Last Chapter...

Harry then smirked. What good would sitting around and wondering do? If he wanted to see what that shipment was, he would have to go look himself. The teen headed for the humpbacked witch statue, ready to start his first true adventure.

"Dissendium," he whispered and tapped his wand to its hump.

He then slipped into the passage swiftly, never noticing the pair of shocked eyes that were pinned on his every move. As he darted down the earthen tunnel, he also never noticed when someone else dropped into the passage with him and began to silently follow, eyes still burning into his back.

Chapter 11

Hadrian Riddle

The Honeydukes' passageway seemed longer than ever before, and much larger. Every step he took seemed to echo forever, ominous and hollow. But, he eventually came to a set of steps and a trapdoor, and he slid out into the sweetshop cellar.

His pursuer followed after a minute's deliberation and was shocked to find the bottom level of Honeydukes. A second more passed before a sly grin came over the pursuer's face. Not that Harry ever saw. He was still oblivious to anyone else's presence in the room.

Harry whipped out his wand and waved it toward the ceiling of the cellar, muttering words under his breath in rapid succession. Then he sat down a nearby crate, and leaned his head against the wall. When he shut his eyes, it was clear to the pursuer that Hadrian wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

After waiting a moment, Harry's little follower decided to leave by going up the stairs to the Honeydukes shop. He didn't see Harry tense at the slight shuffling sound made when he began to walk towards the stairs. So while stealthily making his way to the staircase, he was not proud to admit he nearly jumped out of his Disillusionment when he heard-

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The pursuer spun around, and cocked a brow at the now wide-open brilliant green eyes. Then he remembered as he saw the unfocused way the boy stared at him, that the kid couldn't see him still because of the disillusionment. "The manager is currently standing directly at the door leading down here. He's not moving anytime soon either." He decided to humor the solemn child.

"How do you know that? And more importantly, how did you know I was here?"

"I heard him walk over to the door." The pursuer realized the spell the boy first cast at the ceiling most likely had been one to help him hear through the floorboards to see if anyone was coming. How... advanced for a first year. The boy now continued to talk. "As for knowing you were here, well, it was a combination of things." The boy shrugged carelessly. "When you walk, you make a slight scuffle with your feet. I'm assuming, childhood habit. Not to mention your magic, it reeks. Very... strong, I would be able to feel it from a mile away. I hadn't earlier because I was so focused, and thinking- distracted suffice to say."

"I've heard many things in my day, but feeling someone's magic? Not one of them. And how would you infer the scuffle my feet made to be a childhood-induced habit?"

"The same way I can tell you're a military man, sophisticated, somewhat high in society, but not particularly wealthy. Or at least, not used to having money. New money? The same way I can tell you have no living family, and that you're clenching your jaw right this minute. And just because you haven't heard of something doesn't make it any less real. Your magic is oppressing, heavy. Swirling around in you like that, because there's so much of it trapped and it doesn't know where to go."

"Odd trick to know, boy." Tom , the pursuer, said finally. The boy, ever so imperceptibly, stiffened. But Tom Riddle still caught it and drew his own conclusions. This first year was turning out to be quite interesting. "Don't like being called that, do you?" A infinitesimal moment of silence permeated the air before-

"I don't know. Don't really care." The tone was void, almost frosty. Before it had been almost normal, while addressing Tom. Strangely enough, Tom found himself preferring the amusement over this. Such a solemn, odd child.

"What is your name, then?"

"Hadrian." Aha, I did remember his name correctly, Tom thought. Before Tom could demand a last name from the withholding child, it said to him,

"Are you a professor, like Dumbledore or what? Come to see which kids will cause the most mischief this year? Is that why you followed me?" The words were supposed to be taken in light banter, but he could seen beneath the false smile the want for an answer. Smart. Cute trick, try to play the adult into believing you're just asking a harmless question.

"I'm not a friend of Dumbledore's." Tom replied, using the same trick as Hadrian just to annoy the child. Sure enough-

"That's not what I asked, I asked if you were a professor."

"Is that not the same thing?" Tom continued with his charade.

"Grindlewald is an associate of Dumbledore's. They are not friends, but are associates. You're not a professor, you could be a dark wizard trying to break in!"

"Hardly," Tom returned.

"I suppose 'lovers' isn't really just associates, no. " Tom blinked slowly.

"How would you know- how possibly- where did you learn this?" Tom demanded.

"I have my ways," Hadrian said mysteriously. "And... the right information is always good to have. Knowledge is power, whatnot." The boy seemed more comfortable with Tom's incredulous voice. Tom was glad for it, the child's attitude from a second before had been eerie. The void voice, had unnerved him. He had also noticed how the boy hesitated on the word information, Tom would bet his wand that the child thought 'blackmail'. Filing away the Dumbldore/Grindelwald bullshit story for later, Tom moved on.

"You never did tell me your last name, child. We can exchange?"

"Shhh!" The boy, Hadrian, fluidly rose to his feet. He swiftly made for a dark corner of the cellar. "Do yourself a favor, and stay hidden." The child's voice was tense and more eager, whether or not he realized it.

Lord Voldemort was most certainly intrigued- the first year whom had already been involved in a fight with two seventh years had snuck out of the school through a passageway he couldn't possibly know about after two days at Hogwarts to do- what, exactly? He was sure there was more to this story.

This was confirmed when one of his prize death eaters clomped down the stairs with the manager of Honeydukes following closely behind. Macnair, last he checked, was supposed to be in a different country for another month on business with the Bulgarian Ministry. What was one of his inner circle doing in the Honeydukes cellar? He recalled Macnair's son was still in school, but this hardly looked like a family visit. He had Macnair's boy- Warlden?- tasked to the collection of books for perusal of other students of the Dark families from Hogsmeade monthly. It fostered a good link to the families, and kept Tom ever linked to Hogwarts. But if his inner clock was correct- and he couldn't see why not it always had been- the last shipment had been less than a week ago. Yet here was Macnair's father, his old schoolmate, his gruesome death eater.

Tom didn't like being out of the loop, not at all.

"Do you have them?" The manager nodded fervently.

"Every last trace. All right here." The manager patted the crate Hadrian had been sitting on. Macnair smiled. It was a sick parody.

"Fantastic," he breathed out.

"M-my payment." The manager stood straight despite his slight stutter.

"You live," said Macnair in his gruff voice. The seedy shopman shuffled about in a fluttery, nervous manner.

"Now, see here-" The manager was cut off with a flash of green sickly light. Macnair laughed, and it was a deep, booming thing. Tom knew it was nothing more than a sleep spell, mimicking the electric green of the Killing Curse, but likely the child didn't know the Unforgivable could only be cast with incantation.

"Now you don't," he said once the guffaws had subsided into chuckles. Before Macnair could grab the crate or even move however, he froze quite literally, then dropped like a rock to the ground. Hadrian now stood revealed behind him, wand in the air, and eyes shining.

Tom couldn't help it. He looked in those eyes and saw the Killing Curse shining back at him. The boy pocketed his wand, and knocked the lid off the crate. He rooted through it, sending some official-looking papers flying.

"You have got to be kidding me," Tom heard him hiss under his breath. The boy grabbed a stack of the papers, and disregarded the rest.

"Care to share?" Tom called out. Then suddenly, in between blinks, the boy vanished. Tom's question hung in the air unanswered.

Hadrian was racing down the passageway, invisibility cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He was stupid not to wear it before going to Hogsmeade. How did he not think of the possibility of someone seeing him?

Tom, instead of finding any answers, was currently drowning in more questions. He cast a look of disgust at his death eater, who still laid there on the floor, incapacitated by a little boy, while stepping over the now lightly-snoring shopkeeper. He had so many questions...

It didn't help that he now realized that when the boy had hissed under his breath, it had been in Parseltongue, those words.

A possible descendant of Slytherin? Dumbledore had assured him there were no others. But, by now, he should have realized the man was not to be trusted on his word on anything. And although it's a manageable risk to have the children of his believers play fetch for him, Tom feels it absurd that such a simple retrieve is thwart able by a first year.

Speaks not well of the Macnair name. He gave those of his with Hogwarts-age children little directions out, and passed them down to the teens, giving them a sense of purpose and connection to the movement. But maybe such a program was not worth it if a first year could intercept. Or if it meant that the boy's father, Macnair's, was plotting his own little schemes with his puny mind. Something was certainly afoot. Familiar anger rushed through Tom, his boredom's only true companion.

Tom brushed off invisible lint from his cloak, and decided it was time for his new pet project.

Find out where this child came from. Pronto.

Time to pay Dumbledore another delightful visit, it looked like.