I'm not dead, in case you were wondering, just a very lazy person who did the grave mistake of getting addicted to yet another tv show. And whose teachers decided to bombard her with homework. But winter break= update time, so there you go.

To Guest: You gotta admit, it's pretty entertaining. Well, she's in sixth year and trained in magic from very early years, presumably, so much as I love Tom and Harry, I can't quite claim they'd be a match to her yet. Thank you for the review!

To Alexibia: Firstly, I need to say that your reviews absolutely made my day, thank you so much for taking the time and reviewing every chapter. They were really fun to read. You're a darling. I'm glad you're enjoying this so far (and my crappy attempts at humor in the notes)!

Disclaimer: After a journey of twelve chapters, I think I've finally accepted not owning Harry Potter, tragic as it may be.

Dorea, being a Black and a Slytherin, valued ambition, cunning, and the like.

Therefore, she had no idea how on earth she had been coaxed into spending the last Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas with a very Gryffindor Charlus Potter, who, in her (not) objective opinion, was the polar opposite of all those qualities.

But, well...Being a sixth year from her family, in her house and position required perfect subtlery and composure; every word, every action, every expression was calcuated and judged, and there was no room for mistakes. It was like tightrope walking. The smallest of misteps and everything was over.

Charlus' blunt honesty, his easy manners, how laid-back she could be with him, how openly she could speak her thoughts, or laugh, and still be genuinely liked by the other was like a breath of fresh air.

There was free time, and she simply indulging the boy, since she happened to appreciate his company on some level. Really, if she'd grabbed his hand at some point and entwined their fingers, it was just to lead him into the Three Broomsticks- she wouldn't put it past the idiot to manage to get lost, even in Hogsmeade.

"Any chance I'll get to see you during the Christmas break?" Charlus asked hopefully, setting their butterbeers on the table and plopping down next to her.

They were sitting in a secluded corner, no one that matteres should be able to see them, so she rolled her eyes before giving him a sharp look. "You know the answer to that, Potter."

He made a (worrying adorable) face. "Will you at least write?"

"No," she responded instantly. "I hardly see the reason to do so when we'll be seeing each other again so soon. However, I suppose you can write, and if you mention anything remotely interesting I'll verbally reply after the holidays."

"Soon!" Charlus repeated, incredulously. "Two weeks isn't soon at all."

"Merlin! Is patience an unknown word to you, Potter?"

He gave an all too childish pout, but dropped the matter.

Maybe he wasn't completely hopeless; maybe he had some sort of Gryffindor equivalent to common sense, if such a thing existed. Dorea regarded him with a small smile, and thought that a small reply to his letter, attached to his Christmas present could, in fact, be sent. And promptly scolded herself.

It was not an outrageous thing to do, there was nothing technically wrong with it...But to write back was to admit the lack of communication bothered her, and that was ridiculous in two weeks time. It wasn't like she'd miss the boy, or anything.

Oh, well, there was time to consider it. If there was something that absolutely needed addressing, it'd be justified and logical to answer, wouldn't it? Besides, it was only polite. But then- Dorea had a suspision she was overthinking it.

At least the rest of the da- meeting passed somewhat pleasantly, in a relaxed atmosphere. It wasn't a complete waste of her time. The time to return to Hogwarts, in fact, came much further than she could have anticipated, and she was slightly hesitant to leave.

She would ignore the alarming ease with which Charlus' hand slipped into hers as they got up to leave the shop. Still just indulging him, it was a non-verbal thank you for not being completely unbearable. Simple as that.

Maybe Dorea was a bit fond of him, but it only went that far. Acknowlegement of him not being the worst company in the world, and maybe even platonic friendship. She was certain no one with an ounce of intelligence could be attracted to a Gryffindor.

When the boy glanced around as the reached the castle, making sure no one was looking- Dorea supposed she should thank Merlin he at least thought to take that simple precaution- and then pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, she wasn't quite so certain anymore.

He pulled back quickly, giving a bold but nervous grin. Dorea glared, actually feeling her cheeks redden. She resisted the urge to bring a hand to them, and reached for her wand instead.

"You have a three seconds headstart before I hex you," she warned, eyes narrowed.

Charlus chuckled and ran off. "I'll write to you soon!" he yelled, glancing over his shoulder.

The absolute prat. Wasn't even a good kiss, anyway.

She folded her arms with an irritated huff and headed to the Commom Room, giving no signs of being as unsettled as she felt. Charlus was certainly not getting a letter from her now, with what he went and did, the idiot.

The dim-lit room was almost empty, with most students up in their dormitories to pack their belongings. Very few Slytherins would be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas; a couple or so of seventh years, in hope of peaceful studying for their NEWTS, a girl from third year, two boys from first year- two particular boys she meant to keep an eye on, that was- and herself.

They'd been laying very quietly since that stunt they'd pulled with the conjured snake, but it was a perfect opportunity, and she judged it about time to discover exactly what was the mystery covering Tom Riddle and Harry Potter.

The latter of whom may or may not be related to Charlus, but Dorea refused to think about him at the moment.

One of the many things Harry adored about Hogwarts was its liveliness, but he had to admit that the castle was just as enchanting void of all chattering students.

He spent the first few days of the Christmas holidays going for long walks in the empty, candle-lit corridors, in the seemingly endless grounds surrounding the castle, sometimes with Tom and sometimes alone. It was entrancing- he felt as if Hogwarts itself was a magnificent spell, and he a part of it.

He almost lost track of time, what with not being required to wake up for classes or be in the Great Hall for breakfast, and with the professors- or, well, most of them- uncharacteristically lenient about curfew. It would be easy to believe that Hogwarts existed out of time, almost.

Harry only knew today was Christmas Day because of the presents the rest of the Slytherins had shown off in the common room that morning. He and Tom decided to spend the day outside, with his friend claiming to be irritated by the students' enthusiastic views on Christmas, and Harry himself more than happy to go along with it.

Until then, Harry hadn't very much liked the holiday either, but this year...He received no presents, and there were no special events, but he found it amazing regardless. Just spending the day with his best friend, in a place he was slowly coming to consider home was more than he could have thought to ask for.

"It's snowing," Tom murmured, "you should be dressed warmer."

Harry sent his attire a glance, and shrugged. "I'm not cold. Besides, what do you suggest I wear? Do you plan on knitting mittens for me?"

"Yes, and strangling you with them," Tom clarified, sending him a dark glare. "I swear, Potter, if the whole 'holiday spirit' has lowered your IQ, too..."

"What do you have against holidays, anyway? It's a bit ridiculous."

"Your face is ridiculous, what's your point?"

Harry snorted, ignoring the slightly sullen look on Tom's face. He lingered a few steps behind, kneeling down to pick some snow from the ground, even if his ungloved hands protested at the icy contact. Yes, a pair of mittens would be really helpful at the moment. He made the snow into a ball, shivering.

Tom would probably find this ridiculous, too.

He aimed, then threw.

Tom came to the sudden realization that Harry wasn't walking beside him anymore, and wiped around sharply, just in time to see his friend standing up, clutching something in his hand. He was wearing a grin Tom knew well, and it could mean nothing good.

"If you're doing what I think you're doing-"

The snowball hit him in the face.

Oh, Harry would be paying for this.

"You dare...!"

His friend laughed carelessly and made a run for it, with Tom chasing after him, incredulous of his own actions. He knew that had been Harry's plan precisely, to rope him into retaliating. But just because he could see the trap, didn't mean he wouldn't walk straight into it.

The fact that Harry was a good runner wasn't helping one bit. Tom was taller, and probably stronger physically, logic suggested that he should be able to catch up to Harry pretty fast, however, the distance between them chose to ignore all logic and refused to lessen. It got bigger, if anything.

Still, Tom was the first to remember that they had magic, and with a quickly cast levitating charm on a pile of snow, the chase was over. Harry gave a surprised yelp and tripped, falling on his face and getting even more full of snow, somehow. Tom couldn't quite help feeling a childish sort of triumph.

"You're so petty," Harry huffed.

"I prefer the term vengeful," he corrected with a tauntingly sweet smile.

Harry glowered, scowling darkly.

Game on.

Tom honestly had no idea why his friend was angry with him.

He wasn't the one to start this, and besides, he'd warned Harry to dress warmer, hadn't he? It was entirely the other's fault that he'd gotten a cold, and had to spend his hours sneezing in the common room or dormitory, wrapped up in blankets. He didn't see how blame could possibly fall on him.

If anything, it was Tom who should be angry. They were supposed to practice three new spells over the holidays, and now they would fall behind schedule. Just because Harry felt like being childish and refusing to dress accordingly to the weather.

He made a mental note to take his revenge in a less counter-productive way, next time Harry decided to aggravate him- but it was still the other boy's fault.

So it was completely unreasonable that Tom should feel obliged to remain in the common room with his idiot of a best friend, instead of doing something that actually had somewhat of a point in it. Especially considering how ungrateful Harry was being, whose every sneeze was accompanied by a murmured , "prat."

Yet, there he was.

"You brought this to yourself, you know," he commented lightly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I just randomly decided it'd be tons of fun to bury myself in a pile of snow."

"And I, amazing as I am, decided to assist you," Tom added.

"You're an asshole, has anybody ever told you that?"

Harry's tone was gruff, but Tom detected a hint of amusement in it.

"My best friend may have mentioned it before. Usually he tends to find me incredible, though."

"I find the second part a bit hard to believe. Perhaps you misunderstood. He probably meant conceited."

"Did he now? I remember him saying no such thing, and my memory is excellent."

"Yes, okay, brag some more. You're proving my point."

Tom didn't consider that worth of a reply, much more interested in the fact that they were being approached by an older girl, a sixth year prefect by the name of Dorea Black- mystery girl from the hospital wing. She invited herself to sit on the empty chair right next to him.

Well, this could prove interesting.

Saying nothing, the girl handed a small vial over to Harry, and his friend accepted it mechanically, blinking at her.

"Thanks," he said. "...What is this?"

"Pepper up, for your cold. And," she added, turning to Tom, "if I may make a suggestion, you should learn the heating charm. So next time your friend goes out in the snow thinking we still have September, this doesn't happen."

Tom nodded.

Of course there would be such a charm- he should have thought of it sooner. This entire fiasco could have been avoided.

"I believe it will come in handy. Thank you," he replied evenly, giving a polite smile. "I am Tom Riddle, pleasure to meet you, miss...?"

"Dorea Black, likewise."

"I'm Harry Potter," his friend greeted, going for a grin. "Thanks again."

"Think nothing of it," Dorea dismissed. "After all, us Slytherins got to stick together, no? Merry Christmas, boys."

She stood and left, looking far too accomplished and satisfied with herself. A wrapped, book-sized box lay on the armchair were she was sitting a moment ago.

Harry was beaming.

Tom decided that Blacks were a nuinsance.

"Don't drink that, it might be poisoned," he snapped, as Harry opened the vial and sniffed the potion curiously.

The other snorted. "Yes, because when someone wants to poison you, they do it by openly handing you the poison in front of witnesses. She definitely wouldn't, I don't know, slip it in my food or something."

In all likelihood there was nothing wrong with the potion, he knew, but he still felt the urge to snatch it off Harry's hands and smash it on the ground.

"Perfect bluff."

"My god, you're paranoid."

He was not.

He was just entirely aware of the fact that the vast majority of people had ill intentions, and thus, it was necessary to tread with caution. Especially considering how trusting his friend was, which meant Tom had to be careful enough for both of them.

"You're still not drinking it. Merry Christmas, Harry."

"Merry Christmas, prat."

Merry Christmas, everyone :)