Thanks to all those who have reviewed.

Sorry to not name each and every one of you, I wanted to post this before I went out.

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63

Professor Albus Dumbledore was often seen at Quidditch matches. It was, however, far more unusual to see him at the team tryouts. Unusual but not unheard of. Therefore his presence would not cause much comment. Dumbledore also made sure to cover his appearance by faking surprise when the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, Bernard Weasley, politely told him that the Slytherins had the first slot and they were only due on the pitch later.

"How foolish of me." Dumbledore had chuckled. "I must be getting senile."

He'd taken a seat a little in front of the Slytherin spectators and just behind the Gryffindors, settling down to watch Malfoy pick his new team. Buffy Summers was there, standing out amongst her housemates as the only female, and Albus saw that already she was being treated as an outsider by the Purebloods. Was that due to her questionable blood status or her sex? He let out a silent huff of annoyance. Malfoy had a severely old-fashioned notion that girls were not as good at Quidditch as the boys. A belief that had been disproved so many times in the past that it still surprised Albus that the Slytherin's drive and ambition hadn't already overridden the stupid tradition. Perhaps Buffy would be the one to break the mould and impress Malfoy with her skills...

She was currently examining her manicure and looking bored, so perhaps not.

Dumbledore continued watching her through his Omnioculars and feeling a little uncomfortable as he did so. Lies ran through Hogwarts faster than Truth could get his boots on. His previous interest in Buffy had already been noted, and more than one staff member had looked at him speculatively.

He could have told them that he was here not to watch his daughter, but a daughter of a friend. Why should he though? Let them all guess. Joyce had asked him to keep an eye on Buffy and let her know if she displayed any special skills. Skills that she could as yet be unaware of or was even hiding from her mother. It was a well-known fact that several notable Wizarding families carried certain magical traits in their blood. Albus flicked a glance at Tom Riddle – like being a parseltongue, for instance. Other families might have an affinity with the elements; the ability to control fire, or water, air, earth. Or rarer still, perhaps they were notable Seers. In some, the magic ran so strongly in their blood that they inevitably sought position and power. And power that strong could be as intoxicating as fine wine.

The Quidditch pitch might seem an odd place to look for those inherited abilities, but Dumbledore knew that during a Quidditch game emotions ran high. Guards were dropped in the heat of the moment and what better place to observe them than when innocently sat as a spectator at a tryout?

A tingle of wild magic tainted with a roar of anger vibrated through the air. Dumbledore's thoughts stuttered to a stop. His head lifted up, a frown on his face as he turned in his seat to scan the Slytherin students behind him. Tom Riddle! Next to him, thefifth year, Marcus Lestrange sat nervously watching Tom, although Tom himself seemed far more engrossed in what was happening on the pitch rather than the boy at his side.

As far as Dumbledore could see, very little was happening down there, unless you counted Malfoy and Avery bickering. Surely that hadn't annoyed Tom Riddle so much that he'd lost control of his inner magic? Then Tom laughed. The tension broke and whatever anger and magic had been gathering disappeared.

"I think we have a good chance of winning the cup this year, don't you, professor?" Bernard Weasley asked.

"Indeed we have," agreed Dumbledore amiably, at the same time wondering at Tom's changing emotions. He focussed instead on Bernard Weasley's freckled, eager face. Oh, to be young and have no worries beyond your next Quidditch match. He answered, "I doubt the Slytherins will beat us this year, unless Miss Summers proves to be an exceptional player."

"She isn't strong enough to be a Beater!" retorted Bernard happily. "Everyone saw the jinxed trolley ran away with her on platform 9 3/4."

Lancelot Lockhart turned in his seat, announcing in a dreamy voice, "That day the fairest damsel needed a brave and handsome knight. I was, that day, the knight she needed."

"Yes, quite," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling as he took in the slight-framed boy who was attempting to strike a heroic pose in his seat. He had to admit, Lockhart was amusing in a slightly irritating way. "I'm sure Buffy was immensely grateful for your most noble deed."

Lockhart beamed at him and Dumbledore turned to regard Caradoc Dearborn. It was obvious the Durmstrang transfer was listening to their conversation, despite his eyes being on the group below. "Are you trying out for the team today, Caradoc?"

Caradoc shook his head. "I'm just here to watch, sir."

Dumbledore nodded, wondering if he was here to observe Buffy. Several times he'd seen the boy following the girl through the corridors and also more openly sitting at Buffy's table in the library. What was it about her that interested him? Or should he say, was there more involved than a young man's pursuit of a pretty girl? Caradoc's parents worked for the International Confederation of Wizards and, as soon as he'd seen Caradoc's name on the transfer list, Dumbledore had known he might be here as a spy. Miss Summers was the last known link to Von Kendrick, for the Dark Wizard had gone to ground immediately after the bungled attempt to kidnap her. That Von Kendrick had vanished was no surprise, Buffy was an important player in all this. Likely Grindelwald would – .

Crack!

Good Grief! Dumbledore almost dropped his Omnioculars. Inwardly cursing, he took out his wand and cast a strong repairing charm over the damaged pillar. That had been Buffy! She'd managed to hit the Bludger so hard that it damaged a magically-reinforced strut!

" Yea, though she is small, she is mighty," cried Lockhart, trembling with excitement. He stood on his seat and blew a kiss towards Buffy – who luckily didn't hear or see him.

Bernard Weasley's face grew red. "Oi!" He grabbed the back of Lockhart's robe and yanked him back down into his seat. "Are you daft? She's one of the Snakes, you idiot ! You don't go cheering the other side, even if she's not like the others."

Dumbledore picked up his Omnioculars and zoomed in on Buffy. Malfoy reluctantly handed over his second-best broom to her. No doubt she had proved herself capable of hitting a Bludger. Dumbledore smiled to himself and watched her play.

It was obvious that, for a girl who'd been brought up Muggle, she was an exceptionally fine flyer. She handled the broom with a sureness that seemed instinctive; her reflexes were fast, and, despite her crazy antics on the broom (many, he suspected, done to annoy Malfoy), she had a joyful elegance that reminded Dumbledore strongly of someone he knew...

He kept watch, the old ache of loss back again as he watched Buffy smiling and charming the younger Slytherins. She was like him. She had that same affable charm that made people like him, even when they knew they shouldn't. Dumbledore also noted something else, something far more unsettling. Avery, Dolohov, and Flint were all suffering from 'accidents' at Buffy's hands. Inwardly, he tensed. Was it... revenge? Had they upset Buffy? Was she using the game to seek vengeance? He'd seen something in her... a darkness that made him uneasy. If she was seeking petty revenge at this age, what else would she go on to do?

Dumbledore knew first hand how easy it was to be seduced by power and start along that darker pathway. He'd almost trodden it himself. The Sorting Hat had put Buffy into Slytherin for a reason. Had it seen her ambition, her cunning, the insane desire for power and placed her amongst the Snakes? Did Buffy's golden smile hide the grinning Basilisk?

Buffy cut through the players, dropping into a dive to intercept one of Flint's viciously hit Bludgers. The young boy stuttered his thanks, and Buffy waved it away with a gentle smile.

Dumbledore released a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding. Was he reading too much into this? Should any child be judged for her father's sins? Especially when said father had no hand in her upbringing... Was that fair to Buffy? Should she not be accepted for who she was? There was no need for her to be as power-hungry as he was. She wouldn't be the first child with a dark heritage to fight against her family rather than embrace them. And how could he forget that she had the Lovegoods to guide her?

So he'd taken a deep breath and a metaphoric step away. And when Buffy had disappeared into the thick fog, Dumbledore accepted it without a qualm. He presumed Malfoy had sent her off to fetch the Snitch and was more concerned by the anger crackling around Tom Riddle than a Witch flying in the fog.

With Malfoy and his teammates making their way off the pitch and the Gryffindors gathering their things, Dumbledore decided to look for Tom. He didn't trust the young prefect, and was keen to discover what he was about. Leaving his seat, he cast a Disillusionment spell over himself and walked off unnoticed.

Unsurprisingly, Tom hadn't gone far. Dumbledore spotted the boy hiding amongst the rolls of canvas that was being stored below one of the Quidditch towers. Half-hidden in the shadows, the dark-haired Slytherin stood with his hood pulled up, a nervous expression on his upturned face as he scanned the dark sky above.

'So... his anger is not towards his teammates, but to Buffy,' Dumbledore thought. He stopped in the shadows coming to stand not far from the young Slytherin. Riddle looked tense, anxiously biting his cheek as he watched the sky.

Dumbledore had eyes. During his lessons he'd seen the way Riddle's eyes drifted to the blonde Witch more than the other girls in his class. He'd also seen him at her table in the library, studying. Had he fallen under her spell, and she hadn't reciprocated the feeling? What if Riddle was planning to hurt her for refusing him?

Dumbledore distrusted Tom. When he'd met him at the Muggle orphanage, the eleven-year-old had been overly gleeful – bragging that he'd used his magic to hurt others. A thief, a braggart, and a bully, Dumbledore had taken an instant dislike to the boy. The fact Tom Riddle had gone on to become an exemplary student only made him more suspicious to Dumbledore.

"SCRREEEEEEEEEeee!"

The ear-piercing sound had every student stopping in their tracks to look at the sky. Dumbledore stepped from the shadows as something dark and ragged, entangled with a broomstick plummeted towards the pitch.

"Buffy?" yelled Tom, rushing out of his hiding place.

"NO, TOM! Wait there!" Dumbledore shouted. Knowing – sensing - what this thing was before it hit the ground.

Tom's feet skidded on damp grass, as he lost his footing and fell, landing unceremoniously on his bottom as a Dark Creature crashed down only yards in front of him. The Dementor lay struggling on the ground, writhing as if in great pain. With equal shock and amazement, both Dumbledore and Riddle saw that it was Malfoy's broom handle that protruded from the creature's chest.

The dark being screamed again, its bony skull-like head rocking from side to side as it desperately tried freeing itself. It was the most hideous thing Albus and Tom had ever seen.

"Expecto Patronum!" intoned Dumbledore not trusting a shaft of wood – however magical – to hold down such a creature. A phoenix made from pure light burst from the end of his wand. It homed in on the dark being, circling it, and the Dementor stilled, trying to make itself as small as possible.

"This must be the Dementor the Ministry has been searching for since the start of term," Dumbledore mused out loud. "What in Godric's name was it doing above Hogwarts?"

"Professor!" shrieked Tom, dragging Dumbledore's attention from the Dementor. The boy looked far less composed than Dumbledore had ever seen him: mud covered his robes and shoes, his hair stuck out in different directions, and there was a smear of dirt on his forehead.

"If that's Buffy's broom, where is..." Tom's voice trailed away as he spotted the fast-growing figure above him in the sky before Dumbledore. His wand drawn within a blink of an eye, Tom shouted, "Arresto Momentum!"

He'd overpowered the spell in his shock, the magic reverberating throughout the stadium. Buffy's body stopped spinning and dropping so fast and began to float gently, almost as if she was gliding downward while resting on a cloud.

Dumbledore strode over to Tom, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder as he passed. "Well done, Tom," he said warmly. "I could not have done better myself. Twenty points to Slytherin for quick thinking."

"Si-ir?" Tom stuttered, his face betraying shock at the unlooked for praise and physical contact.

Dumbledore frowned. Had his dislike for the boy been so obvious? But now was not the time for speculation but action. "Can you see to Buffy?" he asked. "I must ensure the Dementor is unable to escape." He needed to move it away from the students and quickly. There was a small hut nearby that was used for storage, it could remain there until the Ministry removed it.

With a quick nod to Dumbledore, Tom rushed to Buffy as she floated down the last few feet and landed gently on the ground. He dropped to his knees on the damp earth, reaching out to touch an ice-cold cheek with trembling fingers.

So cold!

The Dementor's Kiss... had it sucked out her soul? He shot a furious look over at the dark entity lying not far away, wanting to burn it and watch its ashes float away on the breeze. He took a ragged breath; you couldn't destroy a Dementor so easily but setting fire to it might be fun.

Pulling at the fastenings on his cloak, Tom dragged it off his shoulders and flung it over Buffy. It was a little muddy but he hoped the Warming Charm cast on it would help her.

"Sweetest damsel!" yelled a voice directly from behind Tom. "Never fear, your knight is here to protect you!"

An elbow hit Tom in the ribs, knocking him to the ground. Silently fuming, he looked up to see that stupid Gryffindor, Lancelot Lockhart, crouched by Buffy and hugging her limp arm.

"Tis too late, the fairest maid is dead!" Lockhart wailed.

"What?!" Tom stopped scowling to scrabble over to Buffy. The foolish boy couldn't be right, could he?

Tom hesitated, then peeled back the fabric of the cloak away from her throat to seek the pulse. It wasn't something he'd ever done before, but he'd seen Muggles do it. If a Muggle could locate a pulse, surely he could? Where was it? Anatomy had never interested him, nor had the healing arts beyond basic knowledge, and now he felt the lack.

Tom's fingers trailed across soft skin, desperately seeking a beat. Lower? Higher? He couldn't feel it. He slipped the same hand beneath his cloak, resting a hand on her chest, ears reddening at the intimate spot he was touching. He'd hoped to feel the rise and fall of her breathing. Nothing! Inside his chest his heart contracted, there was buzzing in his ears, and he had the sudden urge to wretch. She couldn't be dead!

Near him, Lockhart clung to Buffy's hand was reciting a depressing poem, "...her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darken'd wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide, the first house by the water-side, singing in her song she died, the Lady of Shalott."

How dare he! How dare he recite a Muggle poem when Buffy lay dead! The wand was in Tom's hand, his eyes reddening as – .

"Let me!" Caradoc Dearborn cried, and once more Tom was pushed aside by a Gryffindor. Caradoc's fingers instantly found the pulse on Buffy's neck. "She's alive!"

Tom's heart skipped, his wand returned to its holster, and the rage faded – replaced by hope.

Swooping Buffy up into his arms, Caradoc rushed over to the stadium doors. Tom darted forward, reaching the doors first and barring the Gryffindor's way. He raised his wand, pointing it at Caradoc.

"Get your filthy hands off her!" hissed Tom in parseltongue.

"W-hat?" The older boy stared at Tom in surprise.

Behind Caradoc, Dumbledore rose to his feet with the wooden shaft in his hands, his Patronus now controlling the Dementor. He looked over to where Tom and Caradoc stood, wondering at the delay.

Tom quickly controlled his anger, flicking his wand up and outwards he cast a Featherweight Charm over Buffy. "Sorry, I couldn't get my words out right. It must be the shock. The Featherweight Charm will help you carry Buffy to the castle more easily." His smile was as false as it was charming. "Dumbledore asked me to deal with Buffy. I suggest we hurry to the infirmary. Come!"

Without waiting, Tom opened the stadium doors and led the way back to the castle, Caradoc following him with Buffy covered by Tom's dark Slytherin cloak and carefully cradled in the Gryffindor's arms.