Harry hadn't felt happier in a long while. The day was bright and new, sunny and cozy in the Gryffindor Common rooms. For the first time in a long while, he was ahead on his homework. Ron, who was of course not up to date on his homework, was scribbling away madly on the coffee table. Hermione had taken to bringing her knitting needles with her, clacking gently as she spooled more yellow thread between her fingers and wove it between her needles. Already she was a fair ways through another scarf, this one decorated with rows of alternating bumps and stripes.

"You're getting fast at that," Harry remarked, finding the steady rhythm soothing to watch. "I thought you normally bewitched your needles?"

"Oh, I do!" Hermione said, looking almost embarrassed with herself. Her hands stopped moving, the taught yarn going slack in her hesitation. "I ah, I'm not the best with my hands! It's so much easier to bewitch needles, why, Molly showed me a wonderful technique the other summer…"

"That's pretty brilliant." Harry admitted, looking at the scarf curiously, "a different sort of row now, eh?"

"Yes!" Hermione enthused, "I was in the library the other day, reading about the Egyptian expeditions when I ran into Tom, or rather he stumbled upon me and-."

"What?" Ron asked, finally hearing what they were discussing, "Riddle knits?"

Hermione huffed softly. "Normally I'd argue about selective hearing, but shockingly, yes.Tom stumbled on my work and critiqued my knitting, took my needles and started knitting himself."

Harry stared, unable to remove the blatant shock on his face. "He... knits?"

"Yes Harry," Hermione now looked a bit upset. "It's not uncommon, back then it was mandatory for children to knit for the army. Knit two, purl one."

"I dunno what that is, but why were you bloody talking to Riddle!"

"I wasn't! I was knitting!" Hermione defended, now looking upset with how the conversation and the good mood had fallen apart. "He came over and showed me how to purl properly!"

"Because of course Riddle has to show you-."

'Ron!" Hermione shouted, throwing her needles and yarn onto the table. Her eyes were suspiciously wet in her frustration. Harry understood it; Tom Riddle wasn't always a cause of aggression and it was incredibly frustrating to treat him as such. Harry had no doubts the boy had ulterior motives, but he had simply joined Hermione and shown her how to knit by hand more effectively. A rather noble gesture considering Hemione's devotion to her house elf cause.

The cheery day came to an abrupt halt the moment they noticed a small group of people gathered around the Gryffindor notice board. The announcement was so large, it covered everything else on there- the list of secondhand books for sale, the regular reminders, the Quidditch team schedule, and the Weasley's advertisement for new testers. The new sign was printed in large black letters that looked similar to the wanted posters decorating official ministry areas.

"The hell?" Someone said, scowling at the board angrily. "Bloody Educational Decree Number Twenty-four? That bitch can't even count that high…"

"Oh no," Hermione said, looking at the notice with obvious terror. "The removal of all meetings? No more Organization, Teams, Groups, or Clubs?"

"Like that's going to hold." Someone else muttered, although in the back Angelina was rather viciously cursing about Quidditch.

The happiness that had filled them vanished. Even Hermione's hurt feelings were washed away by the anxiety and nervous tightening of her gut.

"This isn't a coincidence," Harry said, his hands curled into a fist. "She knows. Someone ratted."

"She can't know." Hermione said instantly. 'Trust me, nobody ratted."

"We made sure of it too," Fred piped up, sliding on over to stand conspiringly close to the trio. "Spread some nasty rumors-."

"-that we'd be ruddy mad if anyone spilled." George added with a well meaning look. "We think that bitch had spies everywhere."

Hermione scoffed angrily. No doubt thinking of the illegality of that.

"Anyways," Fred said, nodding to the board, "that went up last night. Saw it, Filch looked pretty pleased."

Ron didn't looked pleased at that.

"What do you know?" Harry asked, "Is it because of…"

He let the sentence hang, everyone understanding implicitly what wasn't stated.

"Likely so." Fred said with a sad look, "we're trying to learn more."

Ron's eyebrows lifted. " More? How the bloody-."

"We've got our own spy." George sniffed, "taking one for the now illegal team. Meeting with the queen bitch herself, seeing if he can weasel some information out of her."

Hermione instantly paled. "You didn't."

"Oh, we did." Fred sighed dramatically. "Who else has a bigger ego and issues with authority?"

" Tom?" Harry gaped, " Tom is going to meet with Umbridge?"

"Willingly too," George added casually, "mighty surprised by that one. Had questions for that stern teacher of his."

Crina? Tom was going to Umbridge with questions about Cri-.

Oh, oh no. Umbridge had clearly known Crina, at least in name. She had claimed many things, generally shaking the foundations of what Harry knew of the woman. It was rational that Tom would investigate further- pushing past to see exactly Crina was under arrest for. Harry had no doubts that the arrest was fake anyways, but Umbridge seemed cocky enough to want to share information regarding her.

Umbridge was...a source of information, but she was a bad source, one that had no issues with giving out punishment that- according to Fred and George verged on the painful side. Even Tom's supposed religious self injury wouldn't hold up.

Tom stepped into the office and didn't blink. The walls were painted a horrible shade, the exposed stone filled with plaster to deceive the eye into a softer look. Dozens of embroidered cats peered out from little wooden frames, watching him with slit eyes and cruel expressions. Of course, embroidery tended to be too crude to capture the true details necessary for an enchanted portrait. For a subject such as an animal, the amount of detail was no longer needed, and the legalities behind paintings no longer applied. Intelligent way to work around that, and still spy on all visitors.

"Thank you so much for allowing me to meet with you, High Inquisitor Umbridge." Tom said smoothly and calmly. He took the seat offered across from her desk, the plump cushions sunk around him until his feet were unable to touch the floor. It was unnervingly well done. "I understand your schedule is terribly full, I am incredibly grateful for your accommodations."

Professor Umbridge smiled, waddling to her seat before settling down daintily. The cats behind her meowed curiously. She pulled out a miniature tea set from her side cupboard, a similar design to that which Tom distantly recalled Abraxas flourishing many years ago. Pureblood memorabilia, showing wealth and high would be similar to Professor Slughorn then.

"Oh, it was nothing." Professor Umbridge tittered, sprinkling salt and chocolate powder all throughout her tea. Tom's nose didn't wrinkle. He heard that the Russians put jam in their tea and coffee. "I always have time for the concerned students of this great facility."

Interesting play on words. Rudimentary, see through. Viewing Hogwarts only as an establishment to produce results, not education. After having discussions with Crina, Umbridge was a roe deer of intelligence and a dumb one at that.

"A service we are incredibly grateful for." Tom continued, pausing to take a small sip of his tea. A fancy brand, tainted with too much honey. "Your aid to our educational achievement is unsurmounted."

Umbridge looked pleased, but also a bit perplexed. Tom saw her eyes flicker over his uniform, the bland unimportant appearance that lacked any tie in particular. Tom did have one, but the plain black stood out more than anything else. By wearing no tie at all, she could presume it to be laziness or forgetfulness instead of no house allegiance.

"Yes well, I do my best." Umbridge smiled, fake and far too sweet. "Ignore my rudeness, would you enjoy some cake? A tart perhaps?"

Tom couldn't throw in a word before a house elf appeared with a small tray of cookies with lacy designs. Umbridge plucked one, nibbling on it daintily. "Now, what appears to be the problem?"

"I have been experiencing some...information barriers, much to my dismay." Tom said, careful to accept a cookie and eat a small portion. Making sure they appeared on equal footing. "The teachers here are... reluctant to aid in my education."

Umbridge hummed in understanding, "ah yes, the professors here are rather...liberal with their beliefs."

"Exactly," Tom stressed, careful with his movements. "I've been hopeful that perhaps a staff member would aid me in my ventures."

Umbridge looked passive, humming as she took a sip. Tom knew that this would be the careful moment, the small slip that would determine how the conversation would progress.

"I've been quite fascinated by the Ministry of Magic and the associative organizations, especially since our OWLS are so soon and our scores determine our future." Tom said very cautiously, "in fact, I've found myself quite... stuck with future professions. It seems Hogwarts isn't helpful with discussing the Ministry."

Careful, any further prompting would shift from casual into serious, and from there Umbridge would be far too paranoid. Shifting the blame to Hogwarts created a new target, a new aggressor to bond over. Umbridge was no different than a faceless matron, or a priest looking for a victim of sin. He could twist them until they sang what he wanted, he could make her cooperate as well.

"Yes yes, what filth." Umbridge sniffed disgusted, "casting aside the helpful eye of the Ministry. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if this entire staff team were found incompetent."

Careful, ever so careful. Pushing the blame too far would inspire a furious fit where Umbridge went to fire everyone. Deflecting too many people would alert her that Tom truly didn't care.

"I've mostly looked to see how the British Ministry handles foreign power, especially with the close quarters last year with the Triwizard Tournament," Tom said, despising that of all time periods he had missed such a large event by less than half a year. "It seems so odd to cave to the whims of lesser foreign powers. I was wondering if perhaps Hogwarts has a European educational alliance?"

They didn't, except the international board of education which Crina served. Tom, through her, submitted his own tests and results directly to the international registry. Dumbledore and other faculty gave updates, but since Tom had not selected to enroll in Umbridge's lessons, she would have no way to know that.

"Those are all quite good questions, yes...I should look into that internship for that bright few Ravenclaw Seventh Years…" Umbridge mused, fingers tapping on her cup, "what was your name?"

"Riddle, ma'am." Tom said respectfully. "Tom Riddle. I didn't know the Ministry offers internships."

"Only to those with proper aptitude." Umbridge smiled thinly, "the role of the Ministry is quite important. It has seats available to only the... brightest minds, yes?"

The purest, you mean. Tom mentally corrected, already trying to calculate in Professor Umbridge's apparent blood supremacy. Tom could bluff, but without any sort of backing, he would be claiming a title that she could easily check. Unless there was a reason why he couldn't explain…

"Ah, that's very wise of the Ministry, I had no idea…" Tom trailed off, mentally counting two seconds before continuing on, "forgive my ignorance. I was...not given proper educations of such things."

"Mmm." Umbridge eyed him with beady eyes. "Muggleborn then, yes?"

"Halfblood, I believe." Tom said, trying to focus as much false emotion into making his acting convincing, "illegitimate. I'm quite sorry but I believe I'm not legally permitted to state my family name until I am of age. I'm sure you understand."

Umbridge's eyes looked slightly more greedy. Only the more powerful Pureblood houses would have such laws- Abraxas and Cygnus had explained the events of illegitimate children quite happily back then. Under those assumptions, Umbridge could no longer look up his family history, but assumed he was related to a wealthy or affluent name.Checkmate.

"Ah, yes of course." Umbridge nodded readily, taking a sip of her tea. "Oh! Your question, yes. The British Ministry of Magic and department of Education is independent of all foreign bodies, with the exception of the International Committee of Education-."

"I wasn't aware that such a thing existed." Tom interrupted smoothly. "How unfortunate."

"Very." Umbridge agreed. "Quite messy, all rude with how they- intrude on other's business…" Umbridge sniffed sourly, looking quite peeved.

'Gotcha' Tom thought victoriously, playing with the handle on his tea cup. "Forgive my boldness- but has this...committee, intruded on Hogwarts? I could have sworn I saw the Headmaster talking with this...foreign woman…" Tom trailed off, counting to three this time. "Ah, forgive my tangent."

"Oh no, by all means continue." Umbridge beckoned, "a foreign woman you say?"

"With the most horrid fur coat." Tom said, trying his hardest not to look at anything pink in the office, "absolutely disgusting wardrobe."

A cat meowed behind Umbridge, she looked quite pleased. "Ah yes. I know such woman. The worst of them. Crina Dimitriu, a truly monstrous woman."

"Crina Dimitriu…" Tom let the name fumble around his tongue, throwing in the slightest burr of old Cockney accent to make it appear more unfamiliar. "That name...sounds familiar."

"She has made quite a name for herself." Professor Umbridge looked outright irritated by the thought, "performing such disgusting experiments- why, she's gone and gained glory through discussion with freaks and -..."

"Surely Hogwarts could not have…" Tom paused, letting surprise and shock paint his face, "not- not Hogwarts…"

"Oh Merlin no, Durmstrang brood that filth." Umbridge sniffed angrily. "Do let me know if you ever see her again, yes Tom?"

"Of course Professor Umbridge." Tom smiled, nodding pleasantly. "I don't mean to keep you all day-."

"Oh, not at all." The woman near beamed, waving him on joyously, "return if you have any questions."

Truly, what a vile toad of a woman. Tom couldn't be more happy to slip out of the room, now having an idea of where to search. The Triwizard Tournament was linked between Durmstrange, and Beauxbatons. Both schools had an ample history- one that, with some research, could be uncovered. Hogwarts had its own old roster, and if Tom was lucky perhaps that year would have a tournament in which every student would be recorded within Hogwarts' library.

Until then, he had an idea of where to go and where to look. That, and Umbridge didn't seem too offended by his mere presence.

Tom made it to the main landing, waiting for the moving staircases when a portrait started shouting at him. "Hey! Hey kid! You- yes, yes you!"

Tom looked at it, considered if it was worth it, and ultimately ignored it.

"Oi! No, look at me!" The portrait shouted. A rather annoyed looking man waved a spoon threateningly. The three puppies gnawing on a loaf of bread- the original occupants of the frame, looked at the spoon the man was holding with obvious glee.

"Oh, shite-" the man cursed, hurling the spoon. All at once, the three puppies took off, running through attached paintings and nearly knocking one opera singer off her stage. "Boy! Look at me! The Headmaster has summoned you!"

"I don't especially care," Tom informed the painting calmly. "Perhaps you should use that spoon to beckon someone else who does."

The man gaped, and Tom began to climb the stairs.

He made it to the next clearing before the man appeared to gather help, this in the form of a detailed pack of lions gnawing on a zebra. A few choice words and gestures from his spoon-less hands, and the lions were roaring so loudly three clearings above Tom students were clutching their ears. The lions looked rather pleased when Tom admitted defeat and began the long stomp.

The stone gargoyle spotted Tom long before he was at the stairwell. The guard didn't seem to care for a password; the moment Tom walked close it leapt aside and used one large feathered wing to try and herd him up it. As if he'd escape now.

The gargoyle watched him manage the first few steps before it very hurriedly slid back into position, trapping Tom inside the spiral staircase. He wondered distantly what on earth the Headmaster has said to inspire such rapid paranoia, but he was far too petty and annoyed to ever reveal that curiosity. The fact he threw Dumbledore under Umbridge's bloodhound nose would be enough amusement for a while.

When Tom reached the top of the stairwell, the door to Dumbledore's office was already open. His room vacant with the exception of the large gorgeous Phoenix roosting high above the study. The tall skylights opened into what appeared to be an observatory long since forgotten, decorated with dozens of picture frames and the occasional bird perch.

The Phoenix tittered to him, waving its long tail feathers contently. Tom did his best to ignore such a thing, it reminded him of gemstones: the more you touch them to admire the more tarnished they become.

Sitting on Dumbledore's desk was a stack of books. Each interesting in appearance, some leather and other thin wood. Tom knew it was not coincidence that such books were stacked within easy reach. It was not coincidence that the Phoenix watched him, likely to see if he stole something.

Perhaps another student would dismiss the bird's eye, but Tom had long since learned the value of an animal companion. Their abilities and knowledge were often underestimated, it was far safer to treat the Phoenix as if it were a person.

Tom sat down on the stuffed chair, briefly entertaining the thought of stealing Dumbledore's own more comfortable seat. He didn't, because Merlin knew what caramel or lollies were hidden in the arm rest. The bird coaxed him with a chiming song, the books drove his curiosity wild but his patience long since won out.

He sat there calmly, choosing at some point to simply cross his knees and close his eyes. He could accomplish far more by napping then he ever could by staring down a magical chicken. Said chicken, made a noise of vague offense at his snoozing.

Eventually the door did open- likely when Dumbledore grew tired of Tom's rebellious streak. It wasn't often he managed to win, but he had likely counted on such a thing already.

"Hello Tom," Dumbledore smiled, looking a bit tired under all the fake appearances. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

Tom yawned pointedly. The bird looked upset that Dumbledore had left it there alone for so long.

"Right, straight to the matter." Dumbledore mused, walking calmly over his room with old soft leather shoes. The ground still creaked, purposefully Tom was sure. A subtle shift to try and cause him to relax.

"I would greatly appreciate if you were to skim through these books here," Dumbledore patted the top cover fondly, "and ah, perhaps mention if any strikes your interest."

Tom looked at Dumbledore before he yawned again. "I decline."

Dumbledore didn't frown. "I insist. I believe these books contain many subjects you may be interested in."

There was something in the phrasing that shifted the temperature of the room. The subconscious mention, the subtle play on words. Subjects that he may be interested in.

"So that's your angle." Tom said flatly, unable to remove all the ice from his voice. "Using me now, I thought you had gone past that."

"Tom-."

"Tell me, Dumbledore." Tom said in a low voice, nearly a mutter with how casual and distant he felt. "Are you looking for things I am interested in, or things I was interested in."

Dumbledore's face didn't change. So his future self then.

Tom traced the cover of the top book. Knowing what sort of bastard Dumbledore was, there was no way to win this. Either he read and found something questionable that interested him, or he lied and implied that he was h trustworthy already. There would be no way to play this in his favour-

Unless he utilized a third party that had an equal grudge and managed to tease all the fields at once.

"Interesting idea of yours." Tom said calmly, picking up the top book. It was never the top one- it would always be the second one. Where idiots placed the things they wanted people to see, but to hide the urgency in which they saw it. A leather cover, painted with fading ink over, if Tom was correct, actual human skin. Dumbledore was getting far too foreword in his age.

"Where was the professor who tried to give me detention for transfiguring a desk into a crocodile?" Tom said, clicking his tongue scolding.

"You know as well as I, that you were punished for attempting to have such transfiguration attack a classmate." Dumbledore said.

Tom smiled thinly, distant in nostalgia. "Black had it coming, you know that as well. Whatreally do you want me to see in here?"

Dumbledore didn't wait this time. "Take a look, and tell me what it is."

A bold play. Unfortunate that Tom always tried to stay ahead.

"I request my right to contact and meet with my mental health care provider?" Tom asked sweetly like acid pops, "you know, perhaps you've forgotten her Floo address?"

Dumbledore's face stiffened like a rock. "I strongly advise against Crina Dimitriu being within Hogwarts at this time-."

"Ah, Umbridge is causing a fit isn't she?" Tom asked, eyes gleaming. Oh the hell Dumbledore would soon experience regarding Umbridge. "How convenient that Hogwarts allows students to leave for medical aid."

Dumbledore looked at him. The Phoenix made such a sad song above.

"Alright, Tom." Dumbledore said slowly, "you know as well as I how this will play out. Remember, all actions carry consequences we cannot foresee. You should do well to remember this, more than any other."

An ominous reminder. Tom's thigh itched and the human skin book felt clammy in his palms. A constant eye watching him- because he was a feral dog waiting to run wild with wolves and other beasts. Who knew what they would do if unguarded.

"I will allow you to meet at the current base of operations for a temporary amount of time," Dumbledore said stonily, "and I will inform Crina of your request. You must return to the castle by nightfall, as well as that book-."

"I know." Tom said. "How else will you find your secret weapon that apparently I am going to use. Or, perhaps, you've forgotten that I am not Voldemort."

Dumbledore looked at him sadly, and Tom wanted to scream.

Dumbledore flicked his wand, tapping a non discrete bronze globe that lowered the Floo wards. A small reminder, a pointed look-

"Nightfall, Tom."

And with a rush of green fire, Tom was gone.

The tension was not gone between them. Tom knew that, as did Crina.

She looked better, healthier and well composed. Her famous thick wolf fur cloak was pulled off her shoulders to reveal a surprisingly modest outfit below. Trousers and a blouse, a rather progressive look for wizards, and Tom who still balked at the idea of women wearing trousers.

"I heard your call," Crina said casually, settling on the couch. It felt like forever ago they were in this room. An entirely different life, when Crina was a stranger drinking wine from he Black Family cellar. It felt different, wrong and tainted. Strained.

"I was supposed to read this book, to find the section which, presumably, my ulterior self fixated upon."

Crina's eyes flickered to the book, barely hesitating before looking back at him. Her hair was done properly this time. Her makeup clean. She felt further away, distant behind it all. "Does that bother you? You're an important resource."

"I don't like being used." Tom said.

Crina nodded, eyes landing on the book curiously. "Take a look through it. Find what it is that draws your attention, and then I want to take you someplace. Irrelevant to what you find."

Tom felt nervous at the thought. It felt like a trap- like something waiting for him to trigger it. At any moment, Mad-Eye Moody would run in and stun him, haul him off to Crina's cells where his life's ambition would be becoming wolf food.

But that wasn't..right. That was the irrational leap of a tired overworked brain. He had a book, and he could read and think about its contents on his own.

It took a while, but Crina did not seem busy. She had her own work, papers and files that she sorted and wrote in at a pace Tom would find slow. He supposed, that her work had less room for error.

The book was...delightful. Horrible, vile but fascinating. Curses to boil all the blood in a body in an instant- the most powerful form of the curse he already knew. Potions to force the transformation of various dark creatures, from werewolves to bastets to even changelings. Curses to transplant organs by tearing them out, rituals to leap from body to body through a form of physical possession. Tom wanted to horde the book forever.

He stumbled over the chapter, the ritual which made his blood sing. Tom did not believe in fate, but the old yellow pages lured him in better than any siren. Sweeter than any love potion- it was liquid sleep woven in paper with promises of curing his every ailment.

Horcrux , the page said. Splitting your soul.

It detailed a ritual, violent and yet not. It was written as if the act of something was...a shock to the world. It did not fit with what Tom knew. What could possibly be so disgusting and revolting it defied nature and allowed you to split the bare essence of yourself? Whatwas yourself?

The best belief, was that a soul contained every portion of who you were. Your mind, your memories, your emotions and aspirations. Your dreams, your personality- everything.

But...a Horcrux. You couldn't die if you existed still, a paradox that made nature collapse on itself. Tom would be able to live.

He could survive by tearing off half of himself .

The book had never specified which portion he could tear out. Could he alter it? Could he...pick?

Imagine, a world with no nightmares. No fear, or hunger, or shaking hands or memories uncontrollable behind his eyes. No more paranoia and anxiety, no rising stress or dependency on a potion which left him defenseless and weak.

A Horcrux, it would function far beyond its intended purpose. A Horcrux was made so it's owner would live forever.

But Tom...a Horcrux for Tom, would ensure he would never ever die.

They appeared, standing on round river rock in the shade of sprawling leaves. Under an archway of floral vines and creeping fingers all hungry for sunlight. The sight already confused Tom, because it was nearing late November and yet the plants still grew tall. He would have thought the leaves would peel off, hanging naked and bare in the weather.

Yet, he noticed instantly how the temperature did not reflect that of the season. The slight haze clouding the distance, clear glass separating them from outside where acres of bare finger twigs hung on trellis waiting for the warmer spring.

"We are in Burgundy," Crina told him, her voice distorting into a strange mixture of foreign language and her native accent. It created an interesting sound, inflections on vowels Tom wouldn't ever have expected. "East-central France. It is ah, famous, for pinot noirs."

Her lips quirked into a small smirk, an amused light burning behind the unassuming shades of her eyes. "And ah, Beaujolais, perhaps that is more to your taste?"

He didn't rise to her gentle barb, instead he let his eyes roam over the shaded path of archways and expansive grape plants. They stood in the shadow of leaves, hidden from the migrating geese and glass walls above them. It was calm and private, the river rock soft and cool around his sock clad feet. It must have been quite a profitable vineyard to ever afford such a greenhouse.

"Why are we in a grape vineyard?" Tom asked bluntly; the portkey lasted so long that it had to be an international registry. Something not easily acquired, which meant that Crina was well accustomed to visiting this one vineyard in particular. He should have expected it, that she'd go to terrible lengths to hop over to a wine business at her leisure.

"To teach," Crina responded simply, almost taunting. "We are not in season but I believe you have things to learn in light of your actions."

His actions, of hospitalizing Harry Potter. Tom felt his skin flush hotly in response. A rage burned at his neck and his tongue itched to spit venom. It was the knowing look on Crina's face as the older woman walked to one of the trellises, tenderly caressing the wood, that stopped him.

"It is a beautiful thing," Crina spoke reverently, going so far as to gently lift the leaves back into their ornate braid along the wooden frame. "Wine, and vineyards. A balance few know. It is…" She trailed off, mouth twitching once more in amusement, "much like people. Simpler, but still people."

Tom rolled his eyes and walked over, trying not to bristle as she ignored him in favour of caressing her damned plants.

"Look here." She pointed to one leaf, along the underside.

Much to his surprise, clinging to the lightly furry surface was a large, ornate beetle. It was white with silvery points, a gorgeous carapace made of woven silvery fibers arranged like fine lace. It resembled a praying mantis, long barbed legs with clawed hooks and scarlet eyes atop its ornate head. Tom wondered how such a thing could possibly manage its way inside the glass walls. Another mystery, like how Crina could bear to wear that thrice damned fur coat in such a high synthetic temperature.

"How I love and hate these little creatures," Crina sighed fondly, stroking one of her fingers along its shell. It flailed its little legs, twisting its head around in a dumb instinctual movements. "They are scaraboris. Little scarabs." She grimaced, then shifted into a fond smile, "the bane of vineyards."

Tom didn't understand why they were there. The air was too floral and the start of a headache were tickling behind his eyes. Nothing new, he got headaches often now anyways.

"These little insects will destroy this entire vineyard by next season." She said. "And by the following, all the neighboring vineyards will be destroyed as well. These little beasts are magic, you see, and muggles for all their good wine know nothing of these monsters."

Crina slowly set the leaf back in place, rotating her body to look at Tom fully. "Do you believe we should stop them? They are repelled by a grass easy to come by."

Tom looked at her incomprehensible. "You brought me here, to do pest control?"

"No." She said, rolling her eyes ever so slightly. "I brought you because I am curious what you think."

Tom stared at her, she traced the leaves hanging low once more. Some were beginning to bud small fruit.

"These beasts are ravenous," Crina explained politely. "They suck the juice from plants and destroy thousands of vineyards a year. Magical, but muggles know not how to beat them back. They sit, and wait for ruin unknowing if their home and life will succumb next to a small problem."

"And here we are," Crina used her hand to beckon to the both of them. "Able to prevent such a disaster, yet I never would. The moment I ceased these little Scarabis, I would always claim this vineyard as mine, and although I do not own it, I would become protective of it."

Tom didn't like the way Crina's words sunk into his skin. "You see, Tom. Perhaps I canprevent this vineyard from collapsing, but I choose not to. If I did not visit today, it would have collapsed on its own. My intervention only changed what would have naturally occurred, this does not involve me, until I make it so."

Her eyes were sharp, and she began to pluck at the artistic laces around the collar of her shawl. "My venture in life is to accept the disasters that come, even if I could have prevented such, because it is not my job nor my duty. I am not responsible for the fate of others, despite what I could have done. It is a tiring thing, to know what is and is not your fault, but I remind myself of these Scaribis and I know my place."

Crina finally untied the laces, managing to pull the collar of her shirt low; dipping below the collarbone on her left side until the inked visage of an insect came into view. Lacy white, delicate with a crimson head and the capability of ruining lives.

"I have this to remind myself I could have prevented many disasters," Crina informed him gently, "but I know for my own mind, I never will. Perhaps I am selfish, but I always view my own health and life more important than the health of those a stranger."

Tom swallowed a thick lump in his throat. "Are you telling me to not meddle with the timeline? To not help with- with the fact I am a monster." To not tell Dumbledore about the Horcruxes?

"I am telling you, to prioritize your life over millions of people who have problems unrelated to you." Crina interrupted, lacing the collar of her shirt up once again now that the tattoo was no longer on display. "If you would give consent, I would like to offer one of my abilities."

Tom's breathing was shaky but he gave a jerky nod to demand more information.

"The methods of mind magics is rather...unstudied." Crina began with an air of disgust, "the methods of psychology even lesser. I can work for all my life, years or decades to instill faith of your own image, only two comments to unravel my work like a flimsy sweater. It is...archaic, to use words to undo bias on your mind."

"What do you suggest instead?" Tom asked sharply, spitting the words defensively.

"I am a master in the art of possession, yet not in the way most believe the art to be." she dismissively flicked one hand, "may I have consent, to enter your mind, to permit you to view the world with my bias?"

Tom stared. She stared back.

"Possession is to take control of another person." Tom stupidly countered.

"No," Crina shook her head with a huff, "possession is to impose your mind on another. I have learned how to leave autonomy, but assist in my own thoughts and perceptions through another's senses. You would retain full control, but feel and know how I interpret and view what you think of as unimportant."

Tom's face twitched, "that is entirely asinine. It wouldn't accomplish anything."

Crina's mouth twitched into an all knowing grin. "Aren't you curious, Tom Riddle, to see how others see you?"

A curious child, a beast in the making but no more of a monster than that a wild animal. Treasured, precious. Something to adore and study because for everything Tom was, he was a chance unlikely to ever occur again.

An opportunity in the flesh, a single spark in a field of boredom that could revolutionize the world. Change it on its axis, create something so unquestionably raw.

She adored him, praised him like one would a dragon. Of course she was afraid of him, but everyone feared another because people had a predisposition to hurt others. It was only logical that she fear him, because Tom Riddle could hurt others like nothing she had ever seen.

She wanted to nurture him, coax him down the path of his own making. Either salvation or ruin she did not care, she simply wanted to see what he would do next.

"Okay." Tom said, brain feeling so horribly overwhelmed and buzzing bright with light andknowledge. "What do you know about Horcruxes?"

The Quidditch team was reformed, thanks to Angelina having a riveting discussion with Professor McGonnagall, who in turn went to Dumbledore.

It was a welcome relief, to have that sort of permission back. Despite Umbridge's best effort, she wasn't able to take away the school's proudest sport.

It was a foggy cold day when Harry keeled, hissing out in pain as his scar throbbed. It seared sharply, burning more painful than it had in months.

"What's up?" Several voices said, looking quite alarmed by Harry's sudden pain.

"Nothing," Harry muttered, wincing as his head continued to pulse angrily. The many eyes staring at him didn't help either.

His ears rang distantly. His dismissal obviously wasn't the best, since Neville hurried to help him into a seated position. Harry was lucky he was in the common room at the time.

"I'll uh, go grab Ron." Neville stuttered, hurrying off frantically towards the boy's dorms. Lavender was whispering loudly, eyeing Harry with blatant worry. That was nice of her.

The more Harry thought, the more filtered broken images started to come to his mind. It hurt, because...because he was angry.

Tom though? or...Or was it him? Where had Tom run off to- was he hurt or in danger or…

No, Voldemort was angry. He knew that without being able to explain how he knew. Voldemort, wherever he was, was in a towering temper.

Ron appeared, looking pale and nervous. "Is it…"

Harry managed a single nod, groaning at the vertigo that spiked after his sudden movement. "Yeah."

Harry closed his eyes, trying to still the swaying of the world. The more he let his brain relax, the more he began to feel the after-memory filter through. An echo, or an ink impression seeping through the darkness. A confused tangle of shapes, a howling rush of voices…

"He wants something done, and it's not happening fast enough," he said.

Again, Harry couldn't explain the words coming out of his mouth, but they were all true.

"But...how do you know?" said Ron.

Little stars erupted behind Harry's eyelids, dawning from the abrupt pressure his palms pressed with.

Ron looked in awe, gazing at Harry impressed. "Bloody hell, you're reading You-Know-Who's-Mind."

"I'm not." Harry snapped out irritably, "it's...it's more like sensing his mood. Same with Tom."

"Blimey," Ron breathed, "can you do it on command? Like when you made Riddle shiv himself?"

Probably. Harry thought, and gave a shrug.

"Well, give it a go!" Ron urged, patting Harry's shoulder eagerly. "Where is that slimy bastard!"'

It felt oddly backwards that Ron was so gleeful for Harry to invade Tom's mind instead ofVoldemort, but he couldn't argue it too much.

He drifted, eyes closed. He felt like walking through a swamp, each step sucking and trying to get his feet to adhere further to the ground. Wading through molasses, eyes blinded like wind-rush and rain splattering his glasses.

It was hard to feel, through the numb detachment of it. Harry's head hurt in a clouded way, a fog slowing him down as he struggled to breathe under its oppressive weight.

What was that? Something different? Something new?

"No." Harry said, opening his eyes with a wince. The room suddenly felt much too loud, and much too bright. "No I can't."

"That sucks." Ron winced, "ah well. I heard some bloody good news from 'Mione about that uh, a place we could... go. She was dropping off those hats for those elves, Merlin she's been frantic since Riddle showed her that knitting thing…"

They named it the D.A.

And Harry learned very quickly, that they had a lot of work ahead of them.

Harry dreamed he was back in the D.A. Room. he knew it well, having scheduled countless lessons with the rest of their little group. He knew it inside and out, all the books by title. Somehow, his dream was cloudy and vague with things he knew so well.

Harry walked through the D. A. room, and then he wasn't. The ground shifted, the tone became whispers. His dream change…

His body felt smooth, powerful and flexible. More than a Hungarian Horntail. Fitted with confidence and speed. He was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark cold stone...He moved with such agility it was as if he were flying.

It was dark, yet he could see objects shimmering in shades new to him. Colours he had never seen before.

He turned his head, and the shape of a man lit up in ghostly heat he could smell more than see. A man, sitting on the floor ahead. His chin drooping onto his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark.

Harry could taste the man, his scent permeating the air. He was alive but drowsing, dreaming in front of a door at the end of the corridor…

Harry wanted to bite the man, to taste blood on his skin. He could not yet, he had to obey and not indulge...he had more important work to do…

But the man- oh the man was stirring. A silvery cloak fell from his legs and he lunged upwards, towering so high he became a tree. He was a threat, a danger, and Harry had no choice.

He reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times. His teeth split skin like butter, burrowing and ripping over and over until he felt the warm gush of blood…

The man screamed, and then he fell silent.

Harry's forehead hurt so terribly. He turned, eyes flickering along to see the colours he didn't know-

And then he saw Tom, staring with all the horror and revulsion through his own eyes- a mirror copy watching this mess and-

"Harry!" Someone screamed, and suddenly Harry woke up.

He could barely breathe, it hurts so much and his skin soaked itself with sweat. Harry's heart raced, pounding through ribs as if he could shatter them.

"Your dad," Harry panted out. "He's been...attacked.."

"What?" said Ron uncomprehendingly.

"Your dad! He's been bitten- we need to- to got to Dumbledore and-."

Perhaps Ron could feel the urgency, because in minutes they were rushing and meeting Professor McGonagall halfway in the common room. Harry had never been so pleased to see her; it was a member of the Order of the Phoenix he needed now.

"It's Ron's dad," Harry gasped out, "He's been attacked by a snake and its serious, I saw it happen."

Harry blinked and suddenly, time slipped away. He startled, alarmed and confused and- how had he gotten to the Headmaster's tower? How had he- he was coming from the Hospital wing not-.

"Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall ...and…"

Professor Dumbledore was sitting in a high-backed chair behind his desk; he leaned forward into the pool of candlelight illuminating the countless papers spread over its surface. He was wearing a magnificently embroidered purple and gold dressing gown, but he seemed quite awake.

"Mr. Potter had a-."

"It wasn't a nightmare." said Harry quickly. "Mr. Weasley...has been attacked by a giant snake."

The words seemed to reverberate in the air after he said them, slightly ridiculous, even comic. There was a pause in which Dumbledore leaned back and stared meditatively at the ceiling. Ron looked from Harry to Dumbledore, white-face and shocked. How had they gotten here? Harry didn't remember anything from the walk, only the common room and suddenly here they were.

"How did you see this?" Dumbledore asked quietly, still not looking at Harry.

"Well...I don't know," Harry snapped angrily. It didn't matter "Inside my head-."

"You misunderstand me. I mean...can you recall the perspective or the position from which-."

The door opened again. An alarming sound considering this entire visit was sudden and unplanned.

Perhaps even more shocking, was Tom Riddle slipping into the room looking ashen and exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, in fact, there were small specs of blood along the straight of his nose as if he had tried to wipe it off. Tom's eyes had been watering blood, likely from a ruptured vessel.

"Dumbledore." Tom said, voice hoarse and raw as if he had been screaming. His eyes slowly flickered to Harry, pausing as he took in the picture of him. Harry's face tickled- his scar was bleeding.

"I saw you," Tom said, hoarse and crackled. "I told you, to stay out of my head."

"I wasn't in your head!" Harry shouted, finally fed up with the slow pace of everything, "I was in-."

"Her name," Tom stressed sounding so tired and weary, "is Nagini."

"Ah, the snake." Dumbledore said quietly, staring at his folded fingers. Dumbledore stood up so quickly that Harry jumped, and addressed one of the old portraits hanging very near the ceiling.

"Everard?" Dumbledore said sharply, "and you too, Dilys!"

A rush of movement-

What? Harry staggered, vision flickering. He was... sitting. When had he sat? What had been said? How did- how much time did he just miss then?

Tom jolted ever so slightly next to him, sitting along a matching chair. Harry didn't understand what was going on.

Dumbledore swooped down upon a silver instrument and placed it on his desk. He tapped it gently with the tip of his wand. The little device tinkled into life with a gentle rhythmic clicking noise Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the minuscule silver tube at the top. Dumbledore watched the smoke closely, his brows furrowed. After a few seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled into a small serpent. It slithered through the air, pausing before it somehow split into two. Both coiling and undulating in the dark air. Dumbledore gave the instrument another gentle tap with his wand, the snakes vanishing.

Tom inhaled sharply from next to Harry, staring at the device with something like... fear?

Yes. it was fear, because Harry could feel it.

Tom, for some unknown reason, was terrified.