Tom woke up with a dry mouth and a foul mood. When Harry opened the dormitory's curtains, he pulled the quilt over his head and refused to get up.

"What's up with him?" he heard Weasley ask Harry.

"He drank too much at Slughorn's party."

"Wow, really?"

"Yeah, it was embarrassing."

"Blimey," Weasley said, and Tom could practically feel his stupid eyes goggling at him. "What time did the two of you get back? I didn't see you in the Common Room, and you were already asleep by the time I got upstairs."

"I had to take Tom up to the room, and then I couldn't come back downstairs because of the bond." Harry paused. "I did some reading."

This wasn't strictly true. Tom was tempted to tell Weasley that there had also been a lot of groping and general feeling up last night, which had eventually culminated on Weasley's bed, in order to avoid the detection spells McGonagall had put up, but was stopped by a flash of foreboding.

If he told Weasley, Weasley would definitely shout.

Tom didn't want anyone to shout.

"That's a pain."

"Yeah," Harry replied, although he didn't sound particularly sad. "Anyway, you should go down to breakfast without us; we'll catch you after Ancient Runes."

Tom heard Weasley's heavy footfalls as he gathered his things and left the dorms. When the door closed behind him, he listened for a moment to be sure there was no one else in the room, then flipped the quilt down and gave Harry a murderous glare.

"What?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. He was already in his school robes, his fingers occupied making a mess of his tie. "You did get drunk, and you can hardly complain about me telling people, given how many of my secrets you've gleefully spilled."

Tom was sure there was a perfect witty response to that, but he couldn't think of it right now. Instead he groped on the nightstand for his glass of water while Harry finished with his tie and dropped Tom's school robes pointedly on top of him, over the quilt.

When he had struggled into his shirt, Harry showed him a tiny bottle. It was an inch long and stoppered by a tiny cork. The liquid inside looked like water.

Tom snatched it from his hand.

"Hey!" Harry protested when Tom put it into his own pocket.

"I don't want you to lose it."

"Like I'm the unreliable one here," Harry said, but he sounded more amused than angry. "You obviously require constant babysitting—I'm amazed you've lasted this long without me."

Tom had the satisfaction of watching Harry be told off for his dreadful Ancient Runes and Defence Against the Dark Arts homework, and by the time evening fell, the unease left over from his meeting with Rosier had vanished, and he felt like all was right with the world again. Harry sensed his mood and was annoyed by it.

"You wouldn't look so smug if you remembered even half of the things you said to me last night," he grumbled, as they pored over the Map in a corner of the Gryffindor common room. They were tucked away in one of the reading booths, obscured from view by the large brass lamp on the desk.

Tom ignored Harry. Malfoy was in his own common room, and by the position of his dot, Tom thought he was probably sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. There were several dozen other Slytherins in the room with him.

"The difficult thing will be taking him without witnesses," he mused. "It's not just other students we have to worry about—ghosts and portraits too."

"'Harry, I like your glasses,'" Harry mimicked, adopting a breathy tone that sounded very little like Tom's voice. "'Harry, I like you when you're sleeping'—what does that even mean, by the way?"

Tom thought that was pretty self-explanatory. He liked it better when Harry wasn't awake and trying to wind him up.

Harry grinned.

"'Harry, I liked you better in the cottage, where—'"

"Where you were all mine," Tom finished. He remembered that part at least—he'd thought it more than once. He didn't like seeing all of Harry's various friendships, his powerful loyalties to people other than Tom. Tom preferred to be the centre of peoples' worlds. "Yes, did you like that too, Harry? You've certainly remembered my words very well."

Harry sucked in a sharp breath as Tom scooted around the desk to press up against his side. Tom liked how expressive his face was, the way he flushed so easily, contrasted with the steadiness of his green eyes.

He wondered if he'd said as much last night.

"We could grab him during his prefect rounds," Tom murmured into his ear, "but he isn't on duty until Thursday, and someone in his dormitory might notice if he doesn't come back."

"What?"

"Malfoy," Tom said, enjoying how off-balance Harry was. This was where he should be at all times, forever wondering if Tom was going to give him a dismissive shrug, a smile, or a hand forced down his trousers under the table.

"Oh," Harry said, edging fractionally away. "Yeah, I guess they might."

"We'll watch the map and be opportunistic," Tom decided.

Malfoy stuck to his normal schedule the next day, but halfway through their Wednesday-afternoon Arithmancy lesson, Harry nudged Tom sharply in the ribs.

Tom looked at him, but Harry's head was still buried inside his Charms textbook. Tom casually looked down at the map, which was open on the desk in between them like a randomly-placed sheet of spare parchment. His breath picked up when he saw that Malfoy wasn't in his common room—instead, he was by himself, moving slowly down the fourth-floor corridor.

Tom forced himself to focus back on his work. The lesson wouldn't end for another twenty minutes, and there was no guarantee that Malfoy would still be alone by the time it did.

It helped that the work was actually interesting. The class was doing the calculations for the Levitation Charm, in preparation for making their own spell as part of their N.E.W.T. coursework. Tom flipped to the back of his textbook to look up the equation for air resistance, then noted it down on his parchment.

When he checked the map again, Malfoy was doing another loop of the fourth floor.

"I think he's going for a walk inside the castle," Harry whispered, nodding towards the stormy sky outside the window. The first drops of rain were falling.

When the bell rang a few minutes later, he and Harry shoved everything into their bags within seconds. Granger stared at them.

"Where are you two going?" she demanded. "Hey, Harry—"

"Toilet," Harry said.

"Why are you running?"

They were out of the door of the classroom before she could say anything else. Anticipation was racing through Tom, and also anxiety; he feared that they would be unsuccessful, or worse, that they would be caught at it.

"He's gone up to the fifth floor," Harry hissed when they got out into the main corridor. It was full of people, and they were forced to slow to a walk. They pushed past students until they reached the stairs, then took them two at a time. Harry grabbed Tom's shirt just as they reached the fourth-floor landing.

"Wait," he whispered, pulling him into an alcove. And it became clear immediately that he was right because the staircase above them began to swing about, turning in the air so that it connected the east corridor of the fifth floor with the north corridor of the sixth. Moments later, they saw Malfoy silhouetted in the watery light of one of the small windows that lined the upper half of the stairwell.

Tom and Harry stood still in the alcove, hardly daring to breathe. But Malfoy looked straight ahead as he climbed the stairs, as if lost in thought. When he was gone, they waited ten painful seconds, then climbed to the fifth floor and crept onto the staircase Malfoy had used before it could move. Harry dragged the Invisibility cloak from his bag and thrust it into Tom's arms. His eyes were bright with anticipation, and Tom knew that, like him, Harry was feeling the thrill of the chase.

At the top of the stairs, they caught a glimpse of Malfoy's blond head before he turned the corner. Harry raced ahead while Tom pulled on the cloak and drew his wand.

"Hey, Malfoy!" Harry called.

Malfoy didn't turn around.

Harry skidded in front of him.

"Hey Malfoy, you've been avoiding me."

"Get out of my way, scarhead," Malfoy said. He sounded bored, disinterested in Harry's antics.

"No I won't," Harry said. "You don't have anything to say to me at all? Even after what happened last year?"

"What happened last year?" Malfoy drawled. "I remember that you ran away right before exams, but I don't see how that could possibly be my fault."

Harry smiled sunnily at him. Malfoy paused, then glanced to either side.

"Wait, where's—"

Tom's stunner hit Malfoy in the centre of the back. He fell forwards, and Harry leapt in to grab him before he could hit his head on the stone floor.

Tom swiftly looked up and down the corridor. There were no ghosts in sight, and the only portrait was of a drunken wizard sleeping under a poker table. He was snoring softly.

"Is the Runes classroom being used?" he asked.

Harry pulled the map out of his pocket and scanned it.

"No, it's empty."

Together they pulled the cloak over Malfoy's unconscious body. When every bit of him was covered, Tom levitated him down the corridor to the classroom, holding his wand discreetly at his side. Once inside, Harry secured the door behind them while Tom dragged a chair to the front of the room, where Professor Babbling usually stood. He pocketed Malfoy's wand, then bound him to it with conjured ropes, binding his wrists tightly behind his back. Rain pounded at the windows and the wind rattled the panes in their frames. It was loud enough that it would probably mask the noise of the interrogation from anyone in the corridor.

Harry fetched another chair and placed it opposite Malfoy. He looked nonplussed when Tom declined to sit on it, instead taking a perch on a nearby desk.

"Aren't you going to do the talking?"

"I think he might respond better to you," Tom said. "And anyway, since we can't do this the way I want—"

"Petty," Harry said, shaking his head. "Okay, fine." He pointed his wand at Malfoy. "Rennervate!"

Malfoy jerked back to consciousness. He blinked and his shoulder shifted as if he was trying to move his hand. He frowned, tugged harder, then stilled as comprehension dawned. His head shot up and his eyes immediately found Harry sitting in the chair opposite. Absolute fury swept across his face.

"Potter!"

"Hi Malfoy," Harry said coolly.

Malfoy wrestled with his bonds, trying unsuccessfully to twist his wrists out from behind his back.

"Let me go!"

"I don't think so."

"You'll be expelled for this."

"I'm not going to be expelled, because you aren't going to remember this conversation."

"Like that, is it?" Malfoy spat. His eyes flicked momentarily to where Tom was perched on the desk. "So what's this all about? You just thought it would be fun to knock me out and tie me up? I'm sorry Potter, I don't swing that way."

"We just want to know what you know," Harry said.

"What I know?"

"We overheard you talking to Snape."

"You mean yesterday, when I told him that Weasley had been cheating during non-verbal spell practice?" Malfoy gave a spiteful laugh. "I didn't realise Weasley was so upset about that, it was only ten measly points he lost for his house."

"No, last week, when you were coming back from the Owlery at midnight."

Malfoy's face stilled.

"Been following me, have you?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

"What were you doing out at midnight anyway?" Malfoy asked. He looked at Tom again, and a mocking smile curved his mouth. "Oh, I see."

For once Harry didn't flush.

"We know Voldemort is staying at your house," he said doggedly. "We know he has someone doing a task for him. We want to know who's doing it and what it is."

"I don't remember any conversation like that," Malfoy said. "Maybe you hallucinated it. Are you still having those funny turns of yours? I remember what you were like last year, fainting every ten minutes, whining about your scar, giving interviews . . . I thought you were putting it on for attention, but no, maybe you really are crazy."

"I know what I heard," Harry snarled.

"Novak, right?" Malfoy said, addressing Tom for the first time. "Are you really going to let him do this?"

Tom shrugged.

"I hear you're his boyfriend."

"He's not—"

"How pathetic," Malfoy jeered, attention snapping back to Harry. "I can't believe anyone ever thought you were a threat, Potter. In fact, I bet you were just dying to get down on your knees for me last year. Probably quivering every time I docked points from you. It's good you know your place though—with your dirty blood that's all you're fit for."

Smack

Malfoy's head whipped violently to the side. Harry made a noise of surprise, then glared at Tom.

"Accident," Tom said sweetly, holding up his empty hands. "My magic got away from me."

"We agreed we weren't going to torture him!"

"I said it was an accident!"

For some reason, Harry didn't seem to particularly believe him. Malfoy's face was pallid, other than the smear of blood at the corner of his mouth, and he was staring at Tom. Tom smiled. Controlled wandless magic was very very rare. Even if Harry didn't understand the significance of it, he knew Malfoy did.

"Give me the Veritaserum," Harry demanded.

Tom handed him the vial without complaint, and Harry uncorked it immediately with a flick of his thumb.

"You stole that, didn't you?" Malfoy said, and there was a shrill note in his voice. "You'd better not try to make me drink it—Veritaserum is a banned substance without Ministry permission."

"Watch me."

"I will, I'll watch when they snap your wand!"

Harry brought the vial up to Malfoy's lips, but predictably, Malfoy wouldn't drink. Harry's shoulders squared—Tom could see he was beginning to lose his fiery temper.

Tom had to do everything around here.

But when he approached Malfoy, Malfoy jerked back so hard that his chair almost overbalanced. Tom read something in his eyes that was more than surprise or fear of the situation . . . no, Malfoy knew who Tom was, but for some reason he wasn't letting on to Harry that he knew.

"Open your mouth," Tom said.

Malfoy shook his head.

"You're worried about getting in trouble," Tom said softly. "But you don't have a choice here, and Voldemort will know that. If you don't drink this willingly, I'll just make you do it."

He waited patiently while Malfoy thought about it. He knew Malfoy truly didn't want to take the Veritaserum, but he didn't want the humiliation of being forced into it in front of Harry. Tom had been in the exact predicament a few months ago, and he already knew which choice Malfoy would make. Stands of principle were for Gryffindors.

Finally, Malfoy opened his mouth and Harry tipped the potion in. Malfoy swallowed, then scowled at the two of them.

"You're going to pay for that."

"Did it work?" Harry asked Tom.

Tom shrugged, taking his spot on the desk again. "Try asking him a question."

Harry turned to Malfoy. "Has Voldemort been living at your manor?"

Malfoy fought the potion, gritting his teeth over the words trying to force their way out. Tom watched with interest. Occlumency could interfere with Veritaserum, but you had to be very good at it.

Was Malfoy that good?

"Yes!" Malfoy spat finally.

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

"Is he still there?"

"So far as I know."

"Who else is living there?"

"Him, mother, my crazy aunt Bella, Rodolphus—when he isn't off doing Merlin-knows-what—and sometimes Fenrir Greyback too, although he sleeps in the flat above the kennels since mother won't allow animals in the house. She makes an exception for the Dark Lord's horrible giant snake though, of course."

Malfoy had relaxed in his chair by increments, Tom was amused to note. He seemed relieved to be able to talk about this to someone, even if it was Harry Potter.

"Ah," Harry said, looking a bit lost. "And where does Voldemort sleep?"

Malfoy flinched.

"The best guest suite in the east wing, and would you mind not calling him that?"

"What, Voldemort?"

"Yes. I would be dead if I'd said that this summer—no one uses his name, not even Bellatrix."

"It's not even his real name."

"Just don't say it, alright?"

"Fine." Harry rolled his eyes. "Did you ever talk to . . . You-Know-Who?"

"He talked to me, sometimes."

"About what?"

"Oh, my schoolwork mostly," Malfoy said, with a slightly deranged laugh. "He's weirdly chatty, wanted to know what I thought of the curriculum. He asked about you a few times, but I can't remember what I said. Mostly he's not at the manor though, except when he's sleeping or holding meetings. Oh, and every Sunday for lunch."

"You eat Sunday lunch together?"

"Yes, along with a bunch of other Death Eaters. We all sit around the table like one big family."

There was a long pause while Harry and Tom absorbed this.

"Right," Harry said finally. "Do you know if Voldemort has set anyone a task in the castle?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

Harry frowned at Tom, as if to ask why the Veritaserum wasn't working.

"Ask him directly," Tom said.

"I did!"

"Which of your housemates are involved in the task the Dark Lord has set?" Tom asked.

"Nott, Crabbe and Goyle," Malfoy said, sounding resigned. "Haven't you seen them whispering to each other all the time? They're being about as subtle as a Niffler in a bank vault."

"Is Nott in charge?"

"Obviously."

"What's the task?" Harry asked eagerly.

"They're looking for something."

"What?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to know."

Harry asked him several variations of the same question, but Malfoy's answer remained the same. He finally stood up and began to pace up and down the room.

"Okay, fine," he said finally. "Who are you sending letters to?"

"My mother."

"What are you telling her?"

"Dear Mother," Malfoy drawled. "The weather has been good today, and I went for a walk around the lake. McGonagall still has us studying compound transfigurations, which I find very boring and pointless besides. Thank you very much for the care package you sent me—"

"I don't need to hear everything!" Harry said hastily.

"—The éclairs were very nice. I shared them with Zabini because his mother can't send him sweets from France now that the international wards have been raised—"

"Wait, what are the international wards?"

Malfoy gave Harry a look of utmost contempt.

"Wards between countries," he said very slowly.

"Oh."

"Don't you read the newspapers, Potter? France raised them on us in August and Ireland and Norway followed suit last month. We're cut off."

"So now things can't go in and out?"

"Things . . . people . . . at least not through magical means, no. They don't want our chaos leaking over there."

"Oh right," Harry said. "So that's all you're sending to your mother? You're not reporting on us to You-Know-Who?"

"Oh, I absolutely am reporting on you to the Dark Lord," Malfoy said happily.

"Ah," Harry said, looking at Tom. "Um, what are you telling him?"

"Your schedule, things I see you doing. Sometimes I tell him what you've eaten for lunch. He wasn't really specific about what he wanted to hear. I attach my notes about you to the end of my letters to mother, but he never replies."

"Right . . ." Harry said, after a long pause. "Okay, so Voldemort knows I like treacle tart. Has he asked you to do anything else?"

A flash of panic crossed Malfoy's face.

"Yes," he choked out.

Harry sat quickly down on the chair again. "What? What has he asked you to do?"

Malfoy's eyes flicked to Tom. "He wants me to deliver a message to—"

Tom didn't even bother to think about it. He drew his wand and hit Harry in the back with a nonverbal stunner. Harry didn't even have time to turn around—he instantly slumped forwards in his chair. Tom leapt off the desk and grabbed him before he could fall.

"—Novak," Malfoy finished, staring at Tom.

Tom smiled down at him, standing behind the chair, hands on Harry's shoulders. Harry's head lolled forwards against his chest. He meant his expression to be friendly, but Malfoy looked terrified instead.

"Why so afraid?" Tom asked lightly. "I just did you a favour. You're not supposed to tell Harry, are you?"

"No, Malfoy said.

Tom cocked his head to one side. For some reason the gesture unnerved Malfoy further.

"You know who I am," he said quietly. "I can tell."

"I don't."

"But you suspect."

"Yes."

Tom drew out the silence, rubbing circles into Harry's collarbones.

"I've heard the cover story you've been telling everyone," Malfoy said finally. "That you're Tom Riddle's long lost grandson, only you don't know who he is, boohoo."

"And you don't believe that?"

"No," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "You know, the funny thing is, I know the name Tom Riddle. It was meant to be written on the inside cover of that stupid diary I was supposed to find last year. Only, I never did find it, did I? Because before I could, Potter went missing and they closed the school. And he was missing for months and months, only to turn up again with a new boyfriend, who just happens to be related to the owner of the book? The book the Dark Lord no longer seems to want me to find? It's an awfully big coincidence, don't you think?"

"So who do you think I am?"

"I don't know," Malfoy said, frustrated. "It's like trying to solve a puzzle, but rather than there being too few pieces, there are too many." His eyes moved over Tom's face in a way that felt oddly impersonal, and Tom knew he was comparing him to Voldemort. "It's not possible to make a copy of yourself, is it?"

Tom smiled wider, but Malfoy continued before he could say anything.

"No, I know it isn't," he muttered. "It's impossible to make a person with magic. Are you some kind of magical construct then?"

"No," Tom said, "but I can see why you think that."

"And are you him?"

They both knew who he was referring to.

"Yes and no."

Malfoy swallowed hard. Tom idly watched the motion of his throat. Malfoy reminded him a little of Abraxas—the hair was the same, but his features were sharper and he didn't have that same innate sweetness. A pity. Tom liked them sweet.

"And Potter knows?"

"Yes."

"Potter, you absolute whore," Malfoy breathed.

Tom wasn't sure how he felt about Malfoy calling Harry a whore, but he let it pass.

"You have a message for me from the Dark Lord," Tom said softly.

"Yes," Malfoy said, then paused. "I do . . . but I didn't remember until I was in this room with the two of you."

A triggered Obliviate, Tom thought appreciatively, a memory that wouldn't reveal itself until the correct moment. It wasn't difficult to do, but was nearly impossible for a Legilimens to detect. Tom could see, now, the trap that Voldemort had set for him—he'd sent Malfoy back late knowing that Tom's curiosity would eventually drive him to come and find out what he knew.

And all under Dumbledore's nose.

"What's the message?"

"You're supposed to read my mind," Malfoy said, although he didn't look happy about it. "He said it would be better than me repeating everything."

Tom secured Harry to the chair with a sticking charm. Then he came and stood in front of Malfoy and placed the tip of his wand against his right temple.

"Legilimens."

Tom dropped smoothly into his mind. There was a moment of disorientation as the memory Malfoy wanted to show him rose immediately up to greet him—Tom would have liked to look around a bit more, but the memory was powerful, all-consuming. His eyes opened onto a beautiful room that he recognised as the grand dining room at Malfoy manor . . . the walls were clad in mahogany panelling, and portraits of haughty pale-haired ancestors gazed down at them. Black-clad figures, some masked, some not, were pushing back their chairs back and standing up. It was the end of a meeting, apparently.

Lord Voldemort sat at the head of the long table. His face was cast into shadow by the hood he was wearing, but he was unmistakable.

Malfoy stood and made a deep, respectful bow in his direction. Tom could sense his internal relief at the idea of getting out of the room and the Dark Lord's terrifying presence.

"A moment, Draco."

Malfoy froze mid-bow, eyes flicking towards a blonde woman in a soft green robe. She nodded minutely back, but otherwise gave no indication that she had seen, or even heard Voldemort's command. Malfoy sat slowly back down, heart pounding heavily in his chest.

Voldemort did not speak for a long time after the last Death Eater had left.

"Severus tells me that Harry Potter will be returning to Hogwarts this autumn," he said finally. "It is likely that he will be accompanied by another dark-haired boy. A stranger to you, Draco, although not to me."

"My-my lord?"

Voldemort lowered his hood. His pale, snakelike face was impassive, but his red eyes bored into Malfoy's.

"I want you to remember this conversation perfectly," he said softly. Each word was considered, precise. "I want you to listen with utmost attention to everything I am about to say. And when you have the opportunity . . . when you are alone . . . I want you to show it all to him."

"To Potter?"

Voldemort's thin lips curled. "No, not to Potter. To the boy who is accompanying him—and only to him."

Malfoy nodded despite his confusion. He felt a bit ill—the Dark Lord's overwhelming magical presence made him mildly seasick. He was sure Voldemort knew how it affected him . . . that he did it deliberately, sometimes.

"Yes, my lord."

Voldemort leant forwards and his stare seemed to intensify. A phantom shiver crept down Tom's spine. It felt as if Voldemort was reaching greedily across time to look directly into his own eyes.

"Tom, I am speaking to you now," he said. "I regret that I have been . . . hasty . . . in my dealings with you. When I met you in the Ministry, I gave you no incentive to join me . . . no assurances that I would not imprison you again. It has led you to disobedience, which, in turn, has led you into Dumbledore's grasp. You are now in a precarious situation, relying on others' uncertain mercy to survive."

There was a long, contemplative silence. When Voldemort spoke again, his voice was gentle, cajoling.

"But now I want to make you an offer, Tom. If you can escape . . . if you come to me willingly . . . I will give you your life, and even your freedom to some degree, so long as you are cooperative. You and I both know that there are ways to guarantee your allegiance . . . magical bindings that mean I would not need to take your life, even as you grow in power and maturity. Dumbledore can give you nothing but death. Come to me, Tom."

The room began to fade around them, losing colour, detail. Furniture collapsed in on itself in Tom's peripheral vision, but he couldn't turn his head to look . . . he was transfixed by Voldemort's red eyes, now floating in a sea of white.

Come to me.

Tom came back to himself with a compulsive shiver, swaying on his feet. He was breathing hard. Malfoy seemed just as affected; there was a sheen of cold sweat across his brow. Tom swallowed the feeling down, focussing only on what he had learned.

"Is that it?"

"That's all I remember," Malfoy replied.

It didn't make any sense.

Tom stared down at him, completely perplexed. Voldemort had to know that Tom would never trust him . . . that even if he could leave, he would try to escape both Voldemort and Dumbledore. His offer was anything but persuasive.

And yet . . .

A seed of doubt sprouted as Tom began to pace up and down the room, unconsciously echoing Harry. There were certain things that Voldemort could make him swear that would mean he wouldn't have to fear Tom in the future. If Voldemort took the trouble . . . if he did not immediately trap Tom back in his diary, this time for good . . .

But what was in that for Voldemort? What use was a living Horcrux?

"He doesn't seriously think I'd believe that, does he?"

Malfoy, who was surreptitiously trying to wipe his forehead on his shoulder, looked up. "I don't know," he said irritably. "And can you not ask me questions you know I can't answer? The Veritaserum hurts when you do that."

"Maybe he really is going mad," Tom wondered. "Or no . . . he's deliberately toying with me . . ."

He paused, remembering what Malfoy had said about Voldemort inviting himself for Sunday lunch. Tom could see the appeal of it—terrorising the family, inserting himself, mockingly playing the role of benevolent patriarch. Tom suddenly imagined himself sitting next to Malfoy at meetings, perhaps, part of a new generation of faithful Death Eaters. Would Voldemort want to Mark him?

Tom shuddered as a bone-deep repulsion swept through him at the idea of having to give so much of himself away, at having to be subservient, even to another version of himself.

But he would be alive . . .

Voldemort must think that his situation was much more precarious than it actually was if he thought Tom might be tempted by his offer. Voldemort couldn't understand why Harry was refusing to break the bond—truthfully, Tom didn't understand it either. He placed his hand on Harry's head, ruffling his fingers affectionately through the wild hair. He was safe for at least another few months, he thought. Harry was stubborn.

"Is there anything else I might like to know?" he asked Malfoy idly.

There was silence.

Tom turned around. His eyebrows climbed when he saw that Malfoy was fighting the potion again.

"What is it? What haven't you told me?"

"I'm not supposed to know," Malfoy said pleadingly.

"Is it something you overheard?" Tom asked, ignoring him.

"Yes."

"Something Voldemort said?"

"No."

"Something a Death Eater said?"

"N-No."

Tom smiled. "Something you overheard your classmates say."

"Yes."

"Just tell me," Tom said. "I can interrogate it out of you like this, but I'll be in a much better mood if you just say it."

He waited while Malfoy thought about it, his grey eyes flicking between Tom and the door. The rain rolling off the Atlantic had intensified, darkening the room to the point where it was impossible to know if the sun had already set. The candle brackets on the wall were lighting themselves. Malfoy's features looked pinched and fearful, but Tom could sense a strange sort of relief in him too.

Malfoy wasn't on Voldemort's side by choice. At least, not anymore.

"There's a Portkey," he said finally.

Of course. Tom had been so stupid. Nott, Crabbe and Goyle were looking for something, Malfoy had said.

There was another Horcrux in the school.

Tom had thought as much when he first came back, but had assumed it was in the ruined Chamber of Secrets or that Dumbledore had already found it. If Voldemort was sending people to look for it though, it was because he thought they had a reasonable chance of retrieving it.

And if they found it . . .

They would have some way of getting it out.

"Where is the Portkey?" he demanded.

Malfoy recoiled. "I don't know, alright? I don't know what it is either or which one of them has it. The only thing I know is that it requires a word or phrase to activate—I overheard Nott talking to Goyle about it when they thought I was asleep."

"What word?"

"I don't know."

Tom began to pace again. "How did they even get it into the school? Dumbledore talked about security at the start-of-term feast—he said that Portkeys couldn't come in through the upgraded wards, and that no one could make them inside the school boundaries other than the Headmaster."

"I don't know," Malfoy said. "Believe me, I've wondered that too. I thought it was impossible."

Tom spun to face him.

"And if Voldemort smuggled one in somehow, why didn't he give it to me if he wants me back so badly?"

"I suppose he thinks whatever they're looking for is a surer bet than you are," Malfoy said dryly.

Tom was still dissatisfied. "It can't have come past the wards . . . and anyway, everyone coming in and out is searched, and the passageways are closed up . . ."

Malfoy shrugged as much as he was able to in his chair.

"Is there anything else you've overheard?"

"No."

Tom moved to Harry's side and pulled his head so that it rested on his hip, face turned upwards towards Tom. His eyes were closed and his features were still, relaxed in unconsciousness. Tom could feel the flutter of his breath. He pressed the tip of his wand to his forehead and slipped carefully into his mind, modifying the last few seconds of his memory. Now Malfoy said no when asked if he knew anything else; and though Harry was disappointed, he reluctantly accepted it.

"You're practised at that," Malfoy said when he was done. His eyes lingered curiously on the hand Tom left in Harry's hair, but he didn't ask.

Tom let Harry slump forwards in his chair again and took back his position on the desk behind him. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Malfoy said.

"Rennervate."

Tom released the sticking charm in the same instant. Harry lurched forwards, then caught himself, gasping.

"What—"

"Fainting again, Potter?" Malfoy jeered.

"No!" Harry said, embarrassed. "I just lost track of my train of thought for a second." He glanced at Tom for support, but Tom was inspecting his nails. "I guess . . . I guess that's all then. We aren't going to get anything else out of him."

"We could torture him," Tom suggested easily. "The problem with Veritaserum is that it's hard to make people volunteer information, particularly if the questioner is . . . lax."

Harry bristled. "If you think I'm so awful, you should have done it yourself!"

"You did fine," Tom said. He slid off the desk and passed Harry, coming to stand over Malfoy, who shrank back very convincingly. Or perhaps his fear was real. Tom hoped so. He pointed his wand at him.

"Obliviate," he said.

But no light came from the tip of his wand.

Malfoy's eyes widened. Tom put a finger to his lips, knowing that Harry couldn't see the gesture. Malfoy wouldn't tell anyone what had happened here—not Voldemort, Dumbledore, Nott or Harry—out of fear of the consequences. Tom had less to lose right now, and a shared secret meant holding power over somebody.

And he hadn't treated him cruelly, after all. It was important to build relationships.

"Stupefy," he said after waiting an appropriate length of time. This time the spell was for real; red light lit the room, and Malfoy slumped in his bonds.

"We'll dump him in the corridor on a bench," Tom said. "I planted a memory of him lying down to nap. He might question it, but he won't know precisely what happened."

Harry grimaced, absently rubbing his shoulder where Tom had gripped it earlier. Perhaps he'd pressed harder than he'd meant to.

Tom tried not to laugh. He had enjoyed tricking Harry—it was like a cruel, private joke, the kind that he'd be able to carry around for weeks and think of whenever Harry looked smug. But more important was the information he'd gained.

There was a Horcrux in the school.

And a Portkey.

Portkeys went to fixed locations. Tom didn't know where this one would take the user, but even if it was Malfoy manor, he was confident that he'd be able to escape. Voldemort would be expecting Nott or one of the others, not Tom, and anyway, Malfoy had said he was only in the manor at night. Tom was going to get it, and get out.