"You're the one who is weak. You will never know love or friendship. And I feel sorry for you."
—Harry Potter
• — • — •
Tom prided himself on a great many things, among them his ability to read people. Even without Legilimency, he was remarkably adept at simply being able to look at someone and tell them exactly what they wanted to hear. It served him well in earning favour with both professors and admirers alike, but when he looked at Ophelia, he felt blind.
It wasn't like Tom to get so distracted. She was just one pathetic girl, after all. Unimpressive in her classes and virtually invisible outside them, Tom hadn't even realized she existed for years. It was almost unnatural. Tom made a special effort to take note of the other students, looking for exploitable weaknesses to give him an edge, yet somehow she'd entirely circumvented his awareness.
It was puzzling, and Tom hated puzzles.
More curious still, and perhaps a bit sloppy on his part, was the fact that she didn't tell any of the professors about his gift for Legilimency, even when he continued his efforts to bypass her wards in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions. Surely she knew going to a professor would immediately force him to cease? And why didn't the prospect of being found out provide sufficient danger to convince him to stop, as well?
If he had to admit, he'd almost say he'd become obsessed with breaking her shields, though he attributed it to the fact that he disliked being inferior to another in anything. The fact that her Occlumency was somehow better than his Legilimency was maddening. She didn't even flinch at his attempts anymore, not since the first time. Either her poker face had improved exponentially, or she hadn't really been trying to shield herself before at all, and Tom wasn't sure which thought was more irritating.
"Tom, you keep staring at that girl. Do you fancy her or something?" Rabastan Lestrange drawled, looking at him from over a glass of something Tom was pretty sure wasn't pumpkin juice.
Fennella Fawley, on Lestrange's other side, cocked her head up in sudden alarm.
"Don't be ridiculous, Rabastan," she sneered. "Tom would never like a plain looking girl like that, would you, Tom?"
"No, of course not."
It was troublesome that they noticed, however. He'd have to be more subtle.
"Did she wrong you, then? Why else would you stare at that mudblood?"
"Is she a mudblood?" Tom asked before he could stop himself. He'd managed to trace his own ancestry back to the great Salazar Slytherin armed only with a middle name, but he still couldn't find a crumb's worth of information on Ophelia Ashwood when she was sitting mere feet away. "How can you be so sure?"
Lestrange shrugged carelessly. "I don't recognize her, so obviously she isn't pure-blooded."
Tom felt it redundant, but was inclined to say anyway, "She could still be a half-blood."
"Mud blood, half blood, they're all the same to me. Although..." he grinned wolfishly, "she doesn't look half bad, for not being pure. I wouldn't mind giving her a tour of the dungeons, if you catch my meaning."
Fennella looked scandalized. "You can't be serious! I should tell your mother and you'll never give anyone a tour of anything ever again.
Rabastan brought his goblet to his lips, unperturbed. "Please do. The crone won't be able to castrate me after you tell her and she has a stroke."
Sensing a losing battle, Fenella turned grudgingly back to Tom, keeping her eyes glued to Ophelia across the room. "So why were you staring at her? Did she cross you? Do you want us to get even?"
She sounded hopeful, a dangerous smile dancing across her lips.
"There is no need. I have this entirely under control," Tom replied evasively.
Even as he said it, Tom doubted the truthfulness of his words.
III
Christmas holidays came, and with it left most of the school. The idea of returning to the orphanage was laughable, so Tom found himself among the dozen or so who stayed. When he strolled down to breakfast that first morning, entirely alone, it didn't escape his notice that a certain someone had stayed behind as well. Tom racked his brain and couldn't seem to recall if she had always stayed behind, another oversight on his part. Did she have no family to return to, or was there a reason she didn't want to? Perhaps she really was a muggle born after all.
Just as Tom took a seat down the table (there was only the one, to account for all the missing students), a spattering of the usual owls swooped in bearing mail and various small packages, except he was startled by, not an owl, but an augery swooping in low by his ear, dropping a letter that Ophelia reflexively caught between two fingers.
Tom tried not to watch, but his eyes were drawn to the way she stared down the envelope, frozen, as though afraid it might catch fire. It didn't seem to be a howler, so her reaction was unwarranted, though Tom dearly wished it were one, because then he wouldn't have had to guess at her peculiar reaction. It was something on the road between longing and fear, with perhaps more than a little guilt sprinkled in.
Abruptly, Ophelia's head shot up, and Tom's first thought was that she'd caught him watching. Too late he realised she wasn't looking at him at all, but past him, at the staff table. By the time he turned around, he'd missed whoever it was she was really staring at, and when he refocused his attention the paper was already igniting, unread and unopened, into a pile of ashes on the table. A second later, she pointed her wand at the remains and they too were gone, a look of grim determination on her face.
No one noticed, but she hadn't uttered a word the whole time. That chronically average witch had cast silent magic and not a single person thought twice about it. Except Tom.
He missed nothing.
The longer he thought through the facts, the more his frown deepened. She possessed both Occlumency and the ability to cast silent magic, things that required years of ceaseless effort to achieve, and only with an incredible amount of innate talent. Even he had only managed to perfect the skills a summer prior, so the fact that another his age had somehow managed it as well irked him far more than it should have.
If he were entirely honest, he'd say he was actually growing to despise Ophelia. Someone else as gifted as Tom should have caught his attention and been subject to the school's rapture the same way he was, not barely scrape by on Acceptable's in all her classes.
He was going to discover what that girl was hiding no matter what, and the holidays just happened to be the perfect time to get to the bottom of it, no more distractions.
What Tom didn't realise then was that just as he was closely watching Ophelia, he, too, was being carefully observed. Each minute flash of annoyance and anger that cracked through his mask didn't escape Albus Dumbledore, nor did the way the boy watched his classmate.
III
Ophelia, Tom noticed, had an annoying habit of vanishing into thin air. Not literally, of course, since no one could Apparate within Hogwart's Grounds, but if he hadn't known any better he would have thought she'd somehow managed it.
When he did manage to finally find her, however, he was surprised to find she wasn't alone. He'd gotten the impression she was something of a loner, only really keeping the company of her fellow Gryffindor prefect, Ephriam, if anyone at all.
Tom approached from behind to the sound laughter, pasting a pleasant smile to his face.
"Hello, Rubeus. Ophelia."
They both started, jumping back several feet from where they had been standing. Ophelia stiffened.
"Riddle," she said, nodding curtly.
"Oh, hullo Tom," the large second year greeted back, impervious to the tension in the air. "What're you doin' out here?"
"I could ask you the same," Tom replied mildly.
"Being outside is hardly against the rules," Ophelia cut in before Hagrid could answer, sending the younger Gryffindor a sharp look. "So I don't see why it matters to you."
"I'm just being polite. There are so few of us here now, after all. All the Slytherin's are gone besides me."
It was by design, but he didn't mention that fact.
The snow shuffled restlessly behind their backs, despite the seemingly empty expanse.
Riddle quirked his head to the side. "What was that?"
"It was-" Hagrid began excitedly.
"A figment of your imagination, I'm sure."
Hagrid paused, hiding his confusion poorly. He looked quizzically at Ophelia.
Tom took the opportunity skim over Hagrid's mind, but was soon forced to stop. It was easy enough to gain access, but once he was inside, all he saw was a dizzying mess of circling images and garbled words,. He'd never felt anything quite like it, outside of the other times he'd tried to gain access in the past. Tom theorised the boy, nearly seven foot at twelve years of age, had a fair share of giant blood. It explained his height and the way his brain felt nearly inhuman, at least.
Just as he was about to withdraw, he felt a sharp spike of, not quite pain, but something that was the mental equivalent of a hard shove. He needn't have looked far for the cause, based on the way Ophelia narrowed her eyes at him.
He hadn't really considered the fact that she might have been a legilimens as well. The message was loud and clear: you can go after me, but stay out of his head. Tom supposed she'd never actually tried Legilimency on Hagrid, then, if she imagined he'd met any sort of success. No matter.
In the time it took Tom to blink, she was on the ground, face down in the snow.
"Sunspot, yer know that's not v'ry nice!" Hagrid admonished, leaping around to seemingly chastise the air. More snow rustled. "And I'd though' better of yer, too, Aeliolus."
Tom couldn't help but get the impression he was missing something. Given what he knew about Hagrid's penchant for dangerous beasts, and also the fact that whatever it was, he couldn't see it, the field vastly narrowed, yet, somehow, Hagrid and Ophelia both seemed to be able to see the creatures.
Tom knelt down and offered Ophelia a hand. Much like the first time he'd done so a month before, she lifted her head and stared at it as though it might zap her, before brushing it aside and getting up on her own.
"I think you've spoilt them, Hagrid," she muttered, rubbing her shoulders and grimacing. "Now they crave attention, and get feisty when you ignore them."
"Aw, they're jus' a bit excited, tha's all," he defended earnestly. "Not used ter bein' noticed."
"I certainly notice them now," she agreed a bit sourly. "By the way you talk, you'd think they're puppies."
Nonetheless, she relented and began stroking the back of her hand against the air, air that then began humming with contentment.
"Do yer want to pet 'em, Tom?"
"Pet... what, exactly?"
"The thestrals, o' course."
Internally, Tom recoiled. He wasn't superstitious enough to believe they were bad luck, but having a creature right before his eyes that he couldn't see was unsettling in itself.
"Rubeus, he can't see them," Ophelia responded before Tom could articulate any words. She seemed relieved, for whatever reason, as though he'd passed a test she hadn't expected him to. "I'm sure he doesn't want to."
Hagrid's face fell in disappointment.
"Why not?" Tom said, if only to prove her wrong. "Show me where."
Hagrid excitedly reached forward, only to find Ophelia got there first. She gripped his forearm loosely, just above the wrist, and guided it forward until it came into contact with something hard and leathery. He could feel warm breath against his arm, and could even see it disappearing into the winter air like a puff of smoke just as suddenly as it appeared.
Ophelia immediately let go, backing up several steps.
"Rubeus?" Tom began, quickly thinking of a way to be rid of the younger student. "If you'd like to feed them, I'm sure you could find fresh meat in the kitchens."
He casually mentioned directions on how to sneak in.
Hagrid's beetle-black eyes lit up with barely contained glee. "Yer really think the elves would give me some?"
He didn't wait for an answer. Before Tom could so much as blink, he was already trudging his way furiously through the snow back up to the castle steps. It reminded Tom that, beneath his monstrous size, he was still merely a child.
"That was nice," Ophelia said suspiciously. It sounded less like a compliment and more like an accusation.
"I'm known for my generosity."
"Among other things."
"Oh? What else are people saying?"
"Mostly that you're some kind of genius," she admitted grudgingly. "But your companions are real pieces of work."
"Would you judge me by the friends I keep?"
"Yes," she said shortly.
Tom was a bit surprised by the honest answer. "That doesn't seem fair."
"You can tell a lot about a person by who they choose to surround themselves with."
"What about you?" Tom countered, letting his hand drop from the Thestral. "What should I assume about you, who doesn't surround yourself with friends at all? I'd think your character of more suspect than mine."
Ophelia nodded in thoughtful agreement. "Definitely."
Again, Tom was startled by her answer. "There's an easy way to remedy that you know."
"Do tell," she sighed, sarcasm seeping into the space between her words.
Tom responded anyway. "Make friends."
She laughed breathily. "I don't need you to tell me that, Riddle."
"Did I say something funny?"
She fought to keep her face straight. "Let's just say, I'll make friends if you do."
Tom raised a brow. "Are you trying to imply something?"
"I just think you know as much about having friends as I do."
Again, she kept her eyes lowered, not meeting his.
"I thought we had at least agreed that I have plenty of friends, even if we don't agree on their integrity."
Her lips twitched. "If you recall, I called them your companions," she reminded him. "I never said anything about friends."
Tom thought back and realised she was correct.
On impulse he took a step forward, saying, "Why not help each other then?" She waited for him to continue. "You have no friends, and you claim neither do I."
"What are you getting at?" she asked, though it was obvious she knew exactly what he was implying.
"Let's be friends." He, of course, had no need for friends, but if she thought they were, eventually he'd discover what she was hiding, and it was obvious she was hiding something.
As the old saying went, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
A/N
Wow this chapter was absolutely rotten to write. I mustve gone back and edited it five different times and I'm still not sure. It seems kinda slow. Am I imagining it? Well, pace is going to pick up soon.