A misty figure drifted into the moonlit corridor. The boy further along the corridor stopped, took a step back and slid quickly out of sight behind a tapestry. Behind it lay a wide alcove, and once the tapestry fell back into place, he'd be well hidden. Unless... unless the ghost had already seen him. Leaning forward, Abraxas put his eye to the edge of the tapestry where it didn't quite touch the wall and watched the corridor for movement. The Bloody Baron wasn't the most observant of ghosts, but he had the shortest of tempers. If he'd seen him coming him in here, it would only be minutes before he was uncovered and a tirade rung over his head.

Time ticked by, and when the Baron didn't appear, Abraxas let out a guarded breath. He'd need to check, in case the ghost was still out in the corridor, but it seemed he'd been lucky – this time. Cautiously, he pushed the tapestry aside and peeked around the edge of the wall. The corridor was empty, the ghost gone. Had the Bloody Baron gone into a classroom or walked through a wall? Abraxas supposed that where he'd gone didn't matter, as long as he didn't run into him again tonight.

He set off for the stairs, walking down the silent, deserted corridors, puzzling over the antics of the latest Witch in his life, Iris Bulstrode. From the start of term, Iris had thrown herself in Malfoy's path, and when Abraxas had jokingly suggested they meet up, she'd eagerly accepted.

She should have met him after curfew over an hour ago. Why hadn't she turned up?

Tom didn't like Iris. He said that she was a fickle, empty-headed tart who was only interested in the Malfoy name. Abraxas conceded that it was probably true, but that didn't explain her absence tonight. Unless... Had she gone off him? Had she found someone... better? The thought was so horrifying that Abraxas had to stop at one of the windows to stare, critically, at his reflection. He took in the smoothness of his shiny pale-blonde hair, admired the straight line of his aristocratic nose, the autocratic tilt of his lips, and ignored his pointy chin.

"Merlin, I'm a good-looking fellow," he muttered, feeling reassured. "It's no wonder the girls fall at my feet. You've lost out, Iris."

Didn't she realise that she'd blown her chances with him? His mother would be furious if she found out he'd been left waiting. She'd take the slight personally and verbally attack Iris' parents the next time they met. The thought was so amusing that Abraxas toyed with the idea of owling them before discarding the idea. Despite his parents encouraging him to meet as many Pure-blood Witches as possible, his father wouldn't be happy to find he'd broken curfew for a Bulstrode. His father was on the board of school governors, after all. He'd probably get a lecture on avoiding tarts and protecting his inheritance.

So why had Iris missed their session? Surely, it wasn't because of Buffy's encounter with the Dementor that morning? He'd wager ten galleons that Iris (a year above him and not the brightest button in the box) was more interested in currying his favour than Buffy's. Something must have happened to stop her or else... Abraxas scowled. The Blacks!

He'd put another ten galleons that the Blacks were behind this. When Buffy had gone Gryffindor and saved Rigel, they'd closed ranks around Buffy. They'd quietly but firmly placed her under their protection and announced if anyone stepped out of line, they'd face their wrath. They certainly hadn't been happy when Caradoc Dearborn (the bloody Gryffindor) had appeared in the entrance hall, carrying an unconscious Buffy in his arms. From the whispers he'd overheard, Walburga had fair screeched the place down at the indignity of it.

"Walburga, the harpy," Malfoy muttered, continuing to scowl at his reflection in the window.

She had an awful lot of sway within Slytherin. Nothing got past Walburga. If she blamed him for Buffy meeting the Dementor, she'd take gleeful pleasure in telling Bulstrode not to meet him. Iris wouldn't dare cross her. No doubt the accusatory silence in the Common Room and the cold-shoulder at the dinner table were also down to Walburga's influence.

The thought that Iris was forced to skip their date made Abraxas feel slightly better. At least it wasn't because he'd lost his looks or she'd found someone else. He tilted his chin, admiring his profile in the reflection when something caught his eye.

Someone or something was in the shadows, watching him.

He could see it on the other side of the hallway, standing beside the statue of a fat medieval Wizard holding a cornucopia. The long enveloping black robes it wore blended well with the dark shadows by the wall. A chill ran down Malfoy's back as it shifted slightly, giving him a good look at the ragged robes and the way its hood completely covered its face.

'Run! Move! Get out fast!' Every instinct screamed at him to leave, but his legs had become like lead. He was locked in place, paralysed by his own fear.

The something floated out of the shadows, crossing the hallway towards his unprotected back, its head bent and face hidden. Then with painful slowness, it lifted an arm to point at him. It was the sight of those sharp, black fingernails set on claw-like hands that brought Abraxas back to life.

"DEMENTOR!" he yelled, spinning around and pointing his wand at it. He cried, "Expecto Patronum!"

The hooded figure visibly flinched at the spell, but when nothing came from the end of the wand, it lunged for him. Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream that echoed around the empty corridor and took to his heels. He ran as he'd never run before in his life, as if his life depended on it – which it probably did. He raced along the corridor, crashing into the wall when he remembered a shortcut through a classroom, charged up a flight of hidden steps, and then took yet another turning, into yet another long corridor.

Was it still following him? He shot a look over his shoulder. The Dementor was just behind him. Terrified, Malfoy ran faster. He failed to see the student's bag lying forgotten by a bench, when his foot caught in the bag's handle, and he screamed and tripped.

Excited, the Dementor dropped downwards, scenting an easy kill. Malfoy, panic-stricken but determined that he wouldn't die so fast, stumbled to his feet. He took off again, the being swooping behind him. Another set of stairs lay directly in front of him, and he bounded up to them, taking them two steps at a time.

A voice! A voice calling out ahead of him. Tom! Tom was on patrol. His friend would help him.

Abraxas ran on, gasping for breath now. When he reached the spot he thought he'd heard the voice coming from, he looked back over his shoulder. There was no sign of the Dementor. He stopped, leaning over, panting hard, and staring back the way he'd come. Where had it gone? Had he lost it? An icy cold finger touched the side of his face. With a sinking heart, Malfoy turned to look directly into the grinning mouth of a Dementor.

"NOOOOO!"

Malfoy took a step back, stumbling over his own feet and landing heavily on the floor. The Dementor glided forward. Using his heels, he scrabbled backwards until his back hit the wall. He whimpered, and the Dementor's grin grew wider as its cold body covered his, its terrible face moving towards him.

"HEEEELLLLP!" Malfoy, with tears of fright pouring down his face, screamed for all he was worth. He pushed at the Dementor with his hands, but there was no resistance. He might as well be wrestling with fresh air – and the evil face came relentlessly closer and closer. Not wanting to see the end, Abraxas closed his eyes, and darkness closed in on him.

...

"Salazar! What have you been doing?" Tom Riddle's calm voice asked.

Malfoy opened an eye, to find the Dementor gone, and Tom standing over him with his elegant brows drawn together and his wand drawn. Still confused, trembling from fear, and breathless from all the running and screaming, Abraxas could only manage a pathetic whimper.

Tom crouched down beside him, his expression narrowing with concern. "Abraxas, it's me, Riddle." He took in Malfoy's untidy hair and his red, tear-stained face. "Has someone attacked you? Are you injured? Who did this to you?"

"Tom... Tom? Is it... really you?!" Deciding this really was Tom and not a hallucination created by a Dementor, Abraxas threw his arms around Riddle's neck. Caught off-balance, Tom fell on top of the other boy.

"Ger' off me!" yelled a horrified Tom from Malfoy's sweaty neck. Traces of his old cockney accent reappearing he was so thrown by what had happened. He pushed at Malfoy, but the boy clung with all the tenacity of a drowning man to a rock. "Yer, let go of me, Malfoy, or I swear, I'll...I'll give yer pain!"

"It is you!" Malfoy mumbled happily into Tom's hair. He let out a contented sigh and pulled the other boy closer. "You saved me from it. Didn't you? I knew you would. You and I have something special between us."

Tom froze. Then spat, "Get. Off. Me. Now! I'm not interested in you in... that way."

Something must have gotten through to Abraxas, for Malfoy unlocked his grip and allowed Tom to roll away.

"Never, ever touch me again like that," hissed Tom, his voice harsh even though it was hardly above a whisper. "Or I shall give you something to be scared about."

Abraxas barely heard him. Instead, he looked around him, visibly trembling. "Tom, listen to me. There's – ."

"Riddle! Malfoy!" rang out Dumbledore's voice. "Whatever is going on here?"

Tom winced and closed his eyes for a moment. He'd forgotten the Deputy Headmaster was on duty tonight. The bearded professor marched down the corridor towards them, the lamps on either side of the corridor brightening as he walked. Dumbledore's face, normally set in a mild teacher expression, was exceptionally stern as he took in the two boys on the floor together.

"It isn't what you think, Professor Dumbledore!" Tom said. Shamefaced, he rose gracefully to his feet and began to straighten his clothing. Abraxas remained on the floor, groaning. Tom gave him a dirty look; he felt like kicking him for causing more trouble for him with Dumbledore. "Sir, I believe that Malfoy has been attacked. I found him like this."

"Really? That isn't what it looked like to me." Dumbledore looked from a pink-faced Tom to the sweaty Abraxas.

'And there goes any hope of me ever making a good impression with him,' Tom gloomily thought. 'He thinks I went Muggle on Malfoy.'

"Honestly, sir. I found him like this. I think it was the shock that made him grab me." At least, he hoped it was. He didn't want to be 'special' to Malfoy.

Abraxas moaned again, staring into the shadows around him with wide eyes. Riddle wished he'd start explaining, instead of letting everything fall to him.

Dumbledore maintained eye contact with Tom for a beat longer before turning to regard the prostrate Malfoy once more. He crouched, examining him for obvious injuries.

"Who attacked you? Can you tell me who it was?" he said gently. "I promise to do everything in my power to bring them to justice. Don't be afraid of telling me the truth. What role did Tom play in this?"

Abraxas stirred. "Tom?" he repeated wonderingly.

"Yes. What happened just now with Tom?"

Tom scowled at the back of Dumbledore's head.

"It was a Dementor!" Abraxas cried, clutching at the front of Dumbledore's robes so hard that several of the celestial embellishments dropped off.

Inwardly, Tom crowed. Serves you right for blaming me... Wait... a Dementor?

"Are you sure about that?"

Abraxas nodded vigorously. "Professor! There's a Dementor here in Hogwarts! It chased me through the corridors, threw me on the floor, and was just about to kiss me when Tom arrived. He scared it away!"

Dumbledore regarded Tom with a raised eyebrow.

Tom straightened up, and showing no outward sign of his dislike for Dumbledore or annoyance at what had just occurred, answered calmly, "I didn't see it, sir. I heard screaming, ran down here to investigate, and found Abraxas lying here." A little bit of hidden annoyance seeped into his voice, when he added, "I was off-balance and he pulled me to the ground. I think he only did it from the shock, sir."

Tom had an aversion to unexpected physical contact. Malfoy had been lucky not to have his brains blown out with an Exploding charm when he'd grabbed him.

Dumbledore face turned very grim. "Can you stand?" he asked Malfoy. "You need aid and then I must find where this creature has gone to."

Abraxas shook his head. "My legs are too weak. Have I been soul-sucked? Will I die?" He pushed back the hair which had fallen into his eyes. Stifling a sob, he went on, "Tom, I think you're amazing and I'm privileged to have met you. You drove off the Dementor and I owe you so much. I forgive you for everything; including letting Buffy ride my broom, making me wet my trousers, and doing that thing to me with your enormous snake..."

Dumbledore's eyes drifted across to Tom, and Tom winced.

"... I want you to have all of my books and the winnings on the five galleon bet I made with Bernard Weasley. I bet the Slytherins will beat the Gryffindors in the first match of the season. Don't let him get away with not paying you, Tom. He'll weasel out of it if he gets the chance. Tell Avery... Tell him, I thought of him in my dying moments and I want him to have my new broom. Also the one I lent to Buffy, if she ever gives it back," he added sourly. "To Alphard, I leave my collection of Quidditch posters and..."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, sensing that the list was becoming more detailed and extensive. He patted Malfoy on the shoulder to quieten him. "It is far too early to be making your last will and testament, my boy. Since you're unable to stand by yourself, a little magic will aid you to your feet."

Without waiting for Abraxas' agreement and using a wandless, non-verbal spell, Dumbledore's magic lifted Abraxas gently upwards until he stood on his own two feet. Seeing that he was too weak to walk, Tom swallowed back his disinclination to help and put his arm around Malfoy's waist to steady him. He was rewarded by Dumbledore's nod of approval.

"Very good. Now let us proceed to the Infirmary and allow Madam Bones to cast her experienced wand over you, Abraxas." His tone bordering on jolly, he continued, "And during our journey there, I'll be eager to learn more about the meeting with this... 'Dementor' of yours."

…..

…

..

A/N thanks to my beta Deiticlast for being so fast with this.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I read every single one of them and if I can (without giving too much of the plot away) answer questions.

Sometimes I write and wonder if anyone will read it. I am so relieved when people leave a comment and then I know it is being enjoyed.

So... shall we have some Buffy and Tom interaction next chapter or shall we leave the poor young dark lord wannabe alone? Or shall we torment him a little further? ;-)

I can skip, if you prefer?