"Traditionally, silencing curses are cast on the tongue," Harry commented as he and Tom poked and prodded an amused Viktor. He flicked his wand and casted a wordless spell, pursing his lips when Viktor's neck glowed red. "The tongue is easier to cast on for such a personal curse, due to the concentration of saliva and blood, plus the soft tissue makes it easy to carve runes for some variations of the curse. Nowadays though, people prefer the Silencio for temporary and minor use or the Unbreakable Vows for a more severe and long-term spell. There's also been some speculation over the years about whether the Fidelus can be applied to a non-physical idea or concept, but as that is a complicated piece of magic no one has actually been successful in trying."

Viktor hummed, looking thoughtfully at the rambling teenager. "Kuznetsov?" He recognized, and Harry looked up in surprise before brightening. "Ah, you've read his works?"

Tom snorted, "read them, he asks." Harry's lips twitched in a grin.

"I'm… a big fan," Harry idly said. "I've got most of his books practically absorbed in my brain."

"Aren't his books restricted in Britain?" Viktor dryly asked, rolling his eyes when the other two just looked at each other and shrugged unrepentantly. He supposed that's where Durmstrang's only copy of Secrets of the Ten Darkest Arts went. "I enjoy his books as well. Very informative. I read them a lot when I was younger and when this curse was put on me, they were the first I went to for ideas."

Harry couldn't help but be a little bit flattered. And smug.

Harry hummed. "Unfortunately, Marvolo's suspicion of this being made by its caster is true. Someone who knows very well what they're doing and very, very well versed in the dark arts. Because in addition to choking you for those particular secrets you've got, you're right in that it can definitely snap your neck. Or slit your throat, it's not exactly clear which. We've got to be careful that we don't trigger that particular bit of spellwork."

"Partly a potion, wouldn't you say?" Tom said, gesturing Viktor to open his mouth and dutifully observing the inside. Viktor kind of felt like he was in the hospital. "Concentrated, likely brewed and bottled on a full moon, in a diamond vial."

"Runic ritual or wand crafted curse?"

"Runic ritual. Amber as the central stone. Luckily not on Samhain or Beltane, else we're looking at spring before we can get this reversed."

"Damn, I'm not as good with rituals as you are." Harry pouted.

Tom sniffed. "Very few people are."

"You two are terrifying, you know that?" Viktor said. "To figure all of that out, some very dark magic, within ten minutes of diagnostics. Not that I'm scared, I find this all amusing despite the unnecessary wand poking you two do on the curse that can kill me."

"Aw, don't worry Viktor," Harry patted the older teen's cheek. "We'll make sure you'll live to do a hundred more Wronski Feints without your pretty little tattoo. There's still a better chance that your neck will snap during Quidditch than it will from this."

.

There were currently three Slytherin's lockets.

The first one was the original horcrux. Previously in Kreacher's possession, he and Tom had swapped it out with Regulus Black's fake, the second locket, after the debacle with Lockhart in second year to make sure that yes, it actually was Tom's original horcrux. Lockhart had opened the chamber while being possessed by the third locket, which had an unidentified soul piece belonging to what felt like to be one of Slytherin's other descendants clinging on to it.

The diary, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem, the Gaunt ring, and the locket were all confirmed as nothing but empty husks, the bare echoes of Tom's soul pieces on it. (They always suspected that Death, or whoever kept meddling with their lives, had a hand in that.) Nagini, or what would've become Nagini, was just a regular magical snake this time around. And since Harry didn't vanquish Tom this time around, he himself had never been a horcrux at all.

"Who could possibly match Voldemort in Dark Lordiness, other than Voldemort himself?" Harry wondered after they sent Viktor back to the Durmstrang ship to rest, carefully stretching a red string from one pin to another on his board. "Grindelwald is still in prison, and I'm pretty sure he has the magical presence of a bowtruckle after being there for the past couple of decades. And he certainly doesn't have a kid, right?"

"Not that we know of. He and Dumbledore only had eyes for each other until the end, right?" Tom said as he watched his companion complete his Board of Conspiracy. "I feel like this is some sort of desecration of a historical magical site."

Harry blinked at him, a parchment with a crudely drawn Lockhart on one hand and another push pin on the other. "What makes you say that?"

Tom gave him a flat look. "You've turned Slytherin's personal library in the Chamber of Secrets into an FBI investigation room. You've made a conspiracy map on his wall."

"I covered it with a cork sheet," Harry protested. "I can't exactly push the pins into stone, can I?"

"You're a wizard," Tom looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. "There are things called Sticking Charms, you know."

"The muggle way has a sort of flair to it though, doesn't it?"

Tom sighed. "You're impossible. Well while you do this and poke Viktor some more, I have to go to Gringotts in a few hours to sort out my 'inheritance,' now that I'm 'seventeen.'"

Harry hummed absentmindedly as he continued with his work. "The goblins won't behead you on sight, will they?"

"I'm not you," the former Dark Lord snorted, which, fair enough.

"Perfect time to find a new wand from your vaults, I think," Harry pointedly looked at the yew wand Tom still openly used. "Ollivander will recognize that on sight during the Weighing of the Wands."

They both paused.

"I think I'll keep it," Tom's lips twitched as he fought off a grin. "It was my father's, after all."

.

Hermione joined them for lunch with three tomes in hand. "Where's Marvolo?" She asked, looking around for the Durmstrang champion. Viktor shifted uneasily.

"He's at Gringotts," Harry said breezily. "Since he literally just turned seventeen, he has to meet with the goblins about his inheritance and stuff like that."

Hermione perked up in curiosity and looked like she wanted to ask about it more until Draco picked up one of the books and made a questioning noise.

"I didn't realize we had books about the tournament in the library," Draco said, cracking open the one titled For Glory - The History of the Triwizard Tournament.

"I asked Madam Pince about it," Hermione explained. "I figured we should know everything about the tournament now that Marvolo has to compete in it."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it," Neville added, picking up one of the other books himself. Ron scrunched his nose at the thought of reading all that.

"Surely I can just get a summary, right?"

"Here you go, Harry," Luna's voice drifted from behind him and delicate hands reached around to pin a badge on his robes. Harry looked down on it and snickered when he saw it flash between the Durmstrang school emblem to 'Gold for Gaunt' in bright red letters.

"You finished it!" Draco looked delighted, standing up to look at the basket of badges in Luna's hand. "These are fantastic," he said as he held up one that said 'Fanatic for Fleur.' "You even made one for Delacour?"

"She stayed up all night making them," Ginny said, wearing a 'Digging the Diggory' one. "We're gonna go pass it around to everyone today."

"Thanks for helping me with the charm," Luna beamed at Draco. "It wouldn't be as good as it turned out if not for that."

"No problem," Draco said. "You know I would've helped you make some if you told me you wanted them to be done by today."

"When did you two possibly have time for all that?" Neville then asked, and Harry was surprised to note a very subtle unhappy tone in his voice. From the minute tightening in Draco's face, the Slytherin noticed it too.

"We had a bit of time before curfew, after we all met up last night." Draco explained, a bit succinctly. "Luna caught me on the way back to the dungeons."

Draco and Neville stared at each other for a moment too long. Harry's mind spun wildly.

'Is this a love triangle?' Harry thought, looking between his friends. 'I mean, I always suspected Neville had a thing for Luna in the first life for a bit then, but Draco too? Don't tell me their first actual fight would be over a girl?'

"Oh my," Hermione whispered from across him, probably coming to the same conclusion as he did.

"Hey," Ron, bless his willful ignorance, said "can I have one of the Fleur ones?"

.

"Where's your house pride, Harry?" Cedric asked, eyeing Harry's Gaunt badge.

"You really should be grateful I'm not declaring to everyone that I'm Digging the Diggory, Hogwart's Hero," Harry said.

Cedric thought about it for a moment and cringed a little. "Fair enough."

.

Tom came back to the school grounds late afternoon, looking very smug.

"Oh dear," Harry muttered, eyeing the new ring on the older teen's hand. "Something ended up being a good surprise."

Tom met him with a peck on the forehead, making some nearby sixth year girls 'awww' at them fondly. "Good news?" Harry asked.

Tom grinned, "Oh, you'd never guess which family I just became Lord of."

Harry knew that look in his eyes. Tom definitely wasn't talking about the Gaunts. "Oh dear," he repeated.

Tom showed him the new ring. Harry choked.

.

Professor McGonagall bumped into them a bit later and again had that strange look on her face when she looked at Tom. Harry didn't actually think she'd recognize him, considering she was a few years off from going to Hogwarts at the same time as Tom Riddle, but apparently he was wrong.

"You look quite like a popular upperclassman from my era at Hogwarts, Mr. Gaunt," Professor McGonagall commented and Tom made a show of understanding.

"My father was a Hogwarts student, Professor," he politely said. "Class of 1945."

McGonagall peered at him. "I don't suppose his name was Tom Riddle Jr., was it?"

Tom's eyebrows rose up in actual surprise. He didn't confirm it, but the reaction was enough for McGonagall to smile fondly.

"I may not have personally met or saw him, but he was well talked about during my first few years as a student here. He was a brilliant student like no other and I believe he has a trophy for his service to the school still in the trophy room. I admired him as a student quite a bit."

"He had some fond memories of Hogwarts, I believe," Tom cautiously said and the older witch nodded.

"I admit only knowing his face from the old yearbook, but something about it is rather distinctive." McGonagall continued. "You look very much like him."

"People say that a lot."

"It's a shame he practically disappeared after a few years," McGonagall sighed. "Though I suppose not so much, if he was able to settle down and start a family."

"Right." Tom nodded, feeling increasingly awkward as the conversation continued. Noticing this, McGonagall gave another smile and nod.

"I'll leave it to you then, Mr. Gaunt. I'm sure you'll be as great as your father was." McGonagall turned and gave Harry his own nod. "Mr. Potter. Good day to you both."

"That," Harry said once his Transfiguration professor was out of sight, "was weird. As fuck."

"I'm sure you'll be as great as your father was," Tom quoted, a bit aghast. "Dumbledore tells no one anything, does he?"

.

The next day, Tom's Ancient Runes class was interrupted by Karkaroff fetching him for the Weighing of Wands ceremony. Unsurprisingly, Rita Skeeter was there as well. And from the looks of it, Delacour and Cedric had already had their turn with the reporter, as there were quite some unhappy expressions on their faces when the lady practically dragged Tom to a corner of the room.

"Mr. Gaunt, isn't it?" Skeeter smiled, her parchment and quill floating beside her. "Durmstrang's champion! I'm Rita Skeeter, the Daily Prophet's best reporter."

"Ah," Tom flatly said, unimpressed. "You write those gossip ridden articles about Harry."

"You've read my work then!" Rita gleefully ignored the pointed comment. "I have many readers who would be interested in learning more about you, you know. Other than being Harry Potter's, hm, mysterious paramour is more romantic than boyfriend, isn't it? You're also a long lost member of the thought extinct Gaunt family! Very exciting."

"Yes, though that has nothing to do with the Triwizard Tournament, does it?" Tom smiled warningly. "I'm afraid to say I'm not much of a fan of yours, Ms. Skeeter. I find your articles distasteful, and if I had a say it in, you would've been sued for all the false words you've written about Harry. I have no desire to speak to you about anything, and if you press, then I can show you what exactly they teach in Durmstrang."

Rita didn't get this far into her career without experiencing some threats herself. She grinned toothily. "Can I quote you on that, Mr. Gaunt?" She taunted, pointedly reminding him that the Gaunt name had nothing in terms of political power, not even a minor lordship.

Well no matter. Two can play at that game.

Tom crossed his arms, looking down at Skeeter as she caught sight of the new ring on his finger. "You can quote Lord Peverell on that," he smirked, eyes glinting at her severe falter in confidence, "Ms. Skeeter."

Rita very wisely retreated after that, but not before a mutinous glare in Tom's direction after they took a group photo of the three champions.

A few moments later, Bagman, Crouch, and the three headmasters enter the room followed by Ollivander himself. The wand maker stopped in his tracks, clearly recognizing Tom for who he actually was.

"Right," Ollivander said, face neutral, "let's get this started."

Cedric went first and Tom half-listened to Ollivander talking about the wand's make and properties. He could respect Cedric's care for his wand, as there were far too many witches and wizards who didn't treat theirs properly, but other than that he could care less. Wandlore was more of Harry's thing, anyway.

Tom was second, and he set his yew wand in front of Ollivander with gentle care. Dumbledore barely gasped, but it was obvious that he recognized the wand himself.

"Yes, this wand," Ollivander flickered his eyes to Tom's unmoving face. "This is one of mine, but I sold it to a young boy fifty-six years ago."

"I inherited it." Tom said. "From my father."

"Yew, thirteen and half inches. Phoenix core feather." Ollivander continued to inspect the wand. "It has a brother, did you know? A wand with a feather core from the same phoenix."

"I may have heard about it," Tom carefully confirmed, looking at the pained and resigned face on Dumbledore at the corner of his eye. He was so tempted to smirk.

Ollivander hummed. "Of course you would have, all things considering." He flicked the wand, and bright sparks shot out of it and trailed down in the air. "Your… father. He did many great things with this wand. Terrible, but great."

.

"At what point does referring to myself as my father stop being weird?" Tom wondered out loud as he and Harry laid in Tom's bed, having snuck the Hogwarts student in the ship and into Tom's private room.

"Never," Harry declared. He also kicked the other's shin. "Your feet is still too goddamn cold."

"And you're still a blanket hogger," Tom grumbled.

"Oh, suck it, darling."

"Is that an invitation, sweetie?"

...

Life #18, part 2:

"I'm so sick and tired of this!" Harry huffed as she plopped down on Tom's bed. "Nothing but rules and regulations, do's and don'ts, should and shouldn'ts! If another old, greying hag preaches to me about my body being a temple one more time I'm going to burn this building down! This place is a smothering hell hole and how have you not gone crazy from this yet?!"

"My orphanage had me exorcised when I was a child, Potter," Tom calmly pointed out as she meticulously brushed her long hair. Harry tried not to stare at her soft, milky thighs not hidden under her skirt or long socks. "I am quite familiar with such strict expectations coupled with shady practices hidden under the pretense of religion."

"No one can possibly be happy about things are," Harry insisted. "Most of the girls here look absolutely miserable under the meek and subservient attitude. The only time they really bright up is when you're around."

Tom put her brush down, turning in her seat to look at the other girl. "I'm given more leeway than anyone else. And in turn, I extend the same courtesy to my schoolmates as much as I can." Tom admitted. "My… Court… assists me in this. We devised a system that may not be much, but it works. The girls can get away with two and a half inch heels, a carefully hidden necklace, a touch more makeup than allowed… The little things we can."

Harry sat up, eyebrows furrowed. "We can do more," she said. "We have to push. It's the twenty-first century, for god's sake, not Victorian England. None of us are going to burn in the flames of hell if we wear some goddamn lipstick."

Tom, seeing the fire in her companion's eyes, pursed her lips. "I have a plan," she admitted finally, catching Harry's whole hearted interest. "It may get us expelled."

Harry grinned toothily, "Perfect."

.

"Well if it isn't Little Miss Teen Pregnancy," A snide voice said from behind her. Harry turned from inspecting the incoming zit on the side of the forehead to see Margot Devlin and her little entourage sneering at her.

Great. Teenage girl posturing.

"I don't know how you think biology works, but just because I've seen a dick doesn't mean I'm magically pregnant," Harry huffed, turning her attention back to the mirror so she could touch up her eyeliner. "Trust me, if I actually am pregnant, everyone would know."

"Oh right," Margot scoffed, flipping her shiny red hair over her shoulder. It did nothing for Harry, for all that she got hearts in her eyes when Tom did the same action. "You're too busy eating Song's pussy nowadays."

"Wow, you pray with the nuns with that mouth?"

"Shut it, Anderson," snapped one of the girls at Devlin's side. God, this bathroom was rather crowded at the moment, wasn't it?

"Whatever," Harry rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag and making her way to the door. "Enjoy your days as a plastic goody little two shoes, Margot." She grinned and winked at the other girl, who looked about to protest at her leaving. "I heard there's going to be some changes around here."

"Wait a minute-"

.

"How long have you been here, anyway?" Harry asked while she did Tom's nails with clear polish. "Are you one of those girls that have been under Lady Claire's nurturing hand since preschool?"

Tom scoffed. "No, I only started freshman year, actually. My mother thought I was getting too unruly."

"Damn, what'd you do? Wear a bikini to the beach?"

"I punched my 8th grade homecoming date in the face."

"What." Harry gaped and Tom smirked mischievously.

"He was being too handsy with me, despite telling him for weeks that we were only going as friends," Tom said lightly. "I broke his nose. There was a lot of blood, and mother wasn't happy about how much got on my dress."

"Holy shit." Harry gasped. "Was the dress okay?"

A/N: Two things:

1) idk why I had it in my head that Minerva and Tom went at some point at Hogwarts together, but when I went to double check I found out I was wrong and off by two! years. OOPS. *bandaids carefully*
2) everyone makes Harry ~Lord Peverell~ and dont get me wrong, that trope doesn't put me off stories most of the time, but then my brain was like "but wait. tom riddle is also a peverell descendant AND from the older** brother. if there was going to be a Lord Peverell why cant HE be it." so i made it so. because I can. the power of a fanfic writer is amazing. (**oops, thanks for catching my error)