The path that Tom Riddle walked was obviously not a popular one. Vines, shrubs and other sorts of undergrowth crowded it on either side, sometimes stretching arms across it so he would have to blast the way clear with his wand. He'd been walking for nearly an hour now. His clothes were covered in thorns, he'd stepped in more than a few swampy places, his hands and face were crisscrossed with scratches that bled and attracted the atrocious insects who inhabited the Brazilian rainforest. Rain clouds gathered over his head, sinking heavily. He promised himself he'd Apparate next time, as soon as he knew exactly where he was going. If he came again, that is.

            As Tom squelch-squelched along, he became aware of someone whistling cheerfully. He listened for a moment before realizing that he was the one doing so. The thought surprised him. What suddenly begetted this blatant act of happiness, he wasn't exactly sure, but he did know he was more content than he had been in a long time. He had freedom, a place to stay, and a future.

            Oh yeah, and Katie.

            Living in the same building, just two apartments away, they saw each other daily without fail. He had made a point to take her out to lunch or dinner every few days ever since their arrival three weeks ago. After all, it was only polite, seeing as she'd gotten him his home. Maybe (but it was only a maybe), he enjoyed her company. She certainly wasn't as annoying as some people. Still, she created a problem for Tom---Katie wasn't part of the plan.

            He assured himself that he could deal with the issue when the time came. For now, he had to focus on what was happening---the rain had begun to fall, and the path was coming to an end.

            In a matter of feet, the path gave way to a clearing. A magical blue fire burned in a pit, undaunted by the fat drops of water coming from the sky. On one side of it, turning what looked to be a large rat on a spit, crouched a bedraggled figure Tom knew only so well.

            "I found you," he said, somewhat exhausted.

            "So Tom did," said the voice like nails on a chalkboard. It was difficult to believe it belonged to a human, once a simple wizard in a tribe of Brazilian natives. His age showed in every crease and sag of his dark brown skin, years piled upon years, dirt piled upon dirt. Without the aid of his experimental magic, he would have died over a hundred years ago. Thanks to magic, he lived a half-life, barely existing from one day to the next, in Tom's eyes, a pitiful example of time wasted.

            Tom didn't feel proud or expect praise, he was too smart for that. He'd done the task, no worse and no better than necessary. "Do you think this is isolated enough?"

            The wizard chuckled and tore a piece of meat from the rat. He devoured it, then another chunk, and didn't reply until the entire rodent was gone and he had licked the spit clean. Tom waited impatiently.

            "Isolated enough, enough for Tom," the wizard repeated. "Enough, enough, enough---"

            His tolerance wearing thin, Tom interrupted his mentor. "Wygsyact, as quaint as your irrational ramblings are, we have work to do. The Sturgeon Moon is only five weeks away, and I am not waiting until next year to get what is rightfully mine."

            "Impatience!" Wygsyact exclaimed gleefully. He threw back his head in exalted laughter. Tom sighed and waited for him to finish.

            "When we are done," said Wygsyact, now sensible, "Tom will always have time. Always. Satisfaction guaranteed!" Again he cracked up at his own joke.

            It was all Tom could do not to strangle him on the spot and throw him into his own magical fire. Certainly no one would notice, he'd been living in hiding for so long. But no, Wygsyact was important; in his inane mind rested the information Tom needed, or at least, Tom hoped it was still there.

            Finally his laughter ceased. "All right, Tommy, how many are we talking here?"

            It was these lapses of sanity Tom came for, when Wygsyact was all business. If he had done anything in his hundred plus years, he had developed a strong sense for when someone was trying to cheat him.

            "At least five," Tom said.

            "Jeez, you're getting greedy, Riddle," the old wizard said. "I can get you two. Two is plenty."

            Tom glared at him, locking their eyes. "I want five."

            "Your little tricks are unnecessary, Tom---"

            "So are yours. Stop saying my name, Wygsyact."

            "Stop looking at me, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

            There was a tense pause.

            "Five."

            "Two."

            "I'll get the other three myself."

            Wygsyact closed his white eyes, laughing again. "How do you propose to do that? You live with the Ministry of Magic, Tom, they'd be on you like---like white on rice."

            Irritated, Tom stood up. "I'll do it. You just get ready for five."

            "Five, five, five it is."

            "Yes," Tom said defiantly. "You don't know what I can get away with, Wygsyact."

            "Maybe I don't want to know, Tom," said the ancient wizard.

            Know your enemy, Tom thought, better than you know yourself. As though he could hear him, Wygsyact stiffened.

            Feeling he had won, Tom Apparated back to his home.