Tom made his way up to the seventh floor, fiddling absentmindedly with his wand between his fingers.

He had taken these stairs often over the course of the past week. Something almost seemed to pull him to the Hidden Room as he called it, lately and when he went along, it was always with the excuse of studying. But then, when Tom found himself sitting there tensely, head jolting up at the smallest sound, and his eyes lingering on the spot he'd first encountered Harry, it almost seemed as if Tom was awaiting return.

Shaking his head, Tom arrived at the door to the seventh floor. He paced before it three times, waited, and when the door appeared in front of him, he unfazedly pushed down on the handle. He was no longer surprised by its sudden appearance, not like he had been the first time. With a soft creak from the old, metal knob, it pulled open, allowing him entry into the room.

As soon as he stepped through the door, it fell close behind him. This room was quiet, but the silence didn't make him feel uneasy. On the contrary, it was a nice change from the bustling sounds of the common room, which never really went quiet, or the library with its forced silence. Here, however it felt nice, almost peaceful, he thought as the firm sound of his steps rang through the room.

The air seemed different as well, heavier somehow. The scent of books and dust, along with something else he couldn't quite place, filled his lungs as he breathed in deeply. It felt different from the thick, and laden air in the dungeons or the light breeze that came through the gigantic windows placed all over Hogwarts.

Tom knew this scent changed, depending on where he was in the Hidden Room. He long since knew to heed the potions spread all across the enormous room. They were expired, and smelled foul, sometimes like rotten eggs, sometimes oddly similar to Crup dung, an animal they had looked at in Care of Magical Creatures last year. It had been around the same time that Tom had stumbled upon the Hidden Room.

He walked across the room, his mind wandering back to Harry. It had been a shock, stumbling across him in here when he'd always been so sure that he was the only one who knew of this room's existence. And that boy, indeed, was another mystery. Tom had waited outside the room after their encounter, arms crossed and leaning against a wall, waiting for Harry to exit the room. But he hadn't.

He had looked for him in the Great Hall the next day, and when he didn't show up, he had even bothered to plaster on one of his nicest smiles and ask some Hufflepuff girl about Harry, but as far as she was concerned, a boy named Harry Macmillian had never existed.

It was annoying, infuriating, and most of all, puzzling.

Why had the sight of Tom, someone Harry had never met before, as far as Tom knew, caused so much panic? He had seen it in Harry's eyes, that terrified look as he ran away, and later, as he attacked Tom.

Not for the first time in the last week, he regretted not going after Harry that day. The boy had walked away so quickly after their short talk, and Tom had thought it to be better to wait for him outside, to catch him unprepared, rather than following him into the depths of the room. Had Harry wished to hide from him, Tom was sure that he would have had no chance of ever seeing him again.

But it seemed that he'd never had a chance in doing that anyway.

He turned around the corner, past a large cabinet filled with candle-sticks and vases, and arrived at his lounge.

Well, 'lounge' was a bit generous. It was nothing more than a small corner with a sofa, an armchair, and a coffee table. He'd arranged the furniture there himself, shortly after finding the Hidden Room. It had been his little study place for the past year, void from any people that could distract him.

It was the main reason he returned to this room as often as he did, for he was better off studying without anyone else around. Seeing him place top in class with ease, without seemingly ever having to study, played well into the impression that the other students had of Tom.

He set his bag down onto the table and sank into the armchair. Sometimes, maintaining the image of perfection around other people was maddening.

His emotions were always perfectly regulated, a mask of indifference always fixated on his face, and more often than not a smile was just another way of toying with people. That, along with a neat appearance and the air of brilliance surrounding him, all sorts of people could be easily lured in by the figure of Tom Riddle and were quick to do anything he wished.

He would never allow himself to lounge like this in the common room, no, Tom Riddle was perfect, almost god-like, and certainly above such things as lounging in armchairs.

He chuckled at the image and reached out to his bag, taking out a book. He had already finished all his homework, so the only thing he was to do today was reading. It was why he had stopped at the sofa and not the study table, which was a few steps over. It stood behind a large bookshelf, which was filled with Tom's own books, those too personal to leave in the dormitory. As much as his other year-mates trusted him, Tom wasn't about to return that so quickly.

It was why Harry's existence was so much trouble. Tom's private spot, something no other student in the castle had access to was now no longer safe. He'd have to move his things somewhere else, and that as soon as possible.

He sighed and flipped the book open. He had borrowed it from the library the day before, along with some others he planned to read here in the next few days. Over the past week, it had been hard to escape the thought of that room and Harry, and it almost seemed like he was being pulled to spend more time there, waiting for something to happen.

He shook his head and begun to read the first passage. The book was about magical tattoos, picked out of curiosity more than anything else, but it proved to be pretty interesting. Apparently, magic had the ability to support tattoos in the same way as images; it could make them come alive.

There were multiple methods to go about making a magical tattoo. Few actually worked with ink and needles as the muggles did, the more common option simply burned the tattoo into the skin. It held far longer and was much quicker than the other one. Tom always found it fascinating how many more things there still were to discover about magic.

There was one chapter in particular, however, that piqued Tom's interest. It told a story about a ruler a few hundred years ago, back when Wizardkind was still divided. Apparently, this ruler had been very skilled in magic and had divided some sort of magical mark that he placed on his informants, which could be used as a form of communication between him and his subordinates. It practically revolutionized espionage in its subtlety.

Tom sat up in his seat and reached forward to his bag to take out his water bottle. It was muggle, and he had bought it last summer for the sole purpose of drinking in the Hidden Room. He took a few sips and put the bottle back again. If that story was true, and he could figure out the mechanics behind that mark, he might be able to use it on that group of followers he was gathering.

How useful would that be during critical situations like wars, when he could simply order his subordinates around from afar, a safe distance away from any fight or trap. They were all replaceable, after all, everyone but him.

He'd bet he could improve it even more, somehow. Have it react to a different spell in addition, for example, which would expand the possibilities so much. Then, the mark would be able to do many more things except just sending information.

An additional spell could animate the tattoo, make it move on the body, or project the image up onto a wall or the sky. Maybe, with a bit of twinging, it would be able to serve as a shortcut for spells, some sort of automatic reaction of the body to extreme stress. To torture, for example. It would make Tom feel much more at ease if his spies, upon being tortured for information, would just drop dead on the spot. It would open up a whole new world of possibility, and it would make controlling the Death Eaters so much easier. Maybe it could also be used for mind manipulation? Some sort of reduced form of Legilimency, perhaps? That would–

"Hello?"

Tom spun around, his hand reaching for his wand, three lethal spells ready on his tongue when he caught sight of who had spoken. "Harry?"

The boy was glancing out behind the cabinet, eyes wide at Tom's sudden motion, and chuckled nervously, "Yeah, it's me."

Tom let his wand sink back into his pocket, and stared at him for a few seconds, "You have found your way back, then, it seems. Please, be my guest." he said and gestured towards the sofa next to him, settling back into the armchair.

Harry stared at him for a second, before walking over and flopping down onto the sofa, crossing his legs beneath him. Yes, that was exactly what Tom had meant with lounging in the presence of others. It was unfathomable to him.

"It is quite surprising to see you here again. You disappeared so completely without a trace last time, Harry, I hadn't been able to help but wonder if you were just a fidget of my imagination. But, to be honest, I've never had quite such a vivid imagination," an easy smile was on his face as he said this, but his eyes were fixed on Harry, waiting for his reaction.

Harry scratched the back of his head nervously, "Ah, yeah, sorry about that. I was in a bit of a hurry."

Tom narrowed his eyes, "Ah, is that so? But that's not everything. You made such an excellent job at disappearing, that the other Hufflepuffs, upon asking them, didn't even know you existed."

Harry stared at him blankly for a few long seconds and then murmured, "Well yeah, they wouldn't."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked with a flash of excitement.

"I guess there's no harm in telling you," he sighed, then continued more loudly, "You see, it's a bit of a secret, but I'm not actually a student at Hogwarts." He paused, "I'm the personal student of your, er, Defense teacher."

"Professor Merrythought?" Tom asked in surprise.

"Yeah, her. You see, I'm a distant relative of hers, and when my parents died she had to take me in. 'Doesn't like talking about it though."

"Your parents died?" Tom said with the most sympathetic voice he could manage.

"Yeah, killed by the Dark Lord."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"No, it's fine." Harry waved it off, "Anyway, I don't actually live in Hogwarts, but every once in a while I visit her here," he paused, "The castle itself has always fascinated me though and so I learned as much about it as I could."

"So, you found out about this room by reading?"

"Yup."

Tom gave an agreeing sound and was about to ask the next questions when Harry cut in, "You're not so good with this whole talking thing, aren't you Riddle? Every conversation we had so far just felt like a huge interrogation. "

"It's the most efficient way of dealing with mysteries like you, in my opinion."

"See, there it is again. No normal person would call someone a 'mystery'."

"Oh, but I just did, didn't I?"

"I don't think you can count as a normal person, Riddle."

"How would you come to such conclusions? You barely even know me, Harry." Tom leaned forward, looking at Harry intently.

He gulped, "I'm just good with people."

"Hmm," Tom let it be and reached forward to take a sip out of his bottle. When he turned to put it down, he caught Harry stare at it. "What the matter?"

Harry sighed at the question, "Why have you got a water bottle with you? Wouldn't it be much easier to conjure it up?"

"'Conjure it up'? Whatever do you mean?"

"You know, with an Aguamenti, the water spell. You could just have some glasses here and then fill them up whenever you need."

"That's an interesting idea. I'll try that next time." Stupid boy. As if Tom wasn't already doing that. Did Harry really think he would go outside every time he needed a refill? Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Thank you." Just to be nice.

"Er, sure." He said awkwardly and turned to look around in the room.

Tom left him be and put his book down on the coffee table. He'd have to finish it later, but Harry was a priority at the moment.

He didn't even know what fascinated him so much about the boy, especially now that his questions had been answered. Was it the fact that he found this room when Tom thought he was the only one alive to know about it? Tom himself had found it in an ancient text, hidden beneath layers and layers of books in the library. So it would make sense for someone dedicated enough to be able to find it. But even so, the air of mystery surrounding Harry didn't disappear.

"Wow, you even got a lamp here. You brought all these things here yourself?" Harry said, tearing Tom out of his thoughts, but he didn't mind the slightest. He looked up at Harry, questioningly, who gestured around to the sofa, bookshelf, and the other things.

"With a featherlike charm, yes. I wasn't quite certain it would work in the beginning, and so it was very relieving when it did."

Harry looked perplexed at that, "Why'd you think it wouldn't work?"

"Well," Tom paused, thinking about it. He never thought he would have to talk about this with someone. "To be honest, when I first entered this room, it felt rather strange. Crossing the threshold had felt a bit like stepping into ice-cold water in the beginning, and only later I found out that I could probably feel the ancient magic of the room as if it was infused in the air."

"The magic?" Harry said, suddenly sitting upright.

"Yes. This room is rather special, wouldn't you say? Appearing in whichever form you want, giving you whatever you want. It is no less than pure magic." He chuckled then, thinking of the next part, "As I said, I first thought the magic was so potent in here that any form of spell or magic would completely throw it off."

"So that cold feeling was the magic of the room?"

"I believe so, yes. Why do you ask?"

"Er, I've felt that too, before. But not when entering this room," he answered slowly, and looked downward to the floor, appearing to be thinking about something.

"Oh? When then?"

"Here you go again with your questions," Harry murmured, and Tom chuckled beside himself.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help it sometimes."

"Yeah, yeah," he trailed off, and then turned away from Tom, staring off into space.

When nothing came, Tom said, "So, should I ask again, or?"

Harry snapped around started, and looked at Tom wide-eyed, "I'll tell you next time, alright? I have to go now."

"Already?"

"Yeah." And that's all he said before standing up and walking away. Just before turning behind the cabinet with the candles-sticks and vases, however, he looked back once more and called a quick, "See you."

And then, not waiting for Tom's reply, vanished once, leaving Tom with a strange sense of deja-vu.

Tom fell back against his armchair, an odd sense of disappointment in his chest. He tore his eyes away from the cabinet, and, forcing the emotion down, turned to open his book once more.

He had more important things to do than to worry about a strange boy after all.