The day passed like so many of the others: Herbology, double Potions with Gryffindor, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, Astrology, free hour. As always, Tom was above and beyond his classmates; with a lazy flick of his wand he could accomplish in seconds what it took many of them to accomplish in an hour, at least.

Slughorn, in particular, praised him endlessly.

"Oh, look here!" he said, holding up Tom's vial—the perfect shade of blue. "Flawless as usual, Tom!"

It took all of Tom's self-control to hide the look of contempt that he knew was lurking just beneath the surface. Instead, he managed a small smile.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, reclaiming his vial and looking at it disinterestedly. Who cared about a potion that made your skin shrivel?

He watched as Slughorn made his rounds, pointing out the mistakes of various students or lightly praising one or two when they did something right. Tom saw him wrinkle his nose at Nott's potion; instead of a clear blue, Nott's looked a rather sickly grey. Tom leaned back lazily in his chair, waiting impatiently for the hour to go by.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, though, Tom was never lazy. He sat and listened attentively, dark eyes glowing hungrily as Professor Tibble described the effects of this or that Dark magic. He turned the pages of his book, his lips wordlessly echoing the spells that would cause torture, death, pain. Copious notes would fill his parchment with the effects of Dark magic. Professor Tibble thought Tom was the model student; he asked endless questions, was polite, and looked interested. He never thought there might be an ulterior motive.

Transfiguration was a different story. Tom loathed Transfiguration because it meant that he had to undergo Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze for a full hour. The old professor never said anything particular to Tom, but Tom knew he was always watching, even when that pleasant smile spread across Dumbledore's lips. The thought made him more than a little uneasy; he was sure—though not quite positive how he knew—that Dumbledore suspected he was dabbling in the Dark Arts.

Finally, it was his free hour. Tom dumped his books and parchment on his bed, rummaging through until he found his Potions assignment: a foot and a half on lavender water and its effects in infatuation potions. Shoving it to the side, he turned to more important matters—how to find information on Horcruxes.

He was certain there would be some information in the Restricted section of the library; that was where most of the Dark books had ended up. But he doubted whether the spell that would encase his soul would be found in any of the books. Dumbledore would have made sure of that.

He laid down on his bed, staring up at the canopy. He had decided on seven Horcruxes, which meant that he would have to kill seven people. The thought made him only slightly ill. He had already determined who was to be his first victim: the bastard Muggle who had left his mother high and dry. Even thinking about him made Tom's skin crawl with hatred. But he couldn't exact the vengeance he so dearly wanted until he knew the spell for Horcruxes—and who knew how long that would take?

He mused over his dilemma for a long time; it was only when the great Hogwarts clock boomed seven times that he realized what time it was.

"Damn!" he swore, leaping off the bed and scooping all his Potions materials into his arms. He barely missed running into Jacobs as he dashed out the door, taking the stairs two at a time. What would Dana think of him if he was late? Swearing violently at a first year who seemed to have no idea of what it meant to move, he rounded the staircase, leaving the first year staring bewildered after him.

He arrived breathless at the library door, panting. Madam Pince (whom he could have sworn had been there as long as Hogwarts had been open) glared down her pointy spectacles at him.

"Mr. Riddle!" she whispered, her voice like a dagger.

"Apologies, ma'am," he said, giving her a hurried nod as he scanned the library tables. A few first years were gathered around a thick book; a couple of tables down, a couple were too close for Tom to imagine they were looking at all at the book in front of them. Near the back of the library, five sixth year girls were giggling, earning a glare from Madam Pince. And right next to them, bent over her parchment, hair falling over her eyes, was Dana. Was it his imagination, or did his heart start beating faster?

He veered off to the right, coming face to face with a bookshelf. Pretending to be interested in the first book he selected—The History of Cabbage Leaves and Their Magical Uses by Flemy Ribberton—he took a few deep breaths, silently vowing not to act like a total idiot around Dana. She must already think of him as a bumbling fool; who else would manage to drop all her books by trying to be helpful?

Shoving the Ribberton book back into the shelf, he turned and walked slowly to Dana's table, trying to act as nonchalant as he could.

"Sorry I'm late," he said by way of greeting. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes brightening.

"Oh! That's fine," she said, moving over to give him some room. "I was just starting on the Potions assignment. A foot and a half!"

Tom sat beside her, trying very hard to ignore how close she was. He could smell the aroma of her hair every time she moved; it was a mixture of spices—sweet and gentle.

"We might as well get started then," he said, shifting so that he could see over her shoulder.

"I don't really understand Potions," she said, tapping her quill on the parchment. "I don't know why; it's not as if it's incredibly difficult … not like Arithmancy or something … but I just don't understand how potions work." She smiled up at him. Damn, her eyes were beautiful …

"I bet you think I'm stupid because I don't understand something so simple," she said.

"Yes," he said, not thinking—the sweet smell of her hair had him dazed. Her eyebrows rose, and he realized what he had just said.

"Erm … no, that's not what I meant! I don't think—I mean you're not stupid," he stammered, a hot flush rising up through his cheeks. Laughter sparkled in her eyes. Tom cursed himself silently. He could act as cool and indifferent and cruel as he wanted around everyone he knew; he always managed to shove his foot in his mouth whenever he was with Dana.

"I understand, Tom," she said lightly, her eyes dancing with smiles. "Now, about this lavender water …"

The next half-hour passed pleasantly. Tom managed to answer her questions; she had a lot of them. He could see why Slughorn, who seemed to hate doing any sort of work at all, would dislike Dana. She had questions about everything and would not hesitate to ask. Even Tom, though Potions was incredibly easy for him, found himself struggling to answer some of her queries.

Dana had been silent for a while, writing, when Tom, who spent more of his time stealthily glancing at her and watching her bite her lip in concentration than writing his own Potions essay, noticed her look up and saw a soft blush darken her cheeks. His eyes narrowed, and he glanced up to see a handsome blond Gryffindor staring quite openly at Dana.

Something hot and fierce rose in Tom's blood; his hand tightened around his wand. Red crept in at the corners of his vision. He could see no one but that cursed Gryffindor. He wanted to destroy, to rip apart, to kill …

"Tom? Tom, are you all right?"

It took a great effort to look away from the blond Gryffindor and thoughts of murder. Tom's eyes fell on Dana; she was looking at him worriedly, concern in her face. He realized that he had gripped his quill so hard that he had snapped it neatly in two.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said abruptly.

"Are you sure?" she asked, reaching out to touch his hand. "Your face went so white …"

The livid fury that had spread so rapidly through Tom's body at the sight of the Gryffindor looking at Dana disappeared as quickly as it came the instant she touched him. His mind went immediately blank.

"I just—I just thought I saw …" he dropped off lamely, realizing that he had no excuse that would be worthwhile to tell her.

"Maybe you need to go to the hospital wing," she said, her hazel eyes troubled.

"I'll be all right," he said, his eyes drifting unconsciously to the Gryffindor. He looked very self-assured while flirting with three girls; Tom loathed the sight of him.

"Do you know him?" Tom asked suddenly, gesturing in the Gryffindor's direction.

Dana's eyes followed his gaze. The faintest tint of pink appeared in her cheeks. "I know of him; I don't know him personally," she said. "He's Gregory Day, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain." She looked up at Tom, and her eyes sparkled. "I heard he's supposed to be a rather arrogant git."

Tom smiled; he couldn't help it. Why could Dana make him smile against his better judgment?

Ten minutes later—and after Tom had spent more than his fair share of time imagining Gregory Day in any number of fatal situations—Dana announced that she was done.

"Already?" Tom asked, surprised.

"Yes," Dana answered, smiling at him. His eyes rebelliously flicked down to her mouth. Embarrassed, he forced himself to meet her eyes.

"You've helped me immensely already," she said warmly. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

He couldn't think of anything to say. His mouth quite adamantly refused to cooperate.

"Tom?" she said.

"Yes!" he said, the answer bursting from him louder than he intended. He earned a deadly glance from Madam Pince who looked as if she wanted nothing more than to spear him on the end of her long, pointed nose.

"Yes, of course," he whispered, meeting Dana's laughing eyes.

"Seven again?"

"Right."

"Thanks again, Tom," she said. "See you tomorrow."

She walked away, her black robes billowing gently behind her. Tom watched as she smiled at Madam Pince and met a plump girl at the doorway of the library. The plump girl said something and Dana laughed. Tom wanted to make her laugh—and not because he acted like an idiot.

He stood up, and his eyes found Gregory Day. The Quidditch captain had lost his admirers for the moment; he was now gazing quite fixedly at Dana. Tom clenched his jaw, dark eyes flashing with hatred. An Unforgivable Curse hung for a fraction of a second on his lips as he imagined—with no little source of delight—what the Crucio Curse would do to Gregory Day.

Shaking his head, he gathered up his Potions essay, realizing that he had only written one line, and a barely legible one at that. He would have to write his essay tonight after the meeting with the Death Eaters.

Fixing one last look of pure loathing at Gregory Day, Tom left the library.

The Death Eaters met about half a mile inside the Forbidden Forest. Privacy was a must, and the Forbidden Forest afforded them all the privacy they needed. No Hogwarts student dared venture into the Forest.

The leaves crunched quietly under Tom's feet as he moved swiftly to the meeting place, his dark cloak brushing softly against the ground, stirring the leaves. As usual, he wore his hood up, hiding his eyes. It made him feel dangerous and deadly—which he was.

Five cloaked figures were standing in a glen, conversing quietly with one another. When they saw Tom enter the glen, all conversation ceased.

The tallest of the cloaked figures stepped forward, bowing low.

"Lord Voldemort," he said quietly. "We await your orders."

Tom's eyes scanned the group. "Where is Sobolev?" he asked, his voice dangerously low and silky. He saw the Death Eaters shift nervously.

"I—I'm not sure, my lord," Nott said. "We couldn't find him."

"You couldn't find him." It wasn't a question. Tom saw Nott swallow.

"Maybe we didn't look hard enough," Nott said weakly. Tom's eyebrows rose.

"Maybe you should look harder next time," Tom replied icily. His dark eyes held Nott's. "Or, maybe he doesn't want to be found by me." He paused. "Where is he, Nott?"

There was a long, sinister silence. Slowly, Waverly stepped forward.

"I think he's with his girlfriend, my lord," he whispered.

Silence. Tom felt anger coursing through his veins; he knew the other five were watching him, shrinking away ever so slowly.

Two strides, and he was across the glen, his fingers locked around Waverly's left wrist. With a brutal tug, he yanked up the arm of Waverly's robe. The taller boy flinched, cowering under Tom's burning eyes.

"Does this mean anything to you?" Tom snarled, jabbing his wand at the skull and snake on Waverly's arm. He didn't care if Waverly was in pain. They needed to learn. "Is this just a symbol to you?"

Shoving Waverly aside, he turned on the others, his wand lifted, eyes dark with fury. "Apparently, none of you understand what that Mark means," he growled, his eyes glowing red. "Who would care to learn exactly what it means to disobey me?"

No one breathed. Waverly was hunched over, clutching his arm in pain, the Dark magic burning into his skin.

"Find Sobolev," Tom said coldly. "If he isn't at tomorrow's meeting, you will all pay for his mistake. As it is …" He halted. "As it is, I'm very unhappy. I do not believe you want to see me truly angry."

His wand glowed brightly as he spoke, turning his face a ghastly white. He let hatred and distrust sear through his body. If he didn't need these fools to complete his mission, he would have disposed of them right now.

"I have an assignment for you all," he said lightly, letting his wand hand fall slowly to his side. "It is of the utmost importance; I will not tolerate failure." His eyes swung around to meet each of the boys'. They shrank beneath his gaze, almost shaking in fear. "For this reason, Sobolev must be here tomorrow."

"I will make sure he's here," Jacobs breathed, his trembling voice betraying his fear.

"Good," Tom said shortly. One of the figures seemed to hesitate; Tom looked directly at him. "Yes, Nott?"

"I have one question, my lord—if you don't think it's too rude …"

"What is it?"

"Our assignment, my lord. What is it, exactly?"

Tom paused. He didn't trust the Death Eaters, however frightened into utter loyalty they were. He would hardly trust them with his life, let alone his soul.

"My lord?"

"I am looking for—containers," he said. He could sense the questions burning from the other five, but he was not obligated to answer them. He was the master; they were only pathetic followers.

"Containers, my lord?"

"Yes!" Tom snapped. "You do not need to know any more than that right now." Or ever, he added to himself. He would never tell them about the Horcruxes.

"Yes, my lord," Nott said obediently, backing away. He didn't want to incite Voldemort's wrath.

"That's all," Tom said. The boys needed no further bidding. As if one, they practically fled from the glen, eager to be the first away.

Tom watched them go, staring thoughtfully after them. Getting the containers wouldn't be hard; he had no doubt that the Death Eaters would find adequate items in which to encase his soul. And if not … well, they would end up regretting their foolishness.

The problem was the Horcrux spell. He had no idea how to encase his soul, how to transfer it to the container. There were no books within his reach that would even begin to explain what he wanted to know. And there wasn't a plethora of Dark wizards wandering around the English countryside, eager to explain the inner workings of Horcruxes to a young wizard. In fact, he would be lucky if anyone at all responded to his letter. No one was willing to put themselves out on a limb in the Dark world, especially with powerful wizards like Dumbledore keeping an eye on things.

Sighing, Tom made his way out of the Forbidden Forest, ignoring the whispers and gentle threatenings that tugged at his hair. He was not afraid of any of the magical creatures that dwelt in the Forest. Pausing at the edge, he stared into the depths of the Forest. Unicorns lived there. He had read somewhere that drinking the blood of a unicorn would let one live forever. It would be interesting to try …

"I believe you are out a little late, Mr. Riddle."

Tom jumped about a foot in the air and whirled around, wand instantly at the ready. Dumbledore stood behind him, amusement in his piercing blue eyes.

"Professor, I didn't see you," Tom said, putting his wand away and trying to meet that blue gaze the best he could.

"I have no doubt of that, Tom," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "Otherwise I'm sure you wouldn't have jumped so high."

Tom flushed. "You startled me, Professor," he muttered.

"The Forest makes everyone slightly jumpy," Dumbledore said, gesturing Tom forward. Reluctantly, Tom fell into step beside the old wizard, cursing his bad luck. What good fortune that Dumbledore, who didn't trust him already, should find him by the Forbidden Forest at ten?

"I haven't had the chance to talk to you recently, Tom," Dumbledore said lightly, opening a door to Hogwarts and ushering Tom in. "Perhaps we should start with why you were in the Forest."

Tom's eyes flickered to Dumbledore's. Though the question was asked almost offhandedly, there was a determined look in the blue eyes. Tom swallowed.

"I—I heard a noise," he said lamely. Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted.

"A noise? In the Forest? I can't imagine," the professor said. Tom felt his cheeks turn red and loathing well inside him. "Good thing you're here, Tom, to investigate all noises for us."

"It was a different kind of noise, sir," Tom said levelly.

"Perhaps next time you should let the teachers deal with noises, Tom," Dumbledore said. The lightness in his voice was gone. Tom met his eyes.

"Yes, sir," he said, challenging him without saying a word. "I'll keep that in mind."

They had arrived at the door to the Slytherin common room. Dumbledore looked at Tom for a moment longer.

"I would not suggest having your meetings with your 'friends' in the Forest any more," Dumbledore said quietly. "It is not safe."

Something cold went through Tom's blood. How did Dumbledore know? They had kept the meetings secret. Surely Dumbledore hadn't caught the others.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," he lied. Dumbledore's eyes pierced him.

"I am not as unsuspecting as you think, Tom," he said softly. "I suggest you and I talk another time."

Tom's fists clenched. He didn't want to talk to Dumbledore. "Of course, Professor," he replied.

"Good night, Tom," Dumbledore said, and then he was gone.

Tom stood outside the door a moment longer. If Dumbledore suspected something, they would have to be more careful than they were now. His eyes narrowed. Dumbledore had better start to watch out. It wouldn't be long before Tom was just as powerful as Dumbledore was.

With a smile that did not highlight his handsome features at all, Tom turned and entered the common room.

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em