Updated: 10/10/2019

Disclaimer: This universe belongs solely to J.K Rowling, based on the Harry Potter franchise.

A/N: Very, very, very sorry. I have no explanation. The story definitely isn't dead, and I'll try to get chapters out from now on, but I can't provide a schedule right now.

I've experienced some issues arranging a beta for this, so if any mistakes are noticed, then please let me know. This chapter was partly looked over by a friendly dude on the HP fanfiction discord.

In celebration of the first anniversary of this fic, here is chapter 12.

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"There he is!" an indignant voice proclaimed.

Unwilling to hurry his steps any more than he already was, Tom settled for a long-distance glare as he approached the table. Abraxas – the current object of his attention – cringed slightly in response but remained otherwise justified in his obstinacy.

With forceful patience, Tom took his seat at the table and waited.

The easy familiarity that met him once he sat was a stark contrast to the reality of his situation.

Sitting not three meters beside him sat a future hit-wizard who would someday infiltrate his ranks and murder eight of his followers before they managed to apprehend him – and kill him. At the end of Gryffindor table sat a girl who he knew to be the future mother of two members of Albus' dreaded order, and beside her, someone who betrayed self-same order, later causing the death of three Aurors sent to stop a vitally important raid Voldemort had authorized.

Looking to Ravenclaw table briefly, he spotted a myriad of families whom he'd driven to near-extinction. Shamefully, several of these families had been his staunch supporters of many years.

Speaking of supporters – he reasserted his attention where it'd been summoned and in short time, a haughty sneer stretched across Abraxas' lips before he started speaking – reporting – to him.

"A couple of Avery's fellows decided to challenge Darius today – unaggressive, mind you, but audacious – nonetheless," he stated imperiously, sending a sharp glare in Darius direction. It was clear who the blond thought was ultimately at fault, and judging from Darius' expression, he couldn't entirely absolve himself.

"It was no matter," the Carrow informed him defensively. "Nothing I couldn't handle on my own – which I did," he stressed, returning Malfoy's glare with twice the strength, but with half the spite.

"It shouldn't have happened at all and was entirely preventable," Abraxas countered.

"You're labouring under the assumption that Avery's opinion should somehow matter to me."

"It is the principle of the matter. Our group is diminished. We should be displaying cohesion and strength. Not whatever you thought you were accomplishing with your little display."

"Cohesion, you say? It seems I must've missed this solidarity of yours quite spectacularly while Harris and Wilson were exercising their idiocy to me. Do excuse my inattention, as I was otherwise preoccupied with things other than mushrooms."

Tom felt the quiet beat of a headache approach and the teens had scarcely even begun their argument.

"You know very well Walburga –!"

"If it's all the same to you, Abraxas," Tom interrupted softly, "I would thank you for avoiding mentioning Walburga to me for the foreseeable future."

The ensuing silence was heavy with his group's confusion for the regrettably brief amount of time that it lasted.

Cutting through the bewilderment of his peers, Alphard grinned mischievously at Tom. "Does the memory of my dear sister pain you so much already, Tom? I've barely been apart from her and already I empathize with you quite fiercely," Alphard informed him frivolously.

Abraxas made to comment rather harshly but Euphemia hissed his name pointedly, halting his words. The Malfoy sighed deeply and crossed his arms with contempt.

"My apologies, Tom," he said with minimal sincerity, but with enough deference to save himself from Tom's ire. "Though I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for, I'll seek forgiveness if only to spare myself the ability to breathe."

The words prompted a smirk from Tom.

"Cheeky of you, Abraxas," he commented. "Though there's no need for apologies. I'd require tact and not platitudes from you," he reprimanded lightly, receiving the slightest of nods in return.

Darius however, smiled shrewdly and made a careless hand gesture at Abraxas.

"That might be setting your expectations a little skewed, perhaps."

"You believe me to be mistaken, Darius?" Tom challenged mildly, amused by the young man's comment.

Alphard's snort of scepticism interrupted whatever Darius intended to defend himself with, catching the offended blond's attention and spelling the start of yet another confrontation that Tom had no interest in.

It really was no wonder privacy charms were the lifeblood of Slytherin House.

"And you would know all about tact, would you?" Abraxas scoffed at the Black who grinned back at him unashamedly. "Last I heard, your uncle refused you access to the engagement party due to your abhorrent actions against your future brother in law."

Alphard rolled his eyes dramatically, the act slowly taking Tom back to the last time he'd heard this particular story.

"You mean my cousin Orion?" Alphard drawled. "He's about as dry as the bottom of my cauldron and his wit matches my sister's perfectly. I dare say they'll be perfectly happy, and I simply told my cousin so." Alphard's grin made a fast come-back. "He was not amused and hexed me into the cabinet. My aunt was most furious."

"You broke the crystal balls!" Abraxas was clearly outraged.

"Technically, my cousin broke the crystal balls, attacking them with my body."

Abraxas let out a noise of frustration, and Tom silently observed them as their discussion continued.

Occasionally, Alphard or Euphemia would draw Mathias into the discussion, achieving nothing of substance since the boy was more occupied with pretending like he wasn't fruitlessly longing for a seat at the other end of the table.

Tom himself eventually decided to withdraw from the socializing and once again, the young Slytherins picked up on his subtle intention and ceased making the attempts, letting him simply be a fixture in the picture.

It'd been a very long day and Tom decided, as he studied the students around him, that sleep was on the agenda before any more scheming.

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"Where were you today?"

Letting go of the green curtains he'd been examining, he turned away from his bed and regarded Abraxas expectantly.

"You were unaccounted for," the blond elaborated unnecessarily, his voice measured and clearly hoping for a response.

It was very abnormal for any conversation of this kind to occur in the sanctity of their dorm room. Alphard was peeking through his curtains to observe Abraxas breaching protocol so carelessly and Tom stared with an equal amount of bemusement for a moment.

"And you should be made aware of my dealings – why?" he questioned.

Abraxas' nose scrunched up in suppressed irritation. "Dumbledore absconded with you and you've hardly spoken of it. I should think this warranted an explanation?"

"I believe we've had this discussion before," Tom said.

"Discussion –!" Alphard cackled loudly from his bed, falling back against the sheets. "By Salazar, Tom, you are a wonder!" he concluded joyfully through the muffling effect of the curtains. Abraxas' face reddened and he crossed his arms before him with a baleful glare at the source of guffaws.

"I don't think I'm asking for much!" Abraxas decided hotly.

"Professor Dumbledore and I simply discussed my current situation," he offered as he arranged his pillow. Each of them had been given a single pillow, and for some reason, they were spelled to be impervious to transfiguration, which meant Tom could change neither its shape nor size.

Well, he could, with a little trial and error, but he couldn't justify wasting his time exploring the mysteries of this one pillow.

Tom let out an inaudible sigh. At that moment, he couldn't remember why he believed returning as an ordinary student would be a good idea – or as simple as he'd made it out to be.

Abraxas frowned at him.

"Situation?"

Tom hummed, and Alphard made a noise of realization from beyond the thin walls of his bed.

"Oh – muggle stuff then," he concluded, and Abraxas' eyes widened with comprehension.

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose," Tom half-lied to the Black, the boy grunting his acceptance from his place on the bed.

"Was that all?" Tom inquired calmly.

Abraxas looked noticeably uncomfortable even remotely contemplating what muggle things Tom might've been discussing with Dumbledore for such an extended period of time, and finally settled on a hesitant, but curt nod.

"Sleep well, Abraxas."

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Tom spent the weekend alone. Mostly.

Apart from making the occasional appearance for meals, Tom had decided to spend both Saturday and Sunday re-acquainting himself with the areas of the school he'd discovered last time he'd occupied the castle. That is to say, the last time he'd conducted an occupation with time to spare.

Alphard had at one point that Saturday questioned him about his whereabouts, even going so far as to ask him – to his face – if he was hiding from Dumbledore to avoid further abductions. To which he'd reassured him he most assuredly wasn't.

Despite their efforts, he hadn't told any of them what he was doing – especially considering his actions were none of their business.

While he was no doubt committed to this ruse of his, he did not possess the patience for a gaggle of teenagers with disproportionate expectations at all hours of the day.

In fact, only on one occasion did his path cross with another in those days outside of meals, and it had been quite accidental.

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Sunday evening's prefect round saw Tom exiting through a secret doorway behind a large painting of a burning castle, whereafter the door closed with barely a sign that it'd been there at all.

He was about to conceal himself, as he was wont to do, when the enchantments of the entranceway caught his eye. This forced him to linger and inspect them, lest the memory of them threatened to haunt him for the rest of the night.

Hogwarts charmed him like no other place had ever managed, and over his many years of exploring the magical world to learn its darkest mysteries, he could with certainty say that the ancient castle's wards and enchantments were unique in their complexity and beauty – dependent as the castle was on the will of its headmaster and the magic of its occupants.

Reaching out a hand to examine them more intimately, his concentration was broken at the sound of his name.

"Riddle?" he heard someone say, causing him to turn towards the voice with a mild amount of scorn.

Damn his name.

Everyone knowing his name was quite the opposite of what the younger him would've wanted. If the original Tom Riddle – the young man with endless potential and an equally endless amount of hubris – had been in this situation, he would've been laughingly unprepared to deal with it.

Especially so, in fact, considering the period of time he was currently reliving.

Truthfully, Tom didn't particularly care for it either – hating his name as he did, but at least he was mature enough to handle the instinctive anger that welled up at the sound of it.

"Yes?" Tom dutifully answered, pretending his presence wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

A Hufflepuff prefect stood before him in the partly lit hallway, and standing there, the boy looked like he was reassessing his decision to address him at all – much like Mathias had when he'd encountered him that day in the Leaky Cauldron.

Though, distinctly less fearful.

It took a moment for him to remember his name.

"This is outside your route, isn't it?" Roland Corner asked.

Tom nodded courteously, ideas taking form in his mind.

At his silence, Corner scratched at his short dark-blond hair and looked past him to the open corridor they stood in.

"Could've sworn I was just down this hall though – didn't see you nowhere…" he trailed off awkwardly, his region of origin distinctive in his speech.

"I didn't come through the hallway, which is also why I'm off my route," Tom explained, and Corner looked hesitant at his willingness to converse. It was after all very rare for a Slytherin to chat with a Hufflepuff, let alone him – and with a Muggle-born at that.

Corner looked disgustingly mystified.

"…Okay," Corner articulated, surveying their surroundings – his answer carried with it a slightly questioning tone.

Tom, bored as he was, let the smile drop from his face – which was apparently a bad sign for the Hufflepuff, because he turned around immediately and started walking in the opposite direction.

The display was as exasperating as it was amusing, and his boredom promptly got the better of him.

"Where in God's name are you walking off to, Corner?" Tom demanded levelly, and the Muggle-born stopped in his tracks. He turned around with bafflement plastered across his face like a poorly done paint job, his mouth open in mute confusion.

"The shocked expression on your face is both unflattering and unwarranted," Tom informed him.

"I'm sorry!" Corner babbled, his eyes wide with distressed surprise. "I just hadn't expected you to – say that," he finished lamely, staring as if Tom had spoken every syllable backwards.

Tom granted him with a nod of understanding, before tilting his head slightly, the beginning of a whimsical plan manifesting as the situation unfolded.

He offered a cold smile.

"It really is interesting how Slytherin house guards its secrets, isn't it? Countless of Slytherins over the past five years have had siblings and family in other houses, but none have ever betrayed their trust," he told the Hufflepuff out of context, deciding on a course of action.

Corner looked unprepared to answer, so Tom continued.

"A Hufflepuff's pride lies in their loyalty, doesn't it?" Tom asked him softly, and Corner reacted.

"Yes! I mean… yes, we wouldn't betray other people's trust. I didn't know Slytherins had similar… ways to express that."

Tom sent the boy a smile once more. "Oh, we do, certainly," Tom said conversationally, before moving back to the painting he'd originated from. "Though markedly different, Slytherins have codes of conduct, like any other house. One of which started when I became a student here."

Corner looked subtly curious now and moved to stand beside him by the painting. He idly wondered which Slytherin, in particular, caused Corner's cautiousness, or if it was merely a by-product of their reputation. He wasn't curious enough to investigate his mind for the answer.

"So, the other Slytherins made some sort of rule about you?" Corner deduced, his hand vacating his pocket.

While he was used to people going for their wands as soon as he entered a room, seeing it while having no intention of attacking felt decidedly odd if he had to be honest with himself.

Tom's eyes met his in a side-ways glance. "Indeed," he confirmed, a sly smirk snaking its way onto his lips. "Can you guess what it was?"

Corner took a moment, likely afraid he'd say something very wrong and ruin the momentary and likely first peaceful meeting he'd ever had with a Slytherin, before answering.

"…Considering that virtually no one had heard about you before the Chamber Incident and the recent… event…" he paused, his hands fiddling with his sleeves. "They weren't allowed to talk about you?" he guessed.

"Spot on," he told him uncharacteristically, once again attracting the Muggle-born's attention.

"Is it because you're Muggle-born?" Corner asked then, his curiosity suddenly overflowing. It was clear the other prefect regretted asking immediately because he took two hasty steps to the right and put his hand back in his pocket.

Tom turned to give the Hufflepuff an unimpressed frown.

"I'm not going to curse you, don't be ridiculous," Tom reprimanded, dark eyes fixed on the boy. Corner didn't look convinced whatsoever.

Neither was Tom.

"I know you Hufflepuffs are a curious lot," he said instead and placed his hand on the painting of the burning castle.

Corner looked like he'd lost the plot somewhere, but Tom didn't feel like explaining himself. Instead, he moved a finger along the bottom of the castle and drew a half circle on the second tallest tower, causing the fleeing people in the painting to congregate in the middle of the concealed doorway, the mass of paint slowly forming a doorknob.

He lamented his lack of time.

Tom grabbed onto the doorknob and twisted, opening the door the painting was attached to. He didn't say a word as he entered the hidden corridor, leaving the Hufflepuff to stare after him in absolute bewilderment.

"Wait! – what – where are you going?!" he heard Corner call after him, followed by hurried footsteps and the creak of a door closing. Corner let out a noise as the corridor was plunged into darkness.

"Lumos." Tom lit the tip of his wand and continued walking. He heard Corner's steps behind him, so he assumed the Hufflepuff could see him.

"…Riddle," Corner mumbled. "Where are we going? How did you find this?"

"If you're so insecure, maybe you shouldn't have followed me," he told him with slight amusement colouring his voice.

In the darkness behind, Corner let out a scoff. "I'm not a bloody Gryffindor, Riddle! Hufflepuffs – or Slytherins for that matter – don't just charge into the unknown like this! Of course, I'm uncertain."

"Good," Tom told him. He absolutely detested that quality in most Gryffindors. There was a definite difference between bravery and recklessness, one some lions just didn't recognize the validity of.

"Besides, I can't just let you walk off into the walls alone… what if something happened?"

They stopped at a small rounded area, the slim corridor splitting into two directions.

"Worrying for a Slytherin?" Tom asked him, looking to him past the brightness of his wand. Corner's features were contorted with indecision, his eyes squinting due to both the dimness of the corridors ahead and the glowing illumination between them.

"We're all students in the end, aren't we?"

The Slytherin didn't respond. He picked the left corridor and continued walking, leaving Corner to scramble after him – after the light.

Eventually, they reached an old door, the wood noticeably dark with years of humidity – only magic keeping the door from falling apart. Corner stared at the creepy door for several seconds, unwilling to touch it.

"Where are we?" he asked again.

"We are in the dungeons."

"…But we went straight." They'd started on the second floor, so the confusion was palpable.

"I don't see why that should matter," Tom told him, disregarding his confusion entirely.

"Don't see how – you're making no sense," Corner informed him sadly.

This time, Tom didn't resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"Quintessential Muggle-born," he complained lightly, opening the door.

"But –"

The place they entered momentarily stole the breath of the Hufflepuff, halting further complaints.

Corner stepped out of the hidden opening and spun around on his heels, surveying the vastness of the large chamber they'd entered.

"Welcome to the duelling classroom," Tom advertised, walking further into the chamber, a bedazzled Hufflepuff prefect shuffling in after him. Said boy appraised the high ceiling, the moving murals of duelling positions depicted on the walls and the spectator seats placed on every side of a small lowered duelling arena embedded into the foundation of the floor.

No cobwebs or dust could be spotted, the classroom perfectly functional in every way.

"I didn't know this place existed… I didn't even know we could take duelling as a class," Corner told him, sounding both awed and dejected.

"You can't. Not anymore."

Corner squinted at him. "There isn't? Then what is the deal with all of this?"

"The 'deal' is that this is the Slytherins' primary training area for Defence Against the Dark Arts," Tom generously explained, gesturing to the abandoned green and silver ties and scarves that could be spotted on select benches.

The Hufflepuff looked indignant. "You have your own duelling room!" he accused, sounding outraged as he pointed to the arena.

"No. This classroom does not belong to Slytherin house," Tom denied, placing his hand on a specific bench. He'd sat there often as a young boy, observing – learning, from the older Slytherins when they duelled. Power was the only thing that could match, and sometimes surpass, family reputation and influence in Slytherin house, so the chamber had a special kind of significance to him.

It was where he, and the others, had first gaged his potential.

Slytherins were, at their core, rationalists. If a person could crush you, then your seats in the Wizengamot wouldn't help you. The, well, 'current' Grindelwald situation had been quite the effective reminder of that simple fact. So, with or against the law – it was all about winning for them. A demonstration of power. If a student was magically strong, the person was considered valuable. It was the foundation of every sliver of hard-won respect he'd earned in his younger years and that what he was teaching the new students now; how to be valuable.

But this side of Slytherin rarely left the common room these days.

"So, if you Slytherins don't technically own this room… why don't I know about it?" the boy inquired.

"It's another rule," Tom enlightened Corner, whose indignation was still prevalent on his face.

"That's not fair…" Corner mumbled. In response, Tom shot him an annoyed stare that clearly told the Hufflepuff to stop his maundering, causing the boy to flush in response.

"I'd noticed that the purebloods – Slytherins – were generally better at duelling in DADA, but I think we've all just assumed it was because their family had tutored them during the summer…" Corner spoke, careful with his articulation, and Tom appreciated the effort.

"You're not entirely incorrect," Tom told him. "But in one way or another, we're all affected by the Underaged Magic Restriction, Corner."

"How so? I'm not allowed to lay as much as a finger on my wand as soon as I enter the Muggle world, but I know for a fact that some of my housemates are taught spells by their parents during the summer. It's… just not fair," he repeated, and the words sounded decidedly bitter.

Tom nodded very slightly in agreement, entertaining the complaint. "Yes, that isn't out of the norm for the older families, I'm afraid. However, it might've escaped your notice that this 'tutoring' is contained within the families and inside their own estates," he emphasized. "The parents or guardians of every magical child is allowed to sparingly tutor the young witch or wizard, yes – but only as long as certain rules are observed."

At the mention of yet more rules, Corner frowned petulantly at him for but a few seconds, before politely gesturing for an elaboration. Tom graciously acquiesced.

Holding up three fingers, Tom explained. "Firstly, the child is prohibited from practising magic by themselves, requiring the supervision and guidance of the magical parents at all times. Secondly, the guardians of the child must not tutor any other children besides their own charge, and thirdly – magical children are prohibited from practising magic anywhere but in their own homes, as previously stated. Which means, that outside their splendorous manors, they're as magicless as yourself," he concluded.

"Are you serious?!" Corner exclaimed suddenly, confounded.

"Of course," Tom drawled, letting the doubt pass unheeded. "In truth, purebloods have a lot of reasons to hate Muggle-borns - justified or otherwise," he added. "With Muggle-born and half-blood families living in purely muggle areas, it was eventually necessary to implement the Restriction of Underaged Magic to appease the Statute of Secrecy. But discriminating between purebloods, half-bloods and Muggle-born outside of the sanctity of their homes would be impossible, and so the Ministry is relying on the pureblood parents' ability to inspire obedience in their children in lieu of a better solution," he explained, pausing to inspect the chamber briefly. "Ultimately – these restrictions necessitated the establishment of this arrangement of ours," he concluded finally, gesturing around them. Some of the depictions on the walls offered courteous bows at the attention, but Corner seemed unwilling to return the sentiment.

Tom then looked at Corner and raised an eyebrow expectantly. "How do you think they feel, knowing that the reason they're not allowed to freely use their magic is because of you?"

Corner's mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no retort was seemingly forthcoming. Unsympathetically, Tom started walking towards the hidden doorway once again, providing the fellow time to digest the answers he'd been given.

The Hufflepuff prefect silently followed him back into the hidden entrance, deep in thought. After a little while, Corner spoke into the partially lit corridor.

"I don't think I like those rules either," he admitted lowly, contemplative, followed by a long pause as they meandered through the tunnel once more.

"I sometimes wonder… exactly what they see when they look at me," he said then, quietly.

Tom merely smiled in response.

Tom left Roland Corner where he'd found him and commenced walking down the long hallway, feeling the Muggle-born's eyes lingering on him as he left.

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The Hufflepuff common room was quiet when Roland returned, the majority of the badgers having retired to their dormitories for the evening.

Walking towards the common area, he noticed that his friends were sat in the plush couches by the fireplace playing exploding snap, presumably having waited for him to return. They stopped playing when they saw him.

"Roland!" Timmy called. "You're late, mate! Conrad came back without you," he said, jabbing a thumb at the dormitories behind them.

Roland felt momentarily embarrassed, having completely forgotten about his fellow Hufflepuff prefect. Conrad had gone to use the loo while he'd continued patrolling down the hallways of the second floor, which had been when he'd encountered Riddle.

How could he have forgotten about Conrad? What kind of Hufflepuff did that?

He palmed his face and exhaled heavily.

"I forgot all about him," he admitted honestly, his face flushed as his friends laughed at him.

"I mean, he was a little put-out that he couldn't find you but chalked it up to you being busy with something important. He didn't seem mad, so I wouldn't worry about it – should still apologize, though," Timmy necessitated, and Roland nodded.

"Did something happen? You're thirty minutes late. I know you're a prefect and all, but you're supposed to keep to the schedule, right?" his other friend, Edwin, asked him curiously, lying sideways on one of the cream-coloured loveseats.

Roland provided his friends with a significant stare.

"The weirdest thing happened. I'm not even sure if you're going to believe me."

Edwin sat up properly and started gathering their cards together.

"That sounds promising," he said, and Timmy nodded in agreement, his jaw resting in his palms as he smiled encouragingly at Roland.

Roland raised an eyebrow challengingly. He was absolutely positive they wouldn't believe him but decided to make the attempt anyway.

"I went adventuring with a Slytherin," he claimed, completely serious, hands placed on his hips.

Having evidently not expected that, Timmy choked on his spit. "You're having me on!" he accused, his voice drowning in his subsequent bout of laughter.

"Good one," Edwin acknowledged, smiling. "Nice delivery as well," he added belatedly, complimenting his perceived acting ability.

Roland snorted and shook his head in the negative, and Timmy apparently caught on rather swiftly, because his face abruptly changed. A one-minute stare-down whittled down the scepticism eventually.

"Are you being serious?" Timmy asked incredulously, as if questioning how Roland was even alive. Edwin shot Timmy a dubious look.

Roland nodded. "Completely serious. He showed up out of nowhere, spat God's name at me and then led me through a secret passage behind a painting on the second floor," he explained, sounding vaguely helpless as the absurdity of his own statement hit him belatedly. He carefully omitted to inform them exactly where the Slytherin had taken him, however.

At the very least, his genuine confusion convinced Edwin and Timmy of the validity of his tale.

"I suppose I lost track of time," he finished sheepishly.

"Mate… What the Hell," Timmy murmured.

Roland had no answers.

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The first class on Monday was History of Magic with the Ravenclaws.

Professor Cuthbert Binns was an old man with three pairs of bags under his eyes and an acute inability to inspire the least amount of interest in the subject, a fact Abraxas lamented sorrowfully.

Most students used the time for self-study, but for Slytherins and Ravenclaws, appearing as anything but a perfectly attentive student was inexcusable. This meant that Monday mornings would consist of approximately twenty students pretending to pay attention for three hours – a practice that Abraxas understood, but also found exceedingly absurd at the same time.

He blamed the professor entirely.

The classroom had been naturally split in the middle with eagles on one side and snakes to the other, a walkway between the desks dividing the camps like two war fronts in the middle of a cease-fire.

Abraxas didn't have an issue with Ravenclaw as a house and even respected their values, but he found that Muggle-borns and half-bloods from the house pissed him off more than any others. Their arrogance was completely nonsensical to him, considering that they knew nothing at all in his opinion – and therefore shouldn't have been accepted into the house. Their grades didn't factor into this.

That day he sat beside Tom in the middle of the second row. Alphard and Mia sat behind them with Mathias and Darius in the front row. Behind Alphard and Mia were the remaining three Slytherins in their year, Letitia Flint, Roark Orpington and Brigid Bletchley – the latter two being Mathias' former group before Tom seemingly stole him.

Since they were nine Slytherins in their year, their dormitories had been divided into trios of three. Abraxas had shared a room with Alphard and Tom since their first year and considering how widely different they all were personality-wise, they'd quickly agreed to keep all interaction between them outside their dorm-room to minimize conflicts.

He knew that a similar arrangement existed between Darius, Mathias and Roark, since Mathias and Darius barely knew each other, despite having lived together for ten months a year for five years. Darius had always had his friends in the upper years, his childhood associations having been different than theirs.

Euphemia shared a room with Letitia and Brigid, with Euphemia preferring Brigid over Letitia for numerous reasons – reasons she'd undoubtedly told him, but didn't remember, because he hadn't cared.

Nevertheless, it stood to reason that Slytherins didn't bond with their year-mates quite like the other houses – a fact Abraxas was fine with.

History of Magic commenced when their thin, wrinkly professor started droning on about the importance of the Vampire act of 1712, without warning or welcome, something Abraxas felt was slightly discourteous.

As he sat, attentive as any other, he noticed that his tablemate… wasn't.

Tom had pulled out another maybe-Muggle book after twenty minutes and was now not paying attention.

"…What are you doing?" he whispered, scandalized. The Ravenclaws had already taken note and were looking mildly puzzled, but the professor hadn't yet noticed Tom's inattentiveness.

"Waiting for the relevance of this subject to become apparent to me," Tom told him, pointedly not whispering as he turned a page of his book. "So far it remains elusive," he finished, looking more bored than he'd ever seen him.

Abraxas hadn't managed to respond to that and professor Binns hadn't managed to coach Tom away from his reading during the whole class. Neither had he noticed, but that was irrelevant.

When they'd exited the classroom, Tom had rounded a corner and promptly disappeared. He showed up again at the lunch table thirty minutes late, with no explanation.

When did Tom ever provide an explanation?

They'd subtly attempted to reprimand him for his behaviour during History of Magic, but their admonishments had gone unheeded – like clouds off a hippogriff's back.

They'd given up but had remained mystified.

Next class was Charms with the Hufflepuffs, where Abraxas was sat with Euphemia, being his main project partner in the subject. Tom was now sat with Mathias of all people, who looked predictably uncomfortable with the arrangement.

That day they were introduced to two basic healing charms for sealing small cuts and disinfecting injuries. They were given small pots of magical mushrooms to practice on, their outer shell behaving much the same way when cut as a human's skin would.

They'd been given a thirty-minute introduction to the theory, after which professor Morris had allocated the remaining two and a half hours for practice and questions for homework.

Tom had spent the first ten minutes completing said homework, before even attempting the spells. He'd then tutored Mathias when he'd noticed that the Nott had been having issues with his concentration – displaying that he could perform them flawlessly already, much to the professor's admiration – earning Slytherin 5 points.

"You're not applying enough power, Mathias," he heard Tom comment when the Nott had attempted the charm once more.

"I'm trying," Mathias insisted, jabbing his wand at the cut-up mushroom with obvious effort, but with no result.

Tom stared at Mathias contemplatively for a few seconds before placing his left hand on the table between them, palm up. The enigma then traced his right index finger along the skin on the bottom of his palm, lightly cutting open the tissue with a very slight amount of blood welling up in its wake.

Mathias looked immensely alarmed at the sight, but Tom didn't seem to care that he'd just inflicted harm upon himself. Abraxas was thoughtful, however. The sight was indeed slightly disturbing, but he knew this method of teaching could be effective if employed on the right people.

"Heal me," Tom ordered Mathias, whose grey-blue eyes were glued to the injury in front of him. "Before Professor Morris sees, preferably," Tom added, increasing Mathias' agitation.

The Nott looked around him for a moment, presumably to look for said teacher who was currently busy with a Hufflepuff girl and then locked eyes with Abraxas.

He gave the boy a nod of his head, signalling his reluctant support.

Mathias didn't look quite sure what to do with it, but returned to the problem at hand nonetheless, looking vaguely determined to give it a try.

He performed the disinfection spell flawlessly and removed the blood along with it, but when it came to the healing spell, he hesitated.

"Sometime this century, Mathias," Tom goaded him reproachfully, a put-upon expression on his handsome face.

At the provocation, Mathias visibly steeled himself, narrowed his eyes at the insignificant cut and executed the wand movements, followed by the charm, "Episkey."

The small wound healed up immediately, much to the boy's surprise. Tom had then inspected his hand and had reported that a little more power would've been ideal, but that it was satisfactory for the time being.

Bolstered by his apparent success, Mathias had succeeded in healing the mushroom.

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Everything had been close to ordinary.

Their group returned to their common room after classes at three p.m. and worked on their homework. Alphard especially, since he'd been told to keep his grades up by professor Slughorn the previous year.

At half-past five, they all went to the Great Hall for dinner once more.

Everything had seemed nearly normal.

Abraxas erected another privacy ward, Tom shovelled lamb shanks onto his plate like they were scheduled to disappear at any moment – with Euphemia resolutely waiting for an opportunity –Mathias was looking strangely pleased with himself and Alphard was wondering whether he should go for the pudding or the tarts when the time came around for dessert.

Concentrating on his dinner, he let the noise of the hall wash over him as he relaxed into the routine. Euphemia made a comment and whatever she'd said caused Tom to chuckle lightly in response, prompting a pleased smile from the witch.

Seeing Tom laugh had surely been eventful, rare as it was, and as they left the hall again after they'd finished that night's feast, Darius managed to extract yet another dusty chuckle from their otherwise stoic leader.

Though certainly abnormal, it wasn't anything they hadn't heard before.

They were leisurely making their way towards the stairs and ignoring the students around them, when the situation abruptly changed, however.

Without warning, the wall beside Tom's head was hit with a blunt force spell, causing the group to stagger back in alarm.

Something inexplicable surged.

Alphard shuddered.

As they all drew their wands, Alphard homed in on the trajectory of the spell and swiftly found the culprit.

A group of Gryffindors were staring open-mouthed at the perpetrator in their midst, flabbergasted as their housemate stood frozen – angry, hate-filled eyes aimed directly at Tom.

Wand aimed purposefully in the Gryffindors' direction, their leader stared with an expression that made it clear that Tom considered the attempt on his life subpar in nearly every perceivable way possible – but nonetheless inexcusable.

Tom remained standing as he was for a short, tense moment, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully despite the obvious way his breathing had quickened. The stand-off was brief.

When it looked like Tom was about to lower his wand, the Gryffindor struck again with a strangled cry of frustration, his mates grabbing onto his arms a second later to halt his actions.

Tom blocked the spell, but his expression had changed.

Alphard felt a shiver travel up his spine to the nape of his neck, the feeling resting there threateningly.

It was a glorious sight and Alphard couldn't help but grin at the way Tom dared the boy to continue his antics.

The Gryffindor's wand had been wrestled from his hand, but he still attempted to fight his way towards Tom, intent on causing harm.

"Let go of me!" he snarled to his friends as a still silent Tom slowly pocketed his wand. "He's laughing! That son of a bitch is laughing–!" the deranged lion screamed in his struggle, but his housemates weren't letting him go. A moment of hesitation was all the boy needed, however, and a split second later he'd slipped out of his robe and braced himself on his knees on the floor, a moment from sprinting in their direction once more.

Alphard sensed Darius to his side preparing to defend Tom, but –

The lion didn't come far.

Before he'd manage to lift himself off the floor completely, the boy's head was jerked forcefully backwards and then brought straight down and into the floor, the cracking off his nose audible even through the exclamations of shock.

Following the event came a loud silence – and then an excruciating wail sounded from the boy.

"What is this ruckus?!" came the bellow from further down the hallway and Alphard attempted to muffle his grin.

He was largely unsuccessful. The shiver circled his spine once more as Tom's aura spiked again.

Alphard put away his wand with a shaky hand as he saw Dumbledore near them with long, measured steps – professor Slughorn hot on his heels. Students stood spattered around the spectacle, Tom's hand till vaguely outstretched towards the now moaning Gryffindor on the floor.

"Mr Riddle, Mr Wood – what's the meaning of this?" the bearded professor demanded immediately with a touch of righteous anger behind that great beard of his, to which Tom grimaced lightly in Dumbledore's direction.

The most substantial display of emotion since the affair began.

"Self-defence," Tom informed them, speaking as if he was proving a point to the older man. Dumbledore did not look at-all satisfied with that response and looked about tempted to tell him so.

"Lower your wands, please – we'll handle it from here," the Slytherin head of house requested the rest of them anxiously, kneeling to inspect the bleeding boy on the floor.

He did not look a pretty picture. Even his friends were hesitant to near him – perhaps worried their aid would result in further retaliation from either party.

Alphard would guarantee it.

Roark Orpington, of all wizards, saw an opportunity then and chose that time to speak up. "Wood threw a curse at Riddle!" he accused loudly in way of an explanation.

Slytherin students standing in the hall nodded determinately, several throwing angry remarks at the Gryffindors in general. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws swiftly joined in on the verbal wheel of accusation rolling around the hallway – and surprisingly, some Gryffindors were even standing in the defence of Tom, yelling against their fellows who were trying to defend the attacking lion from the heat of the allegations against him.

The Deputy Headmaster then caused a sudden eruption of noise, the bang silencing the screaming fest that was steadily increasing in volume.

"Silence," he ordered, a stern look on his normally friendly face. He turned towards Tom once more with an unwarranted amount of disapproval – and worry – who looked completely unruffled despite having nearly been cursed in the face and then summarily near-assaulted.

'And why would you be?' Alphard asked silently, looking to Tom with admiration.

A shiver ran through Alphard once more.

He understood now why Tom had requested the information from them. It was simply preparedness. He could clearly deal with these would-be attackers himself – he'd slammed someone's face wandlessly into the floor so hard his nose broke – but he likely wanted to spare himself the effort of searching for them himself. Their measly attempts at achieving revenge didn't warrant that kind of dedication from the likes of him.

Or at least, Alphard assumed that that had to be it.

Horace Slughorn helped Wood stand and gestured for Tom and Dumbledore to follow.

As they left, a house-elf came and vanished the blood from the floor, leaving no evidence of Tom's 'self-defence' behind.

The shivers continued to linger, causing a kind of restlessness Alphard only ever experienced at home.

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A/N: I'm trying to stay as true to the canon Ministry laws as possible, but sometimes I fail to be as accurate as I'd like to be. Also, I'm not just throwing in characters for the Hell of it – so bear with me, please.

Reviews are, as usual, encouraged!