Disclaimer: Nothing you see here and recognize is mine. I may have taken a few creative liberties with the timeline for the story. Please let me know what you think!

Chapter 1 : April 1943

He was becoming obsessed with her, watching her constantly over the last several weeks. He'd stare at her from the Slytherin table, watching while she slathered her pancakes in syrup and laughed with her friends. Sometimes she'd look up at him and he'd wonder if she knew what he had done, if she knew he was watching her. She was a smart girl and it was only a matter of time before she would realize that he was to blame what had happened with Sam, Sam who had the same trusting, round eyes and the same innocent smile.

He wouldn't say that he felt guilty for what had happened. Sam had had it coming after all; he was always getting under his skin, always following him around and trying to crash his meetings, always with an opinion.

"Tom!" Sasha Dolohov hissed, tugging on his sleeve. "Tom, stop staring at the Gryffindor table! People are starting to notice!"

Tom reached over, pulling Sasha against his side roughly, threading his fingers through her thick dark hair, almost like a lover. She stared up at him, fear pooling in her dark eyes and he lowered his lips to her ear. "How easily could I snap your neck like this?" he breathed. "Do. Not. Tell. Me. What. To. Do."

She tried to pull back from his grasp and he smirked, knowing just how trapped she was in this position. He was rewarded with her fearful whimper, "Of course, Tom."

He pressed a kiss to her jaw, almost tenderly, although his eyes still flashed with anger. "Don't test me again," he warned. She nodded, swallowing hard.

"Good girl," he murmured his approval, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Now smile pretty and finish your breakfast."

To anyone else in the hall, it would have looked like a loving exchange. He looked up to where Minerva had been sitting moments before and was startled to see her staring up at him. He searched for judgment in her eyes, for the seething anger and disgust he expected to find there. He smirked and wrapped his arm around Sasha possessively, watching as Minerva blushed and turned back to her friends.

The blush was new. He'd been watching little Minerva McGonagall since the start Christmas, since Sam's disappearance and she had never reacted quite that way to his glance. It was interesting, something to file away for later use.

"Tom," Sasha whispered, leaning into his embrace. "I have transfiguration in ten minutes. Professor Dumbledore will kill me if I'm late again and Dippet said I can't miss anymore classes or he'd owl my mum."

He smiled at her and leaned in to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. "Have a good lesson, Sasha. I'll be off to potions, myself."

"You don't have potions until after lunch," Sasha frowned at him, but catching the scathing look he was sending her she changed her mind about pressing the issue. "That's fine then, Tom. Keep your secrets; I don't want to know."

She pecked his cheek lightly, picked up her bag, and left the hall, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Tom watched her retreating form, privately patting himself on the back for securing such a fine connection to a pureblooded girl, despite his background. Sasha would make a good ally when he would need some proper cover. All he had to do was assure that she wouldn't be leaving him anytime soon, that no other suitors would try to come between them in the coming summer months.

Though if someone did, he was confident that he could take care of the situation. The way Sasha looked at him, a mixture of fear and adoration; it wouldn't take long before she'd be willing to lay down her life for him. He, Tom Marvolo Riddle, a lowly halfblooded orphan, had managed to snare the daughter of one of the most wealthy and influential pureblood families in Europe.

Smirking to himself he left the hall, heading off towards the dungeons and his meeting with Professor Slughorn. He had some questions he was hoping to find answers to about a project he had been working on since before Christmas, but first a short stop to secure that the diadem was safe in its temporary home.

Tom was bumped from all directions as hoards of students hurried through the corridors and off to their lessons at various parts of the castle. He nearly tripped over a small Ravenclaw boy hunched over a split bag, who was being trampled through the storm. Without thinking, he knelt down to grab the ink pot that had rolled towards the wall and handed it back to the boy. When the boy looked up to flash him a grateful smile, he gasped and backed away from the same smile that he'd been seeing every night in his sleep, the same trusting eyes, the same dark hair.

"Thanks mate," the boy smiled sheepishly. "I need to learn myself a charm to fix me bag, eh?"

Tom blinked. The boy's teeth were too straight, his eyes the wrong color and his hair was much darker than Sam McGonagall. In fact the resemblance was less and less the longer he looked at him.

"That may be wise," he said coolly, dusting off his robes. "Shouldn't you be off to class now McClaggen?"

The boy bowed his head and shoved the remaining parchment in his bag, holding the bag tight to his chest as he stood.

"McClaggen," Tom had pulled out his wand and stepped towards him, muttering the charm to repair the broken bag. "Be sure that it doesn't happen again. I'd hate to take points from Ravenclaw."

The boy, McClaggen, eyed up the prefect's badge on his chest warily before muttering a quick, "Thank you, Tom," and scurrying off down the corridor.

Tom leaned back against the wall, watching coolly as the final few stragglers passed by in a hurry to get to their next class. When he was certain the halls were empty, he followed along up a moving staircase that was due to reconnect with the second floor corridor. Following along the corridor and checking that no one was around he turned to go into the girls' bathroom, only to collide with someone very solid and sniffling.

"Excuse me," the someone sobbed, wiping her face with her handkerchief. "You may not want to go in there."

"I thought I heard crying," Tom replied smoothly, grasping her forearm gently, and steering her away from the door.

At his voice she looked up, red-faced. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realize it was you. Will you take points?"

"Tom is fine," he told her, growing impatient with this girl standing between him and his destination. "Why wouldn't I want to go in there? Has there been a problem with the pipes?"

He was growing restless. Had she discovered the secret? No. It wasn't possible for her to have, she was what? A first year? Second at best?

"The pipes are fine." She was sniffling again. "I'm Olive Hornby, by the way."

He didn't really care if she was the bloody queen of England at this point. "Olive, what is it that is wrong with that toilet? I should have to file a report with the caretaker to have it repaired, you know."

She began to sob again in earnest. "It's…It's all my fault."

This was beginning to get irritating. He didn't have much time before he would be missing herbology entirely if he would be keeping his appointment with Slughorn.

"Olive, you can trust me," he decided to try a different tactic. "I'm a prefect, you know. It's my job to make sure everything is safe for students like you - even if it means fighting monsters in toilets."

Olive only sobbed harder, snot dripping from her nose and onto the front of his robes where she had firmly attached herself during his speech. He patted her head awkwardly.

"It's her." She choked out. "It's Myrtle. She's…she's….come back for me! For ME!"

It clicked then. Myrtle – the little mudblood his beautiful snake had killed last year, effectively putting an end to her free reign of the castle and the entertainment that had come from choosing their targets so carefully. They had had so much more work to do still. So many others would have been more effective target. Sam McGonagall's face flashed through his mind once more and he shoved it the image away as quickly as it had come.

"Tom? Tom?" Olive was staring up at him. Her blue eyes swollen and scared, yet hopeful. "Will you tell the headmaster to make her leave? Tom?"

"You go off to class, Olive. I'll take care of everything," he told her, patting her head once more and flashing his winning smile.

Satisfied, Olive picked up her bag and turned down the corridor toward the staircase. When he was sure she was out of sight, he groaned in disgust, feeling the dampness of his robes where she had surely drained her entire sinus cavity.

He eyed the door to the toilets apprehensively. If the mudblood's ghost was stalking the toilet, he'd need to wait until things weren't so fresh before he returned to check on the place where he had kept it hidden. He wished in that moment that he hadn't collapsed the only other entrance to the chamber, damning Sam McGonagall for his interference. He had just assumed things would be easier without McGonagall following him around.

A girlish giggle on the other side of the door made his mind up for sure, and he turned heel and stalked down the corridor and back towards the staircase. He'd have to find out what the ghost girl remembered somehow. Perhaps Sasha could be persuaded to have some bleeding heart girl talk after classes.