Chapter Thirteen

Tom slept restlessly, and when he awoke, half-remembered dreams of the Department of Mysteries filled his mind. Even so, he and Hermione were packed and ready to go by the door while the rest of the house ran about frantically searching for last-minute items. Ginny finished next thanks to an extremely early wakeup courtesy of Tom. Judging by the glares she kept sending him though, she didn't much appreciate the gesture.

Even once everyone was ready, it still took them an ungodly amount of time to reach King's Cross. First Auror Moody wanted to wait for someone named Sturgis Podmore, who never showed, then Mrs. Weasley felt the need to argue with Black about whether he should accompany them or not. He won that argument by turning into a dog and bounding out the door. Once they finally got on their way, it transpired that the Order intended to walk them twenty minutes to the station. At that point, Tom suggested calling a cab, but Hermione was the only one who understood what that even meant, and he had to agree with her that they'd end up being even later by the time they finished explaining.

At last, they reached the platform. Tom escaped before anyone could try to hug him and boarded the train. The twins came next, followed by Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. "See you in a bit," Tom told Hermione, who had to attend a meeting for Prefects. Ron gave him an embarrassed grin, and Tom let him believe his parting words had been meant for both of them.

Ginny looked unhappy about being left alone with him, but the twins had already gone ahead. "Come on then," she told him. "We'll have to save them places."

"Lead the way," Tom said with smile. To his amusement, Ginny affected indifference, but he could feel her irritation and upset through the bond. He couldn't help but notice though that Ginny was the only one pretending not to pay any attention to him. The rest of the students they passed stared and whispered to each other as they passed.

In the very last carriage, they met Longbottom. Tom eyed the boy, eyebrows slowly raising. The somewhat round boy was pulling his trunk along and sweating with exertion. "Hi, Harry," he panted. "Hi, Ginny… Everywhere's full… I can't find a seat."

"What are you talking about?" said Ginny, peering into the compartment behind him. "There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here -"

"Wingardium Leviosa," Tom snapped, growing tired of watching the wizard try to move his trunk about like a muggle.

The boy toppled over, but returned to his feet swiftly. "Erm…"

"Just sit in here," Tom said, directing the trunk into the compartment. When the girl beside the window looked up, he smiled charmingly at her. "Sorry to intrude." The girl had long, dirty-blonde hair tangled up with her wand, which she'd stuck behind her ear. She held her magazine, The Quibbler, upside down and wore a necklace made of… were those butterbeer caps? Tom maintained his smile as he sat, but he didn't blame Longbottom one bit for being hesitant to join her. Luckily, most forms of insanity weren't catching.

"It's no problem," the girl said airily. "I'm Luna Lovegood, though most people prefer to call me Loony." She had to have heard Ginny earlier, but while anyone else would have shot a look at the girl while saying that, Lovegood just maintained eye contact with Tom and a small smile. It was honestly a bit unnerving.

Tom ignored his unease and nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Luna. I'm Harry Potter." It was probably an unnecessary introduction, but he thought it best to be polite anyway.

Lovegood tilted her head. "Are you?" she asked. After a long moment, she hummed and shrugged. "I suppose you must be, though I really think you look more like someone else."

Alarmed, Tom glanced at Ginny, who sighed and rolled her eyes. "Don't mind her," the red-haired girl whispered. "There's a reason people call her Loony."

As though Ginny hadn't said anything, Lovegood turned to Longbottom. "And you are?"

"I'm nobody," Neville said hurriedly. If ever a person could boast a lack of presence, it was Longbottom. Tom started debating whether Longbottom would better serve him like this or if he'd need to build up the boy's confidence.

"No you're not," said Ginny sharply. "This is Neville Longbottom. Neville, Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw."

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," sang Luna before returning her attention to The Quibbler.

The ride proceeded in relative silence. Longbottom tried to strike up a conversation about some plant he received for his birthday, but upon producing said plant - mimbulus mimbletonia - Tom lost interest and refused to participate in the boy's demonstration. "I don't think a train ride is the right place to activate a defense mechanism," he said coldly, and Longbottom wilted. Tom felt no pity, because defense mechanisms for magical plants tended to be rather explosive.

Not long after, the door opened to admit an older girl with long, shiny black hair. Tom searched Potter's memories for the name. Cho Chang. Ravenclaw seeker and target of Potter's one-sided crush.

"Hello Harry," she said with a smile, completely ignoring the rest of the compartment.

"Hello," Tom replied blandly. Did the Chang family have seats in the Wizengamot? He didn't think so. Any power they had in China would be useless to him, since China's government had strict isolationist policies.

The girl bit her lip, like she wanted to say something, but after standing there long enough for things to become awkward, she blushed and merely said, "I.. just thought I'd… say hello so… bye."

Ginny sighed once the girl was gone. "You probably should have asked her how she was doing."

Tom cocked his head. Ah. Chang had been Diggory's girlfriend, hadn't she. He considered it for a moment and mentally shrugged. "Sorry," he said insincerely. He felt Ginny's amused exasperation through the bond and smiled. He knew she felt conflicted about him, but he was confident that, given time, she'd become one of his most loyal followers.

It was another hour before Hermione returned, Ron in tow. The food trolley passed during that time, and after prompting from Ginny, he had reluctantly bought some snacks. Upon arriving, Ron threw himself into the seat next to Tom and snagged a chocolate frog. Tom frowned and inched toward Ginny, who crossed her arms and stared out the window with a huff.

"Who're the new Prefects?" Tom asked Hermione, who was settling in next to Lovegood across from him.

Hermione scowled. "Well, there's Malfoy and that complete cow Pansy Parkinson. How she got to be a Prefect when she's thicker than a concussed troll…"

"Politics," Tom said, waving his hand dismissively. "Who else?"

Ron answered him, mouth still full of chocolate. "Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot for Hufflepuff." A pureblood and half-blood, both from the Sacred Twenty-Eight and with close connections to Susan Bones, the niece of the current head of the DMLE.

"And Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw," Hermione finished. A half-blood and a pureblood, both from families with a strong economic presence outside of Britain.

"You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil," announced Lovegood quietly. She was watching them over the top of The Quibbler.

Ron swallowed his chocolate frog and gave her a bemused look. "Yeah, I know I did," he told her.

"She didn't enjoy it very much," Lovegood continued. "She doesn't think you treated her very well, because you wouldn't dance with her." The girl paused thoughtfully. "I don't think I would have minded. I don't like dancing very much."

When Ron didn't reply to that, Tom joined the conversation. "In that case, next time there's a Ball, I will be sure to ask you to be my date," he said. "I didn't treat Parvati very well either, after all." Or at least, Potter hadn't, but Tom didn't blame him, much. A girl who didn't want to dance sounded perfect to him. Additionally, so far Lovegood seemed very much like the sort of girl he could abandon mid-Ball without any repercussions. It was a shame she was completely mad.

Ron gave him a flabbergasted look. "You want to take Loony to a Ball?" He shook his head wonderingly before returning the topic to himself and his status as Prefect. "Well, anyway, we're supposed to patrol the corridors every so often. I can't wait to find Crabbe and Goyle - they're bound to be doing something I can give them detention for."

His fellow Prefect frowned but merely harrumphed rather than bother scolding the boy.

Oblivious to Hermione's irritation, Ron continued. "I'll make Goyle do lines, it'll kill him, he hates writing," he said happily. He lowered his voice and, with a look of pained concentration, mimed writing in midair. "I… must… not… look… like… a… baboon's…backside…"

Everyone save for Tom laughed, Lovegood hardest of all. Her laughter extended far past the socially acceptable timeframe and well into being weird. Tom waited her out, then said seriously, "You shouldn't insult another's intelligence and appearance simply because you dislike them."

Ron scowled at him. "Why not? You think Malfoy doesn't do the same thing?"

Tom raised his eyebrows. "We're aspiring to be like Malfoy now?" He waited just long enough for Ron to start turning red, then sighed. "Goyle may well be a truly awful person, and if you want to insult his character because of it, then that's all well and good. However, you should avoid conflating poor character with low intelligence or unattractiveness. He may also have both of those qualities, but that's hardly why you dislike him, correct?"

The teen shifted uneasily, uncertain where this was going. "I guess not," he mumbled.

"Well, when you insult him in that manner, what gets across is that you dislike people who are unattractive and unintelligent. If that's not the impression you want to give others, you should avoid making that sort of joke." Tom wouldn't have bothered, but such low humor annoyed him, and he was going to have to share a dorm with this boy for the next few years.

Ron was red again, but now it was in apparent embarrassment. Longbottom, on the other hand, was looking at Tom with an awed expression on his face. Small wonder. The boy likely thought he fell under the unattractive and unintelligent category as well and felt hurt by Ron's jokes.

Lovegood was also watching him again, lips turned down somewhat in a puzzled frown.

The door opening saved Tom from further scrutiny. Three boys stood in the doorway: two hulking brutes and a small, pointy little thing that could be no one else but Lucius Malfoy's son. The other two were mostly likely Crabbe and Goyle's sons then. Tom hummed to himself. Speak of the devil...

"Yes?" Tom drawled, already bored with the trio.

With an air of superiority, Malfoy said, "I just wanted to make sure you were aware that I, unlike you, have been made a Prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments." Malfoy grinned gleefully at this, apparently unaware how absurd it made him look.

Tom cocked his head. "You wanted to awe me with your knowledge of what a Prefect does?" he asked in mock confusion. "Should I congratulate you for knowing what everyone else figured out as a first year?"

The boy flushed, lip curled. "Watch it, Potter. I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line."

Tom rolled his eyes. "I'm impressed," he said sincerely. "I like how you managed to not-so-subtly threaten me without detracting from the obsessive nature of the sentiment. Sadly, I remain uninterested."

Ron snorted, and even Neville choked back a laugh. Lovegood shrieked with laughter, which was a bit much, considering he'd done nothing more than insult a fifteen-year-old boy. Then again, she was nothing more than a fourteen-year-old girl. Malfoy snarled and slammed the door shut.

"You know, he really does spend a lot of his time thinking about you, doesn't he Harry?" Ron mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "You might be onto something there."

Tom shuddered. "I'm fairly positive Draco Malfoy isn't harboring any interest in me beyond his already established hatred. It's just that I'm the first person he's ever tried to associate with who's turned him down."

To his surprise, Longbottom nodded. "Before Hogwarts, no one was ever willing to outright say 'no' to any of the Malfoy family. Even Gran has to be careful about declining invitations from them."

The rest of the ride passed peacefully until they changed their robes and stepped off the train. Tom breathed in the cool night air, closing his eyes and taking in the scent of fresh pine and the gentle thrum of Hogwarts' magic. He really had missed Hogwarts, his first and only true home. Opening his eyes again as he felt Ginny's hand on his arm, he smiled and moved toward the stagecoaches.

"Hi there," he murmured to the thestral in front of the nearest coach. He rubbed its flank, enjoying the cool, smooth feel of its skin.

"Erm… Harry? What are you doing?"

Tom looked and saw Ron and Hermione standing there looking concerned. Behind them, Longbottom and Lovegood squeezed their way out of the crowd of students, while Ginny gingerly reached her hand up and blindly reached for the thestral. "Here," Tom said and guided her hand. "It's a thestral."

Ginny blinked. "What are they?" she whispered.

Lovegood's light voice answered her, the girl moving beside them and also petting the winged horse. "They're creatures only visible to those who've witnessed and fully comprehended Death."

Tom felt Ginny's hand twitch under his, but she didn't retract it. He took pity on her. "They might feel reptilian, but they're actually a type of flying horse. They're quite beautiful, in their own way."

"I'm not sure I want to be touching something you consider beautiful," Ginny snarked.

Tom smirked. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Ginny."

Once they'd boarded the coach, Ginny frowned at him. "Why don't you call me Ginevra? T- The diary always did."

With a shrug, Tom settled in next to the window with Hermione next to him and Ginny across from him. "Sixteen was a long time ago for me, Ginny," he said wryly. "It's difficult to say what that particular horcrux was thinking." He scowled, remembering going through Potter's second year. "Or if he was thinking at all," he added. "Honestly, 'enemies of the heir beware'? I'm surprised he didn't expire from shame alone. He very easily could have unobtrusively revived himself rather than creating a fuss and getting caught."

Hermione shushed him, eyeing Lovegood, who was apparently engrossed in her magazine, and the boys, who were discussing Hagrid. Tom gave her an appreciative smile that widened into a smirk when she blushed. Just then, Lovegood spoke up, her voice louder than necessary. "I'll be quite glad if he has," she said. "He isn't a very good teacher, is he?" Something about the Hagrid conversation, Tom assumed.

"Yes, he is!" said Ron angrily as Hermione and Ginny asked, "Who?"

Lovegood tilted her head as she stared at Ron. "The boys were wondering if Mister Hagrid had been fired. Ronald doesn't seem to agree that he's a poor teacher, but we think he's a bit of a joke in Ravenclaw."

Ron glared at her. "You've got a rubbish sense of humor then." Then his glare shifted to Tom, who looked back blankly for a moment before realizing what was expected of him.

"I'm sure… Hagrid... is just busy," he said placatingly, not really willing to acknowledge that Rubeus Hagrid of all people was even a teacher, lousy or otherwise. How in hell did that oaf manage it when Tom couldn't? Oh yes, because Dumbledore adored the dangerous half-breed while he'd hated Tom on sight. He turned toward the window to hide his irritation.

The warm glow of torchlight in the darkness and Hogwarts' silhouette calmed him. A soft smile crept across his face as he watched the castle slide into view. He was home. Everything else would sort itself with time.

Entering the castle and, shortly after, the Great Hall made the nostalgia even stronger. Tom touched the stone around the door as he entered the Hall, then followed the others to Gryffindor table after a slight stumble. He cast a glance at the Slytherin table, where he'd almost walked, and shook his head. Even if Potter were in Slytherin, the House had changed dramatically in the intervening years. Tom doubted he'd enjoy it any more than Gryffindor at this point.

When he sat, taking a seat between Hermione and a brunette wearing makeup (Tom had always believed that if you noticed it, the makeup was excessive, but this girl clearly disagreed), he scanned the staff table. He recognized very few professors from his own days at Hogwarts, but they all matched the teachers in Potter's memories save one. Tom sighed. She looked like exactly the sort of woman who would assign the Slinkhard book.

She was squat, and her weight distribution managed to give the impression of an amphibian, something her wide-set, prominent eyes did nothing to alleviate. Tom hoped, for her sake, that she hadn't been in Slytherin as a child, as the green would have made it impossible to ignore the resemblance. Presumably she was aware of this, as she wore pink, a most decidedly untoadlike color. Tom grimaced. Pink was undoubtedly the best color for her, if he took in her skin tone and hair color and all else, but had she never heard of moderation?

The witch in question caught his gaze and narrowed her eyes, not quite scowling, but close. Tom gave her a vague smile in return as though he hadn't just written off any possibility of her being a capable teacher. The woman sniffed and looked away. Tom turned back to Hermione, who was also examining the staff table. "So much for DADA this year," Tom muttered to her.

Hermione grimaced and nodded. "I know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover but…"

"I've never really liked that saying," Tom commented idly. At her questioning look, he elaborated, "I mean, that makes it seem as though the author had no input into their book's cover whatsoever. I suppose that might be the case for muggles, I haven't kept up with the state of their publishing industry, but it certainly isn't true for wizards. And really, if you can't be bothered to make your cover halfway decent, why should I bother reading your book?"

The girl paused, considering that. "I think in the muggle world it's more common for the publishing company to have control over that sort of thing," she said at last, "so it might be a case of the saying crossing over via muggleborns. I personally don't like it much because, well, I can only read so many books in a day. I have to use some metric to pick which ones I'll read, don't I?"

That made Tom chuckle. "A witch after my own heart," he said warmly, making her blush again. Were all girls this easy to embarrass nowadays? Ginny and Hermione seemed to turn red at the slightest provocation. Perhaps it was more of a Gryffindor attribute though… He shook away the tangential thought as the Sorting began.

The hat sang a stranger-than-normal song, Tom thought, about bringing all four Houses together. That was fine with him. One couldn't truly say they had conquered Magical Britain if only a quarter of it was willing to follow them. Tom would need to draw from all four Houses anyway, so he was perfectly happy to oblige the hat in its call for unity.

Once the Sorting had finished and Dumbledore had spouted his latest inanities, Tom sat looking around, foot tapping impatiently. He hated Hogwarts feasts. It was too much food, too many scents, too many people, too much socializing. Next to him, Hermione sighed and put some food on his plate. "You need to eat," she said quietly.

Tom eyed the food skeptically. "Do I?"

"Yes." Hermione fixed him with her most irritated look. "I don't know about your actual body, but Harry Potter's body needs food to survive."

"Yes, mother," Tom muttered. He grudgingly nibbled on the dinner she'd given him. At least she'd stuck to the lighter foods, what few there were. He didn't think he could stomach eating the heavy, meat-laden dishes that made up most Hogwarts meals. The girl was correct, which was the only reason he was willing to listen. Even as Lord Voldemort, he'd technically needed food, although he'd always gotten by on the bare minimum, aided by Nutrient Potions. He pushed some broccoli around on his plate, watching the creamy sauce on it smear across the polished surface with thinly veiled disgust. Perhaps Severus would be willing to brew Nutrient Potions for him.

Tom wondered if perhaps Voldemort's new body no longer required food. He wouldn't mind trading in this body for one capable of photosynthesis.

When the food (finally) disappeared, Tom sighed in relief and avoided Hermione's flat stare. He hadn't eaten enough for her standards, apparently. At the front of the Hall, Dumbledore stood. "Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," he said. "First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students… and a few of our older students ought to know by now too."

Tom hummed. This from the man who'd hired Hagrid, who was half the reason the forest was so dangerous in the first place. Acromantulas… Really.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons. We are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the -"

Tom's interest revived as Dumbledore cut off and looked inquiringly behind him. Following his gaze, Tom realized that the DADA professor - Professor Umbridge, apparently - was standing. "Hem, hem," she said, the fakest sounding cough Tom had ever heard.

"Thank you, Headmaster," the pink woman simpered, "for those kind words of welcome."

Already, Tom was wondering if he might be allowed to skip DADA. She affected an annoyingly high-pitched, little girl tone of voice, and while he supposed that wasn't quite worse than Quirrel, it still grated on his nerves from start to finish.

Umbridge gave another fake little cough and continued, "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. Tom wondered if she'd filed them or if she just naturally looked carnivorous. "And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!"

Beside him, he heard a girl whisper, "I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan." Quiet snickering and giggling followed.

Tom disagreed. You couldn't pay him to befriend this woman. He couldn't quite explain it himself, but she made his skin crawl.

Then Umbridge gave another hem, hem and launched into a long, boring monologue about her aims at Hogwarts. It sounded like some low-level Ministry lackey wrote it, which made Tom wonder if Umbridge was that lackey or if it had been someone even lower on the totem pole. Either way, it was a prime example of using a lot of words to say very little of meaning.

"Well, that was illuminating." Hermione seemed to find the speech much more informative. At Tom's questioning look, she clarified, "The Ministry's interfering with Hogwarts." She made it sound all sorts of ominous.

Tom snorted. "And?"

The girl blinked. "And… that's bad?" It came out as a question though she almost certainly hadn't intended it that way.

"Of course it is," Tom agreed, "but we already knew that, didn't we, after the way the Ministry's been going after Dumbledore all summer."

Merlin, was that a pout? Hermione sniffed and turned away from him, and Tom sighed. Teenagers were so easily offended. As everyone began clambering to their feet, Tom turned to Ron, since Hermione seemed to be using the first years as an excuse to ignore him. "What's the password?" he asked.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," Ron enunciated slowly. "Merlin, couldn't give the first years something easy for their first week could they?"

Tom thanked him and left the Great Hall and, using various shortcuts he still knew from his own school days, climbed to the seventh floor. After a quick glance in each direction, he strode to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to dance and quickly paced back and forth. I need the room with my horcrux, he thought.

A door appeared, and Tom entered the quiet room he'd created to first relax in and, later, practice dark magic and hide his horcrux in. It was much like the Slytherin dorms, but lighter and less oppressive. Tom shook himself. He didn't have time to be reminiscing. He hissed the password, and the fireplace folded away to reveal a smaller room holding nothing but the diadem.

"There you are," he said with a smirk. He picked up the diadem and felt its corrupted magic send seeking tendrils toward him. "None of that," he chided and conjured a bag to put it in.

Whistling, he left the room and hurried to the portrait that guarded the Gryffindors' Common Room. "Mimbulus mimbletonia," he told the woman in the painting, and she smiled and swung open.

Their Common Room was… loud, Tom decided upon entering. Students hung about in every nook and cranny chattering to each other, the fireplace crackled merrily, and the bright reds and golds aptly conveyed Godric's utter lack of taste. Tom nodded to the twins and, consulting Potter's memories, went up to his year's dorm.

Two boys - Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, Tom noted - had already begun the yearly process of setting up their things. Posters of Quidditch teams and mostly nude witches hung around Finnegan's bed, while football paraphernalia and muggle swimsuit models surrounded Thomas's. Both boys quieted as he entered, then turned to stare at him, much like everyone else had so far.

Tom ignored them with the ease of someone who'd been a very popular and very handsome young man and went to his bed, opened his trunk, and flung the bag of horcrux inside.

"Hey Harry," Thomas said tentatively. "Good holiday?"

Tom glanced at the boy somewhat incredulously. "I got attacked by dementors, my relatives died, and I spent the summer reading all manner of slander in the Prophet," he said, giving Thomas a flat stare. "Overall, not the best summer. Yours?"

To his credit, Thomas grimaced, looking properly chastised. Finnegan, however, snorted. Thomas rushed to reply before Finnegan could say anything. "Sorry, yeah, mine was alright. Better than Seamus's anyway." The second he'd said it, he looked like he regretted it.

"Why, what happened?" Neville asked as he gently placed his new plant on his bedside cabinet.

Finnegan was busily straightening his few Quidditch posters and didn't answer for a moment. At last, he said, without turning around. "Me mam didn't want me to come back."

No one said anything. Longbottom looked shocked, while Thomas looked uncomfortable. Tom was changing into nightwear and ignored the whole thing.

"Why?" Longbottom asked at last.

Finnegan sighed. "Because of Potter," he said.

All three boys looked to Tom, who glanced up. He'd been deciding whether to read a book before bed or work on his letter to the Australian Ministry of Magic. A book, he decided. It'd be best to take his time on the letter. Noticing the boys' continuing stares, he rolled his eyes. "So she thinks I'm a delusional liar who may or may not have murdered his only living family?" he asked brightly.

The Irish boy looked away. "Yeah, something like that."

Tom nodded and got into bed. Before he could close the hangings around him, Seamus said, "Look, what did happen then? To your relatives? And Diggory?" The boy sounded nervous and eager at the same time. Thomas went oddly still as well, and Tom knew he was equally curious. He wondered that Gryffindors ever made it to adulthood. At least one of these boys thought he was a potential murderer after all.

"I already told Skeeter what happened with Diggory," he said, giving both boys an unimpressed look. "As for my relatives, I haven't the slightest. I wasn't at their house when they died, and all anyone would tell me is that they were dead." Well, that wasn't strictly true, but it was close enough. It reminded him though that he needed to write a letter to Tonks as well to maintain that contact.

Neither boy looked satisfied with his answer, but Tom hadn't left much room for argument. Frankly, it didn't matter to him what these two thought. He could tell from Longbottom's expression that he believed him, and even as insecure and quiet as he was, Longbottom wielded far more political power than either of these two ever would. He sent the boy a smile. "Goodnight, Neville."

Longbottom brightened. "Goodnight, Harry," he said, a painfully eager smile on his face.

Tom closed the curtains around his bed, cast some basic wards on them, and settled in for the night.

AN: I think it's unlikely that Tom would decide to hide his horcrux in the "place to hide something" configuration of the RoR. More likely, to me anyway, is that that configuration simply holds everything that was ever stored within the room, and Tom didn't realize his horcrux would end up there in addition to the room he'd hidden it in.

Credit to Rowling for dialogue and such from Chapters Ten and Eleven in the OotP. I'm trying to avoid rehashing things as much as I can, but I also don't want to change things purely for the sake of changing things.