Author's Note: 'Allo! Hope you enjoyed the cliffhanger, and I'm getting this chapter out to you quickly so I don't have an angry mob on my hands. wink

--------

Chapter 4

--------

Wiley pushed the door open to the seventh year boy dorm, and took a step inside. The room was oddly quiet making the fifth year grow nervous and tremble just slightly. A window must be open he thought to himself, reassuring himself that anything that his mind was thinking was false and that a window was open allowing the wintry breeze of the March day blow through. Hopefully that's what it wa—it was, that's what it was! That was the reason. Wiley was shaking like he always did when nervous; he wasn't that good at faking he was afraid. He opened his mouth and a small squeak came out. He shut it, and eyed the dorm it was empty, but a faint glow of some kind was coming from the lavatory. Brow furrowed and thoughts raced, his writer's imagination took over.

Stepping quietly toward the open door, he peeked in side, and his eyes caught sight of Tom muttering over with his wand held out. He was making some incantation. Wiley's heart jumped a beat frightened of what Tom was doing. Tom was always doing things a little out of the ordinary. On one of the occasions when Wiley had slept in the dorm with Tom he had woken in the middle of the night to hear Tom mumbling things in his sleep. Things that made him grow nervous when he was around Tom. He had never felt nervous around Tom until he heard those words.

It was June, the end of his fourth year, Wiley woke up and sat up in the bed. He glanced around looking at the drawn green curtains and remembered he was with Tom. A half-smile crept to his tired face, if he was in his bed he'd know what time it was with his pocket watch ticking away in the side table. He liked the sound of clocks ticking it was peaceful but Tom couldn't stand the quiet tick-tick of his small pocket watch. He had left it in the side table to make Tom happy. It was his first time in Tom's bed for a whole night, and he quite enjoyed falling asleep in the arms of Tom Riddle.

The smile grew and his eyes looked at the sleeping figure of the sixth year. He looked peaceful and so vulnerable compared to what he acted like when he was awake. Wiley figured people had no choice on what they looked like when they were asleep. Tom's chest rose and fell with the short, shallow breaths he took while sleeping and his pale face somewhat glowed in the darkness. There was no expression left on his features, nothing of anger or of content like there was before they managed to fall asleep.

The fifth year furrowed his brow as he looked down at Tom seeing that his mouth was moving only the slightest. He talked in his sleep? He would've never had guessed. Tom Riddle talking in his sleep, that was interesting. Wiley wanted to know what he was saying. He turned his body a bit, and tried not move the bed; waking up Tom wasn't his idea.

Why was he talking softly to himself was Wiley's question, why was he even talking? Wasn't he asleep? Wiley had thought he was the only one that had trouble sleeping during the summer. He leaned forward to get closer to hear what the sixth year was muttering.

"I want them dead"
"They don't deserve to live"
"Those…"
"Die"
"Muggles"
"Filthy mudbloods"
"Die"
"Kill them"

Wiley sat straight up, his teeth clenched and he felt cold all of the sudden. It had been at least seventy degrees in the dorm, but now it felt like thirty. At that point, he didn't want to be in the same bed with the sixth year. Killing? Mudbloods – he meant Wiley didn't he? He couldn't possibly want to kill Wiley. He was Tom's friend! He shook the thoughts out and got out of the bed. He slipped on his slippers he had taken from his room when he was asked to spend the night. He wished he brought a robe; he shivered and started to leave the dorm. Each four-poster's curtains were drawn back which was a good a thing. The other sixth years didn't know Wiley was in here.

He left the dorm and went into his; unfortunately Bryce had been the loo and was walking back to his bed. He stopped and looked over at Wiley. "Where've you been?" he hissed. It was obvious that Wiley hadn't been in here since his curtains were drawn back and he wasn't in the bed. He had just walked in.

Wiley, being a small boy and always was a bit of a coward, bit back his tongue to yell or do something that wasn't very boyish or even Slytherinish. He started for his bed but was blocked by Bryce, "Where've you been?" he was demanding in the soft hiss he made so not to wake the others. He grabbed Wiley's shirt, and held him there. "Where've you been?" came the third demand of the same question.

"No where."

"Where've you been?" he growled lowly. Bryce was going for his neck now, but at that instant the door opened and there stood Tom. Tom seemed at first when the door opened a bit bewildered but now angry at the sight of Bryce starting to choke Wiley.

"Off 'im," Tom stepped forward with his wand in hand. The interesting fact about the matter was that everyone used a whispering voice so not to wake the other students. Tom was included in this.

Obediently to the prefect, Bryce let go of Wiley and was instantly begging not to be harmed. Tom lowered his wand for a moment to eye Wiley, seeing if he was alright. As if Tom asked him, the fourth year nodded. The older boy turned and left.

Wiley had gone to bed, and Bryce's pestering about him and Tom started that night. Now it was almost a whole year since that night, and Wiley was still with Tom for some unexplainable reason. The fifth never told Tom that he was a muggleborn, and it didn't seem to matter now. Tom never asked and it never came up. He guessed it was logic that all or surely most Slytherins were full-blooded therefore Wiley was. That was just a stereotypical thing for Slytherins but if that was what Tom thought what if Wiley said otherwise? What if Tom stopped talking to him? He bit his lip and leaned against the wall beside the door not wanting to see what Tom was doing.

He rested his head back, and exhaled, trying to stop himself from thinking of everything bad that might happen if he does the slightest thing wrong. He can't do anything wrong or Tom might never talk to him again or he might even make him an enemy. He didn't want that. He really liked Tom. He calmed himself down by just resting there.

Looking back through the crack he watched Tom experiment, with different incantations on different bugs. Wiley had now figured out that Tom had an assortment of beetles in jars, and as he said these spells he pointed to a different jar watching how each affected them. He did this on two of the six jars. Three more were already labeled, and the bugs seemed rather ill. Wiley chewed on his lip as he watched, and then there was a shuffling of things. A jar was knocked over and he hid again.

"Come on out," Tom's voice thundered practically, and Wiley heard footsteps come toward the door, "C'mon…" and then slowly he drew out his name, "Wiley."

The fifth year stiffened, and quietly slithered into the room. He looked up at the taller boy, and tried to act like he didn't have an ounce of coward ability within his blood, which was quite hard to do. Tom stepped forward toward the boy, who only seemed to have moved a few inches from the door. He reached over Wiley's shoulder and closed the door. The smaller boy stopped breathing; Tom hadn't left any room between the two bodies as he reached over to close the door.

Tom looked down at Wiley and grabbed the boy's wrist, pulling him gently toward the middle of the lavatory where the sinks were. He looked down at his work; he bent down and cleaned up the mess by putting it in his school bag. He kicked it aside, and looked at Wiley who seemed extremely nervous, "Why did you do that?" he asked, stepping toward the younger student who had stood rather close to the sinks. "Hm?" he brushed Wiley's straying bangs, and tucked them behind his ear. He tilted his head and stared into Wiley's hazel eyes with his brown.

Wiley stared back noticing that there were a few more specks of scarlet in Tom's eyes, he opened his mouth ever so slightly about to speak but the touch of Tom's hand on his forehead made him incapable of speaking at that moment. He stood there staring at the older boy, and finally spoke, "I-I don't k-know," his tremor had come back; it had been awhile since he stuttered around Tom.

"You do know," Tom's voice felt like silk to Wiley's ears, the gentle caressing that was happening in the interrogation. The younger boy closed his eyes for the moment, thinking. He was hesitant to speak to Tom, and if he didn't speak he would hear the voice more. Tom moved closer to Wiley only a few inches apart from him, he leaned his head close to the boy's ear and spoke again, "Tell me, Wiley, you do know."

The voice was in his ears, it made him want to squirm uncontrollably now. Persuasion was a gift for Tom, and something no one could disobey. Wiley was like everyone else, squirming by Tom's voice. He didn't know, and why couldn't Tom accept that. He opened his eyes now, and put his hands on Tom's chest. Pushing him away gently, "I don't know, Tom, I really don't." He thought hard, "I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry." He walked away from Tom, and stood only a few feet away from him. He crossed his arms over his chest, and stood there looking sad.

Tom watched as Wiley walked off, and grabbed his shoulder violently. "Why weren't you thinking?" he shouted, turning Wiley around and throwing him with a push toward the sinks. The fifth year stumbled backwards, and fell hitting his head against the sinks.

Wiley sat up, recovering from the throw. He looked up at Tom, frightened, and he put a hand where his head at hit the stone. Glancing at his fingers there was a sticky red liquid on them, blood. Quickly he stood on his feet, and Tom went for him, Wiley winced wondering what the seventh year was going to do now. Instead Tom had taken his handkerchief from out of his pocket, and put it under the water of one of the sinks. He beckoned the boy toward him, who reluctantly stepped forward. Tom gently pressed the handkerchief against the back of Wiley's head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean…" he didn't finished whatever he was going to say. He just sighed, and looked at Wiley's newly acquired wound.

Wincing slightly at the cold water touching his head, Wiley stood there relaxed ever so slightly. He leaned back into Tom who was gently fixing up the injury. The seventh year had taken out his wand and muttered a healing spell, "There," he told him, and turned him around. "I'm sorry," he said again. Wiley looked into Tom's eyes, they were truly sorry. And the boy knew that Tom wouldn't tell anyone sorry, but now he knew only he would hear those words from Tom.

"It's okay," Wiley said, and Tom wrapped his arms around him. There the two stood, in the lavatory, embracing each other with a new understanding about each other.

Author's Note: Aww… so cute. Anyhoo, I was quick about updating this time. Might be quick about the next one too, but you never know.