Pairings: Tom Riddle/Emmeline Vance Eileen Prince/Tobias Snape

Rated T for mild language, sexual themes

Not alternate universe, I do my best to adhere to canon

Takes place September 1st, 1943 - June 13th, 1944, Tom Marvolo Riddle's 6th Year at Hogwarts, ends the day Moaning Myrtle dies.

"As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory and the thuggish gravitating towards a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty… … Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets..." Albus Dumbledore, "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince", Chapter 17, A Sluggish Memory page 361-362 (Hardcover)

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Emmeline Vance was always the first student on the Hogwarts Express. Her parents were high-ranking ministry officials working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and much too busy to take time off to wait for the train. Thus, for the sixth year in a row, Emmeline had been lovingly but hurriedly deposited at the station at a groggy 6am. Emmeline, however, was quite awake, and being used to her parents inconveniently tight schedule had developed a ceremonial Pre-Hogwarts routine. At the entrance to the station slept a homeless Muggle, curled around a scratched violin with his head pressed into his hat, his ear keeping watch over the meager change that coated the bottom like rust. He looked up at the nonexistent sound of Emmeline's small feet with the hopeful look of a dog expecting a bone. The Muggle stood straight before her, swinging the instrument to his grizzled chin with a grace disproportionate to his tattered clothes and crooked teeth. The concerto started softly, barely rising above the sticky empty buzz of the train station. The melody seemed to play with the station's dank and cold attempt to depress, teasing out the irony of the excited voices and anxious businessmen soon to crowd the platforms. To Emmeline, listening to Mozart was like hearing a familiar tune she'd long forgotten. It gave her a calm sense of closure: the end of her fifth year at Hogwarts and the beginning of her sixth, promising passionate crescendos, stark syncopations and delicate harmonies intertwined in the drumbeat of her heart. Emmeline clapped enthusiastically at the end, and the Muggle took an exaggerated bow, basking in her praise. Emmeline drew a water bottle from her messenger bag and set it down beside the Muggle, who carefully placed his violin between his crossed legs before darting out to grasp the precious liquid. Emmeline's first year at Hogwarts, she had been so nervous she had curled into a ball and cried beside the entrance to Platform 9 ¾ . Without a word the homeless Muggle had approached her and played her a lament so haunting it had frozen the tears on her cheeks, followed by an abrupt playful tune so surprising she'd laughed out loud. After the Muggle's performance, she realized she had no Muggle money to reward his efforts, and had given him the only suitable thing in her bag: an anti-anxiety potion her parents had sent her to help her make friends on the train. It had become a yearly tradition for Emmeline to brew the Muggle a potion every summer. It sometimes took her the entire summer, as did the diluted bottled glory she handed him now.

As the morning rush began, Emmeline watched the sluggish Muggle business men in their airtight suits and prim briefcases head to work, walking pathways so worn they would not notice hundreds of oddly dressed wizards and witches pour through the entrance to Platform 9 ¾. Emmeline liked to think that for one day of the year, she was also a part of this strange Muggle ritual. That first year they had looked at her strangely, and a few had even stopped to ask if she needed assistance finding her parents. Now she was an annual anomaly, and their eyes didn't even pause on her slight figure as they rushed by. She felt as invisible as if she'd used magic.

As the hours wore on, Emmeline passed through the gate to Platform 9 ¾, where the train would arrive at 9am sharp. With great effort, Emmeline dragged her heavy trunk up the steps and into the train, banging her elbow on the narrow entrance and cursing loudly. The only good thing about being the first student on the train was the privacy of struggling with her trunk. At 16, Emmeline's body seemed never to have realized her age, and remained a short 5'3 and painfully skinny. Emmeline hated having to reach and jump to fit her trunk over her compartment, hated the way her weak arms stung after the ordeal. She went ahead and changed into her school uniform, rather shocked but secretly pleased it had grown uncomfortably tight around her chest over the summer. Emmeline chose the compartment closest to the front of the train, the same compartment she sat in every year.

When wizarding families gathered, they tended to show off and Platform 9 ¾ was no exception. Children were rounded up from their Quidditch pitches and scrubbed pink. Pure gold cauldrons sat on top of the latest trunk designs, often topped with ridiculously priced endangered species of owl. School robes were enchanted to twinkle like the night sky, and moving brightly-colored hair clips skittered across little girls' unhappily tamed hair. There was a lot of pressure to sit with the right people on the train, hear the summer's gossip first, and of course, criticize one another's outfits. It was also one of the only points in their Hogwarts education where it was easy to see who'd grown up in the wizarding world and who hadn't. Emmeline hoped Muggleborns never felt as out of place as they must on Platform 9 ¾ , staring wide-eyed at the crème de la crème of wizarding society. The Platform was also a ready-made opportunity for elaborate shows of family unity. Children were often dropped off by the entirety of their extended family, kissed on the cheek by an assembly line of concerned Aunts, Uncles, and Grandparents. It was one of the worst faux pas for parents not to accompany their children to the Platform, and Emmeline's parents committed it every year, so she understood his desire to appear as if he didn't ride the train at all. Besides, her annoyance at missing the whole Platform experience was nullified by the certain dark glamour she enjoyed by being able to arrive at Hogwarts earlier than everyone else, especially in his company.

Settling down to wait, Emmeline signed her name in the air with her wand in rounded clear print. She loved word games and her new favorite pastime was rearranging the letters of her name. She often couldn't use all the letters, but she discovered new combinations every day. After spelling a disappointing 'maim' and 'evil', she discovered her name concealed the word 'eminence' right as he strode through the gate.

He looked different than he had at the end of fifth year. He was taller, Emmeline was sure of it, and his skin seemed even paler than normal next to her summer tan. No matter how tall he grew, he somehow skipped the awkward coltish stance that plagued others his age and walked with a powerful sense of purpose.

"I don't understand how you always beat me to the train, Emmeline." He didn't wonder which compartment she had chosen, simply walked straight to it and calmly slid the door open with a grace that somehow reminded her of the homeless violinist.

"I don't understand why it annoys you so much." Emmeline replied in the same tone, not taking her eyes from rearranging her name.

He patiently ignored this, "Did I write you that I'd made Prefect this year, or did you guess?" He smiled at her, lifting his trunk to fit next to hers effortlessly. Emmeline noticed the band of muscled stomach he exposed as he reached up and closed the storage compartment.

"Oh come now, who else would it go to?" she teased, "I don't believe you wrote me this summer at all." He never wrote anyone. Emmeline didn't even think he owned an owl.

He chuckled wryly, "One of these years I will beat you to this train and you will have to come to me instead of the other way around." He sat down across from her and stretched his overgrown form across the seat.

Emmeline snorted, "Just like one of these years you'll actually write me over the summer?" Every summer she was slightly disappointed he didn't owl her, but she knew she wasn't supposed to ask questions about his summer holiday, and now he was sure to be angry.

"Perhaps." he answered testily, "Have you read your text books for this year? I'm really excited for Potions, we get to brew a nightmare potion that inflicts people's worst fears on them for weeks! Do you think you if you combined some aspects of the memory charm you could control the content of the nightmares? We should do research!" Emmeline was never sure if the glint in his almost-black eyes was due to the prospect of interesting research or inflicting a practical joke, but she laughed at his boyish eagerness.

"Are you seriously going to put me to work before we've even watched the Sorting?" she complained affectionately. "What exactly did you have in mind, giving me nightmares about seeing Professor Slughorn in his underpants for months?" He outright laughed at this, sitting up to look her for the first time.

"Your boobs got bigger this summer." He said plainly, smirking at her chest.

"Excuse me?!" Emmeline spat in mock indignation, "It took you this long to notice?!" He doubled over in laughter, and Emmeline playfully pushed him over, causing him to fall over onto the floor of the car. He remerged next to Emmeline, asking pointedly,

"What game are you playing with your name over here?" he frowned as she flicked the letters around to spell 'cave'.

"I'm seeing how many words I can make with the letters in my name. The trick is how your name balances vowels and consonants, it's actually really interesting how many words you can make out of seemingly small amounts of letters." He didn't look surprised; he'd caught her trying to invent a magical version of scrabble after finals last year.

"Do mine!" he demanded, drawing out his wand to spell his own name.

Emmeline laughed immediately, "You can spell 'lord' with your name! How fitting!"

He didn't smile. "Lord what?" he leaned in interestedly, a strange glint appearing in his eyes.

Emmeline rolled her eyes. "Um… Lord Dim. Does that appease you, you vain thing?" She playfully cocked her eyebrow at him. He wasn't looking at her anymore.

"Here, the problem is you've run out of letters, add my middle name." He hurriedly waved another word into existence.

"Marvolo is your middle name?" Emmeline said with a surprised jump.

"It was my grandfather's name," Tom intoned impatiently. "Why?"

"It's a wizard name, is all." Emmeline tried to save Tom from the insult, but one look at his face and she knew he hadn't taken offense. He looked, not strange exactly but inappropriately interested. Emmeline hurriedly flicked the letters of his name around.

She hooted with laughter, "Even better! Oh, it's not fair, I've been working towards a decent phrase with my name all summer, yours is easy!" He wasn't laughing. ""I am Lord Morte'! Lord of Death! Pretty neat, huh?" Emmeline sat back, proud of herself, but he frowned.

"You didn't use all the letters. I don't call that an accomplishment." Now Emmeline frowned.

"Well it's hard! And that was only my first try! You think you can do better?" Emmeline knew the minute she spoke it had been a mistake to dare him to do anything. He smirked at her frustration.

"I already have. 'I am Lord Voldemort'. Sounds much more sinister, don't you think?"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Emmeline howled with laughter. "Voldemort? It sounds like a deformed mushroom, haha!" He looked dangerously affronted at her answer, but at that moment the train jerked into motion and he broke into a cavalier smile.

"Emmeline, are you attempting to insult my considerable brilliance?" He put on a fake pompous voice, "I heard Minnie McGonagall is Head Girl this year, do you think she'll forgive us for missing the Prefect meeting?"

"Oh, I'm sure she'll get over it eventually. Besides, we're second-year Prefects and the first meeting is always orientation stuff." They hadn't gone to their very first Prefect meeting either. Emmeline had no doubt that in fact her good friend Minnie McGonagall would give her hell about having to run her first Prefect meeting without ANY Slytherin representation.

"What about our new Head Boy, the infamous Alastor Moody? Will he mind you missing the meeting?" Tom's voice was carefully neutral.

"Oh, Alastor and I broke up back in June. He was so busy doing that internship in the Auror Office we couldn't keep it going." That was the story they agreed on, anyway.

"Alas, he's such an amusing boy," Tom joked. "Are you still friends or will we be deprived of his company for a while?" Tom spoke with the light curious tone of everyone who asked about her breakup with Alastor Moody, but Tom wasn't asking after her emotional health. Alastor's parents were the Aurors leading the hunt for the dark wizard Grindelwald, and discretion wasn't one of Alastor's virtues. Tom had enjoyed being privy to Alastor's inside news.

"I'm afraid I won't be seeing much of him this year. He'll be busy with his Head Boy duties and his NEWTS." Emmeline answered evasively, "By the way, do mind me asking about your OWLS?" She tried not to betray how curious she was. Tom was easily capable of achieving straight O's, but that didn't mean he wanted to.

"All my grades were O's," He laughed as if it didn't bother him. "How'd you do?"

"I failed Arithmancy, scraped by with an A in Ancient Runes, and everything else went very well." Emmeline smiled. "So what does your schedule look like?"

"The usual, Potions, DADA, Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Ancient Runes and Divination." He stopped talking rather suddenly as the trolley rolled passed without stopping to ask them if they'd like anything. Emmeline's stomach grumbled. She couldn't wait for the feast.

"We're a little different this year." The thought made her sad. "I dropped Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, and I'm taking Muggle Studies." He winced at the last class.

"I don't know why you insist on taking Muggle Studies, it's bad enough we're required to for First Year!" Tom rolled his eyes. It was an ancient argument between them. Tom hated the Muggle Immersion program, which required Purebloods to take Muggle Studies their First Year at Hogwarts and Muggleborns to take a Wizard Immersion class the same amount of time. Half-bloods had it easy, if they could test out of both classes they could get a free period their first year. Emmeline was the only Pureblood Slytherin to continue Muggle Studies by choice.

"It's not so bad once you get to the advanced classes. But I know I won't talk you into anything, you're so pig-headed about it! What about you? Copping out and taking Divination?" Emmeline hated Divination.

"You don't believe in destiny, Emmeline?" Tom asked, looking at her with intense interest.

"What does destiny have to do with Divination?" Emmeline frowned, confused.

"The theory on Divination is that you're finding how destiny is shaping your life and therefore predicting future decisions. A very vital skill, don't you think?" Tom smiled to show he was teasing.

"I don't believe destiny is that clear-cut. If you're meant for some higher purpose, it will find you naturally and it's a waste of time sticking your nose in teacups and staring at the sky." Emmeline leaned against the window of the train, curling her legs underneath her like a cat.

"But Emmeline!" Tom jumped up from his seat and began pacing the length of the car, "What if you know you're meant for something that should be written in the stars?" His eyes pleaded for understanding.

"Tom, everyone sees success in their future in Divination! Why do you think people study it? People don't want to know the real future! They just want happy reassurances of future success and happiness. I thought you were above such self-esteem problems." Emmeline challenged.

"You don't understand." Tom sat back down, slightly deflated, "I feel it in my blood. I'm meant for something special." Tom said with the familiarity of a mantra. Emmeline felt herself get angry.

"You think being a Pureblood entitles you to greatness?" Emmeline's voice dripped contempt, "How do you figure, Tom? Look at Russell Crabbe! Woefully untalented, and the purest blood you can imagine! And what about the Black family? Inbreeding to the point of insanity and squibs! Is that what entitles you to greatness?"

"You don't understand, Emmeline." Tom said quietly, "Wizard blood is dominant. That's why Half-Bloods and Muggleborns exist! If wizards are evolved forms of Muggles, Pureblood wizards naturally have more magical talent! Muggles are flawed! Their lifestyle revolves around physical perfection and economic trickery! They are naturally dishonest and vindictive people! If you can even call them people! So yes, my pure blood does entitle me to… SOMETHING!" Tom yelled, gesticulating with his long fingered hands and glaring at Emmeline.

"Tom, we never had enough Pureblood families to support growth. Without Muggles, we would have died out years ago. I'm sorry to disagree, but it's been proven, Tom, that wizard or Muggle ancestry has nothing to do with magical talent. Intelligent Muggles make talented wizards, just has stupid Purebloods rarely have an abundance of talent." Emmeline said gently, "And Muggles do their best. Have you heard their music? Seen their art? It seems to me they have an obsession with beauty, which is something we wizards overlook too often." Tom had his head in his hands, showing no sign of having heard Emmeline at all.

"Have you seen the way they torture each other? Persecute what they're afraid of? You take Muggle Studies. You must know something of the wars they wage! Wizards have the capability to inflict unimaginable pain and cruelty. But we exercise control. We attack only when other flawed species attack first." Tom fought to keep his voice under control. Emmeline's heart was beating a mile a minute. Tom never looked vulnerable, but he was almost shaking with anger, and Emmeline doubted his control. He looked about ready to let something slip.

Emmeline took a deep breath. "Tom, were you raised by Muggles?" Most people thought Tom came from an ancient Pureblood line financially ruined, explaining his absence from wizard society as well as his ill-disguised poverty. Emmeline was one of the few who suspected he was raised completely by Muggles. He simply knew too much about them, dressed too expertly, and knew very little of wizarding slang and customs.

"Where did you hear that?" Tom whispered dangerously. Emmeline gulped, and hoped he wouldn't notice her shivering with fear. Why was she afraid? Surely Tom wouldn't hurt her? If he wouldn't reveal the answer, he couldn't hold a grudge about the question.

"Do you think your absence from wizarding society isn't noticed? People speculate. It was harmless, I assure you." Emmeline hugged her knees closer.

In the blink of an eye Tom launched himself across the compartment and picked Emmeline up by her shoulders as if she were a ragdoll. "I believe I asked where you heard I was raised by Muggles?" he spat the word, attempting to shake an answer out of her. Emmeline was breathing so fast she could barely think, and she could feel his fingers beginning to bruise. Before she could compose any kind of answer, Tom lifted her clear off the seat and slammed her against the wall, growling in frustration.

"TELL THE TRUTH!!" He was breathing hard and his muscles were standing out on his arms, but he was too lost in his fury to notice. "Who spouts such LIES?" His face was about an inch from hers. In a split second Emmeline realized that not only was Tom furious, he was terrified. She had her answer.

"I.. I… I.. didn't hear it." She stuttered, "I thought you might have been raised by Muggles. Just me. I never said anything to anybody! Tom, you know I don't talk about you!" Emmeline opened her eyes wide, praying he would believe her.

Emmeline suddenly noticed she could feel the exact shape of his body in this position. Tom seemed to notice the same thing, and tension in the air changed as he shifted, still pinning her against the wall. Emmeline could feel his heart beating in time with hers.

"You would do well to keep such theories to yourself," He said roughly, "Just because my family may not have money doesn't suggest our blood isn't pure." His fingers eased from a grip to a kind of caress. So Tom wanted people to believe he came from an ancient line down on their luck. At the moment, Emmeline didn't care.

"Of course, my lord." She whispered mockingly, bringing up his silly anagram from their last argument. He froze, pressing her more firmly against the wall and moving his hands to her face. He looked like he might say something, but he couldn't seem to form the words. Emmeline could feel a blush flower on her cheeks. He brought his head down to hers wonderingly, running his thumbs over the color in her cheeks.

Oh Merlin, Emmeline thought suddenly, he's going to kiss me! This was NOT how she had imagined their first kiss! His head dropped and his eyes flickered shut as Emmeline frantically toyed with the idea of pushing him away. Right before his lips touched hers the train lurched to a halt, sending them both tumbling over in a frenzied pile of fallen wands and sharp elbows. Before Emmeline could reorient herself, Tom jumped to his feet, grabbed her wrist, and bolted for the door at a dead run.

Author's Note:

As fellow authors, I'm sure you all know the value of a good review :) I update every week. I should be pretty regular, as I'm quite a few chapters ahead and am not writing on a week-to-week basis.

Minerva McGonagall is Head Girl in her 6th Year. There are a lot of people in the wrong year. Mistake, I'm aware. Unfortunately, I kept coming across the problem of either needing to include a lot of dialogue and inter-house events that happen outside of class to include all the characters in their correct years, or put my characters in the wrong years so I could interact with them in class. I chose to stick a lot of people in 6th year by default, I hope you can forgive me. I also shamelessly stole names from the Black Family tree to make it sound more authentic. If I hadn't I would have had to invent OC's, me sticking people in the wrong year is technically an attempt to stay within canon.

Rowling herself has made mistakes with the Black and Malfoy family tree, I think Abraxas Malfoy dies when he's 13 having been married and fathering three children or something like that. Regardless, I have retracted the birthdays of many 'official' Black and Malfoy characters to make them, honestly, a more appropriate age than Rowling grants them. The exception is Bellatrix Black. I have no excuse, except for a burning desire to write her character. Technically, although it's unlikely, it is physically possible for her to be born at the date I set for her, 1932. That would make her about 65 during Harry Potter books, but if she was the eldest of the Black sisters and we assume from lack of children that all three married late and are now postmenopausal it's not as far-fetched as it could be.

IF I EVER FIND PLAGARIZATION THE STORY ENDS BEFORE YOU CAN SAY "QUIDDITCH"

Disclaimer: I'm just playing. It doesn't belong to me :D The Chapter titles are the lyrics to the song "The Riddle" From the musical The Scarlet Pimpernel, by Frank Wildhorn