Tom is a lil bitch, meets with an old friend, and learns a new skill.

LAST TIME: Harry goes for a meeting with Merrythought to help him with his Unspeakable ambitions. She tells him to buck up his ideas, because he's been cruising. He then rushes out to get to his ill-advised date with Septimus Weasley, which Tom is clearly not happy about. They take a walk into the village together, during which Harry notices that Septimus Weasley and he are definitely not a good fit. At all. They wander into the Three Broomsticks, where Tom swoops in to join the party. Septimus takes Harry outside to admit that he knows /he's/ not the one Harry's interested in, but they are interrupted by an attack on the village. Harry rushes towards the scene and launches himself into battle mode to defend the students and is joined, surprisingly, by Tom. Harry is hit by a curse that removes a little finger, and Tom is distracted by his injury, leaving him open to attack. Harry and Tom are dragged to safety by Caspar Grahams in the surprise of the century. The teachers arrive to shut down the attack. Back at the Hospital Wing, Harry finds out his little finger cannot be reattached due to dark magic and Dumbledore guided Harry back to his office to thank him for his actions and apologise for not believing that Tom was the Heir of Slytherin. We also get an insight into the fractious relationship between Albus and the portrait of his mother, Kendra, who Harry met in earlier chapters. When Harry leaves the office, he finds out that Tom was listening in, and now knows that Harry betrayed him, all those weeks ago.

TRIGGER WARNING: Temporary loss of a leg.

Tom may have felt like a child, but the silent treatment worked. It was rather odd: that his scorching fury should translate so ice cold, but Peters appeared to be feeling the burn nonetheless. And Tom was glad.

He was fucking furious. Tom had changed his plan- he'd changed- for Peters. And the whole time, Peters had been going behind his back- telling Dumbledore about Tom's chamber, his hopes, his heritage. No wonder the old bastard hated Tom so much. He knew everything.

This was what happened when you trusted someone. He would never do it again.

Peters noticed straightaway. He tried to pretend that he hadn't- like there was nothing wrong- but he noticed. Everyone did. All throughout breakfast, Orion tried to break the awkward silence with a pun or two, but he quickly realised it was futile. Tom simply glared at those who tried to speak, and Peters stared down at the table stubbornly. It was difficult for anyone to hold a conversation, and Tom revelled in it.

He hoped Peters was stewing his guilt. He hoped it tasted bitter and bloody and he couldn't sleep at night. He hoped he never felt warm again.

Defence was understandably awkward. Merrythought definitely picked up on it.

"So who gets what in the divorce?" she asked, crossing her arms.

There were uncomfortable giggles from the class.

"Harry gets me!" Orion said loyally, and then clapped a hand to his mouth. Apparently, he'd forgotten the 'we're not talking about it' rule.

"I hardly think this is appropriate discussion for a classroom," Tom said coolly.

"Oh, Riddle," Merrythought sighed. "So much talent in such a bad-tempered little body."

Tom bristled. He was by no means 'little'- he was one of the tallest boys in their year, as a matter of fact.

"But by all means, we'll move on." She glanced at Peters, and Tom would almost say concern crossed over her face. "And I'll pretend nothing happened. But I won't have this immaturity in my classroom- you will speak to one another."

Tom tensed his jaw. They would, would they?

Well, he'd see about that.

Merrythought moved her attention on to the rest of the class. "Today we'll be reviewing non-verbal spells, because- no matter how much you might not like to think about it- you will need to take NEWTs at the end of this year."

"Not if I blow up the school!" Rupert called out with an easy grin.

Merrythought ignored him.

"So pair up- not with a member of your own house, for Merlin's sake. The segregation within this castle is ridiculous- yes, Andrews, go with Lewis. I promise she won't bite you. Not unless you ask her to."

A red-headed Slytherin girl blushed the same colour as her hair. Her reluctant Gryffindor partner looked equally as embarrassed.

As chairs screeched and students panicked over the idea of pairing with someone of a differently coloured tie, Tom chose a Gryffindor at random. He performed a brief wordless disarming charm, and then sat back and waited as his partner struggled to make Tom's wand as much as twitch. It was exhausting being the best.

He glanced across the classroom in his boredom and saw Peters, paired with yet another panicking Gryffindor. Peters appeared to be taking the 'learn together' route, as he patiently talked his partner through the theory whilst bouquet after bouquet of flowers sprouted from his wand. Tom's fists clenched. Peters was so fucking nice , wasn't he?

Tom pointed his wand resentful, and silently sent a spark flying across the classroom. Peters yelled as his robe caught fire, and his partner mindlessly flapped his arms over the flames. The fire didn't last long; Peters was irritatingly competent at augumenti, but Tom enjoyed his distress whilst it lasted.

Merrythought eyed Tom with suspicion, but it was hardly that first time that a teacher had given Tom a look that said: 'I feel like you might be responsible for all the evils of the world, and I'm not sure why'. Tom simply answered with a serene smile.

Peters finished patting off his robes, and Orion said something to him in a low voice. Orion had, of course, appeared by Peters's side at the faintest sign of any danger. Orion met Tom's eyes over the heads of the students, and Tom saw him take a step forwards as a storm of slow anger stole over his features. But Peters's hand on his arm held him back, and as Peters muttered a few words into his ear, Orion's shoulders slumped.

Merrythought sighed. "The burns aren't be serious but- Black, why don't you take Peters to the Hospital Wing?"

"I'll take care of him," Orion said with great determination.

Merrythought muttered something along the lines of "you're supposed to be teenage boys not Austen characters", but she waved the two out of the door impatiently.

Merrythought turned back to class with a savage grin. "Right. Shall we try some curses and shield charms? Silent, of course."

Tom turned back to his partner who, in Tom's absence, appeared to have turned one of his toes into a goldfish.

"I… I don't know how to- mphf!" the boy spluttered, hopping as he waved his wand at his foot desperately.

Tom raised his eyes to the heavens and pleaded for strength.

The next few weeks felt like slipping into a favourite pair of robes. It was familiar and comforting, and with every second that passed it felt more and more natural and like less and less of a statement. He'd made Grahams cry (admittedly, it had been more difficult than before, but he got there eventually); he'd utterly trumped everyone in the NEWTs mocks (Harrison had done irritatingly well); and one of his articles had been accepted by The Defence Review. Life was good.

Even if he had to meet with Abraxas Malfoy.

Abraxas was nervous during their meeting; nervous enough that he could barely bring himself to touch the three-course meal he'd ordered. Tom quite happily cleaned the bottom of his bowl with a thick slice of garlic bread.

"This is a very exclusive restaurant," Abraxas said, fiddling with a napkin. "Almost impossible to get into."

"It's in Hogsmeade," Tom replied dubiously.

Malfoy had no reply to that.

"Do you have what I asked for?" Tom asked expectantly.

"Oh, right. Yes." Abraxas nodded in answer, but didn't move.

"...Well?"

"What I meant to say- yes, I have your answer. But the report you wanted doesn't exist."

"But they have to have made a report. It's literally written in the law."

"Well, I can't find anything. By all accounts, Harrison Peters was never at the attack on Bideford. At least not in paperwork."

" Well ," Tom said, sitting back in his chair.

Harrison Peters was getting more and more suspicious, and the Hogsmeade battle had dredged it all up. Peters had been magnificent; leaping from opponent to opponent with effortless efficiency. Efficiency that a boy who'd supposedly only ever been to duelling clubs shouldn't have. Tom had hoped the report on the Bideford attack might have helped.

Only, apparently, it didn't exist.

That was something to consider.

"So what have you been doing since you left Hogwarts?" Tom asked with a heavy sigh. He supposed he should show some interest in Abraxas's life.

"I've been working with the International Magical Office of Law. Advising them and such."

Abraxas definitely wasn't qualified for anything of the sort, but it served Tom's purposes just fine.

"…Have you had any thoughts about what you'll do after you leave Hogwarts, Tom?"

"The Defence teacher," Tom answered easily. There was almost no question, it had been his dream ever since he entered this brave new world. He would cement his place in Hogwarts, his home, and he would become an integral, essential part. Inseparable from its very structure.

"Really?" Abraxas raised an eyebrow.

Tom's hand itched towards his wand. "Is there something wrong with my ambition?"

"No, nothing!" Abraxas rushed to assure him, his eyes wide. "It's just… you're very talented. Despite your heritage."

"Despite my heritage?" Tom said very slowly.

"I just think you could be something great. It's looking like the Undersecretary position might open soon, you know. You could be truly influential. Like me."

"Becoming like you. That's the dream, right there."

"I could recommend you, you know." Abraxas looked eager.

"I want to shape children's minds. Not do paperwork."

"You could become Minister! Or…" Abraxas hesitated, and it was clearly a calculated pause, but- sue him- Tom was curious.

"Or what?"

Abraxas picked his words carefully. "Many of the old 'traditionals' are restless. As Grindelwald grows in power so do they, but… Grindelwald's a foreigner. A German, of all things. But they are pushing for change. If a figure was to rise, give them something to rally behind-"

"Malfoy, I'm 17. And widely regarded as a mudblood," Tom said reluctantly.

"And fully capable of reinventing yourself. You're powerful, charismatic…"

An unspoken 'dark' hung in the air between them.

"The time is right," Abraxas finished.

"I think I'll be the one to decide that," Tom said sharply.

"But listen, you have followers already-"

"-Acquaintances. And barely that at the moment," he muttered bitterly.

"They follow and obey you. It's almost effortless." Abraxas's spine straightened. Tom hadn't thought he had it in him. "We need you, Tom. The world is changing. We should too."

"That's enough on the subject."

Abraxas's passion died away with Tom's final word on the subject, but the conversation remained simmering at the back of Tom's mind.

"So how is the boy?"

"He's a despicable little worm."

Abraxas gained a smug little smirk. "Oo, someone's lost favour."

"And yet you've gained none. It's almost like my 'favour' doesn't depend on some ridiculous abstract seesaw where Peters's failures benefit you ." Tom got to his feet, dropping his napkin onto the table. "Goodbye Abraxas. I would say it was nice to see you, but it's best to have honesty amongst friends, isn't it?"

He left, barely catching Abraxas's hopeful and pathetic "we're friends…?"

Tom withheld a scoff and stepped out into the sunlight.

Hogsmeade was just as bright and bustling as Tom remembered: you'd barely guess that it had been on fire a matter of weeks ago. The wizarding world was excellent at moving on, at pretending things didn't happen. Not moving forwards… just on.

It sickened him. Maybe it did need some shaking up.

He decided to cut past the stalls and down a back-alley. It was dark and unpleasant, but Tom was fairly sure he could handle whatever might lurk. Besides, he wasn't in a mood to deal with people.

He seethed as he marched on and when he finally passed the last twist in the alley, he came out into a small courtyard. He wasn't alone: there was a large chested woman, taller even than Tom, dressed provocatively and leaning against a wall. She was quite obviously some kind of sex worker. Tom really wasn't in the mood for this.

"'Ello love," she said, grinning a scarlet smile. "Interested in a good time?"

"I don't think you'd enjoy my idea of a good time," Tom said flatly. At the moment, he mostly wanted to kill someone.

"I'm sure we can find something to grab ya fancy," she said boldly, slinking closer.

"I'm sure you really can't."

"I can be anything you want," she crooned. "Lover… enemy…"

And before Tom's eyes, her features shifted into something else. Her hair lengthened and darkened until it curled around her ears, her eyes gained a green tint, her features sharpened and her skin smoothened, years of age dropping away.

"Get out of my head," Tom bit out, taking a step back despite himself.

"Isn't this what you want?" The puppet shell of Peters tilted its head. "You can hurt me if you want. I won't fight back."

Tom really had to learn Occlumency.

"Stop it," he said, stronger this time.

"I'm special to you, aren't I?" The Peters puppet smiled, a mockery of the real thing. "The real me will never know."

"Stop. It!" Tom snarled, and as he waved his wand, the prostitute was sent flying back into a small stall. She let out a loud shriek of pain as it crashed into pieces, sending jewellery spilling onto the cobblestones and spikes of wood piercing into her back.

She coughed and groaned as Tom's shoulders heaved.

She was still wearing Harrison's skin.

Tom grabbed her by the neck and she choked, hands shooting up to desperately claw at his arm. "Get out of his skin," Tom said quietly, "or I'll reach into your ribs and pull you out ."

Harrison's face melted away until it was just the woman who was staring up at Tom, frightened and bruised. "You're a monster," she whispered.

"We're all monsters," Tom said, dusting his robes off. "Some of us just hide it better."

"Whoever he is," she said, clutching her cloak close to herself. "I hope he runs far away."

"So do I," Tom muttered, and left the courtyard with nary a backwards glance.

"So are you ready for this evening?" Atticus asked eagerly, running up to Tom as he made his way to Ancient Runes a few days later.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, and I'm fairly sure you don't take this class," Tom drawled. "Unless you sit at the back and I've never noticed you. It's not implausible- you're fairly unremarkable."

Atticus's step faltered, and something within Tom purred. This felt like coming home: he'd been so tame recently.

Atticus opened his mouth and closed it again.

Tom rolled his eyes. "If you have something to say, say it."

"Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not angry," Tom said, finally stopping his long stride and turning to face his companion. "I've been freed."

"…From what?"

"From the weight of expectation." Tom smiled, and he knew it was an ugly, vicious thing. "Now, what's happening this evening?"

"Apparition lessons. Didn't you know? The posters have been up for weeks."

Tom wondered when he'd become so unobservant, so unconnected. Never mind: it was over now. Tom was back.

"I assume you'll be there."

"Oh yeah," Atticus agreed. "Well, everyone gets their parents to teach them over the summer but- y'know," he sniggered. "Have to do it the 'legal way' too."

"Mmm," Tom hummed, familiar resentment rising to the back of his throat like phlegm. Funny. He hadn't properly felt that for weeks.

Atticus waited, the air heavy with expectation. Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Well? Taking your seat at the back of the class?"

Atticus looked at the door to Ancient Runes like he'd never seen it before, his eyes widening in shock. "I…" His cheeks darkened. "Goodbye, Tom."

"Atticus."

Tom watched Atticus scuttle away down the corridor, something cold settling at the pit of his stomach. As he turned to walk into the classroom, he nearly bumped into Orion.

"Tom," Orion said coldly, his posture tense. "Nice to know that you're being courteous to everyone today."

"Orion," Tom replied, sweeping past him. "That was almost an insult. Well done."

As Tom moved towards his seat, a rather tame hair-remover flew past his head, nearly skimming his ear. When Tom glanced around, Orion was staring down at his brandished wand like he'd never seen it before.

"Trying to curse me with my back turned?" Tom asked, a soft smirk playing along his lips. "Your friendship with Harrison makes perfect sense."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Have you ever had a chat with Harrison about loyalty? I think it would be quite illuminating."

"Harrison's loyal," Orion said strongly, crossing his arms.

"Your naivety is insufferable."

"I think you should apologise."

"You can think that all you want, but I shall remain comfortable in the knowledge that Harrison Peters is a traitorous worm and will receive as much respect as deserved. Which is approximately none."

Orion frowned, and despite himself, Tom shivered.

"There's something festering in you, isn't there?" Orion said softly. "It might help to talk about it."

"Oh, we're bosom friends now, are we?"

"Not to me. To Harrison."

"I've done enough talking," Tom said very coldly. "He's certainly done enough talking. I'm done."

"You need to talk to him, please." Orion hesitated. "He's upset."

"I should hope so."

The conversation was over.

Sitting in the library alone was a magical, magical thing. No irritating parasites to talk to, no distractions, no 'homework help' or unpaid tutoring. Tom could just sit and read and learn.

Alone.

Of course, he didn't have to be alone if he didn't want to.

He could call Rupert or Atticus- or even Grahams if he was really desperate. He just didn't want to. He was perfectly happy alone. Perfectly alone.

"Mr Riddle!"

Perfectly alone.

"Mr Riddle!"

Tom sighed and dragged his eyes away from the page, looking up at the blushing librarian.

"What can I do for you, Madam Longstock?"

"The books you asked for have arrived," she said, presenting her gifts.

"Ah. I had forgotten I ordered them." Tom took the books and examined the covers: The Deathly Hallows, Behind The Myth and Unlocking the Trifecta. "Wonderful."

When he looked up, Madam Longstock was still waiting, watching him expectantly.

"Can I help you?"

She blushed deeper scarlet. "No… I… just- never mind. Enjoy your books." And she scurried back to her desk.

Tom turned his attention back to the books in his lap and tapped a finger on the covers. He could recall when he'd ordered them now. It had been to please Peters.

Well, he didn't have to please Peters any more. (His fingernails dug further into the material, leaving harsh 'c-shaped' imprints when he moved his hand away. ) Still, he should read the books anyway. It was a fascinating topic.

He opened The Deathly Hallows, Behind The Myth to somewhere in the middle of the book.

But where is the Elder Wand now?

The Elder Wand has without doubt the highest profile of all the Deathly Hallows. People are desperate for power above all else: it drives us to succeed and pushes us to forge connections- we strive for power over one another. Tracing the Elder Wand through history has therefore become a common pastime. The pastime becomes more pathetic based upon whether you believe the Elder Wand is real or not (I've been told so by my mother).

The Elder Wand has a fascinating history. It is said to leave behind it a trail of blood, murder and treachery in its wake, as it passes from hand to hand with more frequency than an 'unbeatable wand' really should. If the Elder Wand is truly unbeatable, it stands to reason that it rests within the hands of the most powerful wizard of the time. For example- and I don't want to date myself- but Hal the Magnificent is a really big deal right now. It is entirely possible, however, that someone simply left the Elder Wand at a bar, an unsuspecting muggle picked it up, and it's now resting on someone's mantlepiece so that they can say to visitors: 'yes, would you look at the crazy things people leave at bars!' And they wouldn't be wrong. I have two grandchildren because I found them hidden under a table in my local tavern. But perhaps we've gone off topic. I suppose the point of this chapter is: no one knows where the Elder Wand is, or even if it's real (not, according to my mother.)

So that's all good then.

Tom put the book down. What a confusing narrative. He wondered if the author had sold many copies.

Still, there was something of substance in it. And Tom couldn't deny that an unbeatable wand would be a nice bonus to immortality.

'The most powerful wizard of the time'… Well, there was only really one answer to that. It was almost too easy.

He wondered if Gellert Grindelwald found a new wand during his rise to power.

Only one way to find out.

(Actually, there were probably several, but Tom was in a library, so he just picked the most obvious.)

Tom walked over to the librarian's desk. "Hello," he said pleasantly, slipping on a charming smile. "I'm doing a bit of a research project for History of Magic on dictators and the like. You wouldn't mind getting out all the articles you can find on Gellert Grindelwald, would you? As early on in his career as possible."

"I'll certainly see what I can do," Madam Longstock nodded eagerly, beaming up at him.

"Thank you," Tom inclined his head. "It not often that women are as competent as they are beautiful."

"So inappropriate," she laughed.

Tom tried not to throw up.

Madam Longstock picked up her wand and pointed it towards a filing cabinet. She gave it a swift flick, opening the drawers and summoning newspaper filings and cuttings. They floated towards the pair and Madam Longstock plucked them out of the air, neatening the pile with a quick tap on the desk, and then handed them over to Tom.

"You can make copies, but do bring the originals back to me."

"Of course." Tom nodded his agreement and went back to his desk.

There must have been over a hundred articles at his disposal, but Tom made quick work of sorting them from oldest to most recent. The oldest article he could find was one detailing 'STUDENT EXPELLED'. Apparently Grindelwald had been expelled from Durmstrang for practising dark magic (honestly: getting caught- what an amateur) and sent to live somewhere in England.

The boy in the photo stared directly at the camera challengingly, wearing a heavy fur lining cloak and twirling a wand between his quick fingers.

"Aha," Tom said softly, and set the article to one side.

He searched the rest chronologically, searching for glimpses of the dark lord's wand. And there: at some point in the mid-1940s…

"It changed."

The wand that Grindelwald held now in the photos was longer and beaded, of a dark gleaming wood that certainly looked like elder. It looked more. More powerful, more dynamic, more .

"The Elder Wand," Tom said thoughtfully, and as the words crept from his tongue and shivered under the cold daylight, the whole idea suddenly seemed a lot more plausible. It would require a little research to match it up to previous description of the wand, but it was a start.

All of a sudden, a phrase in the article caught his attention. ' Grindelwald seems immortal and unstoppable. One might think he had sold his soul'. Soul. Horcruxes. He didn't have to deal with Harrison's disapproval anymore, did he?

He was torn from his trail of thought by familiar voices on the other side of the bookshelves.

"They're getting worse. And more frequent."

Of course, who could fail to recognise the dulcet tones of Orion Black? Which meant that his logical companion must be…

"I'm fine, Orion."

"You're definitely not fine, Harrison."

Did the fates truly loathe Tom? He supposed they must.

"I've dealt with this for over a year. I'm hardly going to die now."

"You don't know that!"

"I think I do."

"Please, Harrison. I need you."

"I don't know what you want me to do. I went to Hallpepper-"

"She told you to come back if it happened again."

"She told me to come back if it got worse."

"And you don't count this as worse? You missed Charms this morning. I found you in a broom cupboard-"

"They're getting shorter."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing."

"Orion, please. I. Am. Fine."

"I don't know why you refuse to admit that you need help."

"There are people suffering worse than me right now. People under the rule of Grindelwald, being tortured-"

"Why does other people hurting mean that you can't?"

"I'm not making a fuss over nothing."

"It's not nothing."

"I'll decide that."

Trouble in paradise. Harrison sounded like he was in a spot of bother.

Well, then, Tom thought, turning a page serenely. That was his problem.

The apparition lesson was conducted by a very sweet old lady who had a bag of Bubbling Bonbons on hand for whoever was the first to successfully apparate.

"Apparition is mostly about making up your mind," she explained in a quavery voice. "You must decide that you wish to travel to your chosen destination, see it in your mind, and then go there."

Halfbloods and muggleborns erupted into excited whispers, and most of the purebloods nodded smugly. Tom sighed.

"There is a popular myth," she continued, "that suggests one can only travel to a destination one has already been to. This is false. It is, however, markedly easier to apparate to a familiar place. Since apparition is based almost entirely upon willpower and belief, most find it entirely impossible to imagine themselves in a location that they have never seen or visited. Though with enough conviction-" she shrugged, "-anything is possible."

Tom had conviction. He had conviction by the bucket load.

Anything was possible.

"The movement for apparition is simple: a sharp turn, as precise as you can make it, mostly to stop wild stumbling on the other end. There are very few other conditions: some locations have anti-apparition wards on them, like Hogwarts, but the headmaster has kindly lifted those wards for us tonight. Just within this room, mind you."

Rupert shook his head disappointedly.

The instructor pretended not to see him. "Most wizards also require a wand for apparition. Only those of great power have enough magical reserves to attempt a journey without one- Albus Dumbledore, I believe, is capable of it. But we can't all be Dumbledore." She winked slyly.

Unnoticed at the back of the room, Tom deliberately placed his wand to the side, and clenched his hands into determined fists. Not everyone could be Dumbledore, huh?

"Before we attempt apparition, we should discuss the… dangers." She pursed her wrinkly old lady lips. It was adorable. "Splinching is what happens when one doesn't have enough willpower. It can be caused by distractions, faltering self-belief, and the such. Your body starts to travel, but your magic tries to return you to where you began. As one part of you moves forwards, the other moves back… The result can be rather nasty."

"How nasty?" a Hufflepuff boy asked, his cheeks white as parchment.

"Well, I wouldn't want to frighten a strong young man like yourself, but I once saw a young lady attempt to apparate when suddenly she was-" the instructor coughed pointedly, -"distracted."

There were snickers around the room, the loudest coming from- surprise, surprise- Rupert.

The instructor shook her head grimly. "They found organs in four different location. Her heart ended up in her childhood bedroom. An awful shock for the owners at the time."

There were no snickers this time.

"Well!" the instructor said brightly. "Shall we give it a go?"

Enthusiasm had been considerably dimmed.

"Oh, don't be babies. It's all good fun. Most limbs can be reattached with no pain whatsoever."

"What about the actual loss of those limbs?" the Hufflepuff boy asked.

"It's all a learning process!" she beamed. "Now, I want you all to try apparating about a foot in front of you. Don't be overly ambitious- and don't worry if you don't get it today. Many grown wizards struggle to apparate successfully."

Tom focused on a spot of floor in front of him. He imagined himself there; he imagined the texture of the stone beneath his feet and the rustle of the wind through his hair from the window, and then he turned on his heel and held his breath.

When he opened his eyes, he was still in the same spot.

"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again!" the instructor sang, hobbling towards a Ravenclaw girl who was sobbing her eyes out as her friend comforted her.

Tom repeated the motions, he visualised, he believed, but this time he couldn't stop himself from glancing over at his abandoned wand, and he knew before he spun that he wasn't going to make it. And sure enough, he remained stuck in the same place. His jaw tightened with frustration.

When he next blinked, the instructor appeared in front of him, her eyes magnified by her glasses. "Can you do this?" she asked very seriously, staring up at him.

"Yes," he replied automatically. When he repeated it, his voice was confident and strong. "Yes."

"Jolly good then," she said. "Might want to get on with it."

When Tom next closed his eyes, he was filled with an absolute certainty that he could do this. He would prove her wrong. He would prove them all wrong. He wouldn't be Dumbledore, he would be Tom Riddle.

He opened his eyes and he was on the other side of the classroom, his wand resting on the floor far, far away. He glanced down to see if he was still in one piece, and only his hand caught his attention. He was missing half a fingernail.

Tom's smirk almost overtook his entire face.

(In proof of the universe's unfairness, Atticus had apparated about half a metre thirty minutes ago, and was now chewing contentedly on a bonbon.)

When Tom looked around to see how everyone else what handling it, he spotted Peters doing little hops of about a metre from spot to spot, cheered on by Orion and Rupert. Peters reappeared suddenly behind Orion and the boy jumped in surprise, before whirling around and playfully slapping his shoulder. Rupert crowed something that made the both of them blush, and they all burst into raucous laughter.

It made Tom feel sick.

He apparated back to his wand and picked it up, feeling its comfortable weight in his hand. Then he discretely aimed it at the laughing trio. He watched as a bee appeared- as if by magic, really- and flew straight into Peters's ear as he spun on his heel.

The pained yell was music to Tom's ears (although he hadn't meant for the result to be quite so bloody.)

Peters appeared to have left a leg behind, and blood soaked into his robes as he lay, gasping, on the floor. The instructor rushed over and ushered the crowd away.

"Give the boy some room."

"I'm fine," Peters said through gritted teeth, but roared as she peeled the fabric away from the wound.

"We can fix this in a jiffy," the instructor said very calmly. "No fuss needed."

She levitated Peters's leg across the room, dripping blood and gore all the way. Peters swore when he saw it.

"It's just a leg, dear, calm down. A simple reattachment." She crowed triumphantly as Peters's leg returned to its proper place and handed him a blood replenishing potion.

Tom was rather disappointed. He'd hoped it might take longer.

"All done! Although, I think you'd better sit out of the rest of the lesson," she told Peters.

Peters nodded obediently, and Orion helped him limp past Tom towards the door. As Tom's eyes met Peters's, the other boy's gaze hardened.

Peters knew exactly where that bee had come from. He knew exactly who'd practically torn his leg off.

Good.

Tom barely felt the hand on his shoulder before he was shoved hard against the wall. Peters's snarling face appeared close to his.

"What's your problem."

"You."

"What the hell are you playing at?" Peters hissed. "Are you trying to kill me now?"

Tom raised an eyebrow, maintaining a calm exterior despite the painful grip. "Well, I can't have you spilling all my worldly secrets, can I?"

Peters looked briefly guilty, but it didn't last long. "Don't be fucking ridiculous. That was before I knew you."

"Well that makes it all better."

"I had to do something."

"Oh you did, did you?"

"You were going to kill someone!"

"Shut up!" Tom gritted his teeth and Peters went flying across the corridor, the breath flying from his lungs as he hit the wall opposite. "You didn't have a problem with me killing when it was Lestrange."

"Yes, I did!" Peters spat as he struggled to his feet. "But Lestrange was already a killer. Myrtle's an innocent."

"Oh, she's just so innocent, so perfect. Your stand-in little sister."

Peters flinched, and Tom stepped closer as he dug the knife in.

"Except she's not your sister at all, is she? Because she doesn't remember you, and you're all alone." Tom smiled sharply. "Just. Like. Me."

"I AM NOT ALONE!" Peters roared. Tom stumbled and swore as the ground shook beneath them.

"I'm not alone," Peters repeated, quieter. "Because I choose not to be. Because I don't act like other people are less than me. Something to be conquered and controlled."

Tom let out a high laugh, and it made Peters's face drain of colour. "You pretend so well, don't you? It's not a surprise: we're snakes, we're liars. You're just as broken as me, Peters Peters. You've just gotten so good at lying that you even fool yourself."

"You have no idea who I am."

"Really? No, I suppose it might be true." Tom felt rather like a shark as he circled Peters, his steps slow and even. "Everything around you is wrong."

"Stop it."

"Why didn't you know Grindelwald's men on sight?"

"What?"

"I didn't notice it before, I was too-" scared, excited, desperate "-distracted, but you should have recognised the Grindelwald uniform from the attack on your village."

Peters's eyes betrayed his shock. "I-"

"-forgot?" Tom shook his head a little. "Try again."

"I blocked it out, okay? It's not a fun memory. And I was panicking in Hogsmeade-"

"You don't block something like that out. You wouldn't. I'm not a fool, Peters, don't treat me like one."

"Maybe you are a fool, Tom Riddle," Peters said lowly, his voice crackling with fury as he prowled closer.

"I trusted you, so I suppose you might be right."

Tom's magic surged and crackled, crawling towards Peters slowly. He wanted to tear him apart; to see straight through his skin and into the lies and mysteries within. Tom's magic danced across Peters's body, flicking viciously at the scars over his arms. Peters's eyes widened, and he froze.

"Who are you, Harrison Peters? What are you hiding?" Tom tilted his head and paused for a moment, as if Peters might answer, but the other boy was unresponsive. Possibilities flickered through Tom's head faster than he could keep up with. "Why did you come here? Are you even a Seer? Did your parents even-?"

It was then that Peters slumped to the ground.

Tom's world stopped spinning. And then everything went crashing into motion and he dove towards the motionless figure, the deafening buzz in his ears focused on this one person and this one moment. Peters was moving. Why wasn't he moving?

No, Tom took that back. Peters was moving. His chest was heaving almost inhumanly fast and little breaths were catching in his throat, escaping his lips as whimpers. His eyes flickered beneath his eyelids.

Something was very wrong.

"Peters," Tom said, his voice suddenly very loud. "Peters."

Peters didn't reply.

Tom dragged himself closer, but when he went to feel for a pulse, Peters's skin was like fire, the skin around his scars angry and raw. "Shit," Tom swore, and tore his hand away from Peters's neck, but his fingertips were already burned red.

"Fuck," Tom hissed, wrapping his robe around his hand so he could turn Peters onto his back. Peters's breathing was still frighteningly fast, but it appeared to be slowing.

For some reason, that didn't fill Tom with hope.

"Wake up, Harrison."

Harrison convulsed a little and his chest sounded awfully hollow- the phrase 'death rattles' wouldn't leave Tom's mind. Tom's face felt hot and sweaty and his heart wouldn't stop racing- he couldn't understand what was happening to him, but he had to save Harrison. He gritted his teeth and shot sparks out of a nearby window. They flew high into the end and exploded in a huge flash of light, letting off a loud wailing alarm. The lights kept flashing and the alarm kept wailing, and Tom gritted his teeth as he hoped desperately for help.

It was then that Harrison stopped breathing.

The sound from Tom's mouth was more animal than anything human, and he curled over the body as if he could protect Harrison from death by pure will. He must have screamed for help. His throat felt raw.

As Tom heard footsteps coming closer, he clutched the body tighter and prayed they wouldn't be too late.

This has taken a long fucking time, but March has been real busy for me. I took part in two musicals, took my Grade 6 voice exam, etc. Shit happened. Good shit, but a lot of shit.

Also! Check me out on tumblr and if you have a few extra monetary units kicking around, through them towards my ko-fi account ;).