Entering the Great Hall it was almost natural for him to head to the Slyherin table. What wasn't natural, however, was sitting next to Riddle. Cygnus had vacated his usual seat to Riddle's left, moving a seat down, and that acted just as good as a 'This seat is reserved for Harry Jameson' sign in telling Harry this was where he was meant to sit.

"Good morning," he said politely, feeling the cold eyes of Abraxus Malfoy brush over him, the weight of his gaze heavier than that of his predecessors, and certainly more calculating. He possessed the famed aristocratic features of the Malfoys, and with his long, ebony hair swept back by a leather band at the nape of his neck, he could almost be mistaken for his son if it wasn't for that gaze.

The rest had their eyes trained on Riddle. Not fearful, not subservient. Each Death Eater met his eyes evenly, and it was only in subtle looks or changes in posture that hinted at any hierarchy being present. It was quite amazing that Riddle had kept his empire so secret, and yet, seeing the Heir's masks for himself, it was unnerving how sincere and innocent a future mass murderer could make himself appear.

"Morning," replied Riddle, reaching over to grab the pot of tea. So Voldemort preferred tea over coffee. At least he was learning a little more about the teenage Dark Lord, even if it was only his beverage preference. "Now, I believe some introductions are in order, you have certainly been keeping a low profile," Harry knew the Slytherin code well enough to recognise the jibe. Resisting the urge to rise to it, he nodded politely throughout the introductions, and the group never warmed to him in the slightest.

If they were on a boat and one had to be tossed off, he was pretty sure he knew who the unlucky sod would be.

Lestrange was as haughty as his predecessors. His eyes were as black as charcoal, but contained none of the warmth. His posture angled him so that he was almost facing Riddle, and from his place as his right hand side it never took a genius to realise that he considered himself the most important.

Cygnus was a welcomed change. His hair was immaculate, but his eyes contained a certain youthfulness that he had seen in Sirius's before his Godfather was incarcerated in Azkaban. Looking around, Harry realised that whilst he was too late to meet Walburga - now there's a pity! - Alphard would probably be at Hogwarts now. Sure enough a few seats down he spotted what could only be described as Sirius's double, laughing with a girl who's most obvious feature was her hooked nose - a relative of Snape's perhaps?

Avery reminded Harry very much of his father and Lupin. He had the good looks of a Pureblood, but his book bag looked as if it were about to burst. He was arguing over Quidditch with someone who looked to be a relative of Pansy's. It seemed the pug look was just one of those unfortunate genes, and along with the simpering glances at Riddle, it took Harry a moment to realise it wasn't the girl herself.

The other names and faces were a blur, and trying to collect his thoughts he poured himself a cup of coffee, seeing Riddle's nose wrinkle at the bitter aroma.

"If you require caffeine to keep you alert, I would hate you to be attacked upon awakening," commented Riddle, and the Death Eaters chuckled.

"If winning required my opponent to attack me upon awakening, then he cannot be that much of a threat in the first place," replied Harry coolly, feeling a few of the Slytherins bristle at this.

Apparently talking back wasn't a done thing. Thankfully he had never really been one for following traditions in the first place.

"Indeed, I believe I do not know any wizard or witch who would lower themselves to that," said Riddle coldly, his eyes flashing up to those in his Inner Circle.

If he told all of them not to attack him in his sleep, that meant he liked him. Right?

"Nor do I, but I would not put it behind that Gryffindor lot," said Avery, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

"I heard that they turned Potter's hair green in his sleep. Apparently he lost a bet," gushed Parkinson.

Harry's stomach lurched at the mention of his grandfather, and he scanned the Gryffindor table for a shock of green hair. It wasn't hard to find, and in that instance he turned, and Harry found himself staring in the eyes of one of his ancestors. The boy's eyes widened slightly, before he was tapped on the shoulder by a boy who looked a lot like Remus, and Harry surmised this was his father John, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Whatever John said to him must have been funny, for Potter grinned, a smile that reminded Harry so much of his father, before turning back to his friends, the moment forgotten for him, but not for his grandson.

"Well if it was for a bet, then that is a different matter," reasoned Abraxus, "I believe most of us here have done ridiculous things as a result of petty games." The blush that Parkinson sported after that told Harry that more was being referred to here, but he couldn't really care for the moment.

He had just seen his grandfather.

He remembered Sirius calling him Charlus. His grandparents had almost adopted Sirius into the family, and it was easy to see that part of the mischief the young Marauder caused was inspired by another generation.

To put it honestly, he looked ridiculous, and it took all the strength Harry possessed not to grin like a madman.


He had Defence Against the Dark Arts first, and he felt more than saw the shock of class as Tom motioned for him to sit next to him.

Apparently he had put on an impressive performance at breakfast.

Today they were to learn how to produce painful boils on the skin of their opponent. This was only another reminder of how different Hogwarts was under a different Headmaster. Instead of humans, however, they were expected to practice on mannequins, lights on their chest indicating if they had cast it correctly.

The incantation was 'Tergeo erumpo' and ever mindful over Riddle's 'suggestion' the night before, he threw all pretence of incompetence out of the window.

He could see the shock on Merrythought's face as he performed the curse the first time. The light on the dummy's chest glowed green, eerily similar to the killing curse, far brighter than any of his classmates.

Harry's eyes met Riddle's and the Heir nodded slightly, tilting his jaw in a way that could only be read as approval.

The other Death Eaters eyes widened at the display, and Harry was surprised that their jaws never dropped when the strength of Riddle's spell matched his.

The pleased looked on Riddle's face did not go unnoticed by Harry, and he felt unease creep into his stomach.

Riddle wanted to make him a Death Eater, and that above anything else meant that he was being watched. Voldemort had shown a meticulousness that he could see was even present in his young counterpart after knowing him a few weeks. He just hoped that the documents Dumbledore had given to his past self would be enough to satisfy the Heir, and prevent him finding any flaws in his identity.

Maybe the saying 'When one door closes another opens' wasn't such a good one. It seemed that when one problem was dealt with, another would appear, and dealing with that one was like chopping a head off the hydra.

Sighing, he consoled himself with that fact that anyone would think twice before attacking him in his bed now.

At least that was one problem down.


It was nearing midnight, and all were asleep. All except him.

He had always been the last to got to be and yet the first to rise.

The Room of Requirement not only used to vent his anger and other undesirable emotions. It was also a place of study. Books that he knew were contained in the Headmaster's private library were strewn out in front of him, tired eyes still taking in and processing the contents.

Ever since he was younger he had had an interest in genealogy. He was different. He was powerful. Even his younger self realised that this meant he had to have a powerful ancestor, and a few short months ago he had discovered he had the most powerful ancestor of them all, the very founder of the House in which he now resides.

This had taken time. His mother had left him a few trinkets, but these were clues to his identity, and whilst he was not thankful for many things, he was thankful that the matron hadn't thrown them out.

Then he would never have discovered his line in the first place.

Searching his ancestry was difficult, many had claimed to be part of the Slyherin line, and with little documentation, it was troublesome finding out which claims were fact, and which claims were merely the work of weak men trying to gain glory on the back of a great name. However, in the past few weeks he thought he had found a genuine part that was missing.

Harry Jameson.

Harry matched him magically. Either this was an almost unbelievable coincidence, or they had a blood relation somewhere in his family tree. He just had to find it.

Pouring over documents, tried to find some record of Jameson, some scrap of history that a wizard bearing that last name had created. It was an arduous task, but if they were related, then perhaps he could be useful, or an even bigger threat than he was now.

He had spent hours at this task, but still nothing. He was used to results being slow, but he couldn't help but feel as if he had the Sword of Damocles over his head. He knew every detail of his Death Eaters history, he couldn't afford to bring someone onboard only for them to have some weakness he was not already informed of.

It appeared that he would have to go back to basics. Selecting a few tomes, he closed them, willing the Room to return them to their respective resting places. Summoning the parchment he had detailed his findings about Slytherin on, he scanned it hungrily, reabsorbing the information that he had been so elated at gathering.

This parchment was proof he was special, proof that he had a right to be one of the pillars in the Wizarding World. If Dumbledore saw this he would quite probably fear him, and he would relish it, savour every droplet of sweat that fell from the aged wizard's head as he squirmed.

By analysing his history, perhaps he would discover the Jameson branch, form a family tree more extensive than the one he had created before the holidays. It was a long shot, but the first method was bringing in nothing, and this would also serve his interests better.

His studies into his own history had reaped many results, but he knew there were more secrets out there. Maybe now he would unearth the rest.


A/N: I was sad to see the review count for the last chapter was a lot lower than the rest, but for the few who did review, I want to thank you, I never thought I would get over 100 reviews for this story! :) This chapter is introducing some of the key concerns of this story, and a few other characters have been introduced too. I want to thank almanera, as her review made my mind go into overdrive, connecting dots that otherwise wouldn't have been connected, and so you owe this chapter to her.

If there is anything you would like to see, don't hesitate to tell me, and I'll try and work it in - Although I stress that this WON'T be slash.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter *sigh*

Anonymous Review Replies:

Ramen God - Thank you, I'm glad you like my Tom (that sounds REALLY weird!) and when Harry gets his bearings, it's not him who I'll be feeling sorry for! ;)

Bluebird - Thank you! You boosted my confidence in this chapter considerably!

Evanthe - You saw a little bit of their reactions here, but the fallout should be in the next chapter if I follow my mental plan. :)