New chapter?

Hard to believe isn't it? I can hardly believe it took me so long to update this story. I'm actually mildly disgusted with myself.

Rereading recent chapters might help readers to follow this chapter as it has been so long since my last post. Heavy on inner circle drama and light on exposition and plot movement, this is more of a building chapter. Any questions or comments? Drop me a line, I'm usually quite pleasant.

An extra shout out to kinda evil, without whom the first few chapters of the sequel would never have been so creatively plotted.

Thanks to everyone who waited for an update; feel free to demand things of me. Seriously, anybody writing new stories? I feel that I owe fan fiction some reviews as repentance.

Or you know..if you really only feel like expressing your ire at my lazyness through angry ALL CAPS reviews I will be more than understanding of that too.

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Harry's POV 1949

The corridors were dark and Harry was moving with a prominent haste, the torches quivering he passed with such pressing authority. It was a quarter to eight and he was expected to show the caretaker his rounds, a duty he had almost completely forgotten.

The path to the entrance hall was a relatively short one, but the cold deserted corridors seemed unending and serpentine. The sky outside held a late winter's inky color, the kind that was a neither uncaring nor affectionate. It was, Harry decided more assuredly as he turned a corner, completely uninterested. Ambivalent, it viewed atrocities with the same stormy eye that kept a watch for heroism.

Thoughts like these had never used to occur to Harry, but then times were dark. Undoubtedly darker than any time he had lived through, and yet he was quite sure that he hadn't been so safe in years. Why had he been sorted into Slytherin? Had he been placed in any other house he might have considered living his life out in this backward time. A second chance at what could be considered a free life. Harry slipped the book he had been reading into his robes; and withdrew his wand as he neared the entrance hall. It wasn't that he feared any sort of attack, but he had learned long ago it did well to be prepared in the Hogwarts corridors after dinner.

The entrance hall was deserted, but warmer. Harry positioned himself near one of the floor based torches and warmed his hands, aware that across the chamber a Ravenclaw was in the same position, sniffling hard at what was either a nasty cold or thick tears. Harry ignored him and leaning against the wall of the chamber drew his book back out once more. He ran a hand through his hair as he took in the passage. The Ravenclaw shifted his weight and sniffed hard; a sound that went directly to Harry's nerves. The minutes ticked away and Harry found himself rereading sentences, unfocused and bothered. His unruly anxiousness was periodically broken by the boys heaving and sucking.

What could be keeping Tom? Or Slughorn for that matter? It occurred to him it was much less like Tom to be absent, but he supposed it could be reasoned away. He paused to think and noticed that the presence in the chamber had changed. Suddenly tense he froze. The boy sniffling had stopped. He looked up expecting to find that he had composed himself but instead startled.

Tom was standing some five feet from him smiling pleasantly, if not icily. Harry looked around him searching for the boy.

Tom smirked. "Looking for someone?"

Harry fought the obviously obnoxious urge to smirk at the callous creepiness. "You actually."

Tom cocked an eyebrow, his eyes falling to the book in his hands. Silently he reached forward and using his fingers to mark the page flipped it shut. "Dream reading; Prophecies foretold?" He smirked, "I thought you knew better."

Harry considered the book for a moment. He had, following another of his reoccurring dreams beginning in the attic of that white house and leading into the main hall, checked this book out under the nose of a rather angry librarian. He had only just remembered it that afternoon, buried as it was in the box of books and papers he recently had come to call his trunk. He briefly considered his array of lies and which would more convincing. "Extra credit work."

Tom's smirk deepened as this use of his very favorite excuse and he asked quite politely. "For what class?"

Harry blanked.

Tom's smirk curled a little as he flipped the book open and began to read the jacket.

Harry brushed his bangs back with a sigh, clearly cornered. What was the harm in asking? It would definitely be an educated opinion. "Do you think they exist?"

Tom looked up from his reading with something of a surprise. "Prophecies?"

Harry hurtled on. "Yes."

Tom fixed his cold eyes on Harry's. Harry found himself watching them for something. Tom flipped the book shut at last. "We write our own destinies." he said at last, as though they were touching a subject he was weary to breach.

Harry took the book back from him, never letting the irony of Tom's disbelief in prophecies touch him. Somewhere nearby Harry could hear Slughorn's voice reverberating.

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Gryffindor tower 1996

Hermione was sad. There was no other word for it. Depressed was too common, aggrieved implied death; but she would never admit Harry's death, not until she saw him with her own two eyes.

Huddled away in an armchair she poured over the marauders map at length while Ron, laying on his stomach at her feet cranked out his rather dilapidated essay. Professor Dumbledore had found her four hours ago now, alone in the library well past curfew. At first she had thought he was going to reprimand her and that feeling was followed by her first ever desire she to ignore professor Dumbledore's and his sage advice. Instead, he had taken the seat she had left had sworn had been occupied only seconds before by a pile of parchment, and smiled at her through with deep eyes.

Amidst the piles of disused books and parchment filled with hours of laborious and fruitless notes, she had realized what it must look like to him. That she, a teenager, would be able to find a solution where he hadn't. She had looked down, prepared to be ashamed but he had spoke calmly. The blue silence of the library reflected in his tone.

"Success is not final, failure is not fatal, Miss granger." He paused twittling his thumbs. " It is the courage to continue that counts." He reached into his robes and pulled out the marauders map. "I will not be needing this anymore." He placed the rolled up thing on the book before her. "Perhaps you will succeed where I have failed."

The dust on the books did not stir and though she doubted his final words, she had taken the map and words to heart. Perhaps with Dumbledore's change of mind, he had moved on to some other plan that would bring Harry home to them.

Hermione reached past Ron and picked up her wand on the table before her. "Revelous."

Ron looked up from his essay. "Still nothing." He scratched himself casually and she sighed.

Hermione looked away. Ron dropped his quill and moved to his feet. He lifted the map from Hermione's hands softly. She recoiled and looked up at Ron, who in the light of the fire looked even more sleepy than he had on the floor in the dark. "Hermione, have you looked at this map?"

She rested her head on the chair. "Yes Ron, everything seems to be in order. The people are still there, the rooms are still there, I don't know what to tell you."

"No, I mean, have you looked at the map?" Ron asked, excitement building in his throat.

Hermione looked up and Ron sat down on the arm of the chair. "What is it?" She asked after scanning the map and seeing nothing particularly malinfested.

"Malfoy happens to be alone in the library." he said, looking down at the map.

"Where?" Hermione's head came up from the side of the chair.

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Harry's POV 1949

Slughorn came puttering into the great hall without much speed. In fact, he looked downtrodden and limp, stopping before Harry and Tom with out any bobbing or smiling on Tom's behalf. Tom moved forward so that he was beside Harry, his face the smooth mask it always was, sculpted into the perfect face of pleasant conversation. "Good evening professor."

"Good evening Tom." He was looking at his watch and glancing behind him. "Where the devil has Barmous got to?"

In the hall behind him, Harry could hear the low scraping of metal on stone, and slow footsteps. "Come on Barmous, put a step in it." he looked back at the boys, bags under his eyes evident, "We haven't got all night you know.." he muttered.

Tom quirked his eyebrow and moved to the side as the new caretaker came lopping in. Harry moved to make room instinctively. Barmous was clutching a mop and pail, and visibly favoring his left side. He coughed lightly and turned to them in some interest.

"Been hopping through hoops all day." Slughorn was grumbling, pulling papers from his pockets. "Don't even have time to make rounds with you."

"You've been busy?" Harry asked.

Slughorn gave him a baleful look. "Bossed about like some miserable excuse for a pack mule.." he ruffled, " I haven't been to my office all day."

"And you're going now sir?" Tom asked cordially, but Harry knew through a tuned mix of intuition and experience that this was a means of finding out where Slughorn would be later that night. Hadn't he mentioned wanting a word with Slughorn that morning? Harry racked his brains.

"Oh yes, I've got a whole pile of papers to grade, reports from substitutes to look through and that poor girl Myrtle is waiting for me. "

Harry looked back a Slughorn. "Myrtle?"

"Oh yes, Poor thing, I believe it's her transfiguration work again." He smoothed out his vest and placed his watch back into his pocket. "I swear, Dumbledore thinks he is teaching a crop of geniuses, the work he assigns you."

Tom smirked understandingly.

Harry however was barely following, as an idea had struck him. "Transfiguration?"

Slughorn motioned emphatically with his hand, "Yes, yes, disastrous class. I have had students visiting me all week. You must have a test soon."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I've never had much trouble with it actually. I had no idea it was such a burden for Myrtle."

Tom was watching Harry now, a look of understand barely obvious on his features. Harry was aware that the new caretaker was also following him quite carefully, a trait Harry that hadn't suited the last caretaker very well Harry recalled snidely.

Slughorn was now withdrawing a series of folded papers was saying. "One of these should give you tonight's schedule if I can just find it." Harry watched apprehensively as he began to unfold the papers.

"You know sir," Harry began, stepping back as Slughorn shifted and pulled an envelope out of his pocket only narrowly avoiding Harry's collar. "Sir, if you don't mind, I'm sure I could help Myrtle," Slughorn looked away from his paper, " especially if you feel like your place tonight is here."

Slughorn looked him up and down. "Dear dear boy, It would be far to much to ask–" he stopped. "No, it simply wouldn't do." There was a gleam in his eyes that clearly thought otherwise so

Harry continued. "Really sir, I'm sure it would be no trouble at all. I'm sure you know more about teaching caretakers anyway." He attempted a small smile. "I might be able to sort out her confusion and you can stay here with Tom, if he doesn't mind." There, ask him whatever you need to.

Tom hooked Slughorn's vision. "Of course not." His eyes lingered on Harry for a moment, and he looked if anything, privately amused.

"Well, that's just lovely." Slughorn seemed to come to life. He bounced on the balls of his feet. "You do that Mister Potter, and ten points to Slytherin for the courtesy."

Toms smirk deepened.

"Now if you don't mind Mister Barmous, I think we should start on the third floor ."

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By the time Harry had reached the dungeons he could see his breath, pale blue and churning in the air. Harry suspected but could not confirm that a late winter snow had swirled angrily to breathing motion outside the castle, but from where Harry stood limbering up from his semi jog under a torch it looked no different than it had thirty minutes before. Slughorn's office was around the corner and Harry was taking a moment to stuff his bag with his books and, as an after thought retrieve his scarf. Bag loaded, he slung it back onto his shoulder and made his way down the passage. At the end he could just spot Myrtle with her feet dangling over the end of the wooden bench.

Harry slowed as he reached her and she cast a quick curious glance and then looked away as though mortified. Standing across from her she hid her gaze. "Hi."

Harry blinked, unnerved by how similar the living Myrtle was to her ghostly counterpart. "Hi Myrtle." He said as gently as he could without sounding like a deviant, probing her bag to the side so that he could sit down.

She hastened to move it for him but Harry was already sitting. "Did…I mean to say, are you here to see- no but you wouldn't be you're far too smart." She cast a sideways look.

"Actually," Harry wove the scarf about his neck, "I am here to see you." Myrtle went about as pale as sulphur and Harry as he was tying his scarf had the courtesy to pretend not to notice. "Professor Slughorn is currently showing about our new caretaker and as he couldn't make his appointment he asked me to come by and check up on things." The scarf now snug he added. "Transfiguration I think he said."

Harry looked over at her now and noticed that her transfiguration book was in her bag tucked between two other books, not out, open or bothered. Nor was any other book for that matter and he regretted mentioning her homework as it was quite clear that her reason for visiting Slughorn had a another meaning entirely.

"I-" she paused her eyes wide as though caught in a lie. "I- sure."

Harry blinked. "Or were you here for some other reason?" He attempted a concerned frown and found that his features, quite unused to apathetic postures nearly refused.

"That is to say- yes. I came for transfiguration. Like I did last time." She smiled and looked down and Harry was struck by what a poor lie it was. What would she need to tell Slughorn? She reached for her book and Harry took it from her seamlessly.

He noticed as he flipped it open that her physical proximity was rather benign, as though she was attempting to tuck her entire body into her abdomen. Shoved into the front of the book was a wad of papers. "I- I don't know if you will be able to help me. I'm really lousy."

Some of the pages seemed to be rough drafts, the others Harry thought might be mistakes. Harry borrowed her quill and began to circle. "Here," he motioned, "the properties don't match-"

"Match?"

"Yes, that's why you have probably been getting unsymmetrical results."

"Oh. Right" she was staring at him now quite openly. Harry asked for her book and she handed it over willingly. He circled three more answers and flipped to the index of the book. "Just, change that-" another circle "and questions three and five will make more sense and-" Harry flipped another page trying his best to finish up quickly when a sheet of paper caught his eye. A sheet of paper with very familiar careful handwriting.

She was studying him still, less shyly then at first. "You remind me of your friend."

Harry was blinking, wondering weather or not he could slip the paper open. He was sure he knew the handwriting. Positive actually, he knew it like a book from his own childhood. But why would anything Tom had written be in her book? "My friend?" he muttered?

"Yeah Tom, the other prefect, you look alike."

Harry blinked. Maybe he could angle the book to slip the page away.

"Tom, yeah I guess so, tall, er tall type, dark hair.."

"No," she said and Harry looked up, "I mean smart."

Harry closed the book. "Here." He handed her the papers. "That should do it, if you don't understand the notes in the margins just find me."

She nodded, and Harry began to collect his bag, the mysterious page loosely piled on top. "Thanks Harry." She was holding her book looking sort of confused. "Will Slughorn be back tonight."

Harry gave her his most pleasing smile. "Not until very late."

She nodded looking more nervous than Harry had ever remembered.

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The common room was dark when Harry returned. The fire had already started to die, and for the most part the chilly room was mostly vacant. The clock above the mantel read that it was just ten o'clock, an hour that usually had the common room bustling with older students cramming in a bit of last minute studying. Tonight however it was still. Perhaps the cold had driven the Slytherins to their beds. Harry made for the couch laid back from and the fire and noticed the familiar blonde glisten. He dropped his bag heavily on the cushions. Grodisisous looked up, a faint sneer etched into his pointy face. "Back so soon?"

Harry gave him his very best charming grin. "Yeah. I thought you'de be glad." It was almost outright mockery. He wondered for a minute why he bothered.

The trace of a snarl curved his mouth but he said nothing, leaning back and sinking into a lethargic staring contest with the fire. Harry flopped down next to him. "What are you doing?" he asked his eyes moving from the fire to Malfoy.

"What exactly do you want?" Malfoy spat boldly.

Harry thought for a minute, unsure of his reasons for instigating. He shrugged, still smiling. "Nothing, You relax." Harry reached into his bag for a book, thinking it best he read the letter in the privacy of the dormitory later. Tom would expect him to wait up and think it odd if he didn't. He didn't want to risk it. Suspicion was the most lethal poison in a Slytherin's armory. Instead he plucked up his book on prophecies. He had only just found his spot when Malfoy spoke.

"It won't be like this much longer."

Harry looked back at him, sensing some words of lasting portent. " And what exactly will change?"

Malfoy tilted his head and in the firelight Harry caught a glimpse of the aristocratic air he sometimes alluded. It was surprisingly elegant and more unnerving then he would have thought.

"Tom Riddle." A pause poignant with hesitation. "Voldemort. Whatever we are supposed to call him these days."

Harry had forgotten his book. "What makes you say that?" He had a flashing doubt; the thought of Tom plotting against him with Grodisisous and Lestrange.

"He's the real deal Potter." Malfoy was looking at the fire again and it was absolutely caught in his hair. "He's going to be powerful. He already is."

Harry, now aware of exactly how dangerous this converstaion was instructed his eyes to glance at the portrait hole subtly. "Yeah. But I think we both already knew that."

Malfoy laughed a little in a cold and biting way, as though he knew something that Harry had been too preoccupied to notice. "He's not going to share it with you- that power." a very dark expression had worked into Malfoy's features. "It will be his."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, attempting to sound as though he was humoring Malfoy even though a shiver had run through him.

"Yeah." Malfoy mimicked bitterly. "You're not like the rest of us Potter. You hold it in, you're methodical. He respects you, but it won't be long before he fears you."

Harry looked hard at him, dropping all pretense. "And then?"

"You'll be sorry you ever messed with me." Malfoy was looking him dead on now with all of the cold fury his son would one day use to bully a generation. "Because while he will never respect me, he'll also never fear me."

"Is that pride Malfoy?" Harry asked, feeling uncomfortable. "What a way to live."

"That's just it Potter, I'm going to, but you-" He stopped now, scowling.

Harry nodded, leaning back against the couch, never breaking his eye contact. It was a long and bizarrely narrow minute, staring intently at Grodisisous and contemplating his next move. "You know Malfoy, it's really a pity."

Malfoy's nose twitched slightly, taken aback and unprepared he spat. "Not exactly my first thought." Then scowling he recovered. "I really see no tragedy here, well at least not from where I'm sitting."

"Well I do." Harry shot back, loving the slight twitch of Malfoy's lip. "You're probably right. He won't confide in me for long." Harry straightened his cuff. "But when I rejoin you, I'll have some pretty valuable information." Malfoy's brows knit.

"If you rejoin us-"

"Which I will, I assure you." Harry smirked. "The real question is who do you want me to go to with this know-how?" Harry's lip twitched. "You," he smirked, "or Lestrange?"

For the first time Malfoy looked behind him at the portrait hole. "I suppose that all depends on your meaning Potter."

"I mean protecting ourselves."

Malfoy relaxed a little. "Of course."

"Think about it Malfoy. Right now, you and Lestrange are in the same water. You've both known each other since infancy. But when Tom makes his stand, things are going to shift. It's going to be me and one of you."

Malfoy jerked a little. "You're hoping."

Harry laughed. "Personally I would rather it was you and I anyway, I can't stand the all the bleeding gobstones."

Malfoy sneered in what Harry assumed was a mockery of his humor. He was staring into the fire again. At last he bowed his head. "So what are you saying, we cut Lestrange out?"

Harry nodded feeling elated that things had changed in his favor. He straightened his face, this was business. "You and me, we stay in this. We take our cut of Tom's glory and knock Lestrange's ration out of the calculations."

Malfoy nodded. "Ok, figure it out, then you say the word Potter."

Harry nodded thinking that perhaps he just killed two birds with one stone as he might be able to make use of Malfoy's influence, not to mention the avoidance a bitter enemy. Harry smiled, rolling his shoulders and tossing his head back. "Say a word to Lestrange though and I'll kill you. you know." He laughed as his eyes follwed Malfoy's into the flames.

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The light was shining placidly over Draco's back as he shoveled old newspapers of minor importance back into their original shelves. He had stacked the more prudent papers in a pile on the table which moved slightly as he leaned against it, tired and yet rewarded. He studied the candle as it shook, wax running down into the candle holder.

He contemplated bringing it back to the dormitory with him when he heard a noise from behind a shelf. Quickly he leaned forward and blew the candle out. Silently he collected the papers and shrunk back. There was an echoing sound, footsteps, and an aggressive "Shhhh," that shook the papers in the shelves around him. "Oh yeah Hermione. That's much sneakier" blew forth in a sarcastic masculine snap

"Ouch Ron." A minor shuffle. "Watch the shelves."

Malfoy almost sneered audibly. Had they been more covert they might have found something of great intrest to them, but how much could be expected from a mudblood and a boy sidekick? He made to move back between the shelves, the intention of sneaking out now quite plain.

"Do you think he is here?"

"Of course he is here. That's what the map says."

"Trust Malfoy to be sneaking around."

Draco paused in mid sneak. Clutching his wand he crept between the shelves. How could they have possibly known that he was here? If they had known then, did they know that even now he was only feet away from them? Within lunging distance of Weasley's chunky fingertips, Malfoy sucked in his breath and held still. The urge to run screamed in his legs but he could not find the courage to move them. He slunk behind the shelf across from them and then safely behind broke into a sprint for the door, his breath coming in hitches, he slipped out unseen.

The hallways were dark, but not as dark as the sky in which the reflection of something decidedly ominous shivered. He broke out into a run, all fears of Flich assuaged by the sound of the torches and the breeze. Even still he was happy when the dungeons folded around him. He made pointedly for the his dormitory distracted by what he had read and heard. He let the portrait fall shut behind him harder than was fully smart and he winced accordingly. He studied the common room. Empty. He had done well in ushering out lingering students earlier and found his reward now in a dark, empty space where he could spread out his papers and study.

He tossed the papers on the nearest table while he shed his sweater, flumping down feeling distinctly dejected and wilted from the exhaustion of running in fear down several corridors. He now bent over and spread out his materials. The gravety of the situation was heavy on his shoulders as he flipped open a paper dated May 15 1949. There was a picture of students in mourning, teachers in veils. Students and Faculty mourn as Investigations close at last. He looked over the picture and picked Harry out of the crowd. Tall and sober he stood between two other boys, his grandfather and Tom Riddle. Toms eyes were unfathomable, he ran his fingers over the ink and blinked. He was quite sure he had seen his Grandfather and Harry exchange a glance. The third boy he had seen in the library, a relative of his Aunt Bellatrix's family was absent.

He pawed through the pile pulling out an especially yellow copy, this one was dated in late March. Attacks continue, hope steadily diminishing. There was a picture of two middle aged adults, both with dark hair and though it was hard to tell, decidedly yellow complexions. He scanned the article until he found a three sentence reference to the good prefects of Slytherin and Gryffindor houses. Foul play undoubtedly Malfoy thought as he flicked the page sharply.

Another picture of Harry, smirking handsomely next to Riddle. The caption read The Gifted and Talented; either way Nice job class of '49 winners. Academic rewards? His eyes met Harry's printed ones and he was stricken as if with the negery of the undead. Living and yet unseen, Potter was shifteing the future from inside his head. It was he Malfoy who was going insane. This paper evidence was an illsuion. His father would have to lock him away. It would be scandalous. His mother would drink herself to placidity. Malfoy dropped the paper with nimbly shaking hands. His fingers felt like accessories, not extremities as he picked himself up off the chair. He let out a long and shaking breath, feeling stricken and ill. He had never been prone to self doubt; the feeling was lower then he might have imagined.

He had seen Potter hadn't he? He had seen his grandfather, Tom Riddle, the Hogwarts hallways as clearly as he now saw the fire. The urge to do something rash rushed back into him and he felt it with a lurch in his navel that fast transformed into a feeling of actual sickness. What could he do except find a way to contact Potter? Could that be done?

And there from some sneaky place inside his head it came. You did once already Draco. Suppose you contacted Potter? Then he could prove this wasn't just some hellish nightmare. Maybe you could bring him back. Put him where he belongs. Take him out of your past. Your traditions preserved.

But how could this be accomplished? He wasn't really sure how he had managed it the first time, the thought of a second visiting was almost worse than sitting helpless. It all started with that map he decided, and so that was what he would need. He would need the map to accomplish anything. There was the dead end. Dumbledore had that map and there was absolutely no way he would be able to steal it without being caught or worse interrogated.

"Do you think he is here?"

"Of course he is here. That's what the map says."

Malfoy froze at this memory. The map had passed to Granger, he was suddenly sure of it, as sure as he was that they had been in the library anticipating him. He titled his head up toward the ceiling and yawned, considering his wide array of options.

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By the time Tom returned, Malfoy had gone to bed. The entire common room was desserted and cold, the only life source eminating from the fire and the common rooms one lonely occupant. Tom seemed to have sensed him before Harry had time to declare his presence because he could feel Tom's shadow over his shoulder. "I'm not sure whether to be impressed or suspicious." Tom flicked non existence dust off from the couch behind Harrys head; so close he felt his hair rustle. It was time for his bedtime intimidation turned pleasantries.

"I see no reason for you to be suspicious." Harry said lowly, so as not to cause an echo.

He heard Toms smirk. "You wouldn't" the sound of his bag, and then Tom was beside him looking into the fire. "You remembered I wanted to speak to Slughorn."

Harry nodded.

Tom raised a brow. "Observant."

Harry nodded again. "I try to be. It seems like whenever I am I suceed in being of some use to you."

A moment of silence. "I wasn't complaining."

The room was quiet and sleepy. Harry listened and picked out Toms breathing from his own to remind him that he was alive. Then Tom looked away from the fire. "The new caretaker is similarly observant but needless to say I find it less endearing."

Harry smiled. "I noticed earlier that he seemed curious."

Tom nodded. "He'll need watching if I'm to be able to accomplish what I want in the next month."

Harry looked up seeing where the conversation was going. "You want me to keep an eye on it."

Tom nodded. "Both if you can spare them." His face was a stark contrast of Malfoys, dark and complex. "He will catch on though. Use Malfoy and Lestrange when you can to elongate your grace period. After that you have my permission to use whatever means you deem necessary."

As always a silent "Refrain from implicating me, I will deny you." hung between them.

Harry nodded. His most loyal, his most trusted. He alone had waited up for him and he alone had been expected. Harry could understand why Voldemorts followers were so fanatic. He made a vow that would never let that happen to him.

"Tom."

Toms eyes moved onto Harry's.

"You might want to watch what you say to Malfoy."

Toms eyes grew darker, flickering between Harry's. "Oh?"

"He has a habit of drawing conclusions. And in case you hadn't noticed he strongly dislikes me."

Toms face contrived into a sneer. "This would be sarcasm?"

Something about the darkness had instilled a confidence in Harry. Call it intuition, call it heroism. Maybe he was tired of living in a shell. "You've never had a friend have you?"

Toms face was unchanged but his eyes were intent. "I have plenty of people willing to sacrafice for me."

Harry nodded. "I mean real friends Tom, people who are willing to sacrafice whether or not you give them things."

Tom leaned back against the couch, every inch of his posture scoffing the notion of mutual loyalty. "You realize of course, how ridiculous that is."

"Why?" Harry was smirking now, aware that he was poking into Toms proverbial soul with all the force and precision of a blunt stick.

"Anyone who is willing to sacrafice without gain is a fool." Tom said this with such a comfortable certainty that it made Harry ache to truly agree with him.

"I suppose." Harry conceded. "In a way."

"Sacrafice needent always be shared." Tom cocked his head to the side. "A friendship can consists of two parties. One who provides a service, another that rewards it."

"That's called business Tom." Harry smirked. "Not friendship. Friendship consists of risks and interest."

"In that way I feel we must be very good friends." Tom turned his gaze back on Harry. "You do interest me," his eyes took in his face, "but I am constantly aware of the risk."

Harry almost wished he could bottle the charm that Tom could so casually exude. "The risk?" Harry dared, not entirely sure he would like to hear the answer.

Toms eyes puzzled over Harry's movements for a moment. "Suppose you were not who you said you were." It was only with very great exertion that Harry mamaged to keep his facial muscles under control, the urge to flinch was so great, Harry just maged to quell it intime to be prepared for another mental urging. He found with great surprised that his real need was to smile. He wanted to grin so desperately he could barely conatin it. "What then?"

"Who else would I be?"

Tom regarded him for a moment. "I have an experiment Harry." He waited for Harry to nod. "I think you might be the perfect candidate."

Harry slunk back against the cushion. "An experiment."

"It helps me to find you when I need you."

"Like a pager?" Harry watched the regognition in Toms eyes at the muggle refrence.

"They are similar, but I think you'll find that mine is more perminant."

"What are you going to tatoo it on."

Toms eyes flickered as he straightened his robes. "Something like that."

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Tricksy yes? Some underlying inner circle tension and the introduction of the dark mark. Again, any questions or comments? Direct them to my inbox. I love to chat.