Tenth chapter! Woo! Do enjoy.

It's in our Blood

Chapter X

Elana had been careless.

She should have been well aware of her brother's watchful eyes: it would be fine to associate with the Slytherin boys in classes. But how could she have possible believed he would not spot them at dinner? Especially since Elliot had already warned Tom to stay away from her, then he would of course be more alert about it. Tugging a strand of hair behind her ear, she spoke: "About that-"

"I would prefer if you stay clear of him." He cut her off before she could explain herself. Elana had known the outcome from the beginning; it was the usual. Whenever her brother did not find people worthy, then she was not allowed to have anything to do with them at all. She silently, with a straight face, listened. Elana could not explain why she felt irritated. She normally followed his orders to perfection, but at that time she did not feel like it.

She would not stay clear of Riddle. Nor would she back down. "I understand," she responded quietly, eyes fixated on the golden plate in front of her. As she bid down in her lower lip, almost drawing blood, she counted silently in her head; there was no way she would loose her patience. Her brother knew best. It was for the good of the family, she told herself. "But, I see nothing wrong in merely speaking with them."

As soon as the words had left her mouth she recoiled. I take that back! She had not just questioned her brother's actions, no. But the silence that spread in the small Slytherin group said it all. She scolded herself inwardly, knowing well she had made it all worse. "What was that?" Elliot asked in the end, even though he had heard it quite clearly.

"Nothing," she muttered in return, clutching her skirt tightly in her hands until it got completely wrinkled. "I did not mean it like that, brother. I am sorry." It was not often she felt like that, but she was scared. Elana forced herself to look down, to keep staring at the plate and nothing else; she would not cry. Not in front of everyone. It would be too great a humiliation that she could not bear it, an even greater shame towards her family if she would break down.

She pressed her eyes shut. She could handle it. "No, I did think it was nothing." His response was quiet, making only her capable of hearing it. "When you start acting on your own, you know how much trouble it gives me. Yes?" Elana nodded at her brother's question. It was always him who had to sort out the threats; she never did anything right. "Now, when I tell you to stay away from him, what do you do?"

"I stay away from him."

"Correct." Elana clenched her fists. Sometimes she really wished she was not a Fowl.

If only she had not been born a pureblood ...

When one of the purebloods finally brought up the subject of Elana Fowl, it was, much to Tom's surprise, Mulciber. He had expected Lestrange to corner him right after dinner, but he had not; and so Tom found himself in the Boys' Dormitory before the question was asked. "Why did you defend her?" He did not answer at first. Closing his The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, he leaned back against the wall in his four-poster bed. The emerald green hangings with the Slytherin crest disrupted his vision of the others; but he knew they were awaiting an answer.

"I would not use the word defend," he began slowly, picking his words with diligence. "But I see no reason to make her an enemy." The green and silver pillows bellow rustled slightly as he shifted, trying to find a comfortable seating position. Their dormitory had been heated by a small fireplace during the day, and the usually clammy and cold room was now suitable to sleep in; unfortunately it did not seem like the other boys would let him.

"Though that is no explanation as to why you would interrupt me," Lestrange then joined the conversation while throwing a pillow at Avery, the latter dozing off in a heavily padded armchair. He nearly fell down, but managed to grab onto the armrest for support, where after he shot a sour look towards the other pureblood. "Moreover, none of us wishes to be anywhere near her."

Tom's brow furrowed at the news. Of course, he was well aware of the resentment the pureblood wizards felt towards the witch, but why was something he was not certain of. "Why exactly is that?" He asked, leaning forward in the bed to look at them; their faces were contorted in hesitation. He really did not understand purebloods: it almost seemed like they were scared. His eyes narrowed slightly. "She is just one girl."

Mulciber pressed a finger against each of his temples and massaged them slowly; the brown haired boy looked as pale and sick as always, if not more. "She said herself you were close to her family, if anyone would know it would be you." Tom scowled inwardly, cursing the lie she had made up. Yes, it had made him get accepted easier as a fellow pureblood, but it created just as many problems. He locked eyes with the other first year. Mulciber kept his stare only briefly; then he turned his face away and spoke again: "But, then again, you may not have that problem. It is not her."

He raised an eyebrow. "It's her family," Avery finished for Mulciber and joined the conversation, sitting up straight in the chair; while rubbing his eyes for sleep, he threw the pillow back at Lestrange. The other easily dodged it. "The Fowls are … different." Tom silently listened, more and more confused as they explained. He really had to read up on the pureblood families in order to understand their world. If not, there would be no way for him to make it through seven years at Hogwarts.

The flames in the fireplace flickered and sent shadows across the walls; there were no sounds to be heard outside the first year dormitory. Everyone else had gone to sleep a long time ago. The five boys had all become quiet in thought. The annoyance, which had become more and more frequent, had once again crept over him. Why did his mother have to leave him at the orphanage? After being told he was a wizard, had his resentment towards his parents become a greater part of his life: if they had not left him, then he would have to struggle so much to be accepted in the school.

His eyes lingered momentarily on the four boys. If only his last name had not been Riddle, but Mulciber, Nott, Lestrange, Avery … even Fowl. But it was not, he was a half-blood, unable to use his family as backup. No. His eyes hardened. Tom knew exactly what he had to do: he had to make a name for himself. He would prove to them all he deserved to be in Slytherin, no matter his blood status.

Elana Fowl did not approach them the following weeks, much to the pleasure of the Slytherin boys. None of them knew what had made her back off; if it was due to her older brother, who had forced her, or perhaps she was too busy, spending her time in the Library. Just as Tom. This, on the other hand, seemed to bother them quite a bit. They all, in one way or another, looked up to the black haired boy. He knew exactly how to act in front of the professors and never got in trouble – unlike Avery and Lestrange, who held a record of detentions – and he was beyond brilliant in classes.

But Tom Riddle had too much work to do. There was not enough time for him to waste on those so-called friends. In every break, between classes, and even during breakfast and dinner, he could be found in the school library, his nose buried in books. He had occupied an entire table, large stacks of history books blocking outsiders' view of him like walls; it had almost become an obsession for the eleven year old boy, trying to find clues of his ancestry. He needed to know.

Even though he had told himself it did not matter who he descended from, Tom felt it a necessity; as if figuring it out would make everything easier – there could be no way he came from a lowly family. The light shone brightly through the clerestory windows in the library as the sun had paid a rare visit to the castle; dust sparkled in the sunlight, lazily gliding through the air. But it did nothing good for Tom's skin. He had stayed far too long in the library. Having barely eaten anything for days, he had become horribly malnourished; his skin was pale, and large, black circles underlined his eyes. But he could not afford to sleep or eat. Not before he came to the bottom of it all.

He cautiously, careful to not ruin the old book, turned an old, dusty page. It had been completely wrecked by time, and he suspected it would break into pieces if he breathed too hard: Tom blinked several times, trying to clear his foggy eyes and forced himself to focus once more. Name after name, but never did he come across Riddle. No one had the same surname as him, not even one that resembled … Nothing. In frustration, he ruffled his hair with a sigh before covering his face in his arms.

"This is ridiculous ..."

Perhaps he should give up? He felt his body slowly turn heavy, his eyes fighting to stay open. A small nap could not possibly hurt; it would even be beneficial for him. It would freshen him up, clear up his mind so he could focus better on the ancient hand-written texts. Yes, just for a minute or two, it would bring no harm. And so Tom fell in a deep slumber which did not last for only a little …

Elana had briskly passed the Slytherin boys in the common room, sparing them not even a single glance. She had done her best to follow her brother's orders of not only staying clear of them, but also Riddle; of course it had been remarkably easy as the half-blood had not shown up in the common room for days. Her brow furrowed slightly at the thought. Where exactly did he vanish off to?

As she walked down the corridors of the dungeon, her book bag slinging back and forth over her shoulder, her ears perked up at the sound of voices. Slowing down as she rounded the corner, Elana came face to face with the two first year witches; just what she did not need. Newell was the first to spot her, mouth forming a round O in surprise, but then she beamed widely. "Elana! Where are you going?"

Just as she had done with the rest of her House, she strode straight past them with only a single word. "Out," not even bothered with formalities such as a proper greeting, Elana climbed the stairs of the dungeon. The large, sturdy doors in the Entrance Hall had been fully opened, letting the fresh but chilly wind freely brush over the marble floor; it whipped up her hair while she continued up the several flights of stairs. Impatiently tugging it behind her ears, she ignored the footsteps that pursued her from behind.

Turning down one of the many corridors, she watched the sun from the open doors disappear: It was in stead replaced with the silence of the hallways, only a light chatter of conversation from the portraits on the walls. Elana finally came to a halt in front of the Library's entrance, eyes scurrying back to the two girls who had been following. "We were going here anyways," the half-blood stuttered an excuse before quickly walking over. "Hope you do not mind?"

Elana eyed them briefly, but then she entered the dusty room without answering. She walked straight towards the librarian at the front desk, who glanced up for a short moment; but then the elderly woman turned her attention back onto a large, yellow-paged book and stamped it hard. "Good day, Madam Wennell." The pureblood greeted the petite woman politely. "I have a few books I would like to return."

"Already, Miss Fowl? You certainly are a fast reader," the librarian responded and stamped the book once more; then she faced the first year with a small smile. Elana somewhat liked Madam Wennell, due to the woman's obvious disregard towards social standings. As long as people treated her books well, then she approved of them in return: and Elana did her best in order to not as much as wrinkle a single page. "Did you enjoy the one I suggested you?"

"Yes, very much. Thank you, it was a great help, too." She shuffled through her bag and pulled out a stack of books. As she placed them on the desk, she once more watched Newell and Greengrass, standing by the side. "I will take a look in the Reference Section, if I can make it before closing time?"

"Of course, you have plenty of time." With that the librarian waved her off; Elana strode down the aisle of bookshelves, from time to time glancing up at the section numbers. "Newell!" A screech reached her ears. Apparently something – or someone – had gotten on Madam Wennell bad side, and that person was the half-blood witch from Slytherin. "What exactly have you done to this book? Have you no shame? I should walk straight up to the Headmaster and demand your expulsion!"

The further down the rows of books, the fainter the voices became. Her footsteps echoed in the silence, but then she came to a sudden halt at what she saw. Elana raised an eyebrow, slightly taken by surprise. Tom Riddle lay across the table, face hidden in his arms as he was fast asleep; she walked across the floor and pulled out a chair across the Slytherin boy without making too much sound. And then she merely observed him, a half-smile spread across her lips.

But then she directed her attention to the piles of books, towering up on both sides. Carefully, she wrestled the old parchment out from below the wizard, without stirring him too much in his slumber. "What do we have here …?" Most of the names seemed familiar in her mind; she had been taught all the ancient family names since she was little, by a rather cranky, old housekeeper. Elana chuckled lightly at the memory. Elliot and she had been stuck in a room all through the burning hot summers, getting the lectures almost beaten into them. Her eyes flickered thoughtfully to the boy. "What are you up to?"

She received no answer as predicted; the witch inclined slightly towards the young wizard to peer at his face, barely visible between his crossed arms. She revelled faintly at how sick Riddle looked. Sick and tired. But then she remembered her brother's words and instantly leaped back in her chair, nearly tipping over; she quickly gripped the table with her fingers to steady herself. Forcing herself to once more return her attention to the parchment in front of her in stead of the boy, she pondered what he could possible be plotting.

"Elana, are you here?" A voice called out in the stillness of the library, almost violating the peace. The pureblood flinched inwardly at the minor shock, but then she locked eyes with the other first year girl. Newell had appeared from behind a bookshelf, Greengrass right in tow with several books in her arms; both gaped, first at her but then to the sleeping student. "What is-"

Pressing a finger gently against her own lips, Elana shushed the girl. "Just go," she then ordered, surprising her two classmates at her behaviour. "There is no need for you to be here, I am certain. So just go, please." As she watched their retreating backs, huddled together in whispers, she suddenly questioned her own, strange manners. What had just happened? Why had she shooed them away like that, just so they would not disrupt Riddle's sleep? The pureblood heaved a sigh and rested her head in her hand, supported by an elbow on the table. "I do not get you sometimes, Elana Fowl …"

When Tom woke it was to the sound of rustling papers. His forehead wrinkled lightly at the noise, but he kept staring down onto the table. He pretended to still be asleep as he tried to make out the identity of the other person, sitting across from him. He strained his ears for something that could possible give him or her away; but nothing helped, yet the young boy did not move any further.

He felt refreshed. There would be no way he had only slept for only a few minutes, not if he felt no signs of exhaustion anywhere in his body. He had almost forgotten the problems at hand and his search for answers; but he was painfully dragged back to reality as a chair scraped over the floor. This was followed by the sound of footsteps and a shadow fell over him. A voice reached his ears: a girl. An odd feeling rummaged in the pit of his stomach, somewhat certain of who it could be.

Why was it always her? But the shadow vanished again as she moved along. Slowly, as unnoticeable as possible, he raised his head lightly; what appeared in his vision stunned him completely. It was a small, remarkably pink cupcake with an associated note, resting against the pastry; her handwriting was neat and meticulous but the message consisted of only a few words:

Try to ask for 'Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy', it may be of use in your search.

Stumbling for words, and before he could stop himself, he turned in his chair just in time to stop her. "Thank you," his words rang in the library, a slight echo sent it right back at him; but she had frozen in her track, her face hidden by the long, black hair. Tom had to admit, much to his own displeasure, that he felt a tiny spark of happiness. And it was all due to the insignificant act of kindness the pureblood had shown.

"Do not thank me," she responded, voice calm as always. Fowl never turned to look at him, but kept her poised stand and her gaze fixated on a shelf; she ran a finger over the thick layer of dust as if writing something. "It is rather creepy." With the last – rather typical for her – remark, she left the library and Tom Riddle behind. If he had actually examined what she had written in the dust, he would have been able to read three small words: You are welcome.