Updated: 14/12/2019
Disclaimer: This universe belongs solely to J.K Rowling, based on the Harry Potter franchise.
A/N: Thank you very much for all the support and encouragement! I'm well aware I suck at keeping schedules, so I'll just offer my apologies and move on.
I'm gradually making some changes and edits, so I'm sorry for the discrepancies in capitalization between chapters. At some point (I have no idea when), I'll have edited everything to be more coherent.
Unfortunately, this chapter has not been beta-read, but I hope I've managed to eliminate most mistakes anyway. If you spot anything, feel free to let me know so I can correct it. I hope you have a good weekend. ;)
101010101010101010101010101010101
It was a short, brisk walk from the scene of the would-be crime to the entrance of the school's spartanly furnished infirmary, an impatient-looking medi-witch already standing ready for them with a harsh scowl on her face and a thin wand resting impatiently in her palm. Ignoring both himself and Albus, which was no mean feat, the Madam wasted no time shooing Professor Slughorn and the quietly weeping Wood through the doors and directing him to the boy's appointed bed.
As soon as Wood was leaning back against the crisp white sheets, still gasping and crying and bemoaning the pain Tom had inflicted upon him, the witch speedily removed the blood that'd trailed from his face to his uniform and handed him a pain-relief potion. The concoction was consumed in short order and with it followed an expected mellowness that'd likely last for only a few regrettable minutes.
Tom's lips thinned in irritation.
The hostility in the room wasn't foreign to him – and he'd possibly have tuned it out completely if it wasn't for the subtly angry presence of Albus Dumbledore to his side. The wizard's magic lashed passive-aggressively against his own with an ill-hidden promise with more to come. Albus was agitated – nearly visibly so. It was not unlike a slighted older brother awaiting the end of dinner to heap consequences upon his younger sibling, passing his time kicking said sibling under the table to satisfy his frustration.
Tom absently wondered if Albus was already heavily regretting their arrangement and decided ultimately that it was plausible.
The thought sent an unexpected thrill of amusement through him, pleasantly settling the quiet hum of violence that still threatened to aim a wand at the young man not five meters to his left. Which would've surely happened, if it hadn't been for the self-awareness he'd attempted to build through his meditations over the weekend.
It was with mild disappointment, and a smidgen of disquiet, that Tom idly concluded that meditation wasn't a fix-all solution, even on the short-term. He'd likely need to consider additional preventative measures in the future – especially seeing as recklessly combative children were hardly going to be the worst to come in the following years, never mind the next couple of months.
With a tense step closer in his direction, Albus broke Tom out of his thoughts. The obvious consternation written all over his crinkled face prophesized fruitless battles of morality that Tom expected no amount of muggle wine would make easier to stomach. Of course, Tom readily understood whence the disappointment in his face originated, but unfortunately for the professor, the spectators did not.
Slughorn, it would seem, didn't welcome the insinuation behind Albus' expression and spoke before he, or Albus for that matter, had the opportunity to escalate their disagreement.
"Albus, please tell me you're going to adequately punish Mr Wood for his misbehaviour – assault! Goodness. Personally, I'm considering petitioning for his expulsion," the otherwise kindly man stated severely, sounding utterly affronted by the whole situation.
Albus calmed his expression within seconds and offered a small nod of understanding, greying eyebrows crinkling with earnestness. "Of course, Horace. Mr Wood was clearly in the wrong and shouldn't have even considered drawing his wand at another student in this manner. As his Head of House, I will take full responsibility – have no doubt," the man swore, his eyes resting momentarily on the boy in question.
Slughorn nodded firmly in turn, lower lip jutting out stubbornly. The stocky wizard turned to Tom.
"Are you quite alright, my boy?" he asked, his expression one of obvious concern. Tom's eyes shifted momentarily to Albus, before answering with a polite smile on his lips.
"I'm unharmed, professor. It was quite lucky that I moved when I did, or the evening would've surely ended on a much worse note," he answered, looking appropriately unpretentious.
Albus' eyes were narrowed at him, but they spoke clearly of the defeat he felt. Tom didn't think he would ever tire of that look.
"Good, that's great to hear, Tom," Slughorn said with relief, clapping him on the shoulder comfortingly. Tom suppressed a grimace, but nodded, nonetheless.
The professor's eyes then turned to briefly stare at the groaning Gryffindor on the bed. The swelling of the boy's nose had gone down considerably after the medi-witch's swift treatment but remained red and blue and glaringly injured.
In Tom's opinion, the boy should feel grateful to simply still be in possession of it.
Slughorn's eyes slowly returned to Tom in a side-ways glance, looking distinctly shrewd. Tom waited patiently for the wizard's opinion to make itself known, as it always did in the end – and he wasn't disappointed.
"Interesting way to stop the assailant, while simultaneously obeying the rules," the potion master commented, his small grin quietly applauding him despite his outward disapproval of the methods. "Your wandless magic has come a long way, Tom, I must say!" he followed up in a loud whisper that Tom found annoyingly humorous.
Tom's smile turned gracious and he inclined his head in thanks. As the Slytherin Head of House, Slughorn had known about Tom's minor, natural usage of wandless magic during duels, but his technique had evolved quite a bit since then. Substantially, now, as the situation stood.
Tom hadn't been subtle, then – or now. Slughorn has always been perceptive of talent if nothing else.
"Horace," Albus reprimanded forcefully, having predictably overheard the exchange and looking very unhappy with his colleague's compliments.
Slughorn coughed and scratched at his hairless chin, superficially contrite.
"Yes, yes," he said, placing his hands on his hips. "Suppose we need to speak to Mr Wood as well to get to the bottom of this, but before that – do you have any idea what this is about, my boy?"
"I haven't the foggiest, professor Slughorn," Tom lied.
"Well then," the professor decided, looking to Wood once more. After a short inspection, the medi-witch declared the Gryffindor functional enough for interrogation and allowed the professors to approach the boy. Tom remained within earshot of the conversation but elected to exclude himself.
"Mr Wood – you've committed quite the folly," Albus started, pausing to ascertain the boy's attentiveness. Wood stared at his lap. "What prompted this behaviour?" he followed questioningly, looking at his student with tangible disappointment.
Wood refused to look into his teacher's eyes but answered regardless, voice thick with woefulness.
"I…" Wood started feebly; his eyes filled with angry tears as he grasped for words. "…I just couldn't take it anymore," he claimed, pathetically.
Another moment went by as the boy seemed to grow steadily more frustrated, his hands gripping the sheets as his shoulders shook. "It was just too much," he ground out, " – seeing him there, laughing like he'd done nothing wrong at all and had no reason to feel ashamed," he hissed, eyes shifting to search him out behind Slughorn's shoulder – narrow and spiteful and disgustingly sad.
Tom met his eyes unflinching, indifferent to his hatred.
Wood bristled where he sat, the contortion of his face clearly causing more pain than the expression was worth.
The boy snarled. "Look at him!" Wood yelled suddenly, alarming the teachers who turned to look at Tom, bemused.
A finger was pointed in his direction now, insolently.
Refusing to entertain Wood's attempt to humiliate him, Tom shrugged uncaringly in response, arms crossed behind his back as he observed the boy steadily losing his marbles.
"He doesn't care at all! And neither do you!" Wood accused angrily, turning his finger to the professors. "A student dies – he gets a reward! He cheats at gambling – wins a ridiculous amount of money! He incites a riot and becomes a national celebrity. My cousin dies at the Battle of the Birds – and no one is doing anything about it! He's right there! He KILLED her!" he declared aggressively with a sob.
Ever the hero, Dumbledore looked at Tom with an extreme amount of suspicion. Tom scoffed in response.
"Direct your judgement elsewhere, for once, Albus. We've been over this issue already, and you know I was justified in my actions, method aside. Your silent displeasure has made itself known, have no doubt," Tom informed Albus with a sneer, ignoring the presence of his Head of House, who sputtered at Tom's impolite tone.
"His cousin died during the riot. I had nothing to do with it," Tom continued to defend, his contempt ill-hidden. Albus winced at the honesty. "If you want to fling accusations around like a thoughtless politician, aim them at yourself for not noticing the clearly feral Gryffindor in your midst," he said, gesturing flippantly to the boy on the bed who looked indignant at the description.
"Your treatment of him was uncalled for," Albus stated then, ignoring his student's plight and Slughorn's reaction while he was at it.
"Your inadvertence was uncalled for," Tom countered ruthlessly. "And so is the direction of this inquiry," he finished.
"Tom!" Slughorn hissed, scandalized – and overlooked.
Albus' mouth tightened, displeased. Tom was none too pleased himself.
"It was self-defence, Albus. Things quickly get out of hand in a stressful situation," Slughorn cut in placatingly, shifting his gaze between Tom and Albus with palpable unease.
"I still don't think Tom – Mr Riddle – should go entirely unpunished. He broke a student's nose. That shouldn't be applauded," Albus claimed, giving the Slytherin Head of House an overt reprimand once more.
Slughorn sighed in defeat. "I see your point, but I won't allow more than a detention. It was your Gryffindor who initiated the confrontation, after all. Reasoning notwithstanding, I don't think further punishment is warranted."
Albus didn't seem like that was quite good enough for him, but Slughorn wasn't finished.
"You may oversee it yourself."
Tom looked briefly to his Head of House but remained otherwise unconcerned.
Dumbledore seemed to consider the offer, before looking to his clearly unstable Gryffindor.
"I suppose that will suffice – for now," he decided, giving Tom a narrow-eyed glare from the corner of his eye.
"Wednesday evening at seven-thirty," Albus told Tom, who nodded agreeably.
He'd never had detention before. It would be a new experience if nothing else.
He wondered how the Slytherins would take the news.
01110100 00100000 01110100
Tom and Albus vacated the infirmary when headmaster Dippet arrived. The old headmaster requested that Albus oversaw the Great Hall in his absence, and after shortly reassuring Tom of his engagement in the ordeal, they were both bidden to leave.
"Perhaps now you see my problem," Tom inquired rhetorically as they exited the infirmary.
Albus grumbled his vexation, taking brisk steps to match his own. "Did you have to be so forceful?"
"Yes. The boy is lucky I didn't accidentally decapitate him."
Albus palmed his face lightly and exhaled, his back hunching more as he walked. Tom scrutinized his teacher closely as the wizard's visage seemed to age exponentially as he watched him.
"Stop acting like an old man, Albus. It's insulting."
Albus huffed, but uncovered his face and realigned his back regardless, glaring lightly at the Slytherin beside him.
"Will you continue to handle the students in this manner?"
"Concerned?"
"That goes without saying."
Tom let out a low hum. "I will if necessary."
"Tom…"
"If you don't fancy seeing your students in such a state, then educate them properly. You cannot fault me for their idiocy."
"They don't know what they're dealing with," Albus attempted to reason with him.
"That goes without saying," Tom echoed, providing the other man with a significant stare, but ceding the point.
Walking side-by-side, Albus was still several centimetres taller than Tom – the teenaged dark wizard not yet at his full height of 190 cm. He was used to inhabiting disproportionate bodies, so Tom didn't feel too discouraged.
The Great Hall came into view at the bottom of the large corridor.
"Do you intend to flaunt your power like this every day?" Albus asked after another few meters.
"Flaunt? Hardly," Tom responded.
"Wandless magic of this calibre is uncommon in Europe, Tom," the wizard reminded, the tone undeniably sour.
"So it will be an educational experience," Tom decided, unconcerned. "Spare me your lectures, Albus. I'm not one of your students."
Albus made a vaguely sceptical sound, before glancing at him cheekily.
"As you say. I'll see you in detention."
Tom glared at Albus sharply as the wizard turned on his heel and walked into the Great Hall, saving himself from Tom's irritation as well as the argument that would've no doubt taken up what remained of his free time.
He wasn't quite satisfied with letting the wizard depart with the last word – as Albus was partial to snatching in any way he could – but Tom was feeling quite unwilling to satisfy his pride in such a meaningless way this late in the evening. Quite frankly, it'd been enough excitement, and as Wood had so helpfully reminded him – meditation was very clearly needed if he was to expect this kind of happenstance assault by the whims of angry children on a daily basis.
Instead, with merely a smidgen of reluctance, Tom resumed his path towards the staircases leading towards the dungeons.
Chatter picked up as has he neared the still waiting assembly of gossiping students from the different Houses. The Slytherin entourage stood stoically where he'd left them, Alphard specifically staring at him with an excessive amount of enthusiasm as he rejoined the group. Curiosity effectively tickled, he briefed through Alphard's thoughts and felt the corners of his mouth twitch.
Alphard's approval was quite contagious.
"Is everything well?" Darius asked. Abraxas was looking around them with suspicion – especially at the Ravenclaws near the windows who were discussing heatedly, staring at Tom on occasion.
"Quite," Tom answered as he ignored the attention, turning his body towards the trajectory of the stairs.
"Are they expelling Wood?" Abraxas asked, sounding as if he believed that to be the most optimal course of action. Tom honestly didn't care what they did with the boy.
"I highly doubt Albus would allow it," Tom answered the Malfoy. "Wood is emotionally compromised and not in his right mind. It's more likely he'll be temporarily suspended."
"Albus…?" Abraxas muttered in confusion. Tom ignored him and continued walking. He didn't want to think about the barmy wizard and whatever stupid plans he was concocting.
"…and you, Tom – how do you feel?" Euphemia asked. A strange question.
The Black in their midst spoke before he got a word in. "Do you honestly think a petty little Gryffindor could possibly harm Tom in any way?" Alphard crooned. The boy's face and eyes were faintly dazed with admiration as he took up a position slightly closer than what was strictly appropriate.
This caught Tom's attention as out of the ordinary, and he directed another meaningful look at the boy's mind.
Alphard was reminding him eerily of Bellatrix when she'd been high on dark magic. It was plausible that Alphard might've been affected by the ambient magic from his wandless display, especially so, if the boy has been practising the dark arts recently. Blacks were often very reactive to dark magic – powerful dark magic in particular, and this could at times work against them emotionally.
The thought prompted another and caused him to chance a look at Mathias, noticing that he was quivering with every step he took.
"Did you do something to him?" Darius asked, referring to Wood. As they hadn't put up a privacy ward, Tom knew the other Slytherins would be listening intently.
"Of course, I did," Tom answered airily, sliding his gaze from painting to painting as they traversed the hallway they'd entered. "It would seem I murdered a cousin of his. A student," he informed, causing Mathias to stumble on air and nearly dragging Darius down with him. Abraxas wrinkled his nose at the graceless display, pulling the Nott into an upright position swiftly despite his misgivings.
Euphemia raised a thin eyebrow in disbelief. "The half-blood from Hufflepuff was his cousin, then," she concluded. Tom nodded affirmatively, and Euphemia let out a hum of contemplation.
"Quite bold of him, isn't it? Attempting to exact his revenge so soon after dinner," Darius commented, sharing a grin with Euphemia.
"Rude," she agreed concisely, clearly of the opinion that the attack had been nearly too plebeian for words.
"It was bloody brilliant," Alphard announced brightly, causing Abraxas obvious annoyance in the process.
"Poorly executed, more like," Abraxas disputed. Tom found he quite agreed.
"Of course – " Tom spoke up darkly, catching the attention of the nearby Slytherins in his temporary employ as he raised his voice pointedly. "I wouldn't have been so surprised if I'd known of his intentions prior to this event," he reprimanded them all, but his group in particular. They cringed.
"See to it that I get the list within the month," he ordered. His tight expression didn't leave any room for disagreement. None were offered.
The Slytherins around him apprehensively nodded their understanding. Tom wouldn't accept another failure like this. If they failed to deliver, they wouldn't get any answers and Tom's willingness to cooperate would similarly cease to exist.
It didn't matter that the list was inconsequential to him. It was the principle of the matter.
He hated inadequate effort.
01101111 00100000 01110111
None of them had seen it coming. It'd happened so suddenly and at the time, Odette hadn't been capable of more than standing there and doing nothing.
She'd done nothing to help, and nothing to stop it. She couldn't help but feel like she could've prevented it if she'd simply spoken to Professor Dumbledore about Wood's previous episode. Like a cold stone, the regret nested within her chest.
"I wonder if he's alright. He seems swell enough, but – well," Patricia mumbled distractedly as her eyes tracked Tom Riddle's path towards the cluster of snakes. The destination looked more volatile than ever and for a possible muggleborn, it was positively illogical.
Odette fiercely sympathised with Patricia. She was also quite worried about Tom Riddle – her concern having just increased drastically after Wood's unprovoked attack.
What must it be like for him? Surrounded by Slytherins day in and day out, and now assaulted in the middle of the corridor? By a Gryffindor. For the first time since she entered Hogwarts, she felt ashamed of her House.
Alexis rested her chin in her hand, swinging her short legs from the edge of the bench. They watched as the Slytherins starting to leave in a near-single file out of the corridor.
'That has got to be rehearsed…' she pondered curiously, in awe at their discipline. The sight had her suddenly feeling stressed.
Odette decided at that moment to stand up from the bench they'd occupied. She put on her Hogwarts robe properly and started checking whether the rest of her attire was passable, smoothing the crinkles of her shirt and dusting off the lint on her skirt.
"Where are you going?" Alexis asked, her eyebrows pinched with confusion and alarm. Odette smiled pleasantly at the girl she'd gotten to know better the last couple of days.
"I want to make sure Riddle doesn't think the entire Gryffindor House is out to get him," she responded, her nervousness betraying her as she spoke. Lazarus grabbed her wrist before she could leave.
"Please, be careful, Dot. You never quite know with the Slytherins," he said with care.
Odette gave him a soft look. "I promise. But – if Riddle really does have a hard time in Slytherin, then the last thing he needs is more hate. I want – to talk to him."
Lazarus's expression was indecipherable, but she got the distinct expression that the boy thought her bonkers to the extreme. She admitted she didn't have a defence to refute this.
"I hope you understand that if you go over there and introduce yourself in front of all those purebloods, it might compromise him further," Alexis told her pointedly.
Odette stopped and after a moment of reflection, her face slackened with realization. Frustrated, she groaned and sat down once more, letting her bag fall with a thud to the floor. Alexis was right, she couldn't risk that.
"You could just wait till he's alone," Lazarus proposed hesitantly, another odd expression crossing his freckled face. Patricia looked one second from pointing out the inappropriateness of it all, but somehow held her tongue – and Odette appreciated it.
Alexis also seemed extremely sceptical of this plan, but Odette was contemplative. The Slytherins had long since vacated the corridor for their dungeon and the blonde witch was left feeling no better for it – which was so outside the norm that Odette now was concerned for herself, as well as Riddle.
She really wanted to make sure he was fine. The idea was obstinate and wouldn't leave her. Her thoughts, her no-doubt ill-placed concern, was wreaking havoc on her emotions and she'd never felt more like a Gryffindor than now – wanting to play heroin for a boy in a den of snakes.
01101001 01101110 00100000
"I'm retiring," Tom announced without explanation. The teen then loosened his tie slightly and promptly descended the stairs to the male dormitories, leaving nearly the entirety of Slytherin House staring after him in the common room, none uttering a word as he disappeared into the dark.
Without further ado, Euphemia released the breath she felt like she'd been holding in for the entirety of the evening and stood from her seat, moving instead to stand purposefully in front the blaring fireplace in the largest seating area.
If ever there would be a time to act, this was it, and they couldn't afford to waste it.
She gestured briefly to Darius, who nodded and drew his wand, skilfully firing a silencing charm at the entrance to the dormitories. Necessary as it might've felt, it probably wouldn't keep Tom away if he was determined to spy on them. They had not the time for preparation, and likely neither the ability, so the only thing they could with certainty rely on was Tom's innate indifference to their plans.
Standing vigilant, she observed as the House of Salazar Slytherin gathered in the general area, specific groups clustered together in their little social alliances.
Chief amongst them, seated on and leaning against the largest couch in the room, was Avery's group of approximately twenty students – many of whom came from families dealing in guild work and various magical businesses, providing the members of the alliance with amble reasons to associate post-Hogwarts-graduation once they entered the family endeavours.
Next to them on the neighbouring couch sat the third-year group consisting of that entire year, and on the stools and ottomans in front of them sat the so far ungrouped first years, who with palpable confusion and equal amounts of excitement bounced their legs in impatience as they waited.
Lastly, the seventh years and the multiple of smaller groups compromised of different years' mixed alliances occupied the remainder of the loveseats and recliners, all staring keenly at Euphemia once they were comfortably seated.
Abraxas had taken a position to her left, acting as a lightning rod for attention as was expected of him, while Alphard stood to her right, his wand in his hand to contradictorily encourage civility if need be. And at times, it was, and Euphemia didn't doubt that Alphard was itching for it.
Antonia Gore was the first one to speak.
"This is getting out of hand," she voiced as soon they'd managed a semblance of order, prompting Euphemia and quite a few the others to nod in needless agreement. The Rosier made eye contact with the leaders of the different groups and held up her hand, displaying two fingers and preparing herself mentally for the task at hand. The fireplace blazed behind her, reflecting the burning agitation filling the room.
"We have two topics we need to discuss tonight," she started, elevating her chin pointedly.
Avery, Goyle, Flint, Gore and several other Slytherins and their leaders signified their understanding. They were all there for the same reason.
Tom had stopped being reasonable.
"I will act as the mediator of this meeting. We all agreed to cease hostilities to sort out this matter, so I propose we begin," Euphemia told them. "Firstly, what do we know already? Secondly, what do we not know, and therefore need to find out?"
Osric Avery, the fifth-year leader, spoke up from one of the couches, his strident voice getting straight to the point.
"Gryffindors are uncontrollable dunderheads," he announced.
A second later the boy cringed slightly as Abraxas' attention turned sharply to him, a sneer plastered on his face. Euphemia placed her hand over Abraxas', keeping him from raising his wand any further than the Malfoy had already aimed it. She rested her gaze momentarily on Osric with the silent demand for prudence, before her eyes swept along the congregation of Slytherins around her.
"Does anyone have anything to add that isn't entirely redundant?"
Darius let out a long sigh.
"We don't have a lot. We've already agreed that inter-House hostilities could wait till our questions have been answered, so depending on local cooperation, we can so far only account for Slytherin House," Darius elaborated, reviewing the situation.
Approximately fifty-five Slytherins looked to each other shrewdly.
"It is clear that Wood had supporters. Several other students consider Riddle's win 'unfair' and 'suspicious,' so our next step should be to search for the people who could be planning to exact their vengeance on the behalf of Wood's cousin," Letitia Flint proposed.
A fourth-year Slytherin beside Gregorian Goyle tch'd at her, speaking up. "It wasn't only Goodman who died, Flint," the teen derided."There's a good chance that other students lost either friends and family. Even my own mother is slightly frustrated with the situation, considering her business partner was near-critically injured due to the riot."
Euphemia sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. "However much I might wish otherwise, you are correct… the scope could be bigger than first anticipated. We also need to consider that some students, seventh and perhaps even sixth-years over the age of seventeen, could've gambled and lost their money. Monetary retribution must therefore also be taken into account," she complained. It was difficult to remain impartial to Tom's actions, considering what he was demanding of them in exchange for so little information.
Little, but nonetheless important.
"It's clear to see we have a lot of bases to cover," Darius said, leaning back against his seat. "We thought we could space our investigation over a couple of months or more by working through the possibilities methodologically, but this isn't the case anymore. Tom has made his impatience apparent. We only have thirty days," the wizard finished, sounding slightly morose, though Euphemia couldn't be sure.
"This is preposterous," a Slytherin grumbled.
"Fuck Riddle," another spat.
"Why are we even doing this?" a third questioned heatedly.
Osric Avery scoffed, acquiring the attention of the room once more. "It obvious why his group is interested. They want to know what they can gain from him in the future. If he's really a mudblood, then what good is he? What good is he to us?" he sneered, pointing to Abraxas, Alphard, Euphemia, Darius and Mathias, who were still standing or sitting around the fireplace.
Euphemia wasn't sure providing Avery with the opportunity to speak was entirely wise anymore, but there was no going back.
The taboo was now effectively broken.
"Being raised in the muggle world is problematic as it is, but a complete lack of heritage is another. He has no family magic or backing, no history – no personal fortune," Letitia listed matter-of-factly.
"Well, he has now. Papers also think he's a seer," Roark Orpington mumbled dejectedly. Near twelve thousand Galleons was likely far more than any of them had ever received in allowance from their families at any time of their lives, so the consternation was felt by most of them.
"He's not a seer," Abraxas denied. "He doesn't believe in the validity of divination."
"Well, how do you know that hasn't changed? He's told us he hates muggles, but he instead of seeking out you or Black he seeks refuge in the muggle world. That really doesn't help his case. How do we even know that anything he says is the truth?" a particularly sceptical seventh-year spoke up.
"You're correct, of course," Dalia Jones the prefect stated, backing up her group member. "He's started ignoring the rules, so maybe he's just been stringing us along. Now that he's got capital, he might think he doesn't need our approval any longer."
"Salazar, that would be dreadful…" Alphard sighed, apparently coming down from whatever had possessed him during the affair in the hallway. Thank Merlin.
"We need this information for exactly that purpose! There is no denying that Tom Riddle is intelligent and powerful. Regardless of his background, he is a very useful character to have on your side. Imagine if we don't secure access to this information now… if the knowledge that we've been harbouring a mudblood in Slytherin becomes public, then we'd be seen as hypocrites," Avery hissed.
"We'd be hypocrites either way…" a fifth-year girl muttered.
"I don't care if I'm a hypocrite. The circumstances don't matter – I just want to succeed," Gregorian Goyle gruffly announced, crossing his arms.
"Paraphrasing Riddle, are you? I can't help but agree. It was quite a speech…" a Slytherin trailed off dreamily to the side and Euphemia had to agree as well. Tom had probably expanded upon every Slytherin's pride in the House that night – which was completely unnecessary since their pride suffered nothing. The first-years especially had taken a shine to him, a fact Euphemia didn't know what to do with.
"There's no doubt that Riddle is a Slytherin through and through, no matter the purity of his blood," Darius reminded. "Though Walburga seemed convinced he had to have originated from a pureblood family."
"He might've. He might've not. All we know is that Tom Riddle is definitely aware now. Personally, I'm of the opinion that he is, in fact, from a pureblood family in one way or another. How else could he be this naturally talented?" Abraxas questioned reasonably, gaining several concurring nods from around the living-area.
"Mudbloods have been known to be inexplicably talented," Mathias spoke up for the first time for the sake of the argument.
"Not like this!" Abraxas denied furiously, glaring at Mathias who didn't shrink one bit from the attention, merely staring back defiantly. "I refuse to believe a common mudblood could bash a person's face into the floor or constrict my windpipe without the use of a wand! It's completely unheard of!"
"Constrict his windpipe…?" a first-year whimpered, sharing glances with his year-mates. Their fear went ignored as Darius took over with a nod from Euphemia.
"It's a good argument you raise, but practically useless without Tom's confirmation. So far, it's only speculation," the tan boy sighed, his tone prompting Euphemia to lean on the side of his chair, her proximity hopefully offering some comfort as it seemed Darius was becoming increasingly stressed.
"But if he's from a pureblood family, why hasn't he told us?! It makes no sense!" Avery shouted, displaying an unwanted amount of frustration.
"I think he secretly hates us and wants to see us sweat," Alphard jested, a mischievous and cruel smile back on his lips.
"Oh, Merlin please no…" someone whispered with dread.
Euphemia clicked her tongue in agitation. "Let's return to the topic at hand. To summarize, we can't account for any hostiles besides Wood and the few Slytherins who've agreed to postpone their resentment," she said, getting back on track.
"With only one month, we need to move fast…" Dalia muttered, pulling at her dark ponytail in listless distress.
"Now. We need to move now," Gregorian stressed.
"How do you propose we do that? Our only direct links are in Ravenclaw House."
A tense pause stalled the debate, before the Carrow in the room broke it.
"…I don't see any other choice before us if we want to retrieve this information before Tom's patience runs out. We need access to the other Houses," Darius spoke up once more, sounding resigned.
"Are you proposing we… mingle?" The Malfoy sounded positively horrified.
"I can't believe this. I'm not consorting with Hufflepuffs," Avery denied vehemently.
"And how else do you suggest we do this? By threatening the Gryffindors? Dumbledore would be onto us half-way up the staircase," Darius pointed out cynically.
"We can't utilize Slytherin tactics on Hufflepuffs. I highly doubt any of them will betray each other's trust and rat out their friends," Euphemia reported. She had several cousins in the House from her mother's side, so she was peripherally aware of their code of conduct.
"You could potentially convince a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw to do that with a particularly convincing approach, but definitely not a Hufflepuff," Dalia agreed.
"Bloody badgers," Alphard cursed.
"Yes. The only method I see working would be infiltration," Darius announced, absentmindedly holding onto Euphemia's hand over his shoulder.
"…You can't be serious."
"No."
"That's absurd!"
The protests continued until Euphemia called for quiet once more.
"Regardless of your displeasure, this is the only chance I believe we'll have to make that list – to figure out who we're actually dealing with. We have an opportunity to gain information that apparently no one has. Not the press, not the teachers – no one. It's an advantage we can't pass up on," Darius spoke softly, staring into the fire with contemplation.
"Indeed…" Abraxas agreed resignedly.
"It will be up to the individual group to garner information, of course. As the overall gain of this will be distributed to all of us equally, coordination will be key," Euphemia explained, considering the logistics of what they intended to accomplish.
"The rules must be ignored then. We can't infiltrate effectively with them interfering," Roark stated, causing several of the students from traditionally Slytherin families to cringe in defiance.
"Agreed. No holds barred," Gregorian declared, seemingly already prepared mentally for the task. Euphemia couldn't imagine it.
"Yes. But exercise caution," Euphemia implored. "When this is over, everything will hopefully go back to normal."
"I don't think this will go well. Even if we manage to establish contact with our cousins, what about the mudbloods, the half-bloods, the blood traitors? Are we supposed to pretend to be their friends?" Osric Avery questioned flatly, visibly containing his disgust.
"How you do this is up to you. I know this is crossing some lines, but we have a purpose with this. Keep it in mind. Aim for great results," Euphemia told them.
"What if we don't manage this? What happens then?"
"The worst possible scenario… would be a complete betrayal," Euphemia concluded lackadaisically to the horror of her audience. "Tom has an untold amount of knowledge about us due to his involvement with Walburga, and now as our group's leader. If we fail to do this, then he may write us off as useless to him – which is a very real possibility, as it always has been. He could ruin our reputation – or worse, have some of us expelled. We've managed to maintain our reputation so far by keeping him integrated and adhering to the rules, but if he detaches himself from us, then the perception of our invincibility will be trashed, and we won't be able to prepare for when the information of his origins becomes public knowledge."
"This whole situation is preposterous. How did it even come to this?" a fifth-year complained.
"That's sadly irrelevant," Abraxas announced, turning his back to the distressed gathering and facing the fire with a mild look of scorn twisting his handsome features. "The rules are abolished until further notice," he declared, and exhaled deeply. "You understand what is at stake. As of now, Slytherin House is moving out of the dungeons."
01100010 01111001 00100000
Tuesdays wouldn't have anything of interest to offer him. It was quite the disappointment – in fact, Tom suspected most of his time would be spent in the study Albus had yet to offer him, working on the upcoming rituals and enchantments that needed to be seen to in the imminent future.
Nevertheless, he was determined to follow through on at least one full week of classes.
This Tuesday morning in particular appeared to be free, followed by an hour and a half of Advanced Arithmancy. He summarily showed up for the class, which turned out to consist mainly of a general review of the last year's curriculum with very simple models and theories.
As mentioned before, it was disappointing, however much it was expected. The class had been uneventful, shared only with Abraxas and Darius.
After a rather tense lunch dominated by questionable table-wide silence, Tom elected to use a shortcut behind a suit of armour and reappeared at his next engagement – Potions with the Gryffindors.
The pride of lions who entered the laboratory with them were hard to ignore. Their heads were saturated with regret, some of them even exhibiting a smidgen of worry behind their bold facades –directed at him.
What a novelty – but utterly senseless in the end.
Paying no heed to the Gryffindors, Tom instead focused his attention on his partner – Alphard Pollux Black.
Slughorn had instructed them to make a small batch of Burning Bitterroot Balm, a soothing balm used for nursing superficial scrapes and injuries prior to proper treatment. Tom suspected the professor had in mind to supply the infirmary with the acceptable outcomes of that day's assignment.
However, partnering with a boy like Alphard – or anyone, in Tom's opinion – proved to be too distracting for Tom's likening. He'd planned to get the potion over with speedily, but Alphard seemed intent on sabotaging the other student's potions instead of concentrating – the Gryffindors' in particular.
Abraxas was conveying his displeasure at the sight as well, but the Black didn't seem to care.
The dark wizard chose not to waste his time with warnings and after a single reprimand that went ignored, he took hold of Alphard's hands and placed them flat on their work table. He held them there for a couple of seconds, much to the wild-haired boy's bewilderment, and then let go. Tom didn't tell him anything and merely left Alphard to his devices, instead venturing to the ingredient's cabinet.
When he returned, it was to the sight of a slightly sweating Alphard and several Gryffindors bravely containing their laughter in their elbows, hiding their faces and pretending to work while stifling their amusement.
Alphard tried once more to move his hands but found himself unable to, glued to the surface of the table as they were. The young wizard was flushing up a storm, unable to draw his wand to free himself – defeated by a table and an adhesion spell.
Abraxas didn't seem one lick closer to helping him, merely glaring uncharacteristically at the other boy as he struggled. No other Slytherins in their year seemed intent on providing any aid either –which was curious.
A distinct lack of support amongst the snakes in such a public setting suggested a change had occurred. He had his suspicions as to their plans, but their trivial manoeuvrings amongst themselves bored him.
He wouldn't interfere.
After approximately fifteen minutes, with Tom being half-way through the eight-step program of the potion, Alphard rested his head on the table between his hands and spoke up.
"You win," he said, defeat oozing off his voice like he was drowning in it.
"I usually do," Tom agreed, releasing Alphard from his confines with a flick of his wand. He gave the Black a significant look as the boy rubbed his palms, after which he put him to work.
Slughorn had undoubtedly noticed the situation but had pretended he hadn't for whatever reason. Tom suspected the man was quite tired of the various injuries the boy had caused as well and hadn't felt inclined to interrupt.
Tuesday concluded in a very uncomplicated manner, with Tom performing his prefect duties once more, followed by an early night filled with meditation.
Tomorrow would be Transfiguration and his very first detention – thanks to Albus Dumbledore and a trigger-happy Gryffindor.
Tom had every desire to participate.
01100110 01101111 01110010
A/N: As always, reviews are encouraged! I'm also seeking a beta-reader if anyone is up for the task.
16