Author's Note: Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all rights to it belong strictly to J.K Rowling.

I am simply having fun with my imagination.

...By evening, he concluded that it would be best to first track them down—find out where they lived—before going ahead to look for the Chamber of Secrets. That was the wiser choice...

CHAPTER 10: THIRD YEAR

Tom's third year at Hogwarts was certainly much better than the first two had been, though he started Care of Magical Creatures with Professor Kettleburn, and absolutely detested the subject. Tom continued to excel in all his classes and his teachers continued to make lengthy speeches about his successes in front of the whole class. He continued to win Slytherin the house cup each year, for earning countless points every day. He continued skipping Quidditch games to revise at the library. But the introduction of Hogsmeade was certainly a pleasant change.

Third years were given permission to attend the village of Hogsmeade on weekends. As it was that Tom came from an orphanage and did not exactly have parents or guardians that could permit him to visit the village, Tom decided to visit the Headmaster and request special permission.

"Tom!" said Professor Dippet when Tom walked through the door to his office one Sunday night in October. "Come in, come in."

Tom crossed the large, circular office and sat at the desk, across from the beaming headmaster.

"What can I do for my star student?"

"Well, I—"

"Before you continue, I was wondering if you could perhaps tell me a small fact about the Wiggenweld Potion," interrupted Professor Dippet.

"Of course, sir," said Tom, frowning. "The Wiggenweld Potion is a healing potion. It has the power to awaken a person from a magically-induced sleep."

"Splendid!" exclaimed Professor Dippet. "Every single time! Why, Professor Slughorn was right. You are extraordinary. Now, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about tonight?"

"I was hoping, professor, if I could ask you to sign my Hogsmeade permission form."

Professor Dippet frowned. He had not been expecting this, and sensing that, Tom quickly continued.

"I don't know if Professor Dumbledore has told you or not, but I come from an orphanage in London. I do not have a caregiver to sign the form, and I would really like the opportunity to be able to visit the village with my classmates and—"

"Not to worry, boy!" said Professor Dippet, waving his hand in the air. "I will take care of it. You needn't worry. You are the star of this school. The whole of the student body follows you. Why, I see no harm in allowing you to enjoy the luxuries of Hogsmeade. It is quite a splendid village."

"Thank you, professor," said Tom, smiling. "I knew you'd understand."

"Of course, of course, boy," smiled Professor Dippet.

"Alright everyone, follow me!" cried Professor Beery as he led the students through the Entrance Hall and across the Courtyard towards Hogsmeade Village next day.

"And there's this shop called Zonko's and this other place called The Three Broomsticks where they serve this drink my father told me about, it's called Butterbeer and it's supposed to be really good, and then there's also…" Avery went on and on about Hogsmeade the whole way there. Tom ignored him.

He thought a lot about his uncle…the scum that he was. At thirteen years old, Tom finally understood that his uncle, knowing about his existence, had never thought to take him in. He'd preferred that Tom grow up in an orphanage as opposed to in his care. No matter, though. Tom would make sure to track him down and make him pay for all those years of misery, seeing as how his mother was dead and he could not make her pay. But he supposed she'd already paid. After all, what could be worse than death? Nothing, as far as he knew.

He was going to track his father down too…eventually. Though, he could already sense that this would prove to be even more challenging. Why could he not have just been born into a regular, pureblood family like all normal wizards?

"Whoops, sorry Tom!" cried Gryffindor Emily Troops as she bumped into Tom, having been skipping her way down the path.

Tom ignored her.

The village of Hogsmeade looked exactly as how Avery had described it. Unimpressed, Tom made his way over to the Three Broomsticks, ordered this 'butterbeer', and sat with the Standard Book of Spells, grade 3, revising.

"Why are you always studying?" Lestrange asked him. It seemed that he had been summoning up the courage to speak directly to Tom, for they had been sitting in silence for a good 20 minutes before he actually spoke.

"Knowledge is power," said Tom, without looking up from his book.

"Y-yes but, isn't there anything else you'd be interested in doing with your time?" said Lestrange, rather nervously.

Tom casually flipped the page of his book.

"I suppose you mean Quidditch, do you?" he said, lazily.

"I dunno," said Lestrange, shrugging, "Anything, really."

"It's like I said," continued Tom, "Sports and petty little games are for weak people. They rely on them to make themselves feel better about their complete lack of power in all other aspects. People like us do not need them."

Lestrange decided not to say anything and remained quiet the whole trip back to Hogwarts. In fact, he remained quiet around Tom for the rest of the week and only after Quidditch tryouts were over and the teams were set did he actually start talking again.

"You were right," he said, shyly. "It's not worth the time."

"You didn't make the team then, did you?" said Tom.

"No, I didn't try out," said Lestrange, quickly. "I said you were right. It's pretty stupid."

"Do not fret," said Tom. "We will find other things for you to do. That's a promise."

Lestrange looked up at him with worry.

"I want you to feel important," Tom added quickly. "You are very useful to me, as is Avery. You both will always be my best ones. And I want you to know that."

Lestrange grinned.

"Ah Tom, come in," said Professor Dumbledore, closing the Daily Prophet newspaper and setting it down on his desk.

Tom closed the door behind him and crossed the office to sit across from Dumbledore. It was an ordinary Tuesday night in March and Tom had responded to Dumbledore's message to meet him in his office.

"Was everything alright with my Draconifors Spell essay, professor?" he asked, innocently.

"Oh, that," said Dumbledore, frowning. "Yes, yes it was very good. Top marks."

Tom nodded once.

"I...I called you here tonight Tom, to have a little chat."

"About what, sir?" said Tom, politely.

Dumbledore frowned.

"I've noticed that you have been spending a great deal of time with Mr. Avery and Mr. Lestrange."

"They are my friends, yes," said Tom.

"Not just your acquaintances anymore, then?" smiled Dumbledore.

"No sir, they are my friends," smiled Tom.

What was Dumbledore up to? What had brought on this interrogation? Was he really that worried about Tom? Why did he suspect him so much? He was the only person in this whole place who did not seem to like him.

"That's good, I'm glad," said Dumbledore finally. "Love and friendship after all are the most important things in the world. There is nothing worthier than the two...no kind of magic."

"Right," said Tom, trying hard not to scoff loudly.

"Alright then, Tom. Off you go," said Dumbledore.

"Good night, professor," said Tom, rising from the chair.

Just before he reached for the door handle however—

"Tom," said Dumbledore.

Tom turned and met his eye.

Dumbledore seemed to be contemplating what to say next. He had a puzzled expression in his eyes and his eyebrows were furrowed in confusion.

"Please stay away from the Restricted Section unless you are granted access by a professor," he finally said.

Tom stared at him. He hated the man so much. Those clear blue, accusatory eyes seemed to shout "I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE UP TO" and caused sweat to run down Tom's forehead, surprising him.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly, before turning his back on Dumbledore.

Walking along the corridor, he willed his heart to stop beating so rapidly, but it wouldn't. He did not understand why he felt so tense every time Dumbledore was around. It's not like he was super important or anything.

After a rather dull herbology lesson the next day, wherein Professor Beery had the students revise Puffapods, Tom stopped short in the Entrance Hall at the sight of Professor Dippet shouting after a few running students.

"AND DON'T EVER LET ME SEE YOU DOING THAT AGAIN!" he bellowed after them as they disappeared from the hall, looking frightened.

"Professor Dippet," Tom greeted him.

"Ah, Tom," said Professor Dippet, wiping his forehead. "How are you?"

"Fine, sir," said Tom, staring off at the students. "What was that about, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Ah, just some goofy 5th year Hufflepuffs who don't know how to respect the ghosts of this castle," said Professor Dippet, glaring at the direction in which the students ran off.

"Hmm," said Tom, thoughtfully.

"They are prefects, for goodness sake!" cried Professor Dippet, shaking his head. "'Supposed to set a good example for the rest!"

"In my opinion," said Tom, "More prefects who have their priorities straight are just what Hogwarts needs."

Professor Dippet nodded.

"That is," continued Tom, "Prefects who understand and abide by the rules, show excellent leadership skills and responsibility, and are inclusive of everyone in the school… students and staff, and ghosts and house-elves alike."

Professor Dippet turned to look at Tom with curiosity.

"How did you know about the house elves?"

"Intuition," said Tom, smiling. "The food is always quite excellent. Only a house-elf could make it so."

"Isn't it?" laughed Professor Dippet. "Well, have a good one, Tom!"

And he was off.

Tom was the first to arrive at Potions that day, which was exactly how he'd planned it. He placed his bag on the table and slowly began to pull out his things.

"Tom, my boy!" cried Professor Slughorn when he came in through the door. "How are you today?"

"Fine, professor," said Tom, looking thoughtful. "I was just thinking about the four Hogwarts founders."

"Were you?" said Professor Slughorn, setting his briefcase on the table and straightening up his hat.

"Yes, professor," said Tom, frowning. "Isn't it fascinating to think that their descendants could be among us?"

"I'm sure they are, Tom," said Professor Slughorn brightly. "I'm sure they are."

"I would love to meet one," said Tom. "But I suppose it's rather difficult to find them."

"Yes," nodded Professor Slughorn. "Which founder are you most interested? Though, I feel I already know the answer…"

"Yes," laughed Tom. "Slytherin."

"Indeed," chuckled Professor Slughorn.

"Professor," said Tom as he slowly made his way around the desk and approached the teacher's table. "Do you happen to know the names of any of his relatives that might still be around today?"

Professor Slughorn thought for a minute.

"The name Gaunt comes to mind," he finally said, causing a manic gleam to erupt in Tom's face. He quickly hid it with a frown. "Yes, Gaunts…uh, let's see...there is a Morfin Gaunt. He is the great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandson of Slytherin, I believe."

"Yes," nodded Tom.

"He is said to live not far from Little Hangleton, just over the hill or something like that,"

The other students started to file into the classroom and Professor Slughorn busied himself with some sheets on his desk. But Tom had already gotten everything that he needed. As a way of thanking the professor for helping him so much, Tom participated the most during that day's lesson, and the other students watched him with fascination.

"And the Confusing Concoction, Tom?" said Professor Slughorn, amused.

Tom went on and on, reciting the many passages that he'd read in his Potions book over and over again. As he talked, he thought he noticed Emily Troops leaning to another Gryffindor girl, whispering, and giggling.

"…these plants are most efficacious in the inflaming of the brain, and are therefore much used in Confusing and Beffudlement Draughts, where the wizard is desirous of producing hot-headedness and recklessness," concluded Tom.

"Marvelous!" cried Professor Slughorn, tears of joy gleaming in his eyes. "I think this deserves a solid 30 points for Slytherin house!"

The Gryffindors in the room groaned while the Slytherins patted each other on the back. They'd already tried that once before on Tom, but he only needed to give them one of his cold looks to tell them that they mustn't dare.

At the end of the lesson, as Tom gathered his things from the table, Emily passed by him, gave him a little smile, and said "Hi Tom," before running away, giggling with her Gryffindor friends. Avery and Lestrange were waiting for Tom in the doorway when he came out. Together, they headed out for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson. However, on the way, they heard someone yelling after them.

"Oy, Riddle!" cried the apparently angry voice.

Tom, Avery, and Lestrange turned around to find Jonathan Buckley of Gryffindor, marching up to them with three friends. Tom turned to leave but Jonathan grabbed his arm.

"What do you think you're doing with my girlfriend?!" demanded Jonathan.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Tom.

"Oh, I think you do!" spat Jonathan. Tom wrenched his arm free and glared at him.

"I THINK YOU'RE LYING!" cried Jonathan. "I'VE SEEN THE WAY YOU TWO STARE AT EACH OTHER IN CLASS. YOU'D BETTER STAY AWAY FROM HER."

"I wouldn't want your little girlfriend if she was the last witch on earth," said Tom, coolly.

Jonathan's little eyes widened.

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH HER?!" he barked.

"Other than the fact that she is a filthy little mudblood, you mean?" said Tom.

Jonathan drew out his wand at the same time that Tom did, and the two stared at each other for a long time, each pointing their wand directly at the other's face.

"Go ahead," said Tom. "Do it."

Jonathan's hand began to tremble as he considered Tom.

"I dare you to," urged Tom. "Do it."

Jonathan lowered his wand.

"Let's get out of here," he said to his mates and they walked away.

"Cowards!" Lestrange called after them.

"Don't," said Tom, putting his arm in front of Lestrange to stop him. "Don't say that."

"But they are!" protested Lestrange.

"We'll teach them another way," said Tom, simply.

That very night, Lestrange and Avery followed Tom out of the Slytherin Common Room and all the way up to Gryffindor tower, where they instructed the sleeping Fat Lady to leave her frame, occupy another frame inside the Gryffindor common room, and tell Jonathan Buckley to step outside. After a few minutes of waiting, the portrait hole slid open and Jonathan climbed out. He glared at Tom for a few seconds, his hand gripping his wand inside his cloak pocket.

"Let's continue our conversation," said Tom.

He led the way to the Great Hall where they would duel. However, just as Jonathan turned his back on them, Tom pulled Avery and Lestrange to a corner and hid.

"Uh, guys?" said Jonathan, turning around and around. "W-where…where are you? Guys?! OY!"

Tom pulled out his wand, pointed it directly at Jonathan, and muttered Stupify. Jonathan was blasted backwards and hit the wall. Gasping, he scrambled to his feet and looked around frantically. Petrificus Totalus. Jonathan froze instantly and fell back. Beside Tom, Avery and Lestrange were roaring with laughter.

"That ought to teach him," said Tom, putting his wand away. "Come on, let's go to bed."

"We're just going to leave him here? Brilliant!" cried Avery, still laughing.

"He'll come to soon enough," said Tom, simply.

"THAT WAS BRILLIANT!" cried a voice from the corner of the hall.

The three wheeled around. Rosier. He was in their year, in Slytherin of course. He ran up to them, excited, and looked from the motionless Jonathan to the glaring Tom.

"ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT!" he repeated.

Tom took a step towards him.

"Did you follow us here?" he said in a quiet voice.

Rosier's smile disappeared.

"I was going to tell on you for sneaking out but then I saw what you did to him. Could you teach me how to do that too?"

"You were going to tell on us?!" cried Avery. "YOU SNAKE!"

Lestrange pulled out his wand and pointed it in between Rosier's eyes, but Tom motioned for him to lower his wand, and after a moment's hesitation, he did. Tom watched Rosier for a few long minutes, and then grinned.

"No, he stays," he told Avery and Lestrange.

"But he's a snake!" cried Avery.

"So what?" said Tom. "I like snakes."

The end of the year arrived much too soon. Tom managed to win Slytherin the house cup yet again and received top marks in all his classes, but he was not ready to go back to that dreadful orphanage again. Just the thought of spending another two dull months there was sickening. He was pleased however with how far Avery and Lestrange had come along, and how useful Rosier was proving to be, for Rosier was something else. Rosier had an aptitude for dark arts. He enjoyed the art of brutality and had a laugh from watching others suffer. In some ways, he was Tom's favourite among the three.

As for Jonathan Buckley, he seemed to be afraid of Tom and never bothered him again.

On the last day of term, Tom was particularly quiet. He hated the idea of seeing Mrs. Cole and those worthless muggle children again. He wished that he would be able to visit Little Hangleton and look around for traces of his family members there, but knew that would not be possible. As he departed from King's Cross Station, Tom had a thought, and instead of going back to the orphanage, he went straight to Diagon Alley. Once there, he made his way to Flourish and Blotts and walked right up to the wizard behind the counter.

"Please, sir," he said to him, smiling kindly. "I live in a muggle orphanage and I really don't like being shut away from the magic world for two months each year. Could you please help me out?"

The wizard thought for a long time.

"Well, all I can do is let you shelve books for me for a few galleons a day,"

"I'll do it," said Tom.