I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter Two

And For All Her Silliness

Tom finished his breakfast and pulled out his schedule. The first class was Herbology with Professor Beery, and Ravenclaw House. When he got there, he was the first Slytherin in the room – although he was not, by far, the first student there. The Ravenclaws were sitting on benches around a center table in the greenhouse the class was held in, and each and every one of them was reading from the textbook. Deciding it was a good idea to refresh his knowledge of the subject (he had tried to memorise all the textbooks before reaching Hogwarts) he pulled out his own book, Studying Herbolology: A Student Edition by Richard Huckle.

By the time the most of Slytherin House had arrived, Tom was engaged in conversation with a group of Ravenclaws, discussing the best usages of plants in combat. He was explaining the precise function of the Fire Bush in battle to the attentive group of erudite students when one of his Housemates snatched his textbook and started thumbing through it. "Looks like our resident muggle should, in fact, be in Ravenclaw!" the boy sneered. "But you can't be a Ravenclaw without books, so he'll just have to go back to his muggle town… I bet even the muggles don't want him, he'll be sent to an orphanage and they'll toss 'im on the streets. Good-bye, Riddle!" He attempted in vain, several times, to tear Tom's book – Tom's magically restored book.

"How are you doing that?" he asked. "Tell me!"

Tom smirked. "My book, my secrets."

"You're just trying to – foul muggle – filthy mudblood – euugh, I hate you!"

"Come off it, Goyle," said a boy with a strangely melodic, slow voice. "Leave my Lord alone."

"And who are you?" demanded the first boy. "And what's all this 'my Lord' business?"

"Rosier," said the second, still slow, still melodic - "Cassius Rosier. My Lord," he turned to Tom, "I, Cassius Lucius Rosier, do swear my magical allegiance to you." Cassius took Tom's hand, and Tom's eyes followed the blue veins though his wrist to his forearm.

"I accept," he said.

There was a flash of light, and Tom felt something settling over him, a tie, a rope connecting Cassius' magical energy to his own. He tugged it, quickly, experimentally, and Cassius' whole body jerked towards him. "Whatever did you do that for?" he asked.

"The Rosier blood has long lain asleep, but in me it awakens," said Cassius. "I am the brother of the mother of the blue-eyed girl, and she is close to you."

"Who is the blue-eyed girl?" Tom asked.

"Sometimes, she comes," said Cassius. "Sometimes, she is not. Sometimes, you raise her. Sometimes, you die before she is born."

"But who is she?" Tom reiterated.

"The blue-eyed girl," said Cassius, "a dolphin, although perhaps to you, she is a finder of fates."

"Sometimes," continued Cassius, "she is a boy. Sometimes you love her. Sometimes you kill her."

"Kill her?" asked Tom.

"Oh yes. Abraxas and Reinhard will turn up just as my name is called. So, my Lord, I am your loyal servant – when and how do we take over the world?"

Tom laughed. "We start with paying attention in class, because Professor Beery has just walked in."

Professor Beery had, indeed, just walked in. The class fell silent. "Say 'here' when you hear your name," he instructed. "Araminta Meliflua-Black."

"Here."

"Abraxas Malfoy."

There was a silence.

"All right, no Malfoy. Autumn Smith."

"Here."

"Bianca L'Arbre."

"Here."

"Cassius Rosier- oh, so now you show up! You should have been here five minutes ago like the rest of the class." scolded Professor Beery.

Malfoy gave a lazy smirk. "A Malfoy is always fashionably late."

"A Lestrange, too," added his companion.

Professor Beery frowned. "Mr. Lestrange, you should be setting an example for your young brother Augustus, not wasting your time in being 'fashionably late.' To think, a world run by men who think this is appropriate! That will be the world your future children will grow up in, young sirs and madams."

"Augustus follows me everywhere," commented Lestrange. "At home, at school – can I not just be Reinhard?"

"You are the heir to a powerful family, Mr. Lestrange," said Professor Beery, "and you should be having this talk with your Head of House, not me."

Lestrange nodded, and he and Malfoy slid into line. Professor Beery watched them go, then returned to taking attendance. "Cassiopeia Black?"

"Here!"

When the Professor had checked everyone was there, he began the lesson. "We will start with a few safety tips. Split into groups of two and make a list of everything you think is vital to staying safe while working with magical plants."

Cassiopeia thrust through the crowd of students, and latched onto Tom's arm. "You'll work with me!" she declared triumphantly.

Tom pulled out a sheet of paper. "Do not eat unknown plants."

"Magical plants," corrected Cassiopeia.

"Plants," insisted Tom. "There are plenty of non-magical poisonous plants."

Cassiopeia inclined her head. "I suppose. How about 'do not touch or approach unknown plants."

Tom wrote it down. When they had amassed a list of ten 'safety tips' for Professor Beery, he asked the question that had been dancing on the tip of his tongue for a great many minutes. "Say Cassiopeia… we could form a club, of sorts."

"What kind of club?" she asked.

"Oh, well, a study group, and we'd practice and learn new spells together, too."

She nodded. "That's something I'd do."

"Well, then, think you could promote it a bit? We'll have to ask permission to use an empty classroom, of course – and our Housemates don't seem to like me much, so we'll have to get students from the other Houses in on it, too."

"All right," she agreed.

"Riddle! Black!" snapped Professor Beery. "This doesn't sound like Herbology. Tell me, Riddle, the name of a plant useful in combat and how it's useful."

"The Fire Bush, Professor," said Tom, "it spits flames when it feels threatened, and spontaneously bursts into flames every half-hour. Fire Bushes can be planted in lines to keep back enemy troops, or they can be hurled at the enemy from a catapult. Fire Bush aren't harmed by this, as when they land on the ground their roots tunnel into it. Fire Bushes were discovered several hundred years ago by Aurelias Black, renowned Herbology prodigy, when he was six years old."

"Very good, Mr. Riddle. Ten – no, twenty! Twenty points to Slytherin for that excellent answer. Ms. Black, how do you get rid of Devil's Snare?"

Cassiopeia blushed and looked down. "I don't know, sir," she muttered.

"What was that?" asked Professor Beery.

"I don't know, sir," said Cassiopeia, louder this time.

"I do, sir," said Tom.

Professor Beery turned to Tom. "Well then? Let's hear it."

"Light. Devil's Snare recoils from light."

"Five points to Slytherin, Mr. Riddle. And Ms. Black, five points from Slytherin for talking during the lesson when you so clearly need to pay attention."

Cassiopeia glared at the rust-coloured plank floor as the rest of the class snickered. Tom smiled sympathetically, although he wasn't fool enough to reassure her verbally. She was, he thought, a silly little girl – but a useful little girl. And for all her silliness her blood ran red, and for all her red blood she was still an innocent little girl.

After Herbology was Transfiguration with Professor Dumbledore. Reinhard Lestrange practically threw himself inside the classroom and into a chair, and when Malfoy tried to sit beside him Lestrange moved to the back of the room. Tom, who was sitting at the front, bent down to pull out his textbook, and as he did he eyed them carefully. Malfoy looked as if he were about to leap up and chase after Lestrange, a clumsy kangaroo following a windblown blade of grass, but Dumbledore suddenly appeared behind him.

"Boo!" said Dumbledore.

Tom looked away as the Slytherins and Ravenclaws snapped their heads around, some with audible cracks, to see what had happened. Dumbledore beamed at the group, before bumbling to the front of the room. "Transfiguration," he intoned, "the art of turning things into other things quickly and with magic. Yes, Ms. Smith?"

Autumn Smith twirled her hair anxiously as she asked, "can you turn things into other things without magic?"

"Ms L'Arbre," Dumbledore said. "Answer Ms. Smith's question."

Bianca L'Arbre swallowed. "Yes, you can turn things into other things – for example, cooking – in a chemical reaction, but Transfiguration is entirely magical because it uses the forced of magic to find something made of the material you want and completely switches the two substances. Transfigurations can fail if you're not visualising something clearly enough because the magic can't find the proper thing."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, looking and sounding impressed, "most excellent indeed. Take ten points for Ravenclaw. Everybody else, you should be writing this down."

Bianca glowed with pride, and the sound of rustling parchment soon floated to the roof above, where an osprey was devouring a fat rat.

With Autumn's question out of the way, Dumbledore began the lesson. "You will note, I hope, the matchstick on the workspace in front of you. You have your want with you. Transfigure the matchstick into a needle."

That was it? No 'how do perform Transfigurations and not die in the process' or any sort of instruction in actually Transfiguring the matchstick? Tom huffed, pulling out his wand and pointing it in a stubborn sort of way at the matchstick. Be a needle, he thought, and imagined, eyes scrunched shut, a silver needle where the matchstick was, with a pointed end, half a milimeter wide at the other, and five centimeters long. Silver, pointy, deadly – how could one kill with a needle?- silver, pointy, sharp, carbon steel wire, 7.83g/cm3, nickle-plated to protect it, Ni, atomic number 28.

Tom opened his eyes and there was a needle sitting in front of him, calm as anything, like it never was a matchstick in the first place. "Cor!" exclaimed the boy sitting next to him, "Riddle's done it already!"

"Well done, Mr. Riddle," said Dumbledore. The Slytherins waited expectantly, until -

"Well?" asked Lestrange.

"Well?" replied Dumbledore in kind.

Lestrange straightened his back and stared at the Professor. "Aren't you going to award him points? Quite impressive, don't you think, mastering it on his first try?"

At this point, several Ravenclaws were nodding along. "I agree," said Bianca L'Arbre. "You awarded me points for my answer – go on, it's only fair."

"I disagree," said Dumbledore, quite mildly. "And after all, I am the Professor, so my opinion matters most of all."

Lestrange's jaw set, and Bianca frowned. "But that's not fair at all!" she exploded, and Tom wondered if the Sorting Hat hadn't considered Hufflepuff for her. "Give him points, Professor Dumbledore, his Transfiguration was perfect!"

"I agree with Professor Dumbledore," said Malfoy. "It's not that impressive. Not worth points."

Bianca's jaw fell open. "But Malfoy, he's in your House! Show some support!"

Malfoy shrugged. "I just don't think bastards belong in Slytherin. Least of all muggle ones. And my House, Bianca L'Arbre, is the Noble House of Malfoy, to which I am sure that… oh, Riddle, was it? Yes it was! To which I am sure that Riddle does not belong."

"Oh, you think you're so important, Malfoy!" spat Cassiopeia, leaping from her chair. "I challenge you to a wizard's duel, here and now! Let's settle this for good!"

"I accept!" snarled Malfoy. "It's hardly as if a little girl could beat a man."

"You're no man!" Cassiopeia said fiercely. "And you'll never be half the man he will be. Do you know who he is?"

"No, I don't know who, and I don't much care. He could be the next King of England and I couldn't care less, so just… tais-toi, je n'en fou!"

"You'll know who," said Cassiopeia bitterly, and stiffly, she bowed to Malfoy, who dipped his head in return, a sour look on his face.

"Expelliarmus!" cast Cassiopeia.

"Protego! Expelliarmus!"

"Gryffindorish rage, break this Malfoy's cage, let the powers of gravity ,release and let him fly free!" screeched Cassiopeia, twirling her wand furiously.

Nothing happened.

She flushed. "Perhaps not all the spells Cygnus taught me are real."

"Stop, stop, stop," said Professor Dumbledore at last. "Hogwarts students can't enter into magical contracts of the ordinary kind on school grounds."

"Ordinary kind?" asked Briana L'Arbre.

"Light, Grey, or Neutral magic," Dumbledore answered. "Their duel was never legitimate, so the failure to fight until disarmed or dead won't have any ill effect on them."

"Know a lot about Dark magic, do you, Professor?" asked the boy sitting besides Tom. "I heard that's why you're not fighting Grindelwald – you support him."

"Children!" snapped Dumbledore, suddenly looking furious. "You are here to learn Transfiguration, not gossip about myself and Gellert Grindelwald. Detention, Mr. Nott!"

Nott looked mutinous, but he didn't argue. Dumbledore twirled around and sat at his desk, staring straight ahead into space. Tom focused on adding detail to his needle – shaping the eye, making it wider.