A/N:

Uploaded again. For some reason it came through twice. :-)

Thank you to all those who enjoyed the last chapter and left me a comment! Sorry updates might be slow. I am ill, having problems eating, sleeping, moving and in pain. Have some more tests coming up and a plan of action so fingers crossed...

Chapter beta'd by Deiticlast. I hope you enjoy it :-)

…...

An Affinity..

Tom Riddle took his usual seat between a yawning Abraxas Malfoy and a sleepy-looking Marcus Lestrange in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. It was Monday morning and, of the few students around him, few looked eager to get back to their lessons. With a little smirk at the apathy of others, Tom cheerfully picked up the nearest serving dish and began to pile bacon onto his plate. That was followed by scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes, six sausages, a large spoonful of mushrooms and several rounds of toast. He began to tuck in, ignoring Abraxas's repulsed expression.

"I've no idea how you can eat that, Riddle," he drawled before cracking the top of his solitary boiled egg. "You're too happy in the morning, it's not natural state to be in.

Tom smiled with feigned politeness, the comment not irritating him as once it might have. Back in his first year of Hogwarts, his orphan's prodigious appetite had raised more than a few eyebrows at the Slytherin table. Back then, ever sensitive to the behaviour of others., Tom had taken to eating less to escape their notice. Now, with his place as the heir to Slytherin secure, he ate what he liked when he liked and let the censure roll off him.

"I find a good breakfast sets you up for the day." He raised his own sardonic eyebrow at the blonde Pureblood. "Plus, some of us haven't just rolled out of bed. I have been awake and studying since five o'clock this morning." He drove his fork into the mound of golden scrambled eggs and chewed them with relish.

Malfoy grunted.

Deciding to change the subject, Tom asked slyly, "Have you finished Binn's essay, 'The Goblin War 1795-1815, Decisive Battle Tactics Of The Most Notable Generals?'" It was due to be handed in today and he doubted Malfoy would have finished it. That meant he'd be begging to borrow his notes and offering a favour in return.

To his surprise, Malfoy grinned. "All done and dusted. Buffy gave me a few pointers."

Tom almost choked on his egg. "Buffy? Buffy Summers helped you with History of Magic homework?" he asked. He narrowed his eyes, wondering if he was being teased. "When did this happen?"

"Last night, when you were on your prefect round. She told me that she'd finished it the day it was set." Malfoy began to cut the toast on his plate, creating three equal slices. "It's strange how she manages to understand Goblin battle tactics, for someone who's been Muggle raised. The way she was rattling on about it, you'd think she was related to Bathilda Bagshot herself."

"She understands Goblin battle tactics?" Tom's eyes had turned sharp. Why the interest? Was it because she wanted high marks on her essays, or was she planning a career with the Aurors? If so, she'd need to work harder at Potions – she spent half the time staring up at something invisible near the ceiling. Slughorn might have a soft spot for her, but he wouldn't pass her if she continued to be so distracted and tried passing off shoddy work. Without meaning to, Tom's eyes drifted down the table to find the empty spot at the table where Buffy normally sat.

Fiona and Uma were in their usual places, their robes ruffled and askew as they sleepily finished off their remains of their breakfast. Travers was also there, his greasy head bowed over a book. What did he find so interesting in those old books? The Muggleborn boy rarely looked up from reading, never mind interacting with anyone. Tom had always assumed that the book was a prop, a device to avoid him catching anyone's attention. For a Muggleborn in Slytherin, it was wiser to go unnoticed.

"It took me by surprise," Malfoy was saying. "I never thought she paid much attention to the ghastly Binns. The last time we had a History of Magic lesson, she spent most of the time looking through a hair magazine."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, I was watching her." Malfoy dipped his toast into the egg before biting off the soggy top. "I thought... this has to be her cousin's influence... That, despite being a... well, an idiot, he'd been coaching her in the finer tactics of dark warfare..." Malfoy rattled on, his chewing and crunching annoying Tom.

Tom continued his breakfast and tried to look disinterested. Part of him wanted to know more about her; the rest of him was annoyed with the part of him that was so interested. The Lovegoods didn't matter to him – they shouldn't interest him at all. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more sure he was that they could all go rot under a hedge for all he cared. They were nothing but trouble and an unwanted distraction. He wasn't interested. He had plans – grand plans – and he would not allow a girl with a Gryffindor mentality to get in his way. Oh, no, he was not his mother. Just because she'd had her head turned by her hormones didn't mean he'd make the same mistake.

"...I was completely wrong," Malfoy waffled on. "She says that Lovell prefers butterflies... or was that wrackspurts? Anyway, the boy has no interest in fighting." Malfoy shook his head as if shaking phantom moths out of his head. "You know, she actually sat there and drew out the battle lines and then explained General Petrid Warbow's tactics? Says that if she'd been the one fighting him, she'd have done more than sit there twiddling her thumbs and allowing him to choose the best time and place to fight. She says that she'd have taken an elite group of Hit Wizards into the mountains and scoured the area until she found them. Buffy says you need to be proactive and take out every nest before the apocalypse season starts."

"Hmm?" Tom pretended not to be interested. Apocalypse? What apocalypse season?

"She's not only read 'The History Of Magic', but she's also got a whole lot of notes from all those reference books Binns talks about. You know the ones I mean? The ones they suggest for extra reading but no one ever does. Except you, of course. You always read them.

I must say she has impressed me these last few days. She even had Walburga looking up from her copy of Witches Weekly." Malfoy tapped the side of his nose, saying cheerfully, "You need to watch out, Tom. Mark my words; Buffy will have your place at the top of the class if you don't pull your socks up."

Tom stabbed at the grilled sausage on his plate and scowled. "Don't worry, my socks are pulled."

"That's more than you've done with Buffy," Malfoy muttered half to himself. He took another bite of toast soldier and smirked.

Riddle's nostrils flared. He tensed his jaw and stared down at the smear of ketchup on his plate. Had this weekend not been hard enough? He'd already upset Buffy by summoning snakes and calling her fat. He didn't need Malfoy making sarcastic remarks on top of everything else. Finally, when he was sure that he could speak without exploding, he asked in a cold, clipped voice, "What are you talking about? I have no wish to 'pull' Buffy."

To his left, Marcus – who had his back to them, but had been eavesdropping – swallowed his food hurriedly and swivelled in their direction.

Malfoy carefully placed his toast onto his plate. "C'mon, Tom," he cajoled. "I know you're in denial about her, but it isn't as if you're a Muggle, is it?"

Was Malfoy asking to be Crucio'd? "WHAT exactly is that supposed to mean?" Tom hissed.

There was no malice in Malfoy's face, just faint embarrassment as if this was a subject he really didn't want to broach. "It's simple. The more you fight it, the worse it'll get. Don't worry, most people don't see things like I do. I've always been... sort of... sensitive to the powers of attraction."

Tom glared. "Are you mental?"

Malfoy took no notice. "It's obvious, Tom. Your magic wants you to..." Red stained Abraxas's cheeks. "...spendsome quality time with her. I'm telling you as a friend: don't ignore your magic."

Genuinely puzzled, Tom asked. "My magic? What's my magic have to do with this? What are you wittering about Malfoy?"

Lestrange leaned forward, to pitch in with, "I think what Malfoy is trying to tell you is that Witches and Wizards often are attracted to one another due to having similar affinities."

Tom raised his chin – waiting for him to elaborate.

Lestrange sighed, then went on, "When two single people feel an attraction to one another– ."

Tom's eyes widened. "Spare me the birds and the bees lecture! I've know about what goes on physically since I was... at least seven!"

Lestrange shook his head. "I'm talking about magic not... sex." He shrugged. "Look, we all inherit certain things from our families. Take Abraxas for instance: he inherited the Malfoy's characteristic white hair, but not much else."

"Haa, bloody, haa, Lestrange," sneered Malfoy.

Marcus grinned. "So... apart from our pathetic friend Malfoy, who is a magical cripple, we inherit abilities from our family." Abraxas waved his fork in mock anger and Marcus smirked back. "The Ollivanders have a natural ability to create wands, the Vectors are brainboxes at Arithmancy, the Slughorns at Potions, the Dumbledores at Transfiguration..."

"Yes," Tom interrupted. "Genetics I understand. But what has my magic to do with..." He couldn't help it, his eyes sought out Buffy's empty spot. "...certain annoying witches."

"Your magic likes hers," replied Lestrange. "There's an affinity somewhere and that's why you keep being drawn to her. We aren't Muggles. Our magic has a say in our choices."

"Why would my magic find hers attractive?" He wasn't being conceited, just perplexed when he said, "Mine has always been powerful and controlled while hers is..." he didn't like to admit it, but it was true, "... all over the place. She has the barest control over hers."

Lestrange considered. "You're right. You're very different." He eyed Tom. "However, I think she possesses a strong magical core like you do. If she learns control over her magic, she'll be formidable."

Malfoy waved one of his toast soldiers at Tom. "That's why you fancy her. Your magic knows what it's about, even if you don't."

Tom settled back, thinking over what he'd just been told. An affinity of magic between himself and Buffy. It made sense. That would explain why he'd been so drawn to her back at the orphanage, and also why he'd gone back so many times on his decision to ignore her. It was magic – magic that wouldn't be denied. It came as something of a relief knowing there was more to this than pesky teenage hormones.

"I could just ignore it," he said cautiously. Would this affinity be seen as a weakness? He didn't want his fellow Slytherins thinking they could exploit it or use her as leverage with him. Tom pasted a sneer onto his face. "She's only a Lovegood," he added. "No one special." And he held his breath, waiting to see who'd argue or agree with his logic.

"True," said Malfoy, irritating Tom. "If we're talking of creating useful alliances, Buffy Summers isn't much good for someone like you." He put up his hand on seeing Tom's face. "Let me finish. The Lovegoods can't put a good word in for you at the Ministry or help you to get a high position there. On the other hand, they aren't the kind of Purebloods who'd turn you away. There's some... who'd make you disappear if you tried dating their daughter."

Tom slanted Abraxas a dark look.

" And as for you ignoring the attraction," Malfoy went on, not seeing it and happily tucking into his egg. "You can, but what if someone else gets in there while you're dithering?"

Tom's hand tightened around his knife handle as he cut into his bacon. Dithering? He was a Dark Lord. Dark Lords didn't dither!

"Dolohov," breathed Lestrange, shooting a dark look to where the French-born boy was listening to something Walburga was telling him. "I saw him talking to her again last night. When I pulled him about it, he insisted he was only enquiring about her health." He gave Tom a significant look. "I don't like the way he keeps looking at her."

Tom instantly had the urge to hex Dolohov.

"Oh, don't worry about him. He's absolutely no chance with her! She don't like him," Malfoy pointed out. "I reckon Crabbe and Goyle warned her off him. They don't like him either. No, Dolohov isn't going to be a problem, Dearborn is the one my money is riding on." Malfoy waved a spoon in the air as he spoke. "Good family, well-off, intelligent, popular without any sign of being arrogant..."

Tom gritted his teeth. "I'm not arrogant." He wasn't from a good family or well-off either.

"...and he's got those flashy good looks that the girls always seem to go for," Malfoy went on. "Of course, he's a Gryffindor, which should mean he'd avoid a Slytherin on principle, but..."

"But what?" Tom asked, despite himself.

"He's the sort who sees himself as a knight. The type who goes around rescuing damsels from the snakes who kidnapped her and forced her to live with them in the castle dungeons."

Lestrange nodded. "Dearborn... I agree. And you can't rule out the Blacks. My father thinks that the debt they owe Buffy will override their aversion to her being a Halfblood." He paused, adding quitely, "If she is a Halfblood..."

"She isn't Alphard's type," Tom exclaimed, knowing he was right. "He prefers boys to girls. He admitted it last year."

"I was thinking more of Rigel." Lestrange glanced down the table to where the youngest Black sat amongst the other first years "He turned twelve last week. That's only three years behind her."

"Too young," said Malfoy. "Girl like her will be popular. She won't stay single for long enough."

Tom glared at him.

Lestrange nodded. "True. What about one of their friends? The Blacks have a wide social circle and they have a lot of influence everywhere. Once Walburga starts inviting Buffy to their parties, then it won't bode well for poor Tom." He gave Riddle an apologetic look. "Sorry. We all know who you are, but too many don't."

Tom's nostrils flared. "In future, they will all be too scared to utter my name. But for now, who I am is our secret. As for Buffy... if I decide to pursue my interest there, what would you advise?" He'd listen, but that didn't mean he'd take their advice if he disliked it.

Lestrange went quiet, and left it to Malfoy to rhyme off, "Lakeside dates, kisses under the clocktower, romantic moonlit walks along the wooden bridge, pinch a boat and sail off into the middle of the lake, picnics in the Astronomy Tower –."

"Hogsmeade," interrupted Lestrange. "Spend the entire day with her."

"He needs to make a move before then!" scoffed Malfoy. "Get her in an alcove Tom, and snog her."

"I overheard Slughorn talking to Dippy," Lestrange admitted smugly. "It sounded as though we'll be getting a surprise Hogsmeade announcement in the next day or so. Take her then."

Although he disliked admitting it, Tom felt he had to. "Buffy might not be agreeable," he said. He'd never been on his best behaviour around her – never been able to charm her as he had others... And there was also the giant snake incident. She hadn't been happy about that. "If you remember, she accidentally got in the way of a snake that I summoned during Duelling Club..."

"The one that almost killed her." Lestrange's voice held something that sounded almost like condemnation and Tom shot him a hard look.

Malfoy was much more dismissive. "True, but she's bound to forgive him with a face like his. If Tom tried, he could charm an angry Veela out the forest."

Tom's lip twitched. He had a feeling a Veela would be less dangerous to deal with.

"Any girl would say yes – even a partially eaten one." Malfoy beamed. "Why, if you asked me, I'd shag you."

From behind Tom, Lestrange snorted a laugh.

"I'm not asking you!" Tom snapped. "Take that as something that will never happen!"

Malfoy blinked. "Oh, I know. I'm just saying... if I was a girl – which I'm not – I'd say yes to a date with you." To Tom's horror, Malfoy leaned forward and shouted over to where Victor Avery sat with Mulcibar. "Victor! Would you shag Riddle? I told him I would."

The conversation around the Slytherin table grew quiet, the older students casting speculative and knowing looks their way. Blood drained from Tom's face. Malfoy needed hexing! Something agonisingly painful... Something that would severe each limb piece by piece, joint by joint... Tom breathed in deeply, imagining Malfoy screaming in pain. Ah, yes, there'd be lots and lots of screaming and weeping if he carried on.

Now though, it was Avery who was panicking. "What?! Is this... is this a new kind of ritual, Riddle?"

"No, it isn't!" Tom hissed through clenched teeth. "Malfoy is an idiot. Shut up, Malfoy."

But Malfoy either didn't hear him or was intent on proving a point. "I was only saying," he said, looking for support from around the table. "If I was a girl, I'd shag Riddle senseless if he asked me to. What do you think, Avery?"

"I think you'd go for it," Avery replied quickly. A girl further up the table tittered until Tom shot her a dark look.

"Yes, but what about you? Would you shag him if he asked you?" Malfoy pressed.

Avery looked cornered. Wanting to be truthful and say no, warring with the instinct of not telling his lord that he found him unattractive. "Um, if I was a girl I'd find him..." Riddle felt Avery's eyes assessing him. "...well...er, he's got nice teeth and er, he's tall. I'm sure most girls at Hogwarts think he's, um, shaggable." Realizing he didn't sound too enthusiastic, he added, "He's bound to be brilliant at it. He's top of everything else."

Which was Malfoy's cue to say, "If I was a girl, I'd like him on top of–."

"Enough!" Tom growled, the tone of his voice brooking no further discussion. "I don't wish to continue this conversation," he glared at Malfoy, "nor will you ever think about me and sex again. I find your interest in me... distasteful."

He watched them all sourly, making sure that each had looked away and had gone back to their breakfasts or conversations before dropping his scornful gaze and returning to his breakfast.

…..