LAST TIME: Harry experiences emotional tumult regarding Tom's murderer status, and Tom is given the silent treatment. Harry goes to the Malfoy Christmas Ball and exchanges passive-aggressive small talk with Abraxas Malfoy. Tom arrives at the party, and people confirm that Montgomery Lestrange was NOT a good person. Harry escapes into a small courtyard, encountering Cassius (weird as usual), who makes him reconsider his stance on Tom's actions. As Harry returns, Orion is drunk. Tom asks Harry to dance, and they reconcile; despite lingering unresolved tension. Walburga and Druella dance together, and Harry takes Orion back to the castle. Christmas day dawns, and Harry receives a broomstick from Orion, and promises to teach him the patronus.
Rigel's condition is worsening.

"And then you focus on your happiest possible memory," Harry said, his voice ringing through the empty Charms classroom.

"My happiest memory?" Orion frowned, pouting slightly. "But there are so many!"

"You need a memory that makes you feel lighter than air," Harry explained patiently. "Something that could lift you off the ground- something so happy you feel like your heart might give out."

Orion nodded with renewed determination, and screwed his eyes shut. After a moment he opened them again. "I think I've got one."

"Are you ready to try?"

Orion nodded, and (with a prompting gesture from Harry), waved his wand, muttering, "Expecto patronum!"

Not much happened. Perhaps a single spark of silver came from the end of Orion's wand, but it may have been Harry's imagination.

Orion lowered his wand with a defeated expression and stuck out his bottom lip. "I'm terrible," he whined, running a hand through his hair.

"You're not terrible," Harry rushed to assure him. "You just aren't focusing on a good enough memory. What are you picturing?"

Orion smiled, and turned his gaze on Harry. "The first time you called me your friend!" he declared.

A warmth spread through Harry's chest. "That's… that's really sweet, mate, but no wonder it isn't working!"

"…Huh?"

Harry shrugged, glancing around. "We've only known each other for a few months, really. It's great that you obviously care a lot, but this spell needs some seriously strong emotions… what about your siblings?"

Orion's expression downturned. "A lot of my memories with Meissa and Rigel are… soured. Most of them take place in St Mungos," he admitted.

"Okay," Harry said softly. "But how do they make you feel?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Harry said awkwardly, "My happiest memory is my parents. And they're… dead, obviously, so it's sad- but that doesn't make it any less happy?" Harry winced, aware he wasn't quite getting his message across. "I guess, what I'm trying to say- sometimes sadness can make the happy moments even happier. Your memories aren't soured… they're emphasised. Don't focus on the context of the memories, just how that moment, that person… made you feel inside."

Orion looked like he was mulling over what Harry said, finally nodding in comprehension. "I'm going to try again."

Orion flicked his wand, wrinkling his nose in concentration, and chanted: "Expecto patronum!"

A burst of silver-blue light, swirled and billowed from the tip of Orion's wand like ash from a fire, lighting up the Charms classroom with a warm glow. Harry whooped and clapped a little, grinning at his friend's success.

But Orion wasn't satisfied. He set his jaw, pursed his lips, and said strongly once more: "Expecto patronum!"

A shape burst from his wand this time- not as defined as Harry's (but not many patronuses were), but definitely recognisable. It moved around the room in a few short loops, before kicked its tail and fading into the air.

"A dolphin," Orion breathed, his voice vibrating with excitement, eyes sparkling brighter than a lumos charm.

Harry was almost speechless. "Mate… that was a corporeal patronus."

"Was that good?" Orion asked, turning to face Harry excitedly. "I think that was good- that was good, wasn't it?"

"Merlin, yes. It took me ages to get a corporeal patronus-"

The breath was knocked out of Harry as Orion threw his arms around him in a tight hug. Harry stumbled back, putting his arms around his friend to steady himself as he let out a heavy huff of air. Orion leaned his head back to offer a sheepish grin. "Best Christmas present ever," he told Harry. And then after a pause: "Now maybe I can do it again!"

"Slow down," Harry laughed. "A patronus takes a lot out of you, especially the first time. It should be hitting you around about-"

Orion slumped in Harry's arms, the colour leaked out of his face.

"-now."

"I feel so heavy," Orion said faintly, clutching onto Harry's forearm and lowering himself to the floor.

"I brought some chocolate," Harry offered, bringing a bar out of his pocket, and taking a seat beside Orion on the cobbled floor of the classroom. The chocolate was a bit melted, but Orion tore into it like a starved beast.

"Thish ish sho good!" Orion mumbled, his cheeks puffed out like a hamster.

"Effective against dementors and low blood sugar," Harry said with a funny quirk to his lips.

"How do you know? Have you seen a dementor?!" Orion asked in awe, talking around a mouthful of chocolate.

"Fought off a couple hundred of them," Harry said with a grin. "Wouldn't recommend it."

"Wow."

"But what about you, huh?" Harry nudged Orion's shoulder playfully. "Corporeal patronus in a few hours. That's pretty brilliant."

Orion gave Harry a delighted smirk. "It was, wasn't it?"

Harry snorted and tilted his head back, noticing the many scorch marks that decorated the Charms classroom ceiling. Ah, first years.

"…Do you want to know what memory worked?"

Harry flicked his gaze to Orion, who was gazing earnestly at him, a question written over his features.

Harry blanched. "I mean, I'd love to," he stuttered, "But it's a bit private-"

"It's okay." Orion rested his head on Harry's shoulder, ignoring the way Harry tensed briefly. "If anyone could know, I'd want it to be you."

Harry hesitated. As curious as he was, it felt a bit obtrusive to listen to Orion's happiest memory. Still, Orion looked like he was happy enough to share, so Harry agreed. "Just as much as you're comfortable with, yeah?"

His friend took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "When I was younger, Rigel got sick for the first time. It came on quite suddenly, really. One day he was fine, the next he was heaving over the toilet, and his eyes were all yellow. He'd always been a bit chubby, but in a few days, all the weight fell away. It was like the fat melted from him- and then when I hugged him one morning, I could feel his ribs through my pyjamas. That was the day we took him to the hospital for the first time."

Harry squeezed Orion's arm lightly, but Orion shrugged him off, and continued:

"They identified that it was Aliquid's Syndrome almost immediately. We have a family history, after all. There were meetings, and doctors, and there had been an outbreak of dragon pox in the Children's Ward, so they were understaffed. And then finally..." Orion tensed a little, the first time he'd halted. "And then we had to tell Rigel what he had. And that it didn't have a cure. I had to tell him that. And so I sat down with him, and told him all about what would happen to him, and then I said that one day soon he'd be going on a big adventure, to somewhere new and exciting where no one could follow him, but that he shouldn't be scared. And then he looked up at me, and asked if I was coming too, and he-" Orion drew a shuddering breath. "He promised not to be scared if I was there."

Harry thought he felt Orion sobbing lightly against his shoulder, but didn't look at his friend in an attempt to give him some privacy.

"And that's my happiest memory," Orion sniffed wetly, rubbing at his face. "It's weird, but the thought that I'll be able to do something for him when… when he dies; that it'll be easier for him if I'm there… it's nice."

Harry rubbed Orion's back gently, letting his friend calm down. And then he asked the question that had been playing on his mind:

"But I don't understand why you had to tell him. Surely your parents..?"

Orion shook his head. "Father was working, and Mother doesn't like dealing with emotional children- plus Lucretia was throwing some sort of fit over exams, I think. And so Mother asked me to deal with Rigel."

"What a bitch," Harry said with wonder.

Orion laughed sadly. "Yeah." Hesitation. "I… it's not really her fault, though."

"Not her fault?" Harry asked dubiously. "What kind of mother does that to her children?" Lily Evan's thick hair and kind eyes drifted across his mind's eye.

"Well, she never wanted to have us- or any children, really- but she… she didn't really have a choice."

"What do you mean?"

"Father, he…" Orion shifted uncomfortably. "We don't really tell anyone this. But I suppose it's okay… most people suspect, anyway. Their marriage was quite odd."

"Most people don't suspect what?"

"How Lucretia was conceived," Orion said quietly.

"Oh."

"I heard them fighting about it when I was younger, and Mother was pregnant with Meissa. They were shouting when I went downstairs to get a drink- they used to do that a lot. Things were quite uncomfortable for a long time. I thought they'd separate, despite the… scandal it would bring."

"How was Lucretia conceived then?" Harry asked delicately, wondering if he wanted to know the answer.

"Love potion," Orion admitted bluntly. "There's a large age difference between my parents- a good twenty years, I think. When Mother was very young- it may have even been her debut ball- Father slipped something into her drink. A few days later, she told my grandparents that she was pregnant. And then she had to marry Father- the scandal would have been too much if she hadn't, it would have ruined her… I don't think she's ever forgiven him," Orion finished quietly.

And quite right, too, Harry thought, absorbed the information with no small amount of horror, but he said nothing; choosing to offer silent support.

Orion finally spoke again, his painful admission echoing throughout the Charms classroom. "I don't think I've ever forgiven him, either."

"That must have been-"

Suddenly, Harry couldn't breathe. It was like a hand had been pressed over his mouth, and his nose squeezed shut, and all he could do was clutch at his throat and gasp. He vaguely felt himself fall away from Orion and onto his back, writhing as he wheezed desperately.

And then the sensation melted into nothingness. He wasn't breathing, no, but it was like he'd forgotten he had to. Instead, Harry's mind focussed on one of the scorch marks in the left hand corner of the room, at the very top of a wall. He saw everything; the spiralling blackened scar, like a delicately spun spider's web, blooming from a single impact point-

"Harry, Harry, are you okay?"

Harry blinked, and then air was rushing into his lungs, painfully fresh and cold as it filled his chest. He panted, shallow, quick breaths as his eyes stung with almost-there tears. Finally, Harry calmed, slumping back against the floor and taking deep, satisfying gulps of air.

"What was that?!" Orion squeaked shrilly.

"I have no idea," Harry admitted weakly. This had happened before, he distinctly remembered it…

"You were fine one minute, and then your face was turning blue- I couldn't do anything," Orion fretted, the previous conversation forgotten. "It was like with the necklace."

"I dunno what it is, but it went away pretty quickly. I don't think it was serious," Harry dismissed with an air of bravado. He didn't want to go to the hospital wing. He really hated hospital wings.

"Maybe you should ask Tom," Orion suggested. "He could probably tell you what it is. Although he might be busy tomorrow, so you should catch him today-"

"Why will he be busy tomorrow?"

Orion looked at Harry like he was an idiot. "Because it's his birthday."

Oh.

"You didn't know?" Orion asked innocently, as they strolled down the corridor towards the Quidditch pitch. Harry tried not to look at the walls around him… somewhere close, Montgomery Lestrange had drawn his last breath.

"Of course I didn't know. How was I supposed to find out?" Harry said helplessly.

"So you don't have a present for him then."

"Oh yeah," Harry rolled his eyes, "I have a random gift lying around just waiting to be given away."

"Really?"

"No, of course not." Harry said. "…Do I really have to get Tom a present?"

"It's sort of the 'done thing' in pureblood circles," Orion said doubtfully.

"Tom's not even a pureblood, though!"

"I wouldn't mention that when you tell him that you haven't got a present for him."

Harry wracked his brain, trying to think of something. Maybe Tom liked odd socks? He had plenty of those lying around-

"Now what's this about presents?"

Orion and Harry froze mid-step. Harry recognised the voice with painful familiarity, and turned slowly.

"Tom," he said with dismay, taking in the Slytherin prefect; groomed to perfection as usual, leaning against the wall with precise carelessness. Tom Riddle was inspecting his nail beds with fascination, and from the languid smirk curling at the corner of his lips, Harry suspected that Tom knew exactly what they were discussing. The wind ruffled his hair artfully as he inclined his chin.

"I was just heading down to the grounds for an afternoon stroll, and I couldn't help but listen in. Apparently you're in quite the conundrum?"

"It's Harry," Orion said quickly. "He doesn't have a present for your birthday- ow!"

Orion bellowed in pain, hopping, and Harry subtly draw his foot back in. Thank Merlin that Orion didn't want to work in the Department of Mysteries. The so-called 'mysteries' wouldn't last five seconds.

"How unfortunate," Tom said, with the kind of smug grin that made Harry want to punch him.

"Yeah," Harry agreed dubiously. "Unfortunate. Although, somehow, I think you know what you want."

"Well, a thought had just occurred to me a minute ago-"

"What a coincidence."

"-I want a rematch."

Harry blinked. "…You want a what?"

Tom smiled. "You do remember our little duel, don't you?"

"Who could forget?!" Orion interrupted cheerily.

"Well, I want a rematch. Perhaps this time the proper result will out," Tom raised his eyebrow challengingly.

"You mean you think you'll win," Harry said.

"Well, yes."

"A bit presumptuous of you."

"I suppose there's only one way to find out."

Harry felt his competitive spirit rise at the glint in Tom's eye. He'd love to see that vanish…

"Fine then," Harry conceded. He was sure that Tom would just wear him down eventually either way, and it was his birthday present, after all. "When are we doing this?"

"I was thinking: now."

"What, right now? Like, immediately?"

"That is generally what the word implies, yes," Tom said indulgently. "You aren't busy, are you?"

Harry glanced at Orion, who gave a happy shake of his head.

Harry sighed, and glanced longingly out of the window at the green, open pitch in the distance. "Well, we were going to do some flying, but it's nothing we can't do later, I guess."

"Excellent," Tom said with relish. "Professor Merrythought lent me use of her classroom, perhaps we could head over there now?" He gestured widely.

Harry turned to his friend, who had stars in his eyes at the prospect of the duel. He didn't think he even needed to ask the question, but: "Are you coming, Orion?"

"You couldn't keep me away if you tried," Orion assured him. "I'll sneak in if I have to."

"I don't think it'll be that exciting," Harry replied with a teasing grin.

"Are you kidding?" Orion enthused. "Your last duel was one of the most exciting things I've ever seen. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

With that settled, they set off: Tom leading and Harry and Orion followed in his wake.

"I've never been to Professor Merrythought's classroom when she isn't there. I wonder what her first name is," Orion said absently, bumping his shoulder against Harry's.

"It's Galatea," Tom replied, calling back. "Galatea Merrythought."

"That's terrible," Harry said with a snort, and wondered if anyone in the wizarding world had a normal name.

"I think it's sweet," Orion defended.

Harry sniggered. "Matches her personality perfectly."

When they reached the Defence classroom, Tom set about preparing it. He moved the tables to one side to create a huge open space, and then opened the shutters, flooding the classroom with light. He motioned for Orion to erect a shield charm and stay behind it, and then Tom watched as Harrison removed his jumper, throwing it to the side, and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.

Harrison was looking more casual these days, Tom realised. It wasn't anything it particular about him- just a general relaxed air. He seemed more comfortable in his skin.

"Come on then, Riddle," Harrison said, rolling up his sleeves and smirking. "This is what you wanted, after all."

And it was indeed. Their first duel had been playing on his mind for months- and the desire to finally beat Harrison had been strong. And when he'd heard Harrison and Orion talking about his birthday earlier… well, the seed had been planted. Tom never felt much towards his birthdays- they came, went, and he was another year older. But occasionally they were useful- especially when guilting stubborn year mates into rematches.

"What I want is to crush you," Tom replied smoothly, drawing his wand.

Harrison mirrored him, rolling his eyes. "You never change, do you?"

"Orion!" Tom called out, not moving his eyes from Harrison's. "Do keep back."

And then they were duelling.

There were no bows this time around- they started slowly, circling each other with careful steps. Harrison seemed totally changed; focussed, alert, tense. Whilst Tom found Harrison's normal demeanour interesting; he found this heightened state equally fascinating.

Suddenly, Harrison sent a flash of red light hurtling towards Tom, who recognised it as a disarming charm almost immediately. It was simple for Tom to step out of the way. Harrison tried it again, casting another disarming spell. Tom threw up a shield this time, deflecting the blasting spell that he would have stepped into if he'd tried dodging.

"Nice idea. Shame it didn't work," Tom said, letting the shield charm fall.

"I had to at least try," Harrison shrugged.

And they were moving faster, firing jinxes and curses back and forth, ducking and weaving away from the returning fire. Harrison sent a particularly vicious ear-shrivelling curse that had Tom letting out a short burst of impressed laughter. The flashes of light and following crashes were like a storm; energy crackling from their wands in concentrated strikes. Suddenly, Tom saw Harrison wobble, stumbling over a loose pavestone corner; and Tom took advantage of the opening to send a flipendo hurtling into Harrison's chest.

It impacted, the first spell to directly hit, and Harrison was sent flying back into the wall. He slid down the bricks, landing with a sharp exhale.

Tom raised his wand, but too late he spotted Harrison, still on the ground, raise his wand and aim a reducto at the ceiling above Tom's head. Harrison's aim was true, and a heavy rain of debris followed. Tom raised a hand to cover his face, and flicked his wand, creating a gust of wind that blew most of the rubble away from him. By the time the cloud of dust had cleared, Harrison was back on his feet, albeit slightly favouring his left side. A sting above Tom's eyebrow alerted him to a gash, and he felt a trickle of blood trace its way down his cheekbone.

"We're trashing Merrythought's classroom," Harrison said, cracking his neck.

"I'm sure she'll get over it," Tom replied with bared teeth. He slashed his wand through the air and an almighty crash followed, a bolt of lightning slicing through the air, crackling through the air towards Harrison. Before it could make contact, the lightning bolt turned to butterflies; a million different colours swirling through the air. They moved in a haze of pigment, descending upon Tom. But as one of their wings brushed against his cheek, he gestured in irritation and the butterflies burst into flame; their tattered and charred wings floating to the ground.

Tom waved his wand over his head in a wide circle motion, bringing it around and around and around; stirring up the wind and dust; picking up papers at first, and then a chair, and then the whole classroom was moving; a giant hurricane of rushing wind and tumbling files. Tom could see Harrison through the dust, crouching and using his wand to knock away tables and chairs that came shooting towards him. Tom pushed through the storm, keeping his arm moving. Suddenly, Harrison spotted him (he must have eyesight like a hawk), and deflected one of the desks in Tom's direction. Tom, seeing the huge mass growing ever closer, ducked.

The spell was dropped, as was the furniture. With an almighty crash, desks and chairs fell to the ground, splintering and breaking in half. Absently, Tom registered that Professor Merrythought might not be best pleased.

But then Tom was ducking balls of flame as Harrison threw them viciously; along with the occasional stunner, crackling with power. Harrison didn't seem to show any sign of stopping, and Tom was forced to summon table legs and folders (he did hope they weren't anything important) to defend himself, forced steadily back. He'd hit the wall soon.

He needed something to distract Harrison.

"Serpensortia," Tom snarled, and a huge burgundy snake erupted from the tip of his wand, thick yellow stripes decorating the length of its body. It landed on the pavestones, uncurling itself smoothly.

"Flesssh," the snake hissed viciously, taking a moment to scent the air and then slithering towards Harrison.

Harrison moved backwards uncertainly, muttering: "Why does this always happen? I bet you're venomous too, aren't you?"

The snake lunged a little, snapping its jaws playfully once or twice. Harrison jumped, and set the snake on fire, letting the sparks disintegrate and melt the reptile into little more than ashes. Harrison threw a repulso at Tom which was easily deflected back towards him. A slicing charm made Harrison yell out, clutching his ribs.

An idea struck. Tom murmured under his breath, and Harrison fell to his knees, clutching his ears and wincing under what must have been a deafening cacophony of noise. Tom smirked- the drone charm was always effective.

Tom moved closer gradually, twirling his wand around his fingers, weaving a spell-web. As he did, the temperature around Harrison plummeted lower and lower, the boy's skin turning gradually blue-toned and frost-ridden. And as Tom leaned down over Harrison's shivering body, letting a lazy smirk decorate his lips, he tore the wand out of Harrison's weak grip and chucked it to the side; the stick clattering to the floor and rolling under a desk. There was no way Harrison could retrieve it.

He shouldn't have been so confident.

Harrison, in a sudden blaze of movement, grabbed a handful of tattered butterfly wings from the floor and flung them into Tom's face, using the distraction to send a strong kick towards Tom's shin and scramble away; Harrison's skin growing rosy as Tom's spells fell away.

Tom roared in pain and staggered backwards, his shin burning. It was bruised at least, he was sure, and he could only hope it wasn't broken. He conjured a rough bandage around his leg; and hoped that the adrenaline would pull him through.

Tom threw a stunner at Harrison, hoping he could finish this quickly. But Harrison just kept moving, and dove behind a nearby trunk for cover as Tom sent another one.

The trunk exploded and Tom staggered back, wincing on his injured leg, as bodies tumbled out of the trunk. A brunette with a bloodied stomach; a ginger with a peculiar mass attached to his chest; another ginger, throat gaping and tangled; a boy, leg little more than a stump; and a blonde, with vague, peculiar eyes; all muttering lower than Tom could hear.

"I swear I'll help you," Harrison gasped, before scrambling away.

And now Tom was closest to the Boggart. The bodies flickered, outlines blurring and melting; until they became that awful, familiar gravestone, grey and ordinary; the fatal words etched across its surface:

Tom Riddle, 1926-?

Unknown

Tom was transfixed. It was a terrible idea to stand this still in a duel, he knew that, but he couldn't help it. He was filled with such a gripping fear, it was like ice sliding down his spine; but there was anger too, an animal clawing through his abdomen. He wanted to rip the sadly-placed daisy from the foot of the grave, tear it into pieces and burn it to cinders.

By the time he tore himself away from his- boring, ordinary, muggle- gravestone; Harrison was charging across the classroom. He threw himself against Tom's chest, and Tom yelled as Harrison's weight landed on his leg. They tussled, Tom attempting to throw Harrison off and get some sort of leverage, but his wand hand was trapped under Harrison's body, and his leg felt like it was on fire.

He shouted in pain as his head suddenly slammed back against the ground. Harrison had head-butted him. His head pounded, his vision swam, and his chest burned with exertion, and he knew that he was finished. All that was left was to make it official. Harrison, gritting his teeth, wrenched Tom's wand out of his hand and pressed it against his throat, grinning viciously; leaving Tom to glare up at Harrison with something not unlike wonder, and very close to loathing.

"Well done," Tom sighed, slumping; and the moment broke. "I concede. That was very resourceful."

"Thanks. I was a goner for a while there," Harrison breathed, not looking much better than Tom. He grinned suddenly. "Now you have to help me find my wand."

"I hardly think that's fair," Tom raised an eyebrow. "That was my birthday present, after all."

Harrison snorted. "And was it everything you dreamed of?"

Tom didn't answer, but looked at the position they were in; Harrison sitting on his chest, Tom beneath him. "Have you noticed that we tend to end up in this position a lot?"

Harrison turned bright red, scrambling to his feet and lightly hopping away. "D-don't be ridiculous," he stuttered.

Tom shrugged, and pulled himself up. He winced, testing out his leg.

"Is your leg broken?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom dismissed. "I'll take a simple healing potion, and I should be as good as new in a matter of hours. I suggest you do the same- you're favouring your left side, and you might experience adverse effects from the cold."

"And whose fault is that?" Harrison mumbled, poking his ribs and frowning.

"We're placing blame now, are we? Don't worry- I'm sure my leg was injured all on its own," Tom drawled, exaggerating his limp.

"Are you sure it's not bad?" Harrison said guiltily, fumbling with his glasses.

"Don't concern yourself. I asked for the duel- and it certainly didn't disappoint," Tom admitted. It had been just as spectacular as he'd hoped, even if the result had been unexpected.

"Didn't disappoint?!" Orion shrieked, breaking his shield charm and running over, gesturing excitedly at his friend. "That was amazing! You were like LIGHTNING, and he was like FIRE, and then there were snakes and- Harry, you won!" Orion grasped Harrison's shoulders, jumping up and down.

"By the skin of my teeth," Harrison reminded him, unnecessarily modest. "I wouldn't exactly call it a resounding success."

"But you beat Tom! No one's ever beaten him!" Orion looked over his shoulder. "Sorry, Tom."

"It's perfectly alright," Tom said graciously. "Harrison was the victor. We'll just have to see what happens next time."

"Next time?" Harrison asked suddenly.

"Well, I can't let this be the end, can I? Best out of five?" Tom teased.

"I can tell that I'm going to regret everything," Harrison groaned, and allowed Orion to help him towards the door, shuffling across the annihilated classroom. "I'd better go pick up those healing potions you mentioned, yeah?" Harrison announced, muttering: "My back's killing me."

"Indeed," Tom replied. "I should head back to the dormitories myself." And then quickly, before his classmate could leave, Tom called out, "Harrison?"

Harrison glanced behind him.

Tom nodded. "Well-duelled."

"Well-duelled, Tom. Happy birthday… Sorry about the leg."

And Harrison left; leaving Tom alone with his thoughts in the devastated classroom.

Tom was a little disappointed to have lost. If he'd been less arrogant- if he'd just disarmed Harrison from a distance instead of taking his wand personally, Tom would be the victor. Next time, Tom would take that on board, and Harrison would be crushed. Still, it was a lesson learnt- and even more valuable knowledge gained.

Harrison had spoken the snake tongue.

Tom hadn't realised it in the heat of the duel, it had sounded just like English to him. But looking back, he recognised the elongated vowels; the exaggerated 's'; and the slippery consonants of snake speech.

And wasn't that just fascinating?

Tom had always taken his ability for granted. He'd seen Dumbledore's reaction as a sign that only the most powerful wizards could speak with snakes, if it was such a rare gift. And since Tom had never encountered anyone else who possessed or mentioned it, Tom had kept his talent to himself, covetous. The snake tongue had always been an embarrassingly important part of his life- he'd talk with the garden snakes behind the orphanage for hours- and he saw little need to share his gift with lesser wizards.

But hearing that Harrison shared his gift… well, this called for some research. The library had to have something.

But first he should call the House Elves. He really didn't want his Defence teacher to see this mess.

The library did indeed have something.

Perhaps it was not the most conventional way to spend a birthday, but Tom rather enjoyed burying himself in the books: hunting down the tomes on the snake language or 'parseltongue', as it was apparently called, which led him to books on Salazar Slytherin, which led him into books on the Chamber of Secrets- and that was just fascinating.

From what he could gather, people who inherited the gift of parseltongue were called parselmouths; and were nearly all descended from Salazar Slytherin. Tom wondered how Harrison and the great Founder were related. Of course, it was possible that they weren't (there were parselmouths unrelated to Slytherin- take Herpo the Foul, who frankly sounded like a genital disease), but obviously it was most likely for a British wizard to come from Salazar.

The gift was rare; rare and dark, which ticked all kind of boxes in Tom's head. He found himself grinning as he saw the 'related magics': necromancy, curses, and something called horcruxes, which sounded curious. Perhaps that could be his next project.

Tom was captured by this idea of heritage. He devoured information on Slytherin's Founder; absorbed the story of Slytherin's Heir; read greedily about the tear between Godric and Salazar; and desperately wished. If Tom were, perhaps, the Slytherin Heir- then it would mean that he could be someone. Mean something. It wasn't absurd to think he might be heir to this legendary figure: after all, who could be more worthy than Tom? He didn't fully share in Salazar's fierce loathing for muggles, but Tom had never experienced any trouble with conjuring hatred if he really needed it.

He wanted to be Slytherin's Heir. No- needed to be. It might be a myth, of course… but the story had struck a chord somewhere within Tom, and a little voice said 'this is it, this is your destiny'.

The monster in the Chamber would be some kind of snake; that much was clear. How else could Salazar make sure that the monster would be controlled only by those of his line? So it had to be a serpent: a basilisk perhaps, or a runespoor. Maybe even a cockatrice.

Tom grinned at the thought of getting his hands on such a legendary creature. Think of the stories they could tell, the magic they could share…

But perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. He didn't even know where the Chamber was- if it even existed.

Tom appeared to have struck a dead end.

He picked up a copy of 'Hogwarts: A History', within which he'd discovered the legend of the Chamber of Secrets, and weighed the heavy book in his hand. If there was any information on the castle to be found, this was where to find it. Sure, centuries' worth of historians had searched both the castle and the texts on it, hunting for the elusive chamber… but they hadn't been Tom Riddle.

He flipped to the first chapter, and began reading.

Merlin, reading had never been so dull. Who had written this? The number of run-on sentences and purple prose was painfully impressive. Not even Tom could maintain concentration. After a while, his eyes began to glaze over, and even as he continued scanning the pages automatically, his mind was miles away.

Tom turned a page, something on inventions of the seventeenth century, maybe, when suddenly- hold on. There was someone just behind him.

"What are you doing?" Tom asked abruptly and dragged his attention away from the book, looking up at Atticus Avery; who had been attempting to peer over Tom's shoulder conspicuously. Atticus looked shocked to be caught out, flushing red and stuttering.

"O-oh, hello Riddle. I was just, er, seeing what you were reading."

"Hogwarts: A History," Tom said, coolly. "It's a fascinating read."

"I'm sure it is. Just reading about Ilvermorny, eh?"

Tom glanced down at the page in front of hm. Apparently, he was.

"Evidently," Tom replied. "Was there a reason for your interest?"

"No, not really," Atticus said, clearly hiding something. Honestly, how big of a tell was it to rub the back of your neck?

"Are you sure? You must have something interesting to say."

"I did see Peters yesterday," Atticus volunteered with a cruel smirk, "looking a bit worse for wear. Maybe he tripped over his own broom."

"No," Tom rolled his eyes. How petty could you get? "We duelled."

"Did you crush him?" Atticus asked eagerly.

"Something like that."

A brief pause, during which Atticus dropped his smirk and appeared to be steeling himself. Tom was sure he would hate wherever this conversation went.

"Riddle," Atticus said, drawing a deep breath.

"Mmm?" Tom hummed, wondering how quickly he could get rid of Atticus if he threw a bone and told him to 'fetch'.

Atticus shifted uncertainly. "You went to the Malfoy Ball, right? Did… did Abraxas mention anything about my family? About us… possibly getting an invitation next year."

"No," Tom said shortly.

"He didn't talk about my father at all?"

"Not really."

"Or any upcoming events that might be a chance-"

"To be frank, Atticus," Tom interrupted, "There was no mention of the Averys at all. I don't think he finds you overly significant."

"Oh."

Atticus looked a little shocked. Perhaps Tom had been overly critical…? No, he didn't think so. The comment had been entirely warranted. If Atticus didn't get some self-esteem and stop focussing so much on party invitations, he would forever be the shade of his family history and Merlin knew that wouldn't be any use to Tom.

"Well," Atticus said more quietly, looking contrite. "Thank you for telling me. I should… I should go. Happy birthday."

And then he thrust a well-wrapped present into Tom's hand and hurried away, probably already mentally composing a letter to his father.

Tom examined the gift in his hand, turning it this way and that way. Knowing his luck, it would be yet another set of quills. He prised back the paper at one end, and slid out a wooden box, opening it to see… definitely not quills; nor any other kind of stationary. No, nestled within the box lay a smoking pipe.

A pipe.

Did Atticus think Tom was some sort of Sherlock Holmes? Since when did Tom sit around smoking? Tom shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all. Honestly, a pipe…

Wait.

Something in the back of his mind tickled. His eyes came to rest on the book in his lap once more, and without being entirely sure why, he swiftly flicked forwards several pages. He refocussed his eyes, carefully reading his chosen page; at last coming to rest on:

'The biggest Hogwarts innovation of the eighteenth century was, without doubt, the installation of an elaborate plumbing system. Working its way all over the castle, it eliminated the waste problem that the castle had been experiencing; as well as getting rid of the phantom smells caused by excessive vanishing spells. Much of the planning for the installation was credited to Ramsey Jugwell, although Hogwarts seventh-year student Corvinus Gaunt volunteered much of his time to help the architects, providing a 'student perspective'; and was given a resultant award for services to the school (see page 562). The system first experienced a major problem two months later. Due to the size of the pipes, students were able to travel through them, taking a shortcut to classes. Unfortunately, this led to several fatalities, causing available access points to be blocked off. Many questioned the safety of the blockage, as hissing was heard from the pipes for several months, but as it had disappeared by the next school year, it was never followed up.'

There. Tom didn't know why, but that was it. Perhaps it was the mention of how large the pipes were, or the hissing- but that was it. (Perhaps Atticus was useful for something, after all.) And if the secret to the Chamber of Secrets lay somewhere in the plumbing…

Tom guessed he would be visiting a lot of toilets in the months to come.

This was going nowhere.

After thoroughly searching over a dozen bathrooms, Tom was more than a bit frustrated. It had taken him two and a half months to search the seventh to fourth floors thoroughly; working from the top to bottom, checking every nook and cranny, timing his investigations so he would remain unseen, and feeling ridiculous as he hissed softly at sinks.

It had not been fun.

He was getting to the point where he'd begun researching his own heritage for fun, seeing if he could track it back to Slytherin, and at least get something solid to add to his hopes. Tom had always known he wasn't a muggleborn, somewhere, deep within- but here, this connection to Slytherin… this was the proof. He refused to be like the other brats at the orphanage, so dull and lifeless.

The first thing he'd done when he reached Hogwarts in his first year was look for his family. He'd searched for his father in the Hogwarts records- sure that his mother wouldn't have died from something as ordinary as childbirth if she'd been magical- but he could find neither hide nor hair of any Thomas Riddles. 'Riddle', evidently, was not a Wizarding name. Finally, desperately disappointed with the knowledge that his witch mother had succumbed to illness, he'd stopped looking.

Perhaps it was time to research his mother's history.

All he knew of her was what she'd given him- his grandfather's first name. Marvolo was unusual, but not unusual enough in the Wizarding world that Tom could be sure of anything. He'd have to look for muggle Riddles and wizarding Marvolos who'd lived in the same area seventeen years ago- that had to turn up something. It was going to take some effort.

He'd get Abraxas on the case.

Over the next few months, Harry watched Tom grow increasingly withdrawn. It concerned him more than it should, as there was something niggling at the back of his mind, something he was sure he should know, but couldn't grasp onto. If only he could remember what.

The Slytherins gathered in the Common room one chilly February evening. It would have been like any other evening, except for the fact that Tom had joined them; joining Orion by the bookshelves after a brief exchange with Malfoy. Seeing Tom in the evenings was becoming increasingly rare, so Orion made sure to assuage Tom with the latest Quidditch news, in case he felt out of the loop. Personally, Harry thought that Tom probably couldn't care less, but Orion disagreed.

Orion had already told Tom all about how they assigned placements for the European Quidditch Championships, and was eagerly babbling on about how to adapt a Quadpot stadium for Quidditch. Before he could stop himself, Harry made a comment about the Wimbourne Wasps that he probably shouldn't have known yet (he kept forgetting which tournaments came when); and Tom's eyes flickered to him suddenly, eyes dark with something that Harry couldn't read. Tom put up a hand abruptly, ending his conversation with Orion firmly but politely. And then he made his way towards Harry, taking a seat next to him on the sofa.

"Hey Tom," Harry said, putting a final full stop at the end of his Charms essay.

"I know your secret," Tom said bluntly, and Harry's eyes widened. His mind immediately cycled through all the things that Riddle could know: time travel, Voldemort, that time he put on Riddle's underwear instead of his own by accident, his scar, Dumbledore, the Prophecy…

"W-what?" Harry stuttered, sure his face was turning white as a sheet.

"I know that you're a Seer."

Harry's mind slowed to a halt. Tom knew that he was a what? But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense- from Tom's perspective at least. The comments about the future, Harry's brief obsession with time- even his Department of Mysteries ambition. Merlin, some owls had definitely been crossed in translation there. But he couldn't complain: Harry was lucky that Tom had come to that (wrong) conclusion. At least being a Seer didn't require Harry to be carted off to the Ministry for testing

Luckily Tom took his relieved slump as one of defeat.

"I won't tell anyone, that's not what this is about," Tom assured him loftily.

"What is it about, then?"

"I was just wondering if you'd Seen me… discovering anything."

"Discovering anything," Harry repeated shortly.

"Yes."

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific," Harry said, deciding he might as well run with this. It made a convenient excuse.

"I'm afraid I can't," Tom said, not looking very sorry at all.

"Well then: no, I haven't seen you 'discovering anything'," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"Could you look?"

"That's not how it works." If Tom had decided that Harry was a future-seeing expert, Harry might as well make up some convenient rules.

"No, you just see the Quidditch scores," Tom said, eyeing Harry suspiciously, like he thought Harry was hiding the future from him. (Well, he was. Sort of.)

"I can't choose what I see. If it's there, it's there," Harry shrugged. He was curious to see how much he could bullshit his way through this. It seemed to working well so far. He'd been spewing nothing but bullshit ever since that time turner explosion, after all.

"Well, have you seen anything else?" Tom asked, and Harry wondered what he could make up, and how much of it Riddle would believe.

"Okay," he said slowly, "I may have seen something."

Tom raised his eyebrows, leaning in subtly.

Harry lowered his voice secretively. "I see a figure… someone closely entwined with your destiny- you're both standing in a vast chamber, the ceilings higher than the eye can see. You bend, falling to your knees, as the truth of your heritage comes crashing down upon you… The figure's identity is revealed."

"Yes?" Riddle asked eagerly, face alight with excitement.

"It's Dumbledore," Harry revealed in a distant voice. "He clasps you tight to his chest, his eyes filling with tears. 'Tom,' he murmurs softly. 'Tom, I am your father'."

There was a moment of gradual comprehension, and then Tom made a sound of disgust and rolled his eyes forcefully, looking thoroughly irritated. "You're such a dunce," he spat.

Harry tried to keep a straight face, but failed; he burst out laughing, shaking with amusement as he collapsed back onto the sofa. The look on Tom's face was hilarious.

"The gift of Seeing is wasted on you," Tom told him coolly, before turning on his heel and leaving for the dormitories. The billow of his robes was much like Snape's would be in the future, and Harry wondered if that was where the Potion's master would learn it from.

"What did you do?" Orion asked curiously, joining Harry on the sofa. "Tom seemed angry."

"He's fine," Harry grinned, coming down from his high and resting his head on a cushion. "He just heard something unexpected."

"I hope he's okay," Orion frowned, staring at the dormitory stairs. "He seems distant these days."

"I'm sure he's fine, Orion," Harry assured him, despite that little niggling feeling returning. What was Harry forgetting? "He's Tom Riddle, after all."

Whoop whoop, hopefully this duel was okay. I hate writing them (I can't do action :/), but twas plot necessary, so...
And follow me on tumblr under the same name if you want to occasionally read about how much I love Orion.