to be leaked anytime soon.

The champion made his way to the more secluded Rings (those inside a room with a door) with relative ease, mostly everyone focused on whatever they were doing. Soon enough, he was pulling off Hadrian's Ether Necklace, something he only did before a shower or whenever they were going to "play", and inserting the charm into the small indent on the stand nearby. Following up with that, a collar that was different from the one he had worn at the tournament was pulled from his pocket, and Tom slipped it on like it belonged there.

Perhaps it did. He had gotten it at age fourteen, the very same day he had gotten Hadrian. Now, three years later, it was a comforting weight on his neck that reminded him of just how he had gotten this far, when before he had been just a little boy trying to protect his mother, with eyes of a grown adult.

"Is something bothering you, master?" asked Hadrian, who appeared the instance Tom had clicked the collar into place. Around his neck was what looked to be the exact same accessory, a mirror image. He wore the same outfit as he had during the tournament, a silvery cloak wrapped about his body that, when parted, revealed a light-weight battle robe, a pair of combat boots, and fingerless gloves.

Tom shook his head. He had seen how other Marionettes acted, and of course with the unique AI they spoke and showed a rudimentary understanding of emotions, but something about Hadrian always told him that his Marionette was… more. Understood more. Comprehended more. Felt more. "Nothing's wrong. Shall we begin?"

Hadrian smiled. "Sure."

Through solo training, the pair worked on their mental responses. While the verbal command-and-response system was a large part of Ether Arena, so were the little mental instincts. Command dodges were usually sent through the artificial mental bond established through the collar, but Tom had early on discovered that more could be sent as well. Perhaps not specific attack commands, but combinations of movements, attack signals, and even the more complex feint signals could be achieved between a pair.

As all people were, Marionettes had weaknesses and strengths. No two were alike. Some were more ranged associated, using special powers to snipe or hinder their opponents, while others were close combat. Some specialized in hard, "all-in" type of blows, while others slowly chipped their opponents down, waiting for the time to be able to finish them off. Some were quick, some were slow; some were evasive, some were accurate, but never were any considered "weak" statistically.

It was why many people had more than one Marionette—to combat any weaknesses that their first Marionette had. In tournaments, the opponent would be revealed before the actual fight, meaning that there was time to strategize against a specific person. Having more than one Marionette also allowed for there to be an amount of mystery to be had when trying to counter the opposition before the actual match took place.

In the beginning, and still even now, Tom used this at his fullest advantage. Mind games were what he excelled at—almost like chess. Baiting the opponent, luring them into a state of false-victory, then striking out with something unexpected, or even bringing them to a state of utter despair and loss of hope to ensure them never making a comeback… yes, Tom knew he could be downright vicious.

But he had also learned the other way—the way that, instead of countering your opponent by switching around tactics or making it so that they faced their own counter, he could out-play them. Hadrian had taught him that, that skill was as much a factor in a fight as any stat would be. There had been times in his career as champion that he had been forced to go up against another Master whose Marionette was Hadrian's weakness, but they had still won. Tom still ended as victor, and it was those times where Tom knew and fully trusted in the fact that Hadrian was his best.

How could he not be, when Hadrian was the one who was his first Marionette in the first place?

Come the end of their training practice, Tom pulled out a thermos from his bag nearby. He sipped at the still-hot liquid, relaxing as the tea slid down his throat. Hadrian, knowing from past experience that this would be a full stop for the day, smiled and sat down to watch his Master in peace.

"How has Merope been?" the Marionette asked.

Hadrian's memory and independent actions no longer surprised Tom as much as it had years ago. "Well," replied Tom. "The doctors say she is improving… or at least stable now."

"Oh? Then she's at home?"

"Yes. Confined to the bed, but at home all the same."

Hadrian smiled. "I'm glad. She's a nice woman. Will I be able to see her soon?"

Tom paused. "I am… unsure."

"Then we'll just keep winning until you are," replied Hadrian without missing a beat. "During training, didn't you say that a lady contacted you about a tournament coming up soon? Why not go, at least to find out what the prize will be? Who knows, she might even offer a spot without the price of signing up."

Now, Tom smiled wryly, losing his previously negative air. "Unlikely, but thank you for the sentiment."

"Then you'll go?" persisted Hadrian.

"I will," agreed the champion, "but I must wonder, what exactly has gotten you so insistent?"

The Marionette was silent, ducking his head. "I'm sorry," he murmured after awhile. "I didn't mean to annoy you, master. It's just that… Lily Potter, was it? Her name… it sounds familiar to me."

"Mother said she was an employee at Ether, so if so it shouldn't be all too surprising that it's been written into your memory."

"Still…" Hadrian trailed off. "Well, I guess it's fine. I don't think she means any harm."

Tom shook his head amusedly. "And how would you know that? Just a second ago you were acting like you didn't know her personally." When all his Marionette did was shrug, Tom decided it was a lost cause to continue the conversation. Hadrian probably wouldn't even remember mentioning Lily Potter later, anyways. "It's time for lunch."

Hadrian, familiar to the farewell, smiled and stood. "I'll see you later, master."

Tom disconnected, tucking the collar into his bag and returning Hadrian's Ether Necklace to its spot around his neck. Perhaps he would buy ingredients for dinner along the way, now that Merope was home.

James Potter, one of the treasured employees of Ether Co., slammed his hands onto the desk before him. The man sitting across was unperturbed, probably used to his employee's actions. They were close, having known each other for a long time, and James usually looked up to the man with a healthy amount of respect and reverence, but now…

Albus Dumbledore sighed. "And what did Lily say, my boy?"

"She says she'll reserve her opinion until she's met the kid," mumbled James, out of steam now that he had physically taken out his anger on something. "But I still wonder if it's a good idea. Tom Riddle isn't exactly my idea of a good, kind hearted soul. I mean, I'm one of the recorders, Albus! I've seen how ruthless his strategies can be, and my mind tells me that someone who can do those things can't possibly be—"

"Now, now," calmed Albus, "He doesn't have to be an innately good person to be kind, and a kind person isn't necessarily exempt from doing malicious acts. I, for one, trust Lily. She is a brilliant judge of character, after all."

"You know I trust her too, Albus! She's my wife, after all, and the love of my life. It's hard not to trust her, but who I don't trust is that Riddle!"

"You forget, my boy, that Harry has taken part in the decision as well," Albus pointed out, looking at his employee over his glasses with his fingers laced together. "And I believe, if there is anything that I can say with conviction about Harry from those many, many years that I've known him, it is that he, too is a good judge of character, who is loyal to a fault, and, for the most part, is so stubborn that he'd rather prove himself wrong than shy away from the path he has chosen and take back his words."

James grimaced, knowing the man he thought of as a grandfather was right. "The way you put it—"

"Under certain situations, of course!" merrily cried the elder. "I'm sure Harry knows right from wrong, good from bad, and everything in between. He's a very bright boy, that child of yours! Very smart, very brave; and I believe a show of faith in both your wife and your son can be allowed, James. It is, after all, his wish that we are on our way to granting; his and many others' in this world."

Under the brunt of Albus' kind (though no less true, and no less chiding) words, James finally sighed and collapsed into the chair behind him. He didn't remember when he stood up during his previous ranting, but the fact of the matter was that he did and now he was completely exhausted, no longer running on pure adrenaline.

"…But why Riddle?!" he whined, and received a chuckle for his effort.

"I'm sure you can ask Harry that, once we succeed with the treatment. I must say, we are daringly close to a breakthrough…"

So yeah I shouldn't be writing another fic, but seriously, like my warning says, what the hell can you do, right? Right. Err, as all of my fics seem to be, this is sort of strange and a bit unique and sorta not, but yeah like everything else, expect to see some outside influence (The Guild for The Game, as well as those MMORPGs, letter fics for Blood Stained and Lettered, sort of Loveless and adventure-esque games and stories for Camaraderie, you know...).

As in my warnings, this will most likely be influenced by Chobits and Angelic Layer, though finally I get something where I can make people scream attacks, because everyone knows making up the attack name is half the fun (or most of it). BUT DON'T WORRY, MY FIGHT SCENES WILL NOT BE PURELY PEOPLE SCREAMING AT OTHERS. That wouldn't be fun.

And that LV/HP fic I talked about at some point in one of my stories (I think it was Camaraderie?), well, that's almost done but not quite, because I'm too lazy to work on the ending. And it's a oneshot. And sort of strange. And that TMR/HP fic I talked about way back in The Game? It's like, 23k words and sort of frozen there, not even halfway done.

Yeah I suck. I know. Tell me your other thoughts in a review...?

Sincerely,

R.R.