Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot.

Portrait of a Pince

Chapter Two

Tom knelt on the dusty storeroom floor, the old, musty floorboards creaking under his weight. He gazed impatiently into the fire he had laboriously poked into existence, waiting. Checking his watch, he felt the pangs of annoyance well up inside him. They knew that, being at Hogwarts, he didn't have much time or space to himself. There was no room for tardiness. If they were going to schedule an appointment, they had better be punctual. Just preparing to raise himself from in front of the decrepit old fireplace, emitting flurries of dust and soot from it's fiery depths, Tom heard a slight popping noise. He settled back down into his position on the floor. "So, you DID decide to show up, Wellington?" Tom asked in a cold, piercing voice: the only sign of his annoyance. His face was impassive, as though he had placed a stone mask upon it. Tom was always careful not to reveal anything to anyone in his dealings. "I apologize for the delay, Riddle. We had some trouble at the warehouse," the head that had materialized in the fire relayed back, his voice as flat as Tom's face, holding no sign of remorse at all. "What sort of trouble?" Tom inquired, his interest sparked. There couldn't be interference now. His whole plan would be ruined! He had worked too long and too hard on this for it to be destroyed. "Rebels. They seem to have discovered the true function of the unit. We quelled the current dispatch, but it's only a matter of time before they send another. Our reconnaissance agents are removing all valuable merchandise as we speak, and then the unit will be destroyed. We have other, well-placed spots. Not quite as efficient and organized as the warehouse, but nonetheless functional. We have no choice but to retreat into concealment until another unit can be established. All dealings are being placed on hold for an undetermined period of time," Wellington replied gravely, failing to cloak his disappointment and the actual seriousness of the situation. "Does that mean?" Tom asked eagerly, almost fearfully, unwilling to complete the question. Wellington knew what he was asking. The man's surly, bulky face pulled itself into a hideous grimace, and his deep, thick voice confirmed Tom's worst fears. "Yeah, that's right. All Hogwarts activity will be canceled until the new unit is up and running. We don't know how long that'll take, ya know. But," Wellington added slyly and somewhat hastily as Tom's face fell with unmistakable disappointment, "There will be one more job for you, Riddle. A big one. One that will pay so well, you'll probably not miss the pay-off from the lay-over. Are you up for it?" Tom weighed his options. If he said yes, he'd hear all the plans and receive all the accommodations and supplies he'd need. Plus the prepayment for the job. And if he successfully performed the job, he'd get paid in full, possibly receiving a bonus for above-and-beyond work. But if he said yes and heard the plans, he was as legally bound as it was possible to be in an illegal business. He was strictly obligated to do the job, no backing out. On the other hand, what did he have to lose? He was here at Hogwarts in his seventh year and had no apparent future waiting for him. He hadn't contemplated any sort of job or lifestyle besides what his plan dictated. If the lay-over on the transactions was long, he might graduate, and would no longer be useful to the business. They'd get another Hogwarts agent, and without Hogwarts, Tom had nothing. If the pay-off from this job was big enough, he could finally reach his goal, and set his plans into action. And the heavy-set man with the sharply chiseled face that was sitting in his fire seemed to think that it was. "All right, Wellington. Hit me." A half an hour later, Tom Riddle emerged from the seventh floor attic storage room, an extremely smug look on his face. After glancing along the corridor and confirming that the coast was clear, he strode to the opposite wall and slid aside a tapestry that revealed a moldy wooden door. Tom turned the rusted brass handle, slipped inside the secret passage that led to the dungeons, and snapped the door shut as the tapestry fell back into place. Victoria Pince stepped out from around the statue of a Willacious the Warted and stared hard at the tapestry that had just swished down to hide the door behind it. "That's an interesting little passageway," Victoria mused to herself. "Wonder what dear Tom was doing skulking in there." Victoria walked to the attic storage room Tom had recently vacated and peered through the door that had been left slightly ajar. Victoria knew nobody went up these attics anymore, she had to pass by this corridor every day on her way to Divination. Most students took the main stairwells, but she had discovered this winding little shortcut. There were a few embers still smoldering in the fireplace, and Tom's footsteps could be seen clearly in the coat of dust that had settled over the last couple of decades on the ancient wooden floor. Judging by the sizably larger spots in front of the mantle, Tom had been kneeling before the fire. Victoria didn't know what was going on, but she didn't like it. Making her way back through the corridor, throwing a glance at the suspicious tapestry on her way, she decided that she'd better keep on eye on her fellow Head. But for now, she had to go to Divination.



"What do you mean, a secret door? And a fire? In one of the attics? Torrie, I think you're exaggerating. Or at least hallucinating. Nobody goes up there anymore, much less lights a fire. And you know we know all the passageways by now. There can't be another way up there," Minerva thought out loud in response to Victoria's relation of what had transpired on the seventh floor that day. "Exactly. First of all, nobody goes up there anymore. But I saw Tom in that attic storage room. And second of all, why light a fire? But there were definitely fresh ashes, and all the prints in the dust showed that Tom was kneeling in front of a fire he apparently built. And finally, we know all the passages. We must have been through this castle from top to bottom a hundred times. We know there are hardly any on the seventh floor, and certainly none by the dinky attics. But Tom went through a door behind a tapestry! Something fishy's going on, and I'm going to find out. I know Tom's up to something. This is finally my chance to bust him!" Victoria exclaimed excitedly. It was common knowledge (except to Professor Dippet apparently) that Tom Riddle was a very prominent Slytherin. And prominent Slytherins always had something up their sleeve. If Victoria could expose Riddle, then his Head Boy title would be renounced. With that enormous blow to his ego, Victoria was sure he'd lay off terrorizing the school. And plus, she had a score to settle with Riddle. This was exactly the chance she'd been waiting for.



"Ok, boys, Flint, stop making that revolting mess! Didn't your mother ever teach you how to eat properly. I know how to eat like a human being, and I've never even met my mother!" Tom began at dinner that night. Flint had the irking habit of resembling a pig when anything remotely similar to food came into his eyesight. Watching him eat that food was even worse. Flint looked up from his plate of what now looked like discolored slop, a few drops of glop sliding down his chin and falling with a slight plop onto his plate. Tom rolled his eyes and made a disgusted grunt somewhere in his throat. "As I was saying," he restarted, his eyes narrowing at Flint, "here's the deal. I got a new assignment this afternoon. This assignment, however, is going to require more stealth and preparation than the others we have flawlessly executed. Meet me by the painting of Pandora's Box in the back dungeon corridor tonight at midnight. No sooner, no later. I have a few details to discuss with the two of you. I have a few things to take care of beforehand this evening." As Tom finished doling out his instructions with an obvious flourish, he happened to glance up from the conspiratorial huddle. It was habit to glance around suspiciously, scrutinizing his surroundings. In this business, anybody could be listening, and anybody could be your enemy. You had to be extremely careful. His eyes traveled across the Great Hall, searching every table for some sign of eavesdropping or specific notice. As he scanned the Ravenclaw table and found no evidence of either of the give-away behaviors, his eyes were involuntarily drawn to the Gryffindor table. His bright, piercing blue eyes caught the shining, presently narrowed emerald green eyes of none other than Victoria Pince. It seemed as though their intense looks were locked together, and Tom suddenly forgot to appear inconspicuous. Victoria's eyes were full of malice and suspicion, and she reminded him for all the world, for just that moment, of a vicious tiger, dangerous and cunning, crouched for the lethal pounce that would end the life of its prey. Her reddish hair shone in the golden lamplight, and Tom could just imagine black stripes all through it. In the end, Tom and Victoria's eye lock ended only when Flint accidentally stuck an elbow awry in his feeding frenzy and nearly knocked Tom out of his seat. Rubbing the spot where the gigantic boy's elbow had come into painful contact with his chest, and completely winded, Tom rounded on Flint and simply glared at him while he caught his breath. As soon as he had, Flint received a very thorough and threatening telling-off.

When Tom had finished with his huge crony, he glanced quickly across the hall, almost involuntarily. But Victoria was know absorbed in an animated conversation with Minerva McGonagall and Jonathan Weasley. A few others near the trio were listening in, bemused smiles playing on their faces. "Filth," Tom hissed to himself. "She'll learn her place when I'm through with her. And those Mudbloods and wizarding disgraces she calls friends will be just as sorry as she. They'll be sorry they idolized such, such FILTH!" "What was that, my Lord?" Malfoy asked silkily over Tom's shoulder. He had heard his friend muttering bitterly to himself, and he knew perfectly well what had caused such an outburst. He had been observing his master for quite some time now, and Malfoy knew Riddle like the back of his own hand. "Nothing Malfoy," Tom hissed quickly, seemingly embarrassed that he had been caught letting off steam. "I will be off, now. I must make the necessary arrangements for our meeting." And with a last calm, cool, calculating glance down his nose at Flint and Malfoy, Tim had gracefully slid out of his seat and glided down the stairs toward the dungeons. "I suppose that leaves us on our own till midnight," Flint spoke thickly around a mouthful of something altogether indistinguishable. Malfoy simply glanced repulsively at the gigantic, messy Flint. Across the Great Hall, a certain reddish-haired, green-eyed, tigress of a Head Girl slipped out of her own seat and headed toward the nearest twisting back corridor that would take her to the dungeons as well.



Tom stood with his hands behind his back, his feet shoulder-width apart, staring vapidly at the painting of Pandora's Box. He had chosen this one for his scheming sessions with Flint and Mafloy several years ago, before their sessions had become a more serious thing with his involvement in the business. For some reason, the depiction of the colorful, enticing box spilling out the dark, shadowy, truly frightening evil that supposedly corrupted the tranquil Earth sent shivers up his spine. "Soon," he thought at the menacing evil in the painting. "Soon, you will know a leader the likes of which you have never known before in all your ancient years." But even as he was taking delight in his dark and secretive thoughts, his mind flickered to the one person he had reason to believe might seriously suspect him of being something more than a mere bully. He tried to wrestle his consciousness back to his present contemplation of malice, but he couldn't muster up enough control to succeed. Sighing, he allowed his mind to wander. She knew something. Those eyes had contained something besides the emerald orbs through which she saw the world. There had been a sort of communication between them that night at dinner. It was as if she had told him herself that she knew, and he had been completely capable of recognizing the warning in the eyes of the predator. For that was what she undoubtedly was. A fierce predator, on the trail of its prey. And Tom had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly what that prey was. Glancing up and down the corridor nervously, Tom became furious with himself. "Look at you! Allowing some silly, air headed girl give you qualms!" He took his arms from behind his back to cross them furiously across his chest, a sort of protest against his frivolous fears. No one knew about this painting. It was in such an obscure passageway that few every had cause to venture there, and that few was Flint, Malfoy, and himself. That was all. But he still couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he was being watched. "Sorry, my Lord, we came as quickly as we could. We had a bit of a hold-up in the common room. Serpentia wouldn't leave us alone. Wanted to know where you were," the dull, blundering voice of Flint sounded behind Tom's back. It took all of Tom's self-control to prevent himself from jumping in surprise. Whirling around, he glared at his cronies. Malfoy bent his head in smooth, graceful abashment. "Our deepest apologies, my Lord. It will not happen again." "Very well. I will forgive your lack of punctuality this time. What did you tell Ms. Snape?" Tom demanded pompously, fixing Flint with his piercing gaze. "Er, that you had gone to the kitchens for, er, a midnight snack," Flint muttered quietly, his face blushing red. He hadn't liked making up such a silly lie. "My Lord, women are easily won over by seemingly romantic causes. They are but giggling girls you know, looking for the excuse to squeal over the latest boy," Malfoy explained smoothly, not the least bit humiliated. "Good, good. I know I can always count on you Malfoy," Tom smiled silkily, and added as an afterthought "and you, Flint. Now, as I said before, this particular assignment is extremely unique, and requires much more preparation than usual. I have spoken to my source and received the details of the job, and have already begun to form a plot. However, apart from equipment and overall support, I regret to inform you that this assignment also requires flying solo. I must ask that the two of you consent not to participate. The assignment will not be successful with three people on the job. Too conspicuous, too clumsy, and too crowded. Do you understand?" "Whatever is required for the success of the assignment, my Lord. We understand perfectly, and we consent to lay low, so to speak. Best of luck to you, my Lord," Malfoy replied with no change of facial expression at all to register surprise or resentment. Flint only looked shocked and slightly disappointed. "Excellent. Now, you may go. I will remain her a while to think things through," Tom dismissed haughtily. Malfoy, followed by Flint, turned on their heels and strode briskly back down the corridor without a second glance back at Tom, looking strangely impressive, as he always did, standing in front of the painting of Pandora's Box, right at the spot that depicted the greatest culmination of dark, shadowy, vague shapes of evil. He turned once more and regained his previous stance, staring at the painting and brooding. At last, the tall, thin, dark-haired boy turned slowly around, and purposefully retreated down the corridor. Victoria, heart pounding, left her station from just behind a convenient statue of a horribly, magically mutilated old hag and scurried silently down the adjacent corridor. She breathed only when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung shut behind her, and she had gained the safety of Gryffindor common room. As she slowly and thoughtfully made her way up the staircase the seventh year girls' dormitory, she ran through the past evening in her mind. She slipped between her sheets fully dressed, barely noticing what was going on around her. Tom Riddle was definitely up to something, and it was up to her, Victoria Pince, to find out what exactly that something was. She fell asleep with a faint feeling of triumph, and an even bigger determined resolution.



A/N: Ok, that's it. The second chapter. HOPEFULLY it'll be more popular than the first ::crosses fingers:: Apparently, there was some confusion regarding my name challenge in the last chapter. I didn't mean for you guys to find ROWLING'S significant names (although those were all very good, some of them I didn't know until you told me!), I was referring to those significant names contained in MY story. I'm extremely sorry for the confusion, I was unclear in my wording. But now, see if you can find some significant names and why in my story! Please review! The only way I know if people are even bothering to read what I write is if you guys review!!! I'd greatly appreciate it. Now, a few words to my previous reviewers: thanks for reviewing! All the names you submitted were very interesting. Good work! Lol. I especially thank those who said something in their review that was at least relevant to my story. And to that one reviewer who seemed to think there was a gliche in my story ("tom was poor,"): Oh ye of little faith. I do realize that Tom was poor, and I admit that my story can be misleading. But the differences between what is presently known about Tom Riddle from Rowling's own descriptions and the wealthy appearing Tom Riddle I have presented will be explained, and shortly. Just keep reading! Well, I do believe that's quite a long enough Author's Note. I leave you all with one last plea to REVIEW!!!! Please? See you all next chapter!