AN: Hello lovely peopole! How are you all? I had a shitty day yesterday but that's neither here nor there, is it?

Hope you enjoy this chapter. For those of you who are a fan of seeing Tom, here's one for you :)

Chapter 13: colours and promises

Nariyah was having a great November! Not only did she have almost unlimited access to Nott's libraries, but she was also on one of the best jobs she had partaken in, to date.

Find Nicolas Flamel! Use whatever resources you need.

She squealed. But only because it had annoyed Lord Nymous. He'd still not told her his name, and she pretended not to know it, but she had figured it out almost the first night at the manor.

But it was better business not to antagonize the client too much, so she went about the manor calling him Blue - because his eyes were the most crystalline shade she'd ever seen and how could she not compliment that? - and they went about their merry ways.

He'd given her his pseudonym, of course, but she preferred annoying him a little. So, Blue it was.

They'd also made that bet. She was under no illusions that he or Lysander would actually tell her, but all she needed to do was ask enough questions and she'd know anyway. Nariyah wasn't too concerned about that. But either way, she was having a blast!

The Goblins, though, probably weren't.

Nariyah had made an appointment with the Head Goblin, and he wasn't super cheerful. She had worked with Goblins before, back in Egypt. One had even trained her and her siblings on the art of Ruthless Democracy as they prepared to take over numerous aspects of the Daugher business, so she knew how to negotiate with them a little. But the ones in England were far less willing to work with Witches.

It was probably due to the lack of equal rights the British insisted on giving them, despite the multiple wars.

She'd not seen something so stupid; the fact that their sole bank was run by Goblins was shooting them in the foot. Nariyah was honestly under the impression that the Goblins were just biding their time until the next Wizarding fuck up to close the doors on Gringotts and starve them out.

She didn't know, of course, but she would very likely laugh her ass off if it did happen. A big part of her hoped it would happen in her lifetime, just so she could see it. Though, after she found Flamel would be preferable.

From Nariyah's left, a door opened, and a Goblin came through. "Head Burgok will see you now," the Goblin said, grinning. Nariyah nodded and followed him through the large doors.

Just on the other side was a large office. It seemed like it was etched into stone and everything had grown from around it.

Battle weapons hung from the wall but weren't for decoration. Some of them even had specks of blood still coating the glinting silver, made all the more threatening by the way the firelight bounced off the blood, making the colour some mix between blood orange and rusted flame.

Head Burgok had taste.

He was already in position; at the end of the room was an equally large table that Burgok was standing behind. Goblins never sat before their opponents; it showed the weakness of the body and the fighting Spirit.

Nariyah was in heels and didn't care. She asked if she could sit, and she did.

"I know why you're here," Head Burgok said.

Nothing else could have pleased her more; it meant she wouldn't have to faff about with pleasantries.

"What is it you want with a man who has erased himself from the public eye?"

Nariyah kept eye contact with the Goblin in front of her and shrugged casually. "He's got something a client wants," she said simply.

Head Burgok sneered and clasped his hands together. The long, sharp fingernails interlaced, and Nariyah wondered idly if he had ever killed anyone just with the fingernails alone. But other than that, the Goblin didn't move. His body was still and he kept his beady black eyes trained unblinking on Nariyah.

"Have you been Head for long?" she asked.

"172 years," he answered immediately.

Nariyah smiled excitedly. "So you must know Mæster Aenarimm? He came here about 100 years ago. He told me he had something to do with fortifying the Goblin magic?"

Burgok's sneer turned far more sinister, but Nariyah didn't worry. "Yes. You're his pupil." It wasn't a question, but Nariyah nodded anyway.

"He taught all of my siblings, actually. Only the best, my parents insisted."

"It is a great disrespect for Goblins to share Gringotts' secrets," he said with a great deal of spite.

Nariyah hummed. "Treacherous, I expect," she said. "I wonder why you allowed Flamel to house the Philosopher's Stone here without paying the additional fees."

Burgok's beady eyes lit up with anger and he clenched his fingers. The fist he made was so tight that his already long, bony, fingers seem to turn skeletal. That was creepy. She had never been a big fan of corpses. Inferi were the worst.

"You know nothing, Witch!"

Nariyah took up the same position he had had a moment earlier; the hands clasped and the sneer on her face. She had whitened her teeth just for this meeting and now they were blinking as the fire bounced off the saliva coating them.

"I know enough," she said in a sing-song tone, "but that's kind of my thing. The Goblins know that. It's not often any of your race tutors any of mine."

There was a bit of silence between the two and Nariyah used it to sit back in her chair and cross one heeled foot over her knee.

"I mean no offence to you Head Burgok, I have only used the tools afforded to me by Mæster Aenarimm. I respect Goblins and the great wealth they have bestowed on my family. I think it's monstrously stupid how British wizards treat you and yours. It is cowardly and disgusting how they hide behind archaic laws outlawed in most other countries."

Head Burgok sneered once more but the glint of rage was gone, and he wasn't looking at the battleaxes on his walls anymore, so Nariyah continued.

"Frankly, wizarding Britain is well behind in its political views. But you know that."

"What does your opinion matter to us?" Head Burgok asked.

"Probably very little. But you know what I can do. At the very least, you have a vague idea. If you give me this information, I'll let you in on a secret."

"What?" he asked.

Nariyah pretended to consider it. She would tell them anyway because it was pertinent to them. And she had to make it appealing. "An old House will be reclaimed soon."

"Which one?"

"An old one," she said. "Not too sure to be honest, I haven't had enough time to research. But I'll know soon enough."

Nariyah was also going to offer her services for a few months. It wasn't of much use to them now, but it would come in handy at some point. And having Gringotts on her payroll was going to help her get more clients in London.

Fuck, but they were uptight.

"So...that information?"

"It still breaches the code," he said as happily as a Goblin could get during negotiations.

"Nope," she said. "Just want to know a few things about the day. I won't ask about the how's or the what's of Gringotts."

Well, that was most likely true. But the employees wouldn't give her any information anyway, so it wouldn't be a big deal. They were all understandably fucked off with Flamel not having to pay for the additional security measures due to the grandfather laws Gringotts had been built on.

The original accounts had been opened when Wizards were even more wary of Goblins, and so Heirs and Houses had much more control over the banks. But as times changed and Heirs died, the Goblins got more power. The only problem was, the rules of Gringotts were based on the stipulation that the Heirs would have to die. And Flamel just...hadn't, so…

Understandably, they were fucked off with Flamel.

And so Head Burgok called in the Goblin that had handled the interaction between Dumbledore and Flamel.

It was more annoying than it maybe should have been; her gift didn't work super well with Goblins. Instead of getting fully fledged answers, she got whispers of things. She interviewed the Goblin instead. Very specific questions for mostly vague whispers. Well, her job couldn't always be easy. Then it wouldn't be any fun.

The interview gave Nariyah enough information to know that Flamel had come from, or gone to, Europe...somewhere…

It was an ok interview, and that had given her enough to begin tracking him down. Europe wasn't as big of a place as most people thought it was.

"Well, Head Burgok, I am eternally grateful for your assistance. Enough to offer up my services for three months of your choosing," she said as she collected the Quicknotes. "Shall we draw up the paperwork now?"

Her mother would be proud - well sort of. Nariyah was being so efficient with her time today.

"I find that agreeable," Burgok said.

Soon the paperwork was signed, and she was about to leave. As she did, Burgok stopped her. He handed her a transcript that looked an awful lot like a No-Maj bank transaction and Nariyah took a moment to let the information seep in. When it did come, she looked at the goblin who was baring his teeth; ready to go into battle.

"This is going to be a beautiful relationship," she said.

"I agree."

She was damn sure he was going to try and manipulate their agreement in some way. It was in the nature of the Goblins to stay with one step against almost everyone. But she'd been cheated by the best before. She knew how to get even.

"Keep an ear up for the name of Riddle. I think it's going to help the bank in more ways than one - if you play your cards right." And Goblins almost always did. They learnt from their mistakes.

When Nariyah left the bank, the sun was setting over Diagon Alley. It was a beautifully peaceful site that most people overlooked but it felt like a good little omen for her. She had a favour from her brother to call in after all.

Tom sat in, what had been dubbed, the Training Room answering Lysander's questions as they related to how he was before and after taking on Ginevra Weasley's soul. The questions were stupid and boring, but Lysander said they were necessary. "Things can transfer from one person's soul to another," he'd said.

Of course, there was no measure for this. That was the answer to most of Tom's questions and he was reminded just how theoretical this all was. It only made him wonder just how stupid Voldemort had been by making seven Horcruxes - and Tom was still sure that it was seven and not the five he originally thought.

He couldn't deny that he was going about things in a very different way to the first time. But was that due to the luxury of hindsight, or was it because of an 11-year-old's soul? He was inclined to believe it was the hindsight, but some part of him was... concerned so he sat and answered questions.

"Has your Patronus changed?" Lysander asked.

"I couldn't make one," Tom admitted bitterly. Dumbledore'd had some theory about love and the inability to truly cast light spells due to the circumstances surrounding his birth and Tom thought that was bullshit. Obviously. But it did irk him that he had never been able to cast the Patronus.

"Have you tried it since?" At Tom's head shaking, Lysander continued. "Why don't you try it now?"

"I have no need for the spell," Tom said. "I never have." He wasn't stupid enough to be around Dementors, and if he ever was, there were other ways of distracting them. Like having someone else deal with them.

Tom couldn't imagine what he would ever be doing with Dementors anyway. They were purely vile creatures, and there was no reasoning with them.

"Any change in behaviour?"

Again, no. Tom was still doing some of the things he knew to be true before he was a Horcrux. He was, perhaps, more willing to ask for support where he needed it. He hadn't done that very much back in the 1950s, and for good reason. But he had no option in 1993; he was stranded in a time that was very much not the one he came from. The music blasting from Daugher's room on a nightly basis reminded him of that.

His music was refined. Pop hadn't been full of synthesised beats and the voices were lilting. The most controversial thing had been Elvis and that stemmed from the belief that rock and roll led to sin. Muggles were idiots.

"No," he answered.

"Any change in emotion?"

Tom snorted. Emotions? That was almost funny. He'd been unstable after materialising, but there had been a lot going on at the time. He still felt hate, anger and disgust just as strongly - oh.

He'd not been able to fully feel anything when he had been in the diary. Not when he'd possessed the girl either. And when he had materialised, there had been half-emotions that left him somewhere between existing, and not.

But now he felt them again.

And he felt glee. Excitement. Anticipation. Apprehension. They were there whenever he tested the limits of his magic - sometimes one was stronger than the rest; exhilaration when he moved past his limits, and apprehension on the days that it would fluctuate. None of these were emotions he had felt frequently if at all, he knew that.

What was stranger was the flashes of feelings he could identify, even though he'd never felt them before. Enough to be able to recognise them in himself where he shouldn't have rightfully been able to. It was almost like there were memories, associated with the emotion, that were on the tip of his tongue but he would never be able to speak them. Because they weren't his.

"Tom?" Lysander asked, softly. It was odd to see the boy so pensive. Lysander had tried to think back to his time at Hogwarts, but memory was a funny thing, and he didn't spend much time around Tom back then.

Finally, Tom spoke again. "Possibly," he said slowly and after two or three beats of passing time. "What does that mean?"

Lysander let out a puff of air. "I doubt that you're going to be overcome with the girl's emotions or beliefs. Think of them more as remnants of a person. Memories. They'll impact you in some way, some more than others, but relatively small in the grand scheme of things," he said.

But Lysander wasn't so sure. The Tom Riddle he had encountered in his own youth was furiously cold. He could switch emotions on and off with ease, but there was a distinct lack of genuineness in Lysander's experience.

Of course, Slytherin held a very specific inter-house dynamic, but even still. Ironically, Lysander's later dealings with Voldemort had shown the man to be more passionate than his younger self, but that could be attributed to his insanity rather than proof of a true grasp on emotion.

Lysander had watched his young Lord over the last few months, and while the emotions he showed seemed stilted or juvenile - particularly when it concerned Miss Daugher - they were there. As far as he could tell, they were real. And wasn't that proof of soul transfer?

"That is a problem," Tom said, drawing himself up as he thought about the connotations. It was all good and well that he wasn't in a state of half-numbness, but emotions were a weakness. His mother had succumbed to them, and it was what had led to her pitiful end. It was what made people easily manipulated, controllable, and Tom was neither of those things.

"Will the Philosopher's Stone return me to how I was when stabilising my magic?" he asked.

"I...doubt it. There is always an equivalent exchange."

How are emotions an equal exchange for raw power? What did Soul Magic have to do with emotions? He accepted there were certain aspects of magic he would never be able to access, but that did not mean that he wouldn't be allowed to understand them.

"Are there any other questions?" Tom asked through clenched teeth.

Lysander shook his head. "That was the last one, My Lord."

"Good."

Lysander nodded. It was probably best to leave Tom to brood. He had notes he needed to write up and organise.

On his way back to the study he passed Nariyah. She was grinning, and a stack of books and papers were trailing behind her lazily as she made her way towards the stairs, probably to go to her own study. "Did your trip to Gringotts go as planned?" he asked.

"Yep. They were so helpful."

He doubted they were willingly helpful, if they were at all, but he wasn't going to challenge her. Nariyah had a way of getting what she wanted, and he had hired her for that exact reason. "Good," he said and then stopped her before she was about to leave again. "Lord Nymous is not in the best of moods today. It's probably best you stay out of his way."

Nariyah smiled. "Blue will be fine. I bet he's used to all sorts fawning over him with that pretty face of his."

Lysander was left, once again, wondering how much she knew. But he never asked. Somehow, it wasn't safe. He just sighed as she all but skipped off, humming to herself. All he knew was that she had better not influence Theo when he came back over Yule.

The music had started up again. Tom heard it as soon as he left the Training Room and went up the stairs. For some ungodly reason, Lysander had placed them along the same corridor.

At first Tom had thought it a sound idea; being in close proximity to the girl he trusted about as far as he could throw her was useful. Not only could he keep an eye on her, but if she tried to do something stupid, he would know.

But it was three weeks into her stay and Tom was well on his way to hating their guest; she had reeked of entitlement from the moment she'd stepped in the Manor, but over the last month it was like she was doing everything in her power to annoy him. And then he'd confronted her about it and she'd told him, with the most knowing smile he'd ever seen on a woman, that the world didn't revolve around him.

She'd been there less than a month and he wanted to kill her. That she was still alive was a testament to Lysander.

If it wasn't the smug grin or the way she lounged around the Manor, then it was the fact that she was constantly blasting music from her room as she worked. And she worked long into the night. There was no respite. The music thumped loud and hard on most nights and more often than not the bass drowned out his own thoughts.

And Tom needed sleep! It was benign and human, but he needed it. Becoming a Horcrux didn't stop that.

But he couldn't. Not without the heaviest noise-cancelling charms around his bed. And even with his newfound power, the bass could still be felt rattling through the floorboards when she was in one of her Rock moods.

Some days she was gone in the night, and they were the most peaceful sleeps he'd had. But Daugher had been in the Manor for the last week! Seven nights in a row! And he could feel the shifting floorboards underneath through the fucking mattress even now!

Tom growled and grabbed his wand from his bedside table. He got out of the bed and walked down the corridor. Every step in time with the thudding bass that seemed to engulf his rage all the more until he got to her door.

It was heavily warded; he could feel them immediately, but he refused to be impressed.

There was no courtesy. Tom aimed his wand at the door and cast bombarda. The door flew off its hinges and into bits. He hoped some of them hit her enough to require a trip to St Mungos.

But she was sitting on a seat with one foot propped up against the desk. She was painting her toenails.

"That was an expensive door," she said, frowning. "You could have just knocked."

The music was still blaring from a Muggle speaker - and how did she get that to work in the Manor? - and she wasn't turning it down. Tom aimed his wand at that too, disposing of it much in the same way as the door.

"What was that for?" Daugher cried out.

Tom stared at her, teeth-gritting and trying to hold back all the anger he was feeling, made worse by her complete lack of fear. What the fuck was wrong with this woman?

"The music was too loud."

"Do you want me to find Flamel or not?" she asked. She was still sitting in the seat, but she'd screwed the top of the nail polish back on. Now she had her arms folded and she had the audacity to raise her eyebrow at him.

"Forgive me," he spat with all the venom he could muster, "for thinking that you were doing anything other than wasting my time!" he shouted.

"I don't comment on your fucking process, do I?" she said, matching his tone. "And you didn't need to blast my stereo either!"

Tom walked closer to her and it was only then that she stood up. She was half-dressed. A vest with a hooded cardigan falling off her shoulder and shorts. Tom narrowed his eyes at how much flesh was exposed. He pointed his wand under her chin, and she glared at him.

"How much torture do you think you could endure before your wilful arrogance was gone?" he asked. "How long would you have to scream before you broke?"

Her eyes were chestnut brown. He'd not been close enough to see them before, but he was staring down at her close enough that he could hear her furiously breathing. But as he pushed his magic through the wand to surround them her eyes grew to a darker russet and Tom found himself wanting to see how they would change with pain. With fear. With anger. With hate.

"Shall we find out?" he whispered.

"Only if you're the one making me scream," she whispered back breathily.

Tom was confused by the shiver that ran down his spine, but only for a moment. She pushed him hard, and Tom found himself stumbling backwards, his wand flailing as he tried to regain his balance. He cursed as he hit the corner of something hard, the edge of it digging into his ribs and bruising him.

"Missy," Daugher called. There was a loud crack and one of the Nott Elves was in front of them ready to serve. "Can you fix the door and the stereo please?"

The elf snapped her fingers, and it was like Tom had never set foot in the room. The door was back on its hinges and the stereo sat on its perch on the side of her desk innocently, like it wasn't the cause of all things hellish at night. It was done within seconds of the command. Tom was left in slight frustration that one, the elf had undone all his work in a matter of seconds, and two, that the magic was strong enough to fix things so easily.

He wondered what the possible ramifications and applications of Elves were, but he placed that to the side to consider later.

"You can go now," Daugher said, "I'll consider turning the music down, though after that display maybe I should make it louder!" And then she slammed the door and Tom was right back to where he was in the first place. Standing blindingly mad outside her room.

The music started up again and he snarled. He would kill her when this was all over, and he had the Stone.

The young master Nott arrived at the manor in the middle of a sight; Tom was in the middle of trying to strangle Nariyah with his mind, and she had brought her stereo out and was singing the top 10 Christmas songs by the popular magical bands in the foyer.

"Theo," she called out with a large grin. She threw up a spell and he was showered with snowflake-like confetti. "You're back! Finally, someone who can keep up with me."

Theo looked slightly scared as he gazed between Tom and Daugher, and Tom thought he had a good head on his shoulders.

"Ignore him. He just hates fun," Daugher said, and Tom clenched his hands and imagined that they were squeezing the life out of her again.

"Uh...hello auntie Nariyah," Theo said.

"I swear to Hecate if you call me auntie one more time, I'll burn your school books," she promised and Theo got a bit paler. "Now, I want a hug."

"But -"

"I really don't care that you're a teenager now. We made a deal, remember?"

"I was ten!"

"And very capable of making deals," she said. Then she opened her arms out for him to come and hug her.

Daugher's back was turned, and that would have been a perfect time to kill her, but he kept his arms down. Instead, he waited for the display to be over and done with and nodded to Theo.

"Master Nott, good to see you again."

"Mr Nymous," Theo said respectfully.

"Did you have a good term?"

"Yes sir," Theo said. "I hope you found my notes sufficient."

"Mostly," Tom said, "though your last one left me with some questions."

Daugher stepped in front of Theo causing Tom to glare at her. "Would you kindly move out of my way," he asked coldly.

"Whatever job you've got Theo doing can be talked about once he's put his stuff away, no?"

"No," Tom spat.

"I don't mind, Nariyah," Theo said in a rush. "A House Elf can put my things away."

Tom gave Daugher a nasty smile. "And weren't you just praising his capabilities?" he asked mockingly. He had the pleasure of seeing her eyes become that darker russet brown again.

Tom looked for Lysander who, somehow, had a glass of whiskey in his hand. The man didn't look all that worried, though it was likely because Tom wouldn't do anything to harm Theo. Not as far as Lysander was concerned.

And Tom had the feeling that the girl could hold her own in a duel if she had to. Nowhere long enough to best him, of course, but long enough to maybe escape if she was clever about it.

Tom was itching to test that; it would be the perfect way to deal the bitch some damage, but she'd kept to herself after he'd broken down the door.

"Alright then." Daugher snapped out of her anger. "Come to my room when you're done Theo. I've got some new Runes to show you, courtesy of a Curse Breaker." She went and then went up the stairs to her room.

"You can use my study," Lysander offered.

Tom thanked him and the two of them made their way to the study in relative silence, Tom still trying to calm himself down from his interaction with Daugher - he couldn't kill her yet, but he was certainly going to make her pay for her insubordination - and Theo for the tense atmosphere still surrounding Mr Nymous.

When they entered the room, Tom offered Theo a seat in one of the armchairs in front of Lysander's fireplace. The boy looked so small in the large chair that it made Tom wonder whether he had looked as awkward when he had been that age. Probably not.

Theo fidgeted in his seat; as much as Tom could see that the boy was fighting to remain in control of his muscles, it was a daunting thing.

Lysander had told Theo very little about Tom as both had considered it to be unnecessary information to gift a thirteen-year-old, despite him turning fourteen in a week and a half. There were still two strong Legillimens walking around the castle, and so Theo knew nothing.

There was a certain kind of power to be had when the person in front of you knew nothing of the situation. But Tom was magnanimous, and Theo had done so well, so he put him out of his misery.

"Thank you for joining me Theo," Tom said.

"It's...my pleasure Mr Nymous. Will we be using Grandfather's pensive?"

Tom hummed. "That would make everything easier, wouldn't it." Tom had forgotten somewhat about Pensieves. They were so few and far between and had only been regulated to the Old Families. Of course Lysander had one, but it grated on Tom but he had forgotten about them.

It was locked away in a cupboard and Theo took it out. The pensieve was obsidian in colour and looked somewhat like a small chalice with illegible words engraved around the rim. If pressed, Tom would guess that it was the Nott motto.

Theo set up the pensieve with practiced efficiency and when it was ready, he turned to Tom. "I can't do the spell myself yet, sir."

Taking those words as his cue, Tom took out his wand and pressed it delicately against Theo's temple. He would have never allowed someone to be in this position, but the boy was naive. It would probably be a hindrance to him one day unless he learnt to get rid of it.

Tom would speak to Lysander about it.

He said the spell and a thin, wispy, silver strand extended from Theo's temple curling and coiling in on itself until it was placed in the pensieve where it dissolved into a liquid sheen.

"Do you need me to come in with you?" Theo asked.

Tom smiled humourlessly. "I believe I'll be fine, Master Nott." Then Tom placed his head into the pensieve and somehow, he was dragged down and waited so that he was standing in the potions classroom.

It had changed very little from Slughorn's time. The biggest differences were the way the potions cupboard had been organised and, of course, the professor teaching it.

Severus Snape. According to Lysander, he was a known death eater cleared of all charges due to Dumbledore vouching for him. Interesting.

Where that placed Mr Snape in terms of loyalties was to be discovered but either way Tom doubted the man would be of any use to him.

Right now, he had more important things to consider. Like the girl.

Tom watched her work with the Nott boy through the potions class, or a more accurate observation was that he was constantly directing her. From the looks he kept giving her this was unusual behaviour, and Tom would have to agree. She hadn't struck him as the type to allow a classmate to do all the work, nor had she said she was bad at potions during the brief stint of her having the diary.

Needing a better vantage point, Tom walked around to the front of their desk and focused intensely on Halley Potter's face. He half expected her to look up and stare at him back with that stubbornly scared face, but this was a memory. Not a constructed one, but the Nott boy's and so Halley Potter wouldn't look up.

She wasn't looking at anything. Her eyes seemed glazed over and distant. There was a worried frown, a dip in between her dark brows that held secrets.

And then, with that same blind gaze, she lifted her hand and picked up crushed poppy seeds.

Tom tilted his head in surprise. Surely she wasn't going to do something as stupid as mixing the poppy seeds in now.

But she continued to lift her hand and put it over the cauldron.

"Potter, stop!" Theo cried out in an intensely quiet alarm. His hand had reflexively caught the one over the cauldron. "You're going to kill us!"

Halley Potter seemed to blink and wake up from whatever trance she had fallen under, and she looked horrified. She dropped her hand before Snape walked past them and saw.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I'm...I haven't been sleeping well."

Tom didn't doubt the truth of that statement, but it sounded very much like a lie. Or a red herring.

"Snap out of it! People are starting to notice," Theo said.

It seemed the words brought a much-needed edge with them because her eyes immediately sharpened, and she sat up straighter.

"People are noticing what?" she asked.

Theo looked over her and then pointed at the poppy seeds. "That you're not with it," he said.

Potter glared and then took the next potion ingredient and cut it up precisely. She continued by following the instructions step-by-step, with ruthless efficiency, until the potion was at the light blue that marked it ready for consumption. Then she turned to Theo.

"I don't think there's anything to notice, do you?"

The memory ended there, and Tom stepped out of the pensieve. "How long has she been this way?" he asked.

"Since the Sorting Feast. She was targeted, I suppose, by Dementors twice since the beginning of the year, and Sirius Black somehow managed to get into the castle."

Tom knew that all already, but it seemed Theo had forgotten to add something.

"That night she was called on by the Headmaster and from then on she's been...unlike her normal self."

Tom grit his teeth at that. "Do you know why?" For Dumbledore to call her up to his office so soon in the year wasn't unexpected, but it was telling.

Dumbledore was never so direct with his enquiries. He preferred to have all the information he could before starting a 'theory'. It was difficult to tell if he was just amassing knowledge or if he had a working theory in place for what had happened in the Chamber.

Either way, Tom's foresight to Imperio the girl and create a Vow with her was a good one. Who knew how she would have reacted if he hadn't.

He sighed. Tom was going to have to get in contact with the girl at some point. As much as he would like The Girl Who Lived discredited for rumours about her ability to cope, Tom had a feeling he would need her reputation unscathed.

And, as the Vow buzzing at the back of his mind reminded him, he had things to teach her. It would be better to cover his bases, where Black was concerned. For the Dementors...well she would have to figure that out on her own. The Vow didn't cover when he would need to teach her anything. And as she was so quick to prove, Halley Potter was lucky and smart.

AN: How was that?

The next chapter will be up in a couple of weeks time. Quick question: what do you think Nariyah's gift actually is, and can anyone guess what it's based off of? It's quite an obscure reference (potentially) but it would be fun to see. Here's a hint: MHA and tiktok.