Astraya had never been so bored in her life.

She stifled a yawn as Professor Binns, the ghost teacher, droned on in his dry, reedy voice. Most students had started dozing in the first ten minutes, jolting awake every few minutes and sleepily jotting down a date or name before continuing their nap. Astraya herself could feel her eyelids growing heavy, especially since she'd had a late night, but she kept herself awake, dutifully taking notes. Cora was doodling on the corner of a page, but Ophelia had managed to stay focussed, and was taking notes with something close to enthusiasm, though that seemed like a banned emotion in Binns' classroom. Scuffling sounds and whispered shouts came from behind Astraya, as Ava and Theo seemed to have found something to argue about even amidst the tedium.

Astraya blinked rapidly to chase the drowsiness from her eyes, and lifted her head to survey the classroom, her gaze landing on Riddle, who sat a few desks away. He looked as bored as she felt, though he was writing down his own notes, his cheek resting on his fist.

When the bell rang to signal the end of class, many people jerked in their seats, shaking off the stupor-like effects of Binns' voice. He assigned them a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars that elicited groans from around the class.

"We have Potions next, right?" Astraya asked Cora as they left the classroom and headed towards the staircase.

Cora nodded. She kept darting looks at Astraya out of the corner of her eyes, and it had started to annoy her.

"What?"

Cora seemed to wrestle with the question for a moment before she blurted, "How long have you known Riddle?"

Astraya gave her an odd look. "Since last night. Why?"

"It's just… he seemed friendly with you at breakfast. And did he really offer to show you around?"

She shrugged and smiled quizzically. "Why are you so surprised? Isn't he always friendly?"

"I suppose," Cora conceded. "But he's usually a bit more…"

"Distant," Ophelia finished for her. "He mostly keeps to himself."

Astraya looked back at Riddle, noting how people cleared the way for him as he walked down the corridor. He wasn't necessarily frightening, but there was something about him all the same that demanded respect. "A lot of people seem to like him."

"Everyone likes him," Cora said. "Even the teachers, though I think some of them feel slightly sorry for him."

Astraya's gaze sharpened, but her voice came out as mildly curious. "Why would they feel sorry for him?"

"Well…" Cora's eyes flitted around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. Her voice dropped. "He lives in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays."

"It must be hard for him," Ophelia added, her voice quiet as well. "Being so brilliant at magic then having to go back to Muggles during the summer."

There was no disdain or loathing in her tone as she spoke of Muggles, just a casual statement of the beliefs that had probably been ingrained in her since childhood.

"He even gets a fund from Hogwarts to buy his spell-books and stuff," Cora said. Her eyes darted around again. "Don't go talking about it to anyone, though. He doesn't like it when people mention it."

Astraya processed this new piece of information, adding it to the list of things she knew about Riddle. She remembered his scowl when she'd guessed he was half-blood last night; clearly, the details of his upbringing were a sensitive subject for him. Judging from the surreptitious way Cora talked about it, other people knew it too.

As they began to descend the staircase, a third-year boy hurtled towards them, jostling his way through the crowd of students heading to their classes. He collided with Astraya, sending her staggering into Ophelia, both of them nearly tumbling down the stairs. As they both struggled to steady themselves, Astraya heard Cora yell, "Alphard!"

"Sorry!" the boy called back cheerfully without looking back at them as he dashed down the corridor and disappeared around a corner.

"Are you alright?" she asked them when they had found their balance.

"Fine," Astraya answered, though she was rubbing the shoulder the boy had bumped into. She looked back at the corner where he'd turned. "That would be Alphard Black, right?"

Cora nodded. "Little scamp," she muttered. "I bet he's running from Walburga."

They'd taken two more steps down when Astraya noticed that someone had joined them and turned to see who it was.

Riddle gave her a smile emanating warmth as he kept pace with her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I noticed you had a little run-in with Alphard Black," he said, his voice carrying a tinge of concern. "I hope you're not hurt."

"Oh, I'm perfectly fine. No harm done," she said blithely. An idea suddenly occurred to her, and she grinned. "Professor Slughorn told me last night that you're top of the class in Potions. Would you mind helping me? I'm afraid I'm a bit behind," she lied, an anxious undertone in her voice.

Riddle's mouth tightened for a moment before his smile smoothed out, widening as if a sudden idea had come to him. "I'd be happy to, but I'm afraid one of my own friends needs some help. But Rosier is as proficient at Potions as I am. I'm sure he wouldn't mind lending you a hand."

There was a hint of smugness in his tone. Astraya tried to not let her annoyance – at both Riddle and herself – show. She should have hidden her reaction to Rosier more carefully. Riddle had evidently noticed it and was now using it against her.

"Sure," she said, shrugging nonchalantly. She glanced at Rosier, who was the only one of the boys from breakfast that accompanied Riddle. "If it's okay with you?"

He nodded. He was looking at her with a calculating, curious gleam in his eyes, and she experienced a sudden, chilling feeling that sent a ghostly shiver down her spine. Suddenly, she needed to get away.

"I guess I'll see you at Potions, then," she said, trying to maintain her cheerful mask.

She turned away from them and once again felt Cora's stare on her. When they were out of earshot, she couldn't seem to hold it in any longer.

"What have you done to them?" Cora demanded. "First, it's Riddle, now it's Rosier."

"Nothing," she replied, shrugging. A touch of irritation leaked into her voice. "Riddle was just being nice, and so was his friend. I don't get why it's such a big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal!" They reached the Entrance Hall and began to descend the great marble staircase facing the main oak doors. "Have you… cast some spell on him, or something?"

"Now you're just being silly," Astraya told her, rolling her eyes. "Just drop it, alright? It was nothing."

Cora was certainly not going to drop it, but before she could resume the interrogation, a fourth girl joined them.

"Look at what Theo's done now," Ava said, scowling. The bottom of her schoolbag had a gaping hole in the seam, her books and quills peeking out, and she was struggling to hold it together with her hands. "That girl's a menace."

Cora eyed her with exasperation, muttering something under her breath that sounded like "Here we go."

Ophelia drew out her wand and pointed it at Ava's bag. "Reparo." The torn seams fused together instantly. "What happened?" she asked, then cast an apologetic look at Cora, who was glaring at her.

Ava seemed to have been waiting for someone to ask, and immediately launched into an incessant, vapid tirade that Astraya tuned out after the first sentence. She cast a disbelieving glance at Cora, who rolled her eyes as Ava continued to rant without pausing for breath as they descended into the dungeons. Astraya felt herself grow wary as they neared the classroom, thinking of the long lesson she was going to have to spend with Rosier.

She was not looking forward to it.

Potions was held in a large, square room that was surprisingly airy for being in the dungeons. Shelves lined the walls, holding rows of phials and jars filled with murky liquids, a wide range of plants and fungi and the body parts of various animals, from rat tails to griffin claws to dragon liver, that could be used in potion-making. A blackboard hung at the front of the class, and tables spread in neat rows to the back of the room.

Horace Slughorn stood at the front, clapping his hands for silence as students found their seats. Astraya was already seated at a table in the middle row, Cora and Ophelia at the table behind her, and noticed Rosier approaching her. She tried to focus on what Slughorn was saying as he sat next to her, giving her that same calculating look out of the corner of his eyes.

"As you all know," Slughorn started genially, "you will be sitting your Ordinary Wizarding Levels examination in June. Now, I don't want you fretting and getting anxious, since the examinations are months away and it would do you no good to start worrying about them now. I believe we have some very promising students in this class" – he winked at Riddle – "and I am confident that you will all do me and yourselves proud."

He took out his wand and flicked it at the blackboard, where a set of instructions appeared below a large title in elaborate cursive. "Today you'll be brewing a Befuddlement Draught, a potion that induces recklessness and belligerence in the drinker. It is not an easy potion to make and will require some concentration. You will find all your ingredients in the store cupboard. You may start."

Astraya scanned the writing on the board. She'd never brewed this particular potion, but it didn't appear too difficult. She collected the ingredients and began to set up her cauldron with easy familiarity.

"You seem to know what you're doing," Rosier commented as she added three scurvy grass leaves to her cauldron. He raised an eyebrow. "Did you pretend that you needed help just so you could annoy Riddle?"

Astraya's hands paused briefly mid-motion then continued to stir the solution with a wooden ladle. "I hoped to," she mused. "But it kind of backfired."

Rosier smirked faintly as he dropped dried sneezewort root into his cauldron.

"At least you're honest," he said. He turned to look at her, meeting her eyes. The thin smile disappeared from his face. "You're in way over your head, you know. Riddle is not someone you want to mess with."

She raised an eyebrow. "He told me that last night," she said dryly. "And I told him I wasn't afraid of him. I'm still not."

"You don't know what he's capable of."

"Maybe not," she agreed. She placed two yarrow roots in her ceramic mortar and started grinding them. "But he doesn't know what I'm capable of either." Her expression became questioning and slightly suspicious, her brow furrowing. "Why are you trying to help me anyway?"

He snorted. "I wasn't trying to help you. I was just making sure you know what you're getting into, since Riddle seems to be quite interested in you."

"Yes, that's not exactly a good thing, is it?" She smiled wryly as she added the ground roots to her potion then stirred it clockwise. She watched with satisfaction as it turned the exact shade of red described on the board. "Oh, well. I was afraid it was going to be boring at Hogwarts, but Riddle's bound to keep things exciting."

He let out a mocking laugh. "I don't whether to call you brave or just stupid," he sneered. "You want to go against Riddle, be my guest. But first you should go around and ask if there's ever been anyone brave enough to challenge him. That might give you second thoughts."

"Thanks for the suggestion, but I already know what everyone here thinks of him. The students are smitten, if slightly terrified of him, the teachers think he's amazing"—she gestured to Slughorn, who was talking enthusiastically with Riddle – "and he's got his own group of faithful lackeys." She made a vague gesture in Rosier's direction. "Probably the most popular boy in school," she concluded, with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes.

His eyebrows drew down in a scowl. "Don't talk about him in that tone," he said quietly.

Astraya's mouth tightened at the threatening implication in his tone.

Maybe she should have tried playing innocent from the start, or pretended to be at least a little afraid so as not to antagonise Rosier, who was probably going to relay this entire conversation to Riddle. But she hadn't come to Hogwarts to be threatened by a bunch of arrogant gits who fancied themselves great sorcerers.

Before she could give a retort, Slughorn clapped his hands together. "Time's up! Let's see what you all have for me."

He wandered from table to table, peering into cauldrons, assessing their bubbling contents with a professional gaze. Most he passed over without comment, but few he gave an approving nod or a smile. When he reached Riddle's cauldron, his face lit up with delight.

"Well done, Tom, m'boy!" he cried, beaming. "Perfect work, as always. Take twenty points for Slytherin."

Riddle smiled at Slughorn. Astraya saw many eyes around the class stare at him with admiration and barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

After a few more moments of exalting Riddle's potion-making abilities, Slughorn moved on to Astraya's table. He sniffed Rosier's potion interestedly then gave him an approving smile. When he reached Astraya's cauldron, his gooseberry eyes went round with excitement once more.

"I think you might have some competition, Tom," he exclaimed jovially. Astraya saw Riddle stiffen at those words. Every face in the room had gone still with shock at this statement, as though they'd never thought they'd hear anything like it in their lifetimes. She felt Rosier's disbelieving stare, and couldn't stop a small, triumphant grin from flitting across her lips.

"Excellent, my dear," Slughorn marvelled, either oblivious to the sudden tension in the room, or deliberately ignoring it. "A perfect Befuddlement Draught. Though I didn't expect anything less from you."

Astraya's smile became fixed, and she felt a small flare of exasperation and anxiety in her chest. It was a casual, offhand statement no-one would have looked into. But Rosier's gaze had gone sharp as a knife, and a cursory glance across the room confirmed that Riddle's eyes had also narrowed with thought.

She tried to stay calm as she cleared her table and started packing up her things. A stunned and slightly subdued atmosphere hung over the class. A flurry of whispers filled the air, and many pairs of wide eyes darted back and forth between Astraya and Riddle.

"Did you know Slughorn from outside school?" Rosier asked.

She let out a breath. "No."

"Then how did he know what to expect from you in Potions if he didn't know you before?"

This wasn't a question she'd prepared for. She debated ignoring him, but decided against it. That would only grant her a temporary reprieve. She replied with great care, choosing her words cautiously. "He was on good terms with my father when he was a student. My mother communicated with him before I came to Hogwarts. She obviously told him I was quite talented at Potions."

She wasn't sure if he believed her, but his expression was still suspicious. "Which school did you use to attend?"

"I was home-schooled." Her voice took on a practised sorrowful tone. "My father used to teach me, and since he… Well, my mother decided it was best to send me here instead."

"I see." Finding no apparent crack or fault in the story, some of the suspicion faded from his eyes, though he still appeared quietly pensive as he returned his textbook to his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He regarded her thoughtfully, and she gave him a placid smile, her composure restored. "You're in trouble, you know," he told her casually over his shoulder as he turned to walk away. "Riddle won't like being compared to you."

I bet he wouldn't, Astraya thought as she watched him join Riddle and the other boys. Even from across the room, she saw a tension in Riddle's shoulders when he glanced at her, as if he was trying to hold back his anger, and felt her previous smug grin return.

Really, it was fun to taunt him.

Tom could feel the stirrings of incredulous anger gathering in his chest as he walked down the corridor to Transfiguration. His followers trailed quietly behind him, seeming to pick up on his foul mood.

Since the first lesson he'd had at Hogwarts, he'd been accepted as a singularly talented wizard. One of the most brilliant students to attend Hogwarts. Staff and students alike admired him, and he'd often used that profound admiration to meet his own ends. For this little brat to come out of nowhere and challenge him like this…

As they neared the classroom, he could see Astraya lining up with the rest of the Slytherins and Gryffindors. She was smiling as she listened to Greengrass talk animatedly.

He was conscious of his wand in his pocket, itching to take it out and curse her into oblivion. His fury simmered, rising to a crescendo then, slowly, ebbing away, replaced by cold, steely purpose.

Tom almost laughed at himself in disbelief. Was he really going to let that brat get under his skin this easily? He was better than that; he'd aways been. If anything, he should consider this a good opportunity to test out his skills on someone who, although might not be his equal, could at least provide a challenge.

The classroom door opened and Dumbledore emerged, wearing long magenta robes and the usual benign smile that irked Tom instantly.

Four years ago, Dumbledore had come to the orphanage where Tom lived to inform of his rightful place at Hogwarts as a wizard. In his excitement, Tom had unintentionally lowered his guard, revealing a part of him that only a few people had ever seen plainly. Tom had never forgotten that, and neither had Dumbledore, who, although not outright hostile, had never trusted nor liked Tom as much as the other teachers did. Subsequently, Tom was always reserved and quiet in his Transfiguration lessons, and had never tried to exert futile efforts in charming Dumbledore.

"Welcome, fifth-years," Dumbledore said brightly, ushering them into the room. It looked exactly the same as it had the last time Tom had seen it. A row of high arched windows that overlooked the vast grounds dominated the far wall. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall, and several cages containing animals that were used for previous lessons had been stacked in a corner.

Tom headed for his usual desk near the back of the classroom. Rosier and Avery sat in the same row, while the others took their places in the row behind them.

Dumbledore made his way to the front of the classroom and regarded them all with twinkling blue eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles.

"This year, you will be taking your O.W.L.s. Fifth year is possibly the most important year of your education. The Transfiguration coursework is especially difficult. But," he added with emphasis, noticing the nervous expressions of his students, "I am sure, if you all do your best and work diligently, your efforts will pay off. There is no need to treat the exams like an execution, as I have seen countless students do.

"Today," he continued, "we will make a start on Vanishing Spells. Please open your textbooks and turn to Chapter 1, Elias Bagnall's Vanishment Theory."

After a lecture on the limitations and logistics of Vanishing, Dumbledore set them the task of Vanishing quills, then progressing to larger and heavier objects.

By mid-lesson, Tom had managed to Vanish a whole cauldron. It wasn't the most difficult magic to perform, but he never tried as hard in Transfiguration as in his other lessons; he only did enough to keep him top of the class. Dumbledore never went any further than giving him acknowledging remarks.

"Well done, Miss Sader," he heard Dumbledore say. He looked up to see the tall wizard standing next to Astraya, smiling warmly at her. She, too, had progressed to Vanishing cauldrons. He narrowed his eyes.

One of Dumbledore's biased traits was that he was always cooler with Slytherin students, as was natural for the Head of Gryffindor house. He gave them credit when it was due, of course, but he never went out of his way to be kind to them. But now he was smiling at Astraya with no less kindliness than he would have given a member of his own house.

His shoulders went tense with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance: that this little girl seemed to be getting attention on her first day from teachers like Slughorn and Dumbledore, who were known for favouring certain students, and curiosity at who she exactly was, to have endeared herself to them so fast.

Dumbledore moved past Astraya, his robes trailing behind him. He gave Tom a nod of acknowledgement at his progress, but didn't complement him further. He suggested a few amends to Avery, who had managed to Vanish a quill but had only succeeded in multiplying his teacup. Rosier was doing well. He was the only one of Tom's followers whose grades came close to his. Lestrange could do better, but he often didn't take lessons seriously.

When the bell rang for lunch, Tom did his best to pack his stuff without seeming too hasty. He was not only eager to be away from the crooked-nosed fool, but he had plans regarding Astraya that he wanted to carry out. Next lesson was Defence Against the Dark Arts, there would be some duelling, and it would be the perfect opportunity test her out. Though to be fair, it wouldn't be an accurate test…

Immersed in his plans, he heard Dumbledore's voice call out. "Miss Sader, would you mind tarrying for a moment?"

"Of course not, Professor," Astraya replied easily. Tom watched her walk to the desk at the front of the classroom, his brow slightly furrowed in thought before it cleared.

He joined his followers, who were waiting for him in the corridor expectantly. "Go ahead to the Great Hall," he told them coldly. "I will join you later."

They all exchanged questioning looks, but none of them dared ask. With small nods, they blended with the throng of students heading to lunch. Tom waited until the corridor was empty, before he took out his wand and pointed it at the classroom door, making sure to stay out of sight. With a short, muttered spell, the conversation transpiring inside drifted to his ears as clearly as if he were in the room himself.

"…I hope you're not having difficulty settling in," came Dumbledore's voice.

"No, no," Astraya replied. "Everyone's been really kind. I'm actually kind of having fun."

"I'm glad to hear it." A pause, then Dumbledore's voice came again, its deep tones solicitous and unusually quiet. "I was worried you'd have trouble adjusting, after all that has happened to you in the last few days."

Tom leaned in, feeling excitement rise in him.

"I'm fine, Professor." He could tell she was trying to be firm, but there was an unsteady waver in her voice.

"I'd understand if you weren't. There's nothing wrong with feeling grief, Astraya. Especially after all these events—"

"I said I'm fine!" A short silence, then she said in a softer, steadier tone. "Really, sir. It's… Being at Hogwarts makes it easy to forget. It seems like another world, sometimes."

"It's good to hear you say so. Help will always be available at Hogwarts for those who need it, Astraya. I hope you remember that."

"Yes, sir."

"And if you ever want to talk about—"

"I don't, sir," she cut him off stubbornly. "But thank you."

"Very well. You may go. I wouldn't want to keep you from your lunch."

The sound of footsteps approached the door. Tom leaned casually against the wall as it opened, and Astraya emerged, her face pale and tense. When she caught sight of him, her eyes narrowed. She didn't put on her usual provocative smile or her sunny tone, but just eyed him suspiciously.

"Did you hear anything of interest while you were eavesdropping, Riddle?" she asked sourly.

Tom smiled innocently. "I only wanted to make sure you got to the Great Hall safely. You're still learning your way around."

Her lip curled slightly in mockery. She turned away without another word and started down the corridor.

It rankled him that she had dismissed him so easily, but if anything, her mood was proof that her conversation with Dumbledore had rattled her enough for her to drop her mask. He pushed himself from the wall and followed her.

She didn't glance at him as she said, "What do you want, Riddle? I'm in no mood for you."

He felt another stab of irritation; no-one talked to him in that tone. Since she'd dropped her act, he decided to drop it too. "What events was Dumbledore talking about?"

"So you admit you were eavesdropping?" she said acidly.

He shrugged and smirked. "I was curious."

"It's none of your business," she snapped, and sped up, descending the stairs with short, hurried strides.

He kept pace easily. "Even if you don't tell me, I'll find out one way or another."

She barked out a short laugh. "What, are you going to send one of your thugs after me? Lestrange, or maybe Rosier?"

He raised an eyebrow. "If I have to." They'd descended the flight of stairs and began to make their way to the Entrance Hall. "But you don't want that."

She stopped and turned to face him, glaring. "Why are you even so interested in me?" she demanded.

He tilted his head, ignoring the impertinence in her tone. It was a reasonable question. There was no reason for him to take so much interest in her. Maybe it was that she wasn't intimidated by him, because she knew she was just like him. She was dangerous and she knew it. Or maybe it was the secrets she was obviously hiding.

When anyone hid secrets from him, it became his goal to find them. And he delighted in bringing their keepers to their knees.

"Boredom, I suppose."

She scoffed. "Are you just surprised you've met someone who doesn't act like the sun shines out of your ass?"

His smirk disappeared, and his fingers tightened on his wand, which was still in his hand.

Astraya noticed the motion. She scowled, then let out a sound of scornful amusement, as if she didn't think he could much damage. She shook her head, and started to walk away, then stopped abruptly as if she had remembered something.

"Why do you hate Dumbledore so much?" she demanded.

The question startled him. "I don't," he lied. A lot of people, especially Slytherins, knew he didn't like Dumbledore, but no-one addressed the matter so directly.

She considered him for a moment, her eyebrows drawing together in thought. "Is it because Dumbledore was the one to come to your orphanage when you were 11?"

Tom froze. "How do you know that?"

"I heard that you lived in a Muggle orphanage, and since Dumbledore's responsible for recruiting students, he must have been the one to come to you." She frowned. "Is that really why hate him?"

Tom pressed his lips together against the stinging flare of anger in his chest. He imagined burning down that vile, red-bricked building where he grew up, using the satisfying image to control the heat of anger.

"If you're half-blood, why didn't your magical relatives look after you? How come you live with Muggles?"

"Don't," he said in a lethally quiet tone, "push me, Sader. I'm not averse to cursing you right here in the hallway."

She continued to gaze at him in that direct, clear way that annoyed him, as if measuring his level of threat.

Loud footsteps thundered from around the corner. A big, blundering boy appeared, with shaggy black hair and beady eyes.

Tom smiled his prefect smile. "Why aren't you at lunch, Rubeus?"

The large boy hesitated. "I was just getting' summat from my dorm, Tom," he said in his loud, rough-accented voice, obviously trying to hide his nervousness.

Tom raised an eyebrow. The oversized oaf was two years younger than Tom, and ever since he'd set foot in Hogwarts, he'd got into all sorts of trouble. Sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest in his first year to wrestle trolls, stealing one of Professor Kettleburn's Ashwinders and causing a great fire in Gryffindor Tower, earning more detentions than any boy in his whole year…

Tom wondered what sort of trouble he'd got up to now. Not that it bothered him. He hoped Hagrid would make enough trouble to be expelled. This buffoon had no place at Hogwarts.

Astraya cleared her throat. She, too, was wearing her innocent, sunny smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tom said. He gestured to Hagrid. "This is Rubeus Hagrid. He's in third-year. And Rubeus, this is Astraya Sader, a new student."

"Right." He smiled toothily at her. "I've 'eard abou' yeh."

"Shouldn't you head off to lunch?" Tom asked pointedly.

"Er, right. I'll see yeh later."

"Actually, I think I'll come too," Astraya announced. She started to follow Hagrid down the staircase, then turned to Tom questioningly. "Aren't you coming too, Riddle?"

Tom smiled through gritted teeth. "Of course," he said smoothly.

Their conversation had been cut much too short, but there was no reason why he couldn't finish it later. And since Astraya's guard was back on, it would be hard getting answers out of her now, so he just tucked his wand covertly back into his pocket and followed her down the stairs to the Great Hall.