Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, this fanfic would already be a 5 movie franchise.

My name is Salazar Slytherin.

I am nine hundred and eighty-one years old.

This is my twenty fourth body.

I'm immortal, powerful, clever and, quite frankly, gorgeous. Eternal life is good. Mostly.

Every one of my forms has been beautiful, but none more so than my current body. Pale, with tumbling dark tresses and green eyes. I've called this incarnation Evangeline Chambers. The pun on the surname is, I admit, not very subtle, but I'm finding it amusing that no-one's caught on yet.

And yes, I'm female. I'd been male for my past couple of lives, and I fancied something a bit different. I like to change it up every few lives or so, anyway.

I took this body in order to attend the school I built once more so that I could keep an eye on my last living descendant: a boy named Riddle.

I know what Riddle is: an idiot.

Also potentially a psychopath, but that's not really relevant.

So here's the plan. I'm going to try to help him. Befriend him and all that jazz. So that when the time comes, he'll help me in return.

And if I can't help him, I may well have to destroy him. Hopefully without too much mess. We'll see how it goes.

PART ONE: The Actions

I purposefully chose all the same NEWT subjects as Tom Riddle, having deliberately just scraped the required OWLs the year before, so finding myself the first lesson back in his Defense class is no surprise. To avoid attention, I have always made sure that I'm average in class- not bright (or idiotic) enough to attract attention. However, I may have to drop the act somewhat if I'm going to get close to him.

He currently lounges in a seat near the front, clearly basking in the admiring glances being thrown his way. Not surprising, considering all his OWLs last year were "Outstanding". I suppose that shows he inherited my brains, but there's this lack of true emotion that surrounds him that seems to alienate him somewhat, and it's unsettling. He certainly didn't get that from my side of the family. In addition to this, he's unnaturally good looking, so much so that if I didn't know better, I might think that he's in an artificially crafted body like my own. Raven hair contrasting with porcelain skin and glacier blue eyes that mask the cold, cunning killer that I know lurks underneath that irritatingly perfect face. And he's well aware that his beauty is just another weapon in his large arsenal.

Even while the professor lectures us on the importance of NEWTs, he pays little attention, preferring to survey the classroom as if he owns it, an elegantly bored expression plastered over his features. Many of the girls blush furiously when he catches their eyes, but there's no emotion behind his own gaze. His icy eyes wander around the various students until they rest on my face. I swallow down my disgust when he waits expectantly for the flush that all the other girls succumb to, and simply stare back, an unimpressed look fixed in place. I even go so far as to raise an eyebrow slightly. A tiny smirk curls the corner of his mouth before he turns back to face the front. I too bring my focus back to the lesson, despite already knowing everything we're being told. Returning to school can be a little repetitive, but I usually don't pay attention in class, instead reading disguised books on questionable spells and potions. It amused me greatly last year to find that one of the exam questions was one I had myself written in a previous life, so classes and revision has never been a worry. I suppose that is one of the merits of being over nine centuries old and immortal.

I tune in to the professor's voice just in time to catch the words "So I expect most of you to attend duelling club this year to be an example to the younger students." Hiding my smile, I doodle on the parchment absentmindedly, already forming a plan in my mind. After Tom Riddle's perfect marks in Defense last year he will be expected to attend- his absence would be regarded as a black mark on his flawless record. And if I need Tom to notice me, the best way would be to impress him with power or skill. Duelling club provides the perfect opportunity for either or both of these.

Just as I am calculating exactly how I can ensure he sees me, I feel a faint brush against my mind, no more than a whisper. Leglimency. I resist the urge to roll my eyes but allow myself a tiny smirk as Tom Riddle attempts in vain to look into my innermost thoughts. Watching him closely, I can see that he retains the same facade, yet his shoulders tighten slightly, the only sign of his frustration. Perhaps I won't need to go to duelling club after all- there's no way that he's going to ignore the fact that I've just employed flawless occlumency against him.

Predictably, Riddle corners me in the hallway after class has finished. "Chambers," he greets, inclining his head slightly. Honestly, I'm surprised he even knows my name, since he's never bothered to speak to me before. Of course, he doesn't really know my name; just the one I'm currently using. "Thomas Riddle," I reply, offering him a tight smile. He frowns slightly and says "It's just Tom. Not Thomas."

"I know," I say simply.

A corner of his lips curves downwards and I resist the urge to laugh. He already looks mildly bewildered. However, he recovers soon, deciding (wisely) not to ask.

"I believe we have the next class together," he begins relatively smoothly. I'm not sure I really want to know how- or why- he knows my timetable, but since I know his, I can't really talk. "I believe we do," I answer. I think I know exactly where this conversation is going, but I decide to let him speak first. Indeed, he waits until we are walking down a quieter passage before he begins. "So, you know occlumency?"

"I can see why they call you the most gifted student in our year."

This time he is very careful about concealing his irritation: the only sign is his eyebrows narrowing very slightly. "Who taught you?"

I decide not to give him a straight answer. If he thinks that I'm willing to do whatever he says, he won't take the trouble to win me over. "Who taught you Leglimency?"

His eyes begin to glitter dangerously. "Answers for answers," he says.

I smile brightly at him. "Then neither of us will get any."

We walk for a while in silence. Then he says " Do you take all the same NEWT subjects as me?"

I pause, and then reply "I wouldn't know. I don't make a habit of learning other people's timetables." Liar.

His lips begin to curl upwards in a cold smile. "And you think that I do?" he asks, feigning innocence.

"How am I supposed to know what you get up to in your spare time?" I say quietly, but not weakly. "We've never even spoken before."

I can virtually see the curiosity screaming in his eyes. He really needs to learn how to control his emotions: I can read almost all of his mannerisms. Although I have been studying him for over six years.

"True," he muses. "Funny. We've been in the same house for six years and never spoken."

"Not really." I say mildly.

"Why's that?" he asks darkly. He's distinctly confused now.

"Because," I say, as if speaking to a child, "there are a great many people in our house. How could the brilliant, star student Thomas Riddle possibly hope to get round them all?"

He doesn't reply, instead frowning and looking at the floor.

This couldn't have gone any better. I can feel that I'm really getting under his skin, which I'm sure few have done without being severely maimed, but he's so intrigued in me that I know he won't force answers out of me. Yet.

I almost want him to try, just to see his face when I defeat him without lifting a finger.

We arrive at the door to the charms classroom, where he steps aside to let me enter first. I'm tempted to laugh; he thinks that he can charm me that easily? I smirk at him as I walk in, swaggering a little to my usual seat at the back of the class. When he joins me at my desk, I can hardly contain my glee. He thinks that he's going to be able to manipulate me by getting close to me! It's so wonderfully ironic.

In a soft, lethal tone that promises violence, he whispers "If you think that this conversation is over, you're wrong."

A ghost of a smile graces my lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

To be honest, I'm finding it slightly amusing that Riddle thinks he's being subtle about following me around school. He hasn't asked me about the occlumency again, but it's quite obvious from all of his piercing stares that he's not going to rest until he discovers the true depth of my power. Perhaps he's thinking of recruiting me for his little gang of followers.

He catches me on Friday after classes, reading a book, sprawled on a green velvet sofa in the Slytherin common room. "Evangeline," he says in greeting. Apparently we're now on first name terms.

"Good evening, Thomas," I say in reply, deciding to play along. So far, he's doing a reasonably good job of trying not to look too interested in my every breath, as if it might give away the answers he seeks.

"Were you planning on attending duelling as a mentor this year?" he asks smoothly. I twirl a lock of midnight hair around my finger absentmindedly and don't look up from my book. "Perhaps."

"You should go," he carries on, smirking slightly.

I pause, then slowly close my book before twisting on the sofa in order to face him fully. "And why might that be?" I drawl, regarding him lazily beneath raised brows.

He shrugs irreverently. "Someone with your skill set could be quite useful." Each word is carefully selected with intended meaning.

I roll my eyes but don't speak.

"I suggest," he begins slowly, "You tell me exactly what I want to know." The promise of violence laces every word.

I snort, and begin to pack my bag up. "I will do no such thing."

So swiftly that I barely see it, he pulls out his wand and rests it gently underneath my chin, crouching before me. I can't help it; my lips twitch into a little smile. "I would watch where you point that," I say vaugley.

"I would watch your mouth," he whispers back, his eyes glittering with icy rage.

Without warning, the door opens, and Abraxas Malfoy strolls in. Riddle is instantly on his feet a healthy distance away, wand nowhere in sight. Abraxas is tall, slim and pale as a fish's belly. His slicked back blonde hair does nothing to help this image. He's never been exceptionally bright, but he's by no means dim. He sees enough between me and Riddle to narrow his eyes somewhat, but the expression is gone quickly, and he nods respectfully to Riddle before sauntering towards his dormitory, no doubt keen to avoid the tension rippling in the air. I don't blame him. As soon as he is gone, Riddle turns back to me, but by now I have my own wand out, held loosely at my side. "As you were so concerned," I say sweetly, "I am, in fact, going to be attending duelling club."

"Perhaps you'd like to attend with me," he replies calmly, a suggestive smile already in place.

Frankly, I'd rather drink Gorgon blood, but I force myself to raise my chin and look him in the eye. "That would be fabulous." Let him think that he's won this round.

Little does he know that he's played right into my hands.