NOTT
Tom observes them from the corner of his eyes, effortlessly appearing as though he were studiously fixed upon his potion. Stirring the contents counter clockwise, he answers Professor Slughorn's beam with an amiable smile of his own as the man strolls past his desk, dropping it the instant the fond stare wanders off of him.
It was amusing how the pompous fool couldn't spot insincerity even though he lavished and surrounded himself with as many people he could, overly familiar with social hierarchies and scenery.
At least he has his uses.
Returning his attention to the two desks placed closely together, the boy looks back just in time to catch Nott lean in close to Black and brush some unruly hair back from his face, whispering something as he does so. Something obviously flirtatious, Tom judges from the widening eyes and slight flush beginning to flourish.
A feeling akin to irritation rises up and without really thinking the Slytherin waves his wand in incitation at Nott's cauldron from underneath his desk, relishing the resulting familiar cry of pain that reaches his ears.
Professor Slughorn rushes towards the sound, wand drawn.
"Mr Nott, weren't you paying attention to your potion? I did say this task requires every ounce of care." he admonishes loudly, as he looks over the burns sizzling the skin on his arm. "I'm afraid this looks bad, I'll have to take you to the Hospital Wing myself."
As the man bustles his student out of the classroom, Tom watches Black, who stands frowning around at the other students in puzzlement. Their eyes connect and Tom smiles charmingly to ease the other's uncertainty, making sure he appears blameless. He has won over countless people and he isn't about to lose now.
Black smiles back.
ROSIER
They soar through the air, high spirited and aggressive, dodging bludgers and sweeping towards the opposition. Currently the score is 60:70 and Slytherin are in the lead; however they can easily be overcome by the lions, whose competitiveness matches their own in spades.
Tom is seated next to a female prefect, and he inwardly scoffs as she takes the opportunity to ignore the match completely and instead bat her lashes, pressing close to his arm. Answering her queries when he has to, the young man's focus is on the green uniformed Seeker, trying to ignore the anger her proximity causes.
The Seeker takes a sudden dive, flying rapidly towards the snitch he's located close to his opponent. The Gryffindor Seeker realises what is happening, rotating on his broom to speed after him but it is too late, Black swoops upwards after enclosing his fist around the golden ball, rising steadily to the cheers that erupt from the Slytherin stands.
Tom claps along with the others, purposely dislodging the prefect with his motions. She blinks from her session of ogling him, coming to awareness that the match was been won, and hurriedly applauds to act as though she'd been focused on the match all along.
Meanwhile, the other players tangle themselves into Black with unrestrained glee; they'll have won the House Cup for sure this year.
They holler and carry their champion away.
It is later, standing disillusioned outside the changing rooms, that he hears Rosier speaking in a low tone to his best friend, teasing him about the prospect of girls lining themselves up for a date. Black laughs in response, saying something corresponding to them not being his type.
Their voices draw closer and Tom narrows his eyes at the sight of Rosier's arm resting across the slighter boy's shoulders, holding him suspiciously close. The duo walks past, bantering with one another and wondering what they should buy at the upcoming Hogsmeade trip.
Dark eyes settle on Rosier's back with spiteful intention.
MALFOY
The Dark Lord disillusions himself once more as he follows his fellow students into Hogsmeade. He keeps his eyes on a particular pair and hastens his steps to reach them in time as they turn a corner leading into an alley.
Nearing closer, he listens to Malfoy's speculations of what could have happened to land Rosier in the Hospital Wing with his sight impaired.
The blame seemingly resides with the Gryffindors; perhaps they were so enraged with their loss that they took it out on a rival player as retribution? Or maybe he'd just managed to pronounce a spell incorrectly and paid the price for his mistake? Rosier wouldn't utter a word about whatever happened to him, so they'd just have to investigate a little longer.
Malfoy comes to a stop when the other boy doesn't respond, the blonde's hand reaches out to grasp onto Black's upper arm. He draws him closer and says something comforting, now rubbing his shoulder as a means to help calm his nerves.
Dark hair whips about as Black shakes his head in disagreement, insisting that there's something odd going on, that the Gryffindors aren't so stupid that they'd harm Rosier immediately after the match, that there's no chance that a wizard of Rosier's calibre could end up accidently harming himself.
As Black's voice falters - overcome with anxiety - Malfoy wraps his arms around him, tightening his hold when the dark haired boy tries to pull away. After a long pause, the embrace is returned with intensity.
The two converse quietly now, too low to be heard. If their words were said louder, then the tenderness seeping out from them would be apparent.
Tom sneers at the picture they make, pressed against one another. He suddenly resents Malfoy's effortless ability to worm his way into other people's hearts.
AVERY
Skulking behind a bookshelf and hidden from the viewing range of his target, Tom contemplates his next move. He'd been monitoring Black's characteristics for the past few weeks and had come to the conclusion that the boy wore his heart on his sleeve without even realising it.
How pathetic.
How can someone be this naive and emotive? Someone who resides in an ancient Pureblood family with contemptuous blood-fixated siblings and harsh parents? A smirk makes its way on to his face. Someone of Black's persona is a rarity. That's all the more reason to acquire him - a treasure amongst stones.
Just as soon as he is about to step out of his cover, a voice calls out a greeting to Black, who sits cross-legged with his forehead resting on a novel he has yet to finish. The librarian makes a disgruntled sound at the noise.
Black raises his head, grinning at Avery who winks at him and slides into the opposite seat, ignoring the librarian's displeasure at his disruptive manners. Avery asks how Black's sister Walburga is doing, causing the other to snicker at what sounds like a private joke.
The two make idle conversation on the novel that Black says Rosier recommended. The topic soon shifts to Quiddich, family affairs and then onto Rosier's recovery, his vision still isn't fully up to standards but it's getting there.
Black noticeably brightens at the discussion of his best friend, although his optimism wavers when Avery states that they still haven't found out how the incident occurred.
Rosier genuinely doesn't seem to remember what happened so someone must have played with his memory, leading to the question of who the culprit is.
Tom seethes, fists clenching. Marvolo's ring digs into his skin painfully, which pales from the pressure.
Just why were his very own Knights getting in his way?
LESTRANGE
Enclosed inside a secluded pillar, the occupants are unaware of the Peeping Tom who burns holes into them with red tinted eyes.
They are far too caught up with one another and their primal urges, unable to concentrate on their surroundings. Their carelessness would bring forth consequences, maybe it already had.
Lestrange mouths at the younger boy's throat, sucking and biting with vigour, leaving dark purple bruises and skin brightly flushed. He coaxes a moan out of the other when he presses him harder into the wall, arms caging him in.
Chuckling under his breath, he removes one hand from Black's shoulder to grip his chin and tilt his head upwards. He tells him to keep quiet, asking if he wants to be caught and found in such a position.
Tom wonders for a moment why a silencing spell hasn't been cast, though he knows Lestrange has a fixation on seeking a thrill, the prospect of being caught must be making this more exhilarating for him.
Black brings up his hand, covering his mouth in hopes that the sounds he's making are less pronounced. However, the older boy laughs yet again and removes it to be pressed into the wall besides Black's head; he replaces the hand with his lips instead, biting down and muffling the resulting cry of surprise.
Hands begin to roam desperately, underneath robes and onto flesh. The noises escalate, harsh panting coming from the intervened bodies, Lestrange hikes the younger boy further up the wall, murmuring filthy words alongside his actions.
The Dark Lord spins on his heels and walks away without a sound; he's seen enough.
RIDDLE
"Hey, Riddle!"
Tom pauses just as soon as he's atop the stairway leading to the dungeons. He waits for Black to catch up, face clear of his emotions, though his eyes glimmer with poorly concealed triumph.
When his classmate arrives, his words are spoken in a rush.
"Sorry for calling out so suddenly, but Professor Slughorn says you have some information on what happened to Ellery." He smiles hesitantly. "I was hoping you could help me find out how he had lost his eyesight, I'd really like to clear it up."
Facing the other boy, Tom acts as though he is pondering on his own response. Inwardly, he relishes the focus that is on him, on only him.
He glances at Black's hopeful look and eases his face into a mask of kindness and pleasantry.
"Of course I'll help you Black. I have a few leads from some witnesses; we can start from interviewing this Ravenclaw student, if that helps."
Black's expression is one of relief, his formally stiffened shoulders relax and he grins sheepishly.
"Thank you, Riddle. I'm glad you're agreeing to this. I know how busy you are with your duties and extra class work."
"It's no problem, although...I'd prefer it if you call me Tom. If we're going to be investigating jointly, we might as well get to know each other.
Black laughs.
"Of course, but only if you call me Alphard."
Patience isn't his forte, yet he waits for his plan to unfold, the same way he does for all his other ones.
In spite of everything, they always work.
And in next to no time, his bait will reel in the biggest catch.