A/n: Sorry to any mix-ups anyone might have had. I didn't make things clear enough. Both Harry and Tom are in Sixth Year. I was merely say that Tom had more power than the Seventh Year Minerva.

Warning for heavily implied child abuse in this chapter.

¤

The cacophony that rose from the students at the table barely touched his carefully spelled ears, but still created an angry buzz in his ear that was rapidly becoming a headache.

The obstreperous behavior of the returning children was even more pronounced with the absence of Headmaster Dippet, who was greeting the 'mysterious new transfer student' at the front door. Albus was doing little to calm the students, instead he sat back in his chair with a benign smile on his face. That man radiated Light from his aura, but something stopped Conner from trusting it. No matter how mature he was supposed to be with his age comparison, that man could really irritate him sometimes…

Conner DeLune heaved a sigh. For some unbelievable, fantastic reason, Toki had convinced him to take up the DADA teaching job again. He didn't know why he'd listened; the considerably younger man was never "quite there", but he supposed that two years at the bottom of the ocean would do that to anybody.

He sighed again. Heavy alcohol intake and Michelle's prodding hadn't been much help either.

Another deep breath had the Healer Kira and her young apprentice Poppy looking at him in concern, but he shrugged off their gazes.

He had every right to expel air if he wanted to! Not needing the oxygen played no factor in it whatsoever, though it was not as if they knew that...

But he was getting off track. The students were being anything but quiet, and Conner was wishing for the thousandth time that he'd turned down the job again. Michelle's arguments that he lacked excitement in his life had affected him, as she'd known they would.

So, after Armando asking for the third time in a row, he'd finally come back to teaching at Hogwarts.

Privately, he thought there should be a sign over the doorway that read, 'Welcome to your Personal Hell.'

The Hall settled down when the Headmaster entered through a door by the Head Table. Armando held up his hands, and silence reigned.

The students knew that something unusual was going on this year. Normally, the Headmaster was present at the Sorting, but he hadn't been there. That was a real tip-off. Plus, the Hat was still sitting out on it's stool. Conner turned his attention back on the man as he began to speak.

"Students of Hogwarts, new and old, welcome to another year of school!" Clapping and cheers followed but soon died. "As you can see, the Sorting Hat has been left out. This year, we have a transfer student for the first time in twenty years. He's been home schooled up to this point, and I hope you all will give him a large welcome!" Armando looked to the side door where a figure stood in the shadows.

Conner trained his senses on the person, just for future reference. Suddenly his eyes widened imperceptibly and he froze in his seat. This transfer student wasn't human, he was a vampire. Not just any vampire either: an Ancient! His unmistakable aura gave it away immediately to anyone with experience of the species. The boy had to be newly turned too, to still be so young.

'But who's childe would he be?! I've not heard anything from Michelle about a new childe…!' Immediately confusion made itself evident in his mind.

He waited impatiently for the figure to step into the Hall. If Conner could examine the boy, he would see a recognizable Line Trait somewhere. The Ancients were so few, and each had their own trait that they specifically passed on…

'Who's…who's childe is he?'

The boy took a dramatic step forwards, bringing him to face the stares of the Hall. The boy swung his gaze around, raking through the Slytherins before moving to the Head Table. His stare rested on Dumbledore, then Armando, before finally turning to him.

'Who's childe is he?!'

His eyes met hollow gold, like a reflection of the empty gaze he met in his own mirror every day...

"Noir, Aspen!"

If his heart had been beating, it would have stopped.

'He's…mine.'

"SLYTHERIN!"

¤

Noir had never told him that he worked at Hogwarts once.

Harry looked down at his plate. Out of all the stares being sent his direction, he could feel the gold one piercing him most fiercely.

The emotion he'd felt at seeing the other had been overridden by the shock in the other's gaze, along with a clear order to explain the moment he was free. He knew there was no way he'd be able to lie to his ancient vampiric friend. If anything but straight truth came out of his mouth in the other's presence he'd probably be killed on the spot.

Polite clapping was all he'd received for his Sorting, and the Gryffindors had glowered rather nastily. Harry had seated himself under the measuring gazes of his House. After returning Tom's nod, he'd then proceeded to ignore them and focus on his empty golden plate. Up on the Head Table, Dippet was finishing up the announcements.

"Finally, I'm pleased to announce that after a three year break, Professor Conner DeLune has returned to teach Defense against the Dark Arts!" Students in Fourth Year and above started cheering, and Harry looked up in time to see the red haired man take a bow. His mind figured out the name as an alias of Noir's. When it seemed as if the man was turning his gaze to him, Harry looked down.

The First Year Slytherins next to him gaped when food suddenly appeared on platters before them. When the older years looked at him inquiringly he merely raised an eyebrow. Any fool could pick up a Hogwarts, A History, after all. He'd be using that explanation a lot over the next week, if he forgot or didn't bother to act surprised by moving staircases and the like.

As Harry picked a few fruit dishes to eat, he surveyed the table for any semblances of a recognizable face. A familiar flash of blond hair and upturned nose helped him spot a Malfoy immediately. He could vaguely recall Draco mentioning him to Slughorn, as Abraxas Malfoy, Draco's grandfather. Sitting next to him was someone he couldn't place for a moment, but when the dark-haired boy's head turned he had to hold back a gasp.

The boy was unmistakably Orion Black, Sirius' father. His face looked almost exactly like his deceased godfather's in profile.

While distracted, he'd failed to notice Tom move a few first years out of the way and sit on the bench opposite him. The other Slytherins turned their eyes away. They knew when the Prefect was around they had better start ignoring him or face his considerable irritation.

"Congratulations on getting into Slytherin. I knew you'd make it."

Aspen turned to Tom.

"Oh really? How did you know I wouldn't be in some other House? Like, say, Hufflepuff?" He was amused at the disgusted face Tom pulled.

"Of the other examples you could have used, you chose Hufflepuff?" he gagged, but soon settled into a more serious composure. "I could tell right away that you weren't meant to go anywhere but Slytherin. You have a certain aura of darkness around you. I know you'll do well with us." Tom smirked, and Aspen raised an eyebrow.

On the inside though, Harry was impressed. 'Sixteen and he can already feel it? But then, this is the man who put sixteen years of memories in a diary. Which brings up another question; had he already created it?'

Harry took a bite of peach cobbler, aware that Tom was waiting for a response.

"It's daunting that you already know that much about me," he met Tom's green eyes. "I hardly believe that this House will welcome me with open arms. I'm well aware that I pose a threat to your careful structure. I also have an aversion to arrogant asses."

Aspen smirked at Tom, unaware of the glee that set his eyes alight. Tom noticed though, and took note of it.

He leaned toward Aspen on his bench, and spoke with a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm afraid you might find quite a few of those around here."

Harry couldn't help the small snort that escaped him, before he changed the subject. They soon fell into a comfortable light talk, ignoring the banter around them. He was amazed at how easily conversation came, considering both of their guarded personalities. But talk they did, mostly of non-consequential things, like popular international Quidditch teams.

Before they knew it, the feast was over. Tom told him that as a Prefect, he had to lead the first years to the dorms.

"Follow the group, and you might not get lost, Noir." It was said in such a way that he couldn't tell if Tom was joking or not. He merely shrugged, then rose to trail after the departing Slytherins.

He froze when a tingle shot up his spine, turning his head minutely to meet a reflected pair of eyes. They narrowed down on him. Harry gave a almost undetectable nod, and the eyes turned away.

He sighed and hurried after the disappearing group. This was going to be along week.

¤

'Of course this would happen,' he reasoned as he stared at the door to his new dorm room. 'Because there is a universal decree that Harry Potter must be inundated by unpredicted events at every moment.'

After third year all Slytherin dorms were split up, on the rational logic that they might try to murder each other in the night if kept too confined. Each dorm room held two people, and their name plates were nailed to the doors each year.

Apparently, there had been an odd number of Sixth Years, but no longer. This year one of the people who usually roomed alone was about to get a new roommate.

Letalis hissed impatiently, wanting to get down. Thankfully though, no one was around to hear it.

Harry pushed open the heavy wooden door, making a mental note to ward it later, if his roommate didn't mind, of course.

In the dim torchlight outside the door, the words Aspen Noir and under it, Tom Riddle were engraved in silver nameplates.

¤

Tom sat huddled on a black and green decorated couch. He was drowning in firelight where he placed himself, a mere meter from the roaring flames of the hearth. He paid no mind to the heat radiating from the fire. The dungeons were dank and cold, but he was more than used to it.

All around him was dark. All the other Slytherins--no matter how excited they'd been to be back at Hogwarts and away from their overbearing Pureblood parents--had settled down eventually. Orion had been the last one to leave the common room. He'd sent Tom a inquiring look but hadn't said anything. The teen was very quiet and unobtrusive, but when angered was a formidable foe, hence Slytherin despite his meeker tendencies.

The fire popped and sparks went flying, though they never lived past the fireproofing charms. Tom sank a little further in his place, allowing for a few moments of relaxation.

For one so accustomed to masks, he shouldn't be surprised at this new person who wore one in his midst. Masks were a part of everyday life for him. What had drawn his attention though was the fact that this newcomer was someone he could barely read.

For those like Gryffindors who didn't even try to hide, Tom could read their faces like open books. The Slytherins were harder, but not impossible. Many of the Slytherin boys he knew well enough to see past any of the ruses they might try to pull.

Noir on the other hand, he could elicit nothing from. It was like prying into a stone wall when the boy drew on his blank face. He'd only been here for a day and already he was frustrating Tom beyond belief!

The scene of half an hour ago replayed in his mind. Tom had gone to his room at a late hour, readying himself for bed. He'd been irritated slightly to see that he had a roommate this year, but then pleased to see that it would be Noir. He would have to take extra precautions with his secrets, but it gave him a better chance at discovering things about the other boy.

He'd pushed open the door, preparing to go to straight to bed, but something interrupted him. On one of the two beds in the room Noir lay twisted among jade sheets. Coiled on top of him, Letalis raised her head to glance at Tom before turning away.

One tiny detail of this scene captivated him beyond discernment. The teen's face held none of the sereness of a peaceful sleeper, nor the tortured expression of one plagued by nightmares. The only phrase that came immediately to mind was-

"Loneliness," Tom jumped at his own voice, not realizing he'd spoken aloud. For just a moment he stared at the boy, expecting haunting eyes to pop open in his presence, but Noir didn't so much as twitch.

He shook his head and turned away. It was far too late to be thinking such stirring thoughts. After a final check on some of his sustained spells, he let himself fall into the realm of sleep.

¤

Tom awoke later the next morning to a heavy sense of foreboding. Opening his eyes, he tried to shake the feeling, but a looming cloud still seemed to linger above his head. A quick tempus charm later told Tom that he had exactly forty-five minutes before the start of breakfast. That startled Tom a little bit. He usually woke up much earlier than that to take his morning shower. A quick mental process told him that his internal alarm clock must have been thrown off from staying up so late.

Tom glanced over at Noir's bed to see the other was long gone. He wondered for a moment where he would have gone to when he didn't know his way around.

'That idiot, Dippet must have called him up to see how he's "settling in."'

Tom pulled out a new set of school robes and underclothing from his trunk and gathered it up before heading out to the bathroom. As he'd predicted, the Sixth Year boy's bathroom was deserted. Abraxas had already been in and out, primping his blond hair and pale skin in an almost girl-like fashion. Orion always saved his showers for evenings.

'He spends his mornings hanging out with that girl he's courting, Walburga.' Tom couldn't be bothered to remember her last name, coming from a low ranking pureblood family as she did.

The other two boys, Nex Zabini and Liam Nott couldn't be bothered to get up in the morning, and so spent the last minutes before breakfast rushing around like headless chickens. Tom smirked at the thought as he activated the built in locking wards for the bathroom door. Now assured of his privacy Tom stripped down to his skivvies and turned the shower on. When it was warm enough he took off the boxers and stepped in.

The searing water was like ambrosia itself. Hard droplets drummed a constant pattern on his shoulders, massaging muscles he hadn't even known ached. Tom grabbed a bar of soap and lathered it up before cleaning himself. He shivered when he ran over certain patches of skin, in spite of the hot water. The first heated water he'd had all summer.

Pale hands traced not-so-invisible lines over his chest, fingers trembling infuriatingly as they did every time. These were the times when he couldn't control himself, where memories flooded from a decade ago flooded back.

"You're worthless and you always will be…an abomination…freak…oddity…"

Tom had to keep such tight control on his memories.

Such terror had he felt then.

Finally deeming himself clean enough to be presentable, he stepped out of the shower. Like always, Tom told himself to ignore the mirrors in favor of donning his clothes as quickly as possible and, like always, his eyes seemed to have a mind of their own.

Fingers followed close behind as he mapped the numerous scars that ran across his back, chest, and upper arms. There was always one group of the disfigurements that he could never stop himself from touching. The thin, raised white lines that branched horizontally across his chest.

This would be one of the most inopportune moments of his life for someone to walk in.

"Riddle?!"

Tom spun in shock, mind temporarily on the lock down.

"I know I locked that door."

Another gasp didn't leave him time to be grateful for the towel wrapped around his waist. Someone had seen, seen one of his greatest secrets!

There was no option for obliviation, and no stunners could be sent, for his wand was back in the dorm.

'How could you be so stupid!?' he berated himself. The other was backing out now, widened eyes fixed on the spot he'd let no one see before. Then the other was leaving without saying a word, the door closing silently behind him.

Tom couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't breath.

Noir had glimpsed a darkened side of him that he'd so desperately tried to hide. He'd seen the one true scar that Tom carried hidden on his soul.

The word MONSTER adorned the tender flesh of his torso, expanding in lines from shoulder to ribcage.

But...there had been no disgust or hatred in those eyes, only astonishment.

Even fifty years later, for all his mastery of the mind, this was one memory Voldemort could never wipe away.

¤

A/n: Things also might be going a little too fast for some people. That's because I want to finish this story before I get tired of writing it. It's happened before, and that's just annoying to both me and the readers. Many a thanks on this chapter to Dream Killer and Eli Jeli!

Please review!

--つらいの死