It was dusk in Knockturn Alley. Small, grimy windows let splashes of dim yellow light out, showing the refuse on the street and highlighting the shadows, which changed from dirty white to ashy grey to washed-out black to impenetrable darkness. Cloaked figures huddled at the edges of the street, whispering to each other and glaring suspiciously at anyone who passed. They wore robes in shades of muddy brown and grey. There were no signs of wealth in Knockturn Alley — not if anyone wanted to keep that wealth, anyway.
A shadowy figure emerged at one end of the squalid Alley and strode through it, purposefully. Silence greeted it. Some of the other people slipped down side-alleys, even smaller and darker than this one, some inclined their heads, some outright bowed. All viewed the figure with wary awe.
Tom, dressed in a worn black cloak over his school uniform, smiled to himself. It was nice to see that these people had a healthy sense of fear. They knew power when they saw it, could feel Tom's magic curling through the street, dark and terrible.
He pushed open the door to one of the largest shops, a building that was long and narrow and, on the outside, filthy. Outside, the inhabitants of Knockturn Alley skulked forwards, pressing against the windows and doors in an attempt to hear what was being said inside, or to see what the stranger bought.
They were out of luck. The conversation within the shop was quiet and there was no sign of money or other items changing hands.
The door opened and people scattered. Tom strode out, letting the door to Borgin and Burkes swing closed behind him. That had been… less of a waste of time than he had thought it was going to be. He had not found the locket, but he did now know that it had passed through Borgin and Burkes, and that they were interested in regaining it. He would keep an eye on that shop, just in case, and make sure his feelers in the various Wizarding black markets were keeping him up to date.
He reached the end of the street and Apparated back to Hogsmeade with a soft pop.
"We would be honoured if you'll come to our wedding over Easter," Marigolda said, her blue eyes bright and her dark curls bouncing. She was hanging on Rabastan's arm, looking up at him with such a love-struck expression that Tom was grudgingly impressed by her acting ability.
"I shall have to see if I am free," Tom told her, "but I would be delighted to attend."
"Wonderful!" Marigolda exclaimed. She winked at Tom.
"Are you really going?" Abraxas drawled, once the happy couple had left.
"Why should I not?" Tom asked.
Abraxas was silent for a moment. Tom, who had returned to his book, could feel the Malfoy Heir's eyes on the back of his head.
"You… are not a wedding person," Abraxas said.
"No," Tom agreed. "I am, however, very interested in making connections with the Lestrange family."
Traditional Wizarding weddings differed from Muggles ones in many ways. Not that Tom had any Muggle weddings to compare this one to, but he knew that most Muggle wedding did not, for example, require the bride and groom to swear on their magic to remain married and allied until death. Tom was amused by the lack of a requirement to love and remain faithful forever.
The Notts and the Lestranges were both powerful Pureblood families, both part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Gaunts had been on there as well, until they had all 'died out'.
Due to the prominence of both Wizarding families, the guests were many and important. Lord Zabini winked at Tom from where he was chatting with Lord Malfoy and Lord Greengrass. He pulled Tom over to join in the conversation, introducing him as Slughorn's latest Potions Prodigy.
Lady Selwyn had made an appearance, pale behind several glamour charms. She cooed over little Orion Black, who slept quietly in Cedrella's arms. Lady Black and her sister-in-law discussed the advantages of arranging an engagement between the new Heir and Madam Black's granddaughter Walburga, who was two years old.
The old Lord Black, whose Dragon Pox scans had come back positive and who had only an estimated nine months to live, boasted of his grandson to Lord Lestrange and Lord Nott. Lady Nott was surrounded by ladies congratulating her on the advantageous marriage of her daughter and cooing over her son, a little boy barely five years old, who was already, as his mother proudly told his admirers, showing signs of magic.
Tom drifted from group to group, making connections and collecting information.
His new robes, Slytherin green, trimmed with silver, and cut in sharp lines, blended in wonderfully amidst the robes of the other guests, all shaded in the colours of their family Houses. Tom's robes had been chosen with that convention in mind.
Tom was not interested in the wedding part of the event. He failed to understand
why anyone would truly wish to tie themselves to another for life, even if it brought money and power. Marigolda had suggested he find a wealthy, well-connected Heiress to marry, since money and power were so important to him. Tom's response had been that I don't need to marry someone to gain wealth and power. I have power already.
Simply because Tom could gain power on his own did not mean that he did not appreciate that some people could not. He admired Marigolda, as much as Tom could admire anyone who was not him, for her ruthless and subtly efficient rise to wealth and power. Displaced from her fortune by her young brother, she'd jumped at the chance to gain both the Lestrange fortune and the power Tom could offer her. She was the only female who was in on his secret; even Cedrella simply believed he was a clever and terrifying boy who needed the help of the Purebloods around him to reach his potential rather than the other way around.
Still, Tom was not sentimental. He had not come to the wedding to support Marigolda. What he had told Abraxas (who was looking put out, either because his boyfriend was marrying someone else or because his own wedding to Natasha Mulciber, a pretty but dim blond Fifth-Year, could not occur until at least May the following year, when she came of age) was perfectly true. Tom was here to make connections.
The married couple, particularly Marigolda, took up the challenge of introducing Tom to their important relatives with gusto. Marigolda loved to introduce Tom with 'I don't think you've met Tom Riddle — the last Gaunt, you know, descended from Salazar Slytherin himself' or 'Have you met Tom? He's the top of our year, tutored me through Charms last year — honestly, if he wanted to, he could probably have graduated already' or 'Oh, yes, Slughorn's still playing favourites — his top pick recently has been our good friend Tom'. Rabastan's introductions tended to be subtler, with him just introducing Tom as his close friend and allowing Tom to impress the relative himself. Abraxas, Arcturus, and the others of Tom's followers who had made it to the wedding were also busy mentioning and introducing Tom to whoever they thought would be most helpful for him to meet. Even Cedrella, who believed Tom was just here as a friend of the bride and groom, proved helpful in making connections.
Lord Zabini had been an excellent investment, Tom thought, as he was introduced to the Minister of Magic and several of the other members of the Wizengamot.
Someone gave him a baby to hold. Lady Black, who had termed him a 'wonderful, polite boy', had handed him Orion while she fussed with her robes. The baby woke up in Tom's arms and looked up at him out of silver eyes, so very much like his father's. Tom smirked at Arcturus's look of absolute horror upon seeing his son and Heir in Lord Voldemort's arms. He cooed at the baby, copying the elderly ladies he'd seen fussing over him, and tried not to laugh as Arcturus tried to fight his way over.
Marigolda invited him to give a speech. Tom stood in front of the hoard of Purebloods and felt a rush of power. This was where he belonged.
"Witches and Wizards," he began, heard the whispering cease at his commanding tone. "We are gathered to celebrate the union of two very dear friends of mine, Rabastan Lestrange and Marigold Nott, now Lestrange.
"Both are incredibly talented and worthy Purebloods, from important and powerful families, both of whom stretch back over a thousand years ago. The marriage of this couple signals a new era of cooperation between the traditionally close Houses of Lestrange and Nott.
"It also signals a new era for Pureblood supremacy.
"When I first arrived at Hogwarts, it was to find a world I had never dreamt of before and yet knew must exist. It was to discover, with the help of friends like Rabastan and Marigolda, that the Muggle way of life was not the only way of life, that I had a House and a history and a legacy that stretched back centuries. It was to learn that there were people whose powers and bloodlines set them apart from others, destined them to rule.
"No sooner had I learnt this, however, than I learnt that many of these bloodlines had become watered down with the blood of lesser Witches and Wizards, even, sometimes, with the blood of Muggles. I learnt the Mudbloods, whose lives are, by the very definition of their existence, their powers, and their blood, lesser than those of Purebloods, were treated as equals. And sometimes, as superior.
"Today marks a new beginning for the Pureblood community. The union of the Nott and Lestrange families will herald a new generation of powerful Pureblood children, who will go on to have their own Pureblood children. It marks an end to the despicable habit of Purebloods marrying Halfbloods, Mudbloods, or even Muggles.
"I am thrilled for my friends, not only for the happiness that they have gained, but for the happiness their marriage promises to the entire Wizarding World. Thank you."
Tom sat down to enthusiastic applause and a few cheers. Marigolda leaned over to him, bending across the long, thin table to reach him.
"You did brilliantly!"
"Thank you," Tom said, aware of the people listening in to their conversation. He looked up and down the long table and smiled to himself. He had gotten them thinking. He had planted the seeds. Now he would need to help them bloom.
It's not that Tom wanted to hurt those people. Sometimes he hurt others because he enjoyed it and he could, but in that case… they were simply in his way.
He had gone out to the Forbidden in search of some Acromantula venom. Rare, expensive, deadly… what was there to dislike about it? Tom could have found a supplier somewhere, but he wanted the fresh stuff and didn't want anyone to know he had it. There was one giant spider in the Forest, he knew. It had belonged to the Gryffindor boy he'd framed for the Basilisk incident. Honestly, a boy like that, keeping an Acromantula in the castle… he'd been doing everyone a favour, getting the boy expelled.
Halfway through the Forest, following the path the Gryffindor boy — now the Gamekeeper — had blundered through every week since he had been expelled and allowed, through Dumbledore's meddling, to stay, Tom had heard a noise.
He stopped moving and listened. There it was again. The crack of a twig. A muffled swearword. A hastily stifled giggle. Tom moved forwards of silent feet, almost gliding across the Forest floor. He was glad he'd decided to use an invisibility spell.
It was two young Gryffindor boys, maybe Third-Years. Clearly, they'd come out here to explore, considering themselves so daring to explore the Forbidden Forest at night.
Tom sighed to himself. They were both Purebloods; the little Weasley was a Blood Traitor and deserved anything he got, but the McLaggens were a traditionally Neutral family and it was a waste to spill Pureblood blood without provocation.
Still, Tom could not allow them to blunder around and potentially find the Acromantula. While he did not care if the boys were killed by the giant spider or if the Gamekeeper — Hagrid, that was his name — got in trouble for keeping it, he did want to keep such an easy source of venom. Provided he only took a little at a time while the thing was sleeping, he had a never-ending supply of the stuff.
So it wasn't that Tom wanted to hurt the two Gryffindors. It was simply that he could not risk them ever returning to the Forest.
It's not like he was going to kill them. Simply ensure that, despite the memory charms he would apply when he dragged them out of the Forest, they had enough residual trauma that they would not ever go near it again.
He needed to practise his Cruciatus Curse anyway.
"As they increase in bulk, I will be handing supply runs over to you," Tom said. He was in an abandoned dudgeon classroom, heavily warded, in the middle of a circle of hooded students. Mostly Slytherins — Abraxas's Malfoy-blond hair was just visible under his hood and Marigolda's dark curls hung down the front of her robes — but there were a few Pureblood students from other Houses.
"You will rotate, each taking supplies that match the typical requirements of your families. That way, there will no way of tracking what we procure to one particular person or group of people, as most of you do not know who is under the other hoods. Arcturus," he added, turning to the boy beside him. "Your father's recent death, which occurred earlier than anticipated, means that you are now Lord Black and are in possession of the various Black properties, correct?"
"Yes, my lord," Arcturus said.
"Until further notice, the Black Mansion will become our main base. Supplies will be brought there and I may be found there if required, after Hogwarts. I may need to take a few trips abroad, in which case Arcturus, with whom I will be in constant contact, will be in charge in my absence."
"What supplies will we be getting?" a boy asked. Everett Belby, a Gryffindor. Overshadowed by his Blood Traitor older brother.
"That is not your concern," Tom said, allowing a small, dangerous smile to creep across his handsome face. "You will be told all you need to know when you need to know it. You are all dismissed."
"Why can't you keep collecting supplies yourself?" Marigolda asked, once most of the other students had filed out of the room.
"I am beginning to be questioned by those who would like to see my 'credentials'," Tom told her. "Sending the children of important Pureblood families to run those errands for me will stop the flow and questions and prevent me from having to make a mess. Besides, as I gain more power and have more to do, running errands for myself becomes a waste of my time. Eventually I will have lackeys to run low-level errands for me and my Inner Circle of Death Eaters will be free to focus on the more important tasks I will then have for them."
He looked over Marigolda, who'd dropped her hood to reveal her intelligent green eyes, focussed intently on Tom.
"You will be given the first mission. The ingredients I would like are often used in fertility potions and you have an obvious reason to wish for them, given your recent marriage and your best friend's luck in conceiving an Heir rapidly."
"Of course, my lord," Marigolda said.
"Have you thought about getting a girlfriend, Tom?"
Tom looked up from the Potions essay he was writing. Marigolda was already drifting over, amusement written all over her face, while Abraxas and Arcturus seemed to be trying to hide without visibly appearing to be scared. The person who had spoken was a Sixth-Year girl, a Selwyn. She was pretty in an over-the-top way, with tightly curled red hair and far more beauty spells that was wise. One of those Pureblood girls with more money than sense.
"I'm sure you could, you know," she continued, oblivious to the sudden drop in temperature. "You're quite handsome, I'm sure there're lots of Halfblood girls who'd like to date you."
Marigolda sucked in a sharp breath, no longer smiling. Everyone knew that you didn't talk to Tom Riddle about his blood status, not if you wanted all of your blood to remain in your veins.
"I do not require a girlfriend," Tom said coldly.
"Well, no, I don't suppose you need one," Selwyn said. "But you might like one, you know, someone who loves and understands you. I mean, it's got to be nice to have someone who supports you no matter what, right?"
I wonder if your Gryffindor boyfriend will still support you when I've finished with you, Tom thought.
The answer was no. Tom was quite pleased at having got that right. He'd didn't quite understand all the talk of love and attraction that was flying around him, but, because he hated to not know something, he had made a hypothesis. Love was simply what people told themselves they felt when they found someone more attractive than anyone else. Take away what made the person attractive, usually their appearance, and you took away the 'love'.
So far, this was the only time Tom had tested it. He couldn't consider it to be proof positive of his theory being correct, but it was certainly useful evidence that suggested his theory was fairly accurate.
It was also highly amusing, and guaranteed that Tom wouldn't have any more irritating people asking him if he would like to have a girlfriend.
This year, Tom was not dreading the summer holidays. He was of age now, after all, and wouldn't need to return to the orphanage again. Instead, he would stay with Arcturus in the Black Manor and possibly procure a small Wizarding flat for after Hogwarts, when he would still need to keep up appearances as Tom Riddle for a little while.
Abraxas would be graduating this year. He would be emerging into the world as the Malfoy Heir, drifting around being seen at social events, learning from his father how the political world and his alliances worked, and running Tom's errands for him. Meanwhile, his fiancé and boyfriend would remain at Hogwarts, under Tom's protection. Tom had no fears of Abraxas trying to do anything not specifically allowed by Tom.
Next year, Tom would be returning as Head Boy. There was no one else who could take the role. Tom had been a dedicated Prefect for two years, had tutored his fellow students, both older and younger, regardless of House. He had caught the horrible person who had set loose a monster that had killed a girl. He was polite and charming and helpful and always got top marks in all of his classes. Headmaster Dippet loved him.
There was nothing Dumbledore could do to stop it.