Three people reviewed on the previous chapter and one on chapter I, which makes four (pro math skillz right there!) reviews in total since my last update and so thank you very much for that!

But do enjoy chapter 21! Woo, I've gotten this far and I made this chapter a long one! I have trouble descriping Elana's parents as I have an idea of their personality but it's quite complicated ... as, if I may say so, it is messed up. I'm no good at messed up!

It's in our Blood

Chapter XXI

Elana thoughtfully played with the hem of her school robes and shifted lightly in the armchair, eyes lingering on her brother across of her. Elliot had immediately sent word to their parents and the siblings were now waiting in silence for their arrival in the grand living room. The ornate fireplace had been lit earlier and the wood crackled, making small specks of ash flutter into the air; she felt horrible for having to face her mother and father, but knew she had no other choice.

The room was spacious and light compared to the rest of the mansion; one wall was made out of a row of windows, allowing a great view of the back garden. The world outside was covered in a heavy layer of snow, the rose bushes completely hidden from sight and icicles hung from the trees, sparkling in the faint morning sun even from across the lawn. Everything had gone wrong ...

Tom Riddle's extraordinary powers would have been a greater asset if kept secret, but because of her foolish adventure into Hogsmeade there was nothing else to do than to play that card now. How things would develop from this point onwards was beyond her, though she would make sure to direct it in her preferred direction. And Tom's. "I only have limited information, but I can not come up with any other plausible explanation."

Her older brother, who had walked back and forth across the dark woven carpet in contemplation, paused briefly and looked at her. "You are absolutely sure it was Parseltongue?" She nodded in response. "There have been no previous records of that ability appearing outside of that family so you are most likely correct. For your sake I hope so."

She certainly hoped so as well.

Elana pursed her lips, eyes narrowing slightly as two figures appeared in the middle of the room. They had Apparated together, she noted, and a feeling of relief washed over her; at least they were on good terms with each other that day. That would mean they were in a, somewhat, good mood. Quickly rising to her feet to greet her parents, her gaze flickered towards her brother. "Why are you two not at school?" Her father's sharp, stern voice broke the silence first and, without a single look in her direction, walked towards Elliot. "This has better be important."

With her eyes fixated on her father's back, on the black hair that both siblings had inherited, and the billowing Ministry robes, it was first when she felt the touch of a hand against her head, gently stroking her hair, that Elana looked away. "Of course, father, I know not to disturb otherwise." Her mother's lips were drawn back into a thin, pale line, her grey blue eyes tinted with disapproval but at least she greeted her only daughter. Elana felt like shoving her away; she had no use for fake care. "It appears a Parselmouth has appeared in Hogwarts."

And as expected, the bond was short-lived and instantly broke at her brother's words. The pressure against her head was lifted. "Are you absolutely certain?" The older witch no longer had an eye for her own daughter at her son's words; Elana suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. If her mother wanted to pretend to care for her then she had a long way to go. There was no chance she would fall for such a half-hearted act. "Elliot, are you telling the truth?"

"Yes. Elana heard it." Their eyes locked, both aware of the mistake he had just made.

Her mother turned to her with a sneer across her face, a strand of light brown hair falling in front of her eyes. "You should know better than to believe the words of the greatest disappointment in the family." Such kind words, Elana clenched her teeth and stood completely still. They never believed her. "What little lies are you spewing this time?" But then again, she could see why.

"I told him exactly what I heard," she began slowly, carefully weighing her words. "I would not lie about something this important. I did hear him speak Parseltongue. He is a Slytherin in my year and I have already gained his trust. If you do not believe me then so be it, but can you really take such a risk and let the actual heir go like this?" She knew neither of her parents ever believed a word she said. Nevertheless, with the prospect of finally getting their long awaited revenge on Salazar Slytherin, they had to hope her words were true.

Which they were. For once.

"If you lie …"

Tom's brow was furrowed in thought as he leaned against the cold stone wall in the dungeons. He stood alone and, partly absentminded, scanned the crowd of Gryffindors that had filled the hallway, all waiting to enter the New Year's first Potions class; he noticed the youngest Potter brother animatedly chatting up two other boys and the brown haired girl from earlier. At the sight of the laughing girl he could not help but to, once more, be concerned with the Slytherin witch that had yet to return to Hogwarts after her sudden departure.

What was she up to? 'Damage control'. There was no doubt she was scheming something, but what? He, heaving an irritated sigh, ran a hand through his dark hair as he was apparently once more left out in the dark. If only Fowl would share what she knew with him it would become so much easier, but no, there was apparently no need to tell him anything! He hated that feeling. To be totally uninformed and irrelevant. "Did you finish your Wiggenweld Potion essay?"

Dragged out of his train of thought, Tom curtly greeted the pureblood with a nod, the frustrating and queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach subsiding slightly. Stop thinking about it, Tom. But he could not help to feel as if the witch purposely did not tell him anything and, even with everything she had done, he knew he could still not trust her. She was without a doubt highly skilled in deceit and lies and could just as well be playing him directly into the palm of her hand. Tom was attempting the same against her so why would she not?

"Yes," he motioned towards the three rolls of parchment in his left hand. Tom had been too caught up in everything else that he had almost forgotten to add the finishing touch, which resulted in him slaving his way through books in the common room half the night. His eyelids felt heavy but the cold and clammy air of the dungeons kept him painfully awake. Avery clasped his hands together and beamed at him almost apologetic.

"Mind if I just quickly …?" The pureblood did not even need to finish his request before Tom handed over his essay. "Brilliant, thanks." The wizard rummaged through his robes and quickly pulled out a bunch of crumpled looking papers and smoothened out the work against the wall; he then scribbled away in quite the hurry, blurring out the ink letters as he went. "I was thinking that, since you need to keep a low profile, we shouldn't show ourselves in the Great Hall more than necessarily and could in stead eat in the kitchen?"

Tom's eyebrow scooted up interested. "You know where the entrance is?"

"Yeah, my cousin told me of it when I was home for Christmas. There's barely anyone that knows of the secret entrance and you can pretty much talk without interruptions. The house-elves won't tell anything to anyone, really. At least they are good for that."

His curiosity had been awakened. Tom had never really thought of where the countless dishes for the bountiful feasts, served several times a day in the Great Hall, came from and he was eager to discover another of Hogwarts' secrets. "Very well, it is probably for the better." The three purebloods had questioned him the night before, but he had made sure to brush off their inquiries without giving any information away, and the rest of the school was probably just as interested in Slytherin's sudden loss of points as they had been.

To think one trip to Hogsmeade could cause so much trouble. He heaved a sigh, turning his attention towards the nearest door and awaited the professor; raised in the orphanage, Tom struggled to understand the pureblood mindset, their pride in their family lineage and distaste towards those that were different from themselves. A clear example was the hostility towards purebloods of different Houses.

Lestrange, Mulciber and Nott had arrived as if to prove Tom's point, the first bumping shoulders with Potter and instantaneously anger flared up between the two groups. "Watch it," the Gryffindor boy growled annoyed, sourly brushing his arm as he turned to face the wizards. Lestrange, with a smirk across his face, crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow.

"Did that hurt? Poor little blood traitor."

Avery briefly glanced up in the direction of the noise, rolled his eyes and returned to basically copying the essay in front of him. "They have to be stupid to start a fight now," he muttered under his breath, unable to hide the edge of glee that laced his voice. Tom agreed. It would not be long before Slughorn would open the door to the Potions classroom and catch them in the act; if they had wondered how to lose points they would experience it first hand any minute now.

Potter quickly lessened the gap between himself and the Slytherin, forcefully pushing both hands against the other and made Lestrange stutter backwards. "How dare you lay your filthy hands on me?"

"If anyone's filthy it's you," he sneered in response. "Pureblood fanatic."

"What was that?"

"What? Fanatic? You are one, don't deny it."

The only thing that stopped Lestrange from basically throwing himself at Potter was the Potions master finally making an appearance. "There is a lot of noise coming from out here," Slughorn blocked the entire door with his bulky corpus, overlooking the gathered Gryffindors and Slytherins. "Who is kicking up a fuss?" When no one answered, not much for pointing out fellow classmates, he heaved a sigh and stepped aside into the room. "Very well, come in then and let's start."

Tom and Avery were some of the first in. Slipping past a few girls from his house, they quickly took what had become their usual seats at the back of the class; he placed his books on the table, shuffled through his bag for parchment and quills and pulled out a chair. "Pity they didn't get into trouble," the wizard at his side commented.

"Make sure to hand in your Wiggenweld Potions essay before the end of class, any later than that will be marked as failed." The professor's chair complained lowly at the sudden change of weight, but he was too busy writing ingredients on the board with his wand to notice. "You will, in pairs, work on the Dreamless Sleeping Potion the next couple of lessons. Now, can anyone answer why this specific potion needs so long to finish?" A couple of hands were raised, some more hesitant than others.

In order to keep up his appearance towards Slughorn, Tom was one of the few. The Head of House scanned over the class and picked a Gryffindor in one of the front desks. "The dittany needs to first boil in the Horklump juice and salamander blood mixture where after it takes four days before it reaches the correct stage to add the last ingredients. If added earlier the blood will crystalize and that can have severe consequences."

"I would hope a few more decides to partake in the class, or it will be shown in your grades soon." Slughorn scolded, looking in the direction of, mostly, the Slytherin girls, who had grouped up far to the left and were busily caught up chatting. "But, yes. Correct, Mr. Trigg, five points to Gryffindor for an excellent answer."

From the corner of an eye Tom saw a flicker of movement.

Potter had turned in his seat and gaily whispered in Lestrange's direction. "And Gryffindor takes the lead even further. Try and keep up, little snake." Tom's eyebrow scurried up. There had been occurrences even before the holidays where Slytherins had gotten into trouble with students from the other houses, but he had yet to witness such open hostility between the first years compared to what was happening now. "It seems like you aren't even trying."

"Then," the professor was still keeping his attention on the girls with an almost wicked grin, forcing them to smile awkwardly back at him, and did not notice the problems with the boys. The pureblood wizard, infuriated, tossed an open ink bottle at Potter when the latter had turned back into his seat once more; a black liquid splattered out over the boy, completely soaking his white shirt and the back of his head. Those sitting closest to him fell victims as well, unfortunately in the line of fire. "Get to work-" Slughorn's smile faltered immediately.

At first he merely gaped, staring at the drenched boy to the purebloods, who were trying their hardest at holding back roaring laughter. Potter wiped his face with a sleeve from his already ruined shirt, a grim look spreading across his face as the snickers continuously grew in volume. "I'll make you pay ..."

"Who did this?" Slughorn inquired.

"It was Lestrange," it appeared that the rule of not ratting out others, even from a different house, had been annulled as a Gryffindor boy immediately pointed towards the Slytherins. Then again, half his face was dotted with black ink. "He threw ink at us, Sir."

The Professor heaved a sigh. "Congratulations, Mr. Lestrange, you just cost your House thirty points and earned a week of detention for yourself. Now, everyone, start working on your potions before I lose my patience with you all completely; this is not how you should deduct yourself in a school!" He waved his hand exasperated in the direction of the ink covered boy. "You as well, Mr. Potter, you can clean up after we are done here. I have no doubt you were partly to blame."

"Professor-"

"Yes?" He half-snapped.

The brown haired girl near Potter flinched at his harsh tone, completely freaked out but still managed to continue. "We are an uneven number today, someone will miss a partner. I can work alone until miss Fowl returns if needed?"

Slughorn lit up briefly. "You do that, miss Fielding. If only your classmates would follow your exemplary behaviour and get along even if in different houses." He shook his head and sighed. "If only."

After that, the classroom fell into a tense silence. Still in a foul mood, Professor Slughorn spent the rest of the time patrolling between the aisles of desks, making sure all the first years were focused on the cauldron in front of them. Tom was thankful to have picked the back of the room; the wizard rarely made it all the way down there and they had been too far away to have been apart of the earlier incident. He had not lost any points in Slughorn's book.

As soon as her feet touched the newly fallen snow on the ground she released her father's arm, almost as if her hand was scolded just by the mere touch. For the second time in less than two weeks Elana found herself in Hogsmeade, having arrived there once more this time by Side-Along Apparation. White flakes fluttered from the white and grey clouds high above but she could still faintly make out the silhouette of Hogwarts in the distance, the great castle towering towards the skies.

Her cheeks and ears were burning in the cold already as she had been instructed to travel only in her school uniform. They had missed enough classes as it was, so she had no time to change when they reached the castle. Elana took a step forward, but felt a large hand grip tightly around her wrist and she was forced to look back. "If you mess this up you know what will happen." Her father's dark, nearly black orbs locked with hers; completely devoid of emotions. Cold, dead eyes.

What most would find to be a warm and welcoming face with the wrinkles of age around his eyes, the greying hair and small dimples, Elana just found it downright terrifying. If one person should not have dimples it was her father. But then again, his polite face was reserved to people outside the family. She did not even struggle against his grip. "I am well aware of that," she spoke, making sure her voice was calm even though she felt nowhere near at ease. "I will not fail." He kept her gaze for what seemed an eternity, but then he finally released her and turned to her brother.

Elliot had silently waited at their side. "Watch her and make sure she does not make any mistakes."

"Yes, father."

The head of her family strictly watched both of his children before nodding. "You know how important this is for the family. I will hold you both responsible for any failures; do not shame the Fowl name." He then Disapparated. Elana tugged her hands further down into her robe pockets, the biting cold wind brushing against her face and whipped up her hair; her brother heaved a sigh before he began walking towards the castle ahead.

She quickly followed after. "I do not know if you figured this out already, but I was not alone."

"I had a feeling it was something like that. If you were on your own you would not have been caught." He turned his face back to get a look at her. His dark blue eyes narrowed. "You need to cover for him. Why?"

Elana partially shrugged and then smiled. "Well, I have a plan ..."

Tom waited at the desk while Avery, fighting his way past the wizards and witches heading for the door, handed in their essays. He instantly noted how the groups had become more huddled, eyeing others warily almost as if they were expecting to be attacked if they as much as blinked. He felt like rolling his eyes. Everyone was acting peculiarly. Huffing slightly, the pureblood returned and slung his bag over a shoulder. "Let's go."

As they made it up the dungeon and further through the corridors of the school, they were soon joined by the older students. Loud voices, laughter and footsteps pressed in on him from all sides as they weaved in and out between the much taller witches and wizards. Luckily they had Transfiguration next and the classroom was located on the ground floor, making their journey only a short one. The downside was Tom had to spend two hours in the company of his most disliked professor. Dumbledore.

All he had to do was get it over with as fast as possible, hopefully avoiding eye contact with the old wizard; just the way Dumbledore looked at him sent chills down his spine, almost as if he could read his mind. The door to the classroom was open and Ravenclaw had taken their seats already. Tom attempted to brush off the uncomfortable feeling of having the professor knowing everything he thought.

A teacher probably was not allowed to do that anyways. Were they?

Once more claiming the seats at the back, Tom observed how the Slytherins and Ravenclaws interacted with each other; much to his surprise there was no change from their normal behaviour of, well, ignoring each other. It was probably the difference between the hot blooded Gryffindors and the calm, collected Ravenclaws that made the smarter of the two houses avoid an open fight. Luckily. The Potions lesson had been horrible and close to impossible to concentrate.

And so, without any incidents of any kind, the Transfiguration lesson started. Dumbledore had instructed them in how to turn a match into a needle and they then spent the rest of the class attempting to copy the professor. Tom, much to his own pleasure, had quickly picked up on it and was after only a few tries able to perform the transformation without problems; he did not feel like drawing attention to himself in this case, not wanting to converse with the elderly wizard. "I think there is something off with my matches," Avery muttered gruffly.

Tom looked down on the pureblood's latest failed attempt. He had managed to turn most of it into a thin, silvery needle but had run into troubles with the sulphur part. "It does not seem that bad," he commented, bored of the class as it was. A fairly large pile of needles rested in front of him at his desk. "Perhaps you need a bit more work, and then you will get there." The wizard scoffed but flicked his wand in another go.

"A lot more work," he corrected as he tried to dig out another guinea pig from the matchbox. "But I can really see the point in this, sure! I can obviously make a splendid career or become the most powerful wizard just by mastering this skill. Clearly!" A feeling of being watched, Tom slowly looked up and almost immediately locked gazes with the professor. His light blue eyes sparkled in what could only be described as amusement; he quickly shushed Avery but Dumbledore had heard him.

"We all start somewhere, Mr. Avery, and work our way from there and upwards." His voice rang throughout the entire classroom, catching the attention of both houses. "Would you be able to perform powerful magic without the least bit of practice? To create great wonders such as making inanimate things come to life and answer to your every bidding? If so, I think you should stand at the front of class rather than I."

Avery seemed taken aback by the sudden confrontation and attention, and shook his head meekly. "No, sir, I clearly see what you mean."