"So Tom," Slughorn murmured distractedly, piecing together his thoughts, "What do you gather of Harry Evans?" Tom sighed inwardly. This kind of approach was typical of Slughorn. He never actually bothered to pose questions to the headmaster, rather, he preferred coming to Tom for answers, should he require any. And that did not particularly appeal to Tom.
"I have no idea, Professor. Evans directed me to the headmaster if I wished for answers," Tom replied smoothly, his face an emotionless façade as always. Slughorn nodded his head in understanding, "He told me the same thing." Then he resumed his ponderings.
"Professor? So may I take my leave?" Tom questioned, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes. Slughorn nodded his head absentmindedly, haven't yet processed what Tom had said. Tom smiled winningly, and stood up, prepared to leave.
"Do you reckon Evans is hiding something?" Slughorn asked Tom, his eyes drifting towards him, awaiting the response. Tom stiffened visibly, but quickly reverted back to his regular posture.
"No," Tom said firmly, convincingly even, and hurried out. Lying was his forte, but he always found it slightly harder to lie to Professor Slughorn. Something about his nature, perhaps or the way he treated his students – especially Tom himself.
He consulted his watch sullenly. It was already midnight – around the same time that he had been sleeping for the past two weeks. Generally speaking, no one hindered him from taking a good night's rest. Rather, it was himself who was in fact, keeping himself wide awake at night, thinking, scheming, and calculating. Aspiring to become the most fearsome dark wizard that the wizarding world had ever known was a complicated dream. Currently, because Grindelwald was in power, it took slightly more to convince his dim-witted fellow Slytherins. Most aspirations like "I will become a really powerful dark wizard!" or "I'll become more powerful than Grindelwald" were met with a fit of giggles from the female population, while the males would resist a snigger or two. Not that that had ever happened to Tom. His charisma plus cunning nature allowed him to basically rule the entire Slytherin colony – not to mention the prestige that the prefect badge granted him. Everyone one – save a couple of stubborn imbeciles – practically worshipped, or at least admired Tom, even the Slytherins older than him. Even the various professors at Hogwarts – including the headmaster, Dippet – had succumbed to his handsome features and natural charismatic approaches. All except Dumbledore; he would have to be watched. Tom was relatively certain that Dumbledore was indeed spying on him one way or another. He probably saw Tom for who he really was…
"Anguis," Tom muttered and stepped into the dimly lit Slytherin dungeon. Aside from a couple of wizards in their seventh year in Hogwarts, the room was completely empty, and the green glow from the dungeon lamps glowed as eerily as ever, if not more. Without bothering to rap on the door, Tom pushed the door open gently, and stepped across the threshold gracefully, closing the door behind him. Shuffling could be heard from Harry's side of the room, and it stopped abruptly as soon as Tom closed the door. "It's been a little over an hour since I left the room; I thought you said you were going to sleep?" Tom questioned. More shuffling then a stifled groan, this was followed by complete silence. Evans was obviously pretending to be sleeping. How pathetic. Even if he wanted to do so, at least put a bit of effort into it… Tom chose to ignore it. There was nothing to be gained from pursuing the subject any further. A couple of seconds later, a soft thud could be heard coming from Tom's area as his clothes fell onto the carpeted floor. Tom folded his wizarding robes neatly, placing them at the edge of his bed. He sighed, completely exhausted, but unable to sleep all the same. Insomnia perhaps. Tossing had little or no effect, so he chose to lie still, hoping in vain that that would cause him to fall asleep. A little away from him, Harry himself was unable to fall asleep. Though his eyes drooped considerably, it would not shut for an extended period of time. He would sense that his roommate was still awake, perhaps suffering the same way as he was. He sighed inwardly; it was going to be a long night…
The tiniest bit of sunlight shone through the crack where the curtains met. Harry bolted upright, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. The gasped for air, flailing wildly, uncontrollably. He touched his lightning-shaped scar gently, caressing it, while moaning softly, rocking back and forth. Who ever knew that his scar would still hurt? He had assumed that being back in the past meant that he would be free from Voldemort's curse, and the pain that it caused him. Apparently not. He briefly wondered if the presence f Tom Riddle, Voldemort himself, attributed to the pain as well. He lay back onto the bed, attempting to force himself to fall asleep, all the time being observed carefully by Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Tom had not actually noticed Harry's scar earlier, probably because of his shock of wild hair that perfectly covered his forehead – and his scar. Of course, he would never admit that verbally, no matter how much truth it held. He pondered for a second, what if the scar had purposely been hidden from sight? Well, it could have just been because he did not want people to ask questions, but maybe that in itself was the crux of the problem...
Harry smiled gently as he listened to Slughorn teach the class what he already knew. Tom was sitting directly next to him, for reasons unknown. Perhaps he was trying to make Harry his friend, but that was highly unlikely. Whoever heard of Tom Riddle genuinely trying to make a friend? In this time, he actually liked potions, perhaps it was because Slughorn was his teacher, and not Snape. Not hearing the phrase "ten points from Gryffindor" was rather gratifying. Well, it was not like it mattered if they actually deducted ten points from Gryffindor, he was no longer in that house anyway. He gritted his teeth, as he tried valiantly to measure the correct amounts of snake fangs he had to add. Just because he had already studied this in Professor Snape's class, did not mean that he was any better at potions. After the lesson, he concluded that Slughorn was not much better at teaching him potions than Snape was, even if he was nicer.
"Your potions aren't very good." It was not so much of a question as it was a statement. Cringing slightly as he turned towards the voice, Harry growled inwardly. It was bad enough that he had to recognise his lack of potions sense, but for someone else to point it out… that was like rubbing salt in a wound.
"Tom," I intoned, resisting the urge to glare at him. Be friendly, be friendly, Harry chanted in his head. "I was never good at potions, but I'm not as bad at Defence Against the Dark Arts," Harry completed. Tom nodded slowly, raising an elegant eyebrow. How on earth did he know he was good at Defence Against the Dark Arts if Potions had been his very first class? But his face, devoid of emotion as always, showed no signs of him being suspicious of Evans' words. Plastering a fake smile on his face, he graciously led Harry towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, hoping that they would do something a bit more advanced. That would make Harry have to reveal something, that is, if he did posses any skill at all, Tom thought disdainfully, casting a fleeting glance over at Evans. He had a somewhat dumb smile spread across his features, as though acknowledging that this place held some sort of sentimental value to him. Then it was gone, replaced by Evans' perpetual scowl. Sentimental value? Tom scoffed at his own vivid imagination. Evans claimed that he had never had a magical education before. Yet, there was something suspicious about him, something that Tom could not quite place. Firstly, there was the matter of his scar. If he was not mistaken, it was in the shape of a lightning bolt. The shape itself was peculiar and highly unnatural. Additionally, what he said just now did not quite add up. It was as though he had been saying it for the past six to seven years, which was not quite possible… Or was it? Perhaps he was over thinking things; people did tend to say that he thought far too much. However, Tom was not known to be wrong. Should he combine both of those factors, it would leave him clueless – something he had not quite experienced before – and he would be in the midst of the same problem as before.
"Good job, Mr. Evans," commented the teacher, after he had finished demonstrating his skill for the teacher to observe.
"Your Patronus charm isn't half bad," Tom murmured to Harry, when he returned to his seat. Once again, Tom had chosen to sit right next to him, for reasons unknown. "Where did you learn how to do it from?" he questioned, glancing at Harry through the corner of his eye.
"Huh? Well… I, um…" stuttering slightly, Harry hurriedly fabricated a story, "I learned it from my… parents! Yes, because they were afraid of dementors." Tom nodded his head slowly, contemplating whether to probe further or not. Harry swallowed a bit, and his face failed to assume its usual sullen expression. Amateur, thought Tom. That was obviously a lie; Evans could afford to do much better.
"Oh, I see," Tom replied nonchalantly, as though he did not just witness Harry's pathetic attempt at a lie. Even if he had been caught off guard, a truly good liar would be able concoct a fake story without even batting an eyelid, and then recite it out loud in the same fashion. Of course, he knew that from personal experience, and he was willing to bet that no one in the entire school of Hogwarts had the same amount of practice as he had at the art of lying.
Harry turned away, seemingly relieved that Tom had found nothing wrong or suspicious with his reply.
Repeatedly tapping his fingers on the table at a fixed rhythm, he pondered silently at Tom's failure to detect his lie. Along with the general confidence that he exuded, Tom also happened to be awfully sharp, able to spot things that few others could. At least, that was what Dumbledore had shown him in the pensieve… Even so, he was sure that anyone would have recognised that he was lying a mile away; all because he was caught off guard. He sighed inwardly, stealing a quick glance at the weary-looking Tom. He would have to improve if he intended to pull the wool over Tom's eyes…
A/N: Sorry for updating it so late *O* I got kind of tired of it, and I'm considering dropping it entirely. Additionally, I had a couple more projects, but I suppose I shouldn't make excuses :3 Hope you liked the chapter! Please review :D
-Acidic
