Chapter Fourteen

Tom hadn't properly appreciated having his own room, he decided the next morning when he finally got out of bed, having gotten very little sleep. At Grimmauld Place, Black had given him a place he could freely ward and relax within, but Tom had taken it for granted at the time. Here, though, both Ron and Longbottom snored terribly, and Thomas talked in his sleep. Of course, he'd cast silencing charms on his curtains, but that had just made him hyper aware of the fact that he wasn't alone. By four in the morning, Tom had written Black a thank you note in addition to writing an inquiry to the Australian Ministry of Magic and a cordial hello to Nymphadora Tonks.

The moment the clock hit six, meaning he was allowed to leave the tower, Tom struck out for the Great Hall. To his slight surprise, Ginny arrived just after him.

"You still don't sleep," she told him by way of explanation. "He didn't either."

Tom considered it and conceded that he'd always been the sort to dodge sleep, even if he hadn't meant to last night. "Did I keep you up?" he asked. Not that there was anything to be done about it if he had, but it was the sort of question you asked whether you cared about the answer or not.

Ginny gave a sort of half-shrug. "Somewhat. The girls in my dorm were pestering me about you, so I was having trouble anyway but..." Her lips twisted in part disgust and part amusement. "You might want to watch out for Romilda. She was debating whether you preferred large-busted girls or if she should see about getting a reduction."

"...Great," Tom sighed. He really didn't need or want random fourteen-year-old girls lusting after him. "She doesn't read The Daily Prophet, I assume?"

Ginny snorted. "She may very well, actually. I think reading about you in the newspaper just made you more attractive to her, nevermind the details."

Tom didn't know what to make of that, other than that he definitely would be avoiding that girl. He changed the subject. "Are you done being upset with me?" he asked, focusing on his breakfast and only somewhat interested in her answer.

"No," Ginny said shortly. "You ruined my first year at Hogwarts, and if you didn't exist... " She hesitated, then added, "Harry definitely would still be fine."

That was… technically true, he supposed, but it still rankled to be equated to his younger self (whom he couldn't quite forget had proven to be an utter disappointment in hindsight), and he thought it was rather petty of her to be upset with him for something he'd done more than a decade ago. Tom frowned at her with only partially feigned hurt. "I haven't done anything," he protested. "I've been unconscious up until this summer after all." His gaze sharpened, and Ginny flinched. "It'd be best if you treated me as an entirely separate person from Lord Voldemort. My younger self may have been content to merely repeat the same mistakes, but I have no intention of doing so. I will be my own person entirely and succeed where Voldemort failed."

Ginny bit her lip and looked away. They ate in silence for a while after that while other students trickled in.

"Can't you even have breakfast without getting upset?" Hermione asked as she fell into the seat next to him. "I was hoping to sleep in a little more. Lavender and Parvati kept me up with their gossiping. They kept trying to pull me into it."

Tom glanced at Ginny. "My apologies. I took offense at being considered one and the same as the other pieces of my soul."

The muggleborn witch sighed and rolled her eyes. "Do you even listen to yourself?"

Tom blinked. This girl really had no sense of caution. He saw Ginny giving him a nervous look and frowned again. Hermione may have been correct about creating the bond with her sooner. It was a pain having the younger girl constantly on edge around him. "I'm not going to curse her," he snapped at Ginny. He grit his teeth when she gave him an unconvinced look. "All else aside," he said with forced calm, "cursing my 'best friend' in the middle of the Great Hall would be incredibly stupid. If you can't trust my intentions, I wish you'd at least trust that I'm not an idiot."

Later, in History of Magic, Hermione tried to excuse her friend. "She's just confused," she whispered, even though Binns wouldn't have noticed even if she'd shouted. "Tom was her closest friend for almost a year, and then it turned out he'd been using her, and then you're inhabiting the body of the boy she's had a crush on since she was little. She just needs more time for her emotions to settle."

"Do you think I'm unaware of that?" he bit back. He was, regrettably, still human. He had emotions, and emotions didn't care one whit about logic.

Hermione regarded him patiently. "There's a difference between being aware of something and understanding it. I want to be sure that you understand Ginny's feelings, because that will help you to deal with her."

Tom gave her an unimpressed look, thinking back to the night he'd caught Ginny in the library with his name on her lips. "I think I understand her feelings perfectly well." He'd eat the damn Sorting Hat if some of her anger wasn't there simply to mask embarrassment over that incident.

Even so, his mind kept turning the situation around. It did him no good to be at odds with a member of his Inner Circle. Hermione was correct that, any other issues aside, Ginny had more than enough reason to be hesitant to relax around him. Even if it frustrated him to have his efforts at acting differently ignored, he was the more mature one, so he had a duty to be patient with her, didn't he?

Of course, he'd always had a temper, and it seemed Potter was no different. With Occlumency though, he should be able to work around that. Theoretically.

Their next class was Potions, and Tom was curious how that would go. On the one hand, Severus had spent the past four years taking every opportunity to belittle Potter and sabotage his education. It would be suspicious if that suddenly changed. On the other hand, Severus had, quite frankly, even more reason to distrust his new modus operandi than Ginny, and mistreating someone you knew was more skilled at the Cruciatus than most wizards were at Lumos would indicate an alarmingly un-Slytherin lack of self-preservation. He supposed he should give the man some sort of sign that he understood the dilemma, but it was far more interesting to see what Severus decided on his own.

As he entered, he examined the other members of his old house. Draco Malfoy was, according to Potter's memories, their ring leader, but watching them now, he thought that the first year was less cohesive than that.

For one thing, Potter didn't even know the names of some of them. How was this the boy who'd bested him time and again? Luck was a frightening magic all in its own. With only a moment's hesitation, he sat next to a mousy brown-haired Slytherin girl, ignoring the sudden silence as a Gryffindor sat next to a Slytherin.

"Harry, that's a snake!" Ron hissed.

Tom sent him a flat look. "Really? I hadn't noticed." The only Gryffindor who didn't look scandalized was Hermione, who ignored him, though he felt her curiosity licking at their bond. In deference to that, Tom explained, "The Hat said we needed to stop segregating ourselves based on our House." He happily ignored Hermione's irritation, likely present because Hermione knew full well that wasn't the real reason for his actions. He turned to the Slytherin girl and smiled. "Hello. My name is Harry Potter."

The girl flushed as everyone's attention shifted to her. "D-Davis. Tracey Davis," she whispered.

"It's a pleasure to meet you properly, Miss Davis," Tom replied.

Severus's voice cut in. "If you are quite finished, Mister Potter." Once the majority of the class had turned to face the front again, the man continued. "Before we begin today's lesson, I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions." He continued with his expectations for their OWLs, something Tom anticipated would be a rather common theme among teachers this week.

Their professor then, with a flick of his wand to first the chalkboard and then the store cupboard, instructed them to brew the Draught of Peace. Tom stared at the board blankly when Severus said nothing more, but rather proceeded to stalk amongst the students, criticizing their efforts before any had even managed to begin.

"Umm…. Potter?" Davis whispered, nudging him.

Tom shook himself and smiled at her. "Sorry, I just somehow expected he would do more actual teaching for our OWL year." Or any at all, really. Tom had known beforehand that Severus's lessons went like this, but as Hermione had pointed out earlier, knowing and knowing were two different things. "I'll gather the ingredients, if you like."

Davis waved her hands anxiously. "No, no, that's alright. I'll just.. umm... I'll be right back."

Tom watched her for a moment, bemused. If he had to guess, she was concerned about Potter's usual dismal performance in this class. True enough, Potions wasn't his best subject - one of his worst in fact, beaten only by Herbology - but he'd still gotten an O on his NEWTs in the subject, so a fifth-year potion wasn't about to give him any trouble. He set up their station, meticulously wiping everything off as he did.

When Davis returned, she gave him an approving nod. It seemed she'd recovered from her surprise. "I'll work on ingredient prep if you'll focus on the brewing process," she said, already beginning without waiting for his reply.

Tom obeyed, having no particular reason not to, and they worked together in relative silence until Severus announced that they had ten minutes left. Davis and Tom looked at the fine, silvery vapor their potion was releasing, and smiled at each other. Almost immediately, Davis's gaze switched to something behind him. She flushed and turned away.

"Acceptable, Potter," Severus drawled from next to their table. "It seems you are capable of following instructions if you have a competent partner. Miss Davis, in the interest of protecting my classroom from Potter's inadequacy, I'd like you to continue to partner with him." He raised his voice to address the entire room. "Those who have managed to brew a potion will leave a sample on my desk. Class is dismissed."

Tom cocked his head. Why did Severus act this way as a professor? He knew the man was a more capable teacher than this.

"What was that about, mate?" Ron asked fiercely as they left the classroom.

Tom ignored him, turning instead to Davis, who was joining up with a delicate blonde and a handsome brunette. "Thank you for partnering with me today, Miss Davis," he called. "I look forward to our next lesson."

The girl stiffened but, as he'd expected, turned and gave a tight smile. "Thank you for your assistance... Heir Potter," she said. The end was hesitant, and both girls beside her shot surprised glances at each other.

That was to be expected, Tom supposed. Potter had shown absolutely no familiarity with the social graces, and it wouldn't be surprising if some students believed he'd given up his position as the Potter Heir. He would just have to improve their impression of him bit by bit over the next three years. He gave the girl a slight nod and moved on.

For now, it was time for lunch, which of course meant that Tom waved off Hermione and went straight to the library. He spent the entire period wandering through it until a title caught his eye. He grabbed it and, with a glance at the time, checked it out. Madam Pince gave both him and the book a suspicious look, but ultimately let him go without comment.

His next class presented him with something of a dilemma. Tom was positive he was not any type of Seer, so Divination was an even more complete waste of his time than the rest of his classes. However, simply skipping class would probably draw more attention than was wise, so rather than proceed to Divination, he headed to Professor McGonagall's office.

"Mister Potter?" the elderly witch queried as she opened her door.

Tom smiled, making sure to add a touch of self-consciousness to it. "Hello, Professor. Can I talk to you about something?"

Professor McGonagall ushered him in and set them both up with tea and biscuits before clasping her hands in front of her. "So? What is this about, Mister Potter? Don't tell me you've managed to get into trouble already." Though her words might have been teasing from anyone else, her expression was anything but.

"No, not at all," Tom reassured her before biting his lip and peering up at her. "It's just, I… Well, I'm taking Divination."

McGonagall nodded, arching an eyebrow as though to say 'get on with it.'

Obligingly, Tom continued, "I only signed up for it because Ron did, and Ron… well… he kind of… sort of chose it for an easy O."

"Mister Potter," Professor McGonagall said, taking a sip of her tea with something like amusement, "I am quite aware why students choose to take that particular elective."

Tom pursed his lips in annoyance and hurried on before she could interrupt again. "Yeah, well, after last year, I realized that I can't afford to be taking a class just for an easy O. So I was hoping you would allow me to use that period to self-study Arithmancy and take that OWL instead. Hermione says third year covers a lot of the same things you learn in muggle school as a child, and I understood maths pretty well, so I'm sure I can manage." He gave her his most earnest look. "Please," he added with just a touch of desperation.

McGonagall studied him. "You understand, Mister Potter, that all students are required to take their OWLs in not just the core subjects, but also a minimum of two electives? If you realize partway through that you will fall short of your goal, what do you intend to do? You will have missed all your Divination classes, so you could hardly take the OWL for it at that point."

Tom frowned. "I won't fail," he said stubbornly. He could hardly explain how he knew this though.

The witch sighed and set down her cup. "Far be it from me to deny a student the chance to improve himself. You will switch to Muggle Studies. Given your upbringing, you should be able to at least pass the OWL for that subject without much effort. You can then spend that period studying. If you achieve an A or above in Arithmancy, I will move you to that class for your sixth year." She narrowed her eyes. "I will be checking to make sure you are putting in the requisite effort."

"Of course," Tom said. He smiled, sincerely pleased. "Thank you, Professor."

"Not at all, Mister Potter. I'm glad to see you taking your studies more seriously. Although…" McGonagall cast a quick Tempus and gave him a flat look. "You could very well have come to me at another time. Ten points from Gryffindor for skipping class." Despite her words, and the point loss, her lips twitched upward with her approval. "Now, off you go. You don't want to miss Defense."

Tom nodded and stood. Just before he passed through the door, the Professor called out. "Please, Mister Potter, keep your head down this year. Don't give anyone any reason to…" Her voice trailed off, and she shook herself. "Just be careful," she amended.

It wasn't hard to guess who she was talking about, and Tom had Professor Umbridge's class next. He sat down next to Hermione at the front of the room, noticing that Ron wasn't there yet. It seemed the boy was drifting away from them as hoped. Professor Umbridge sat at her desk a bit to their left, and Tom eyed her for only a moment before turning his attention to Hermione.

"I found a book you should read," he said and passed her the library book.

"Mudbloods: From Ancient to Modern Times?" Hermione's skepticism was clear even through her whisper.

Tom shrugged. "The title's provocative," he admitted. "But give it a read. I think you'll find it…" He pursed his lips, trying to decide on the best word to use. "Enlightening."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but she obediently tucked the book into her bag.

Tom wondered what she'd think of it. It was, he'd discovered, actually written by a muggleborn with a bit of a dark sense of humor. As such, the blatant bigotry present throughout the work was more tongue-in-cheek than anything. The writing was serious enough though that few who didn't know the author's identity would realize their true intention.

Suddenly the room quieted, and Tom looked up to see that Professor Umbridge had risen. Tom sighed and reluctantly pulled their course book from his bag. "Well, good afternoon!" she chirped brightly.

It occurred to Tom, listening to and, eventually, participating in the woman's absurdly childish greeting session, that perhaps he had a problem. It had been decades since he'd last had to control his responses to irritation, boredom, anger, or frustration, and so he hadn't put much self-reflection into just how quickly his mind turned to murder and torture. Now though, unable to indulge himself, he realized that was a weakness he should have dealt with ages ago.

No time like the present, he supposed.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge in a saccharine voice as the class's greetings finally met her expectations. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

Now Tom had to wonder if this woman would get on well with Bella. They both spoke to their opponents (in so much as a class of teenagers could be considered the professor's opponent) as though speaking to very small children. When prompted, he dutifully copied down her course aims.

Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.

Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

Tom eyed the list as he set his quill down. Between this list and the Slinkhard book, he could more or less predict Professor Umbridge's intentions as a teacher. His lip curled. Lazy is what it was - lazy and unimaginative. Tom rested his chin on his hand while the class finished writing and was set to reading, then raised his hand. Beside him, Hermione's arm was already up.

Professor Umbridge pursed her lips, unwilling to call on either of them, but forced into it. She pointed to Tom. "Did you want to ask something about the chapter, Mister Potter?" she asked in a syrupy tone.

Tom lowered his hand. "No ma'am," he replied, giving her his charming smile. "I've finished the book, but I have a question about your course aims."

"Well, Mister Potter, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," the woman replied just as sweetly.

Tom nodded agreeably. "Certainly, but I do wonder if they're only the aims for this term. There's nothing about practical instruction, you see." He caught several other students re-reading the board.

"Practical instruction?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a forced little laugh. "Why in heavens would we need such a thing?"

"Maybe so we can -" started Ron, face reddening.

"We raise our hands when we wish to speak, Mister…" the professor interrupted.

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

While this exchange played out, Tom was having a bond-enhanced wordless argument with Hermione. He won, smirking as she lowered her hand even as he raised his again.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Professor Umbridge's face, too quick for most students to catch it. "Yes, Mister Potter? You wanted to ask something else?"

Tom gave her a bright smile. "Yes please. It's just that I've heard there's a practical portion on the OWLs, and while I'm sure an accomplished witch like yourself can easily cast the requisite spells without any practice, I'm afraid that your average fifth-year student cannot. It would be terrible if most of your students failed their Defence OWLs, don't you think?"

Professor Umbridge sniffed and turned away. "As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions."

Now Patil - the Gryffindor one - interrupted. "Without ever practicing before?" she exclaimed incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough, you should all be perfectly capable of passing your OWLs."

Tom raised his hand again, gleefully watching their professor's irritation. Once called on, he asked, "Will you be teaching that theory then?"

Professor Umbridge blinked at him, and those students whose hands were still up lowered them in confusion. "I don't understand your meaning," she admitted as though it pained her.

"Well, as I said, I've finished the Slinkhard book," Tom said. "It doesn't teach the theory behind how to cast the spells, only the theory behind their classifications and why one should or shouldn't use them in any given situation. I'm sure it's a wonderful reference for an Auror trainee, but it can't teach us what it doesn't contain, and that includes the spells for our OWLs."

For a moment, he thought the woman was going to either begin shouting or burst into tears - it was one of those expressions that could morph into either in the blink of an eye. Then her jaw visibly tensed and she bit out, "Detention, Mister Potter. Tomorrow evening, five o'clock." She turned and walked back to her desk. When she looked at them again, her expression was perfectly pleasant once more. "This book has been approved by the Ministry, and as long as you study it carefully, you will have no difficulty passing your exams. Now, kindly continue your reading everyone. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"

Tom ignored the sharp look Hermione sent him and opened his book. Inside was, instead of the dry theory he'd read through already, a particularly esoteric book on the nature of rituals. It kept him occupied, and his smugness bothered Hermione the entire time until class ended.

AN: So we're about halfway through Inktober! After Inktober comes NaNoWriMo, so writing should increase as the time spent drawing this month goes into writing this instead.