And here I am back again, we have some different POVs and much plot development...I plan to have more three chapters until the end of the second year.

Beta: lil'hawkeye3, thanks for your work!

Winter came harshly that year, shedding its white veil all over Scotland and, consequently, the castle of Hogwarts. As the coldest winter the United Kingdom saw since 1895, its heavy snowfalls became constant as the days went, and the year ended and another started.

This time, Tom had a large birthday congregation. Slughorn had gone out of his way to dedicate his New Year party to his favourite student and house-member. Abraxas had gifted him beautiful outer robes, and Ragnar a wand-polishing kit with a box made of mother pearl. Dorea gave him a lunarscope and Orion a globe of the moon. Dolohov had given him a dark curio, which although it was immensely useless, it was still pretty interesting. Brianna had been responsible for his new set of eagle-feather quills, and Rowle a bottle of quintin black.

And then there were Anya's presents. A chest with silk shirts and trousers (from his false father) and a locket, which was actually a small pensieve. She had laughed when he had asked what he was supposed to do with it, and answered: "Put the secrets you cannot share in there and lock them away from the world." Aside this, his favourite would always be a hand of glory, gifted to him by an Argo Pyrites.

"Imperio!" A rat walked on his tiny feet to a ledge before throwing itself from the dark tower. Tom clapped loudly, and the white-haired young wizard beamed at him.

"That was good." The older Slytherin praised. "Although a bit common. Is there nothing more creative?"

Argo stared his mentor, who was playing with a candle and his hand of glory, once in a while making everything dark to his apprentice's eyes. He cast the curse one more, this time obliging one rodent to kill another – mangling with claws and teeth. The approving glint in the other's eyes felt incredibly good.

"Oh, what we have here? A traitor of his own kind?" Tom inquired, floating the rat who had been cursed lazily. "Killing his own peers? Imperio." He cursed, making said rat peel his own skin off, killing itself.

Tom sneered at the pile of mice corpses around them in distaste. "This feels useless." He declared. "I would be dueling with you, but your skills are atrocious. It'd be a waste of time."

"Teach me!" The blonde Slytherin demanded.

"Everything? No. I'm not so benevolent." Tom dazed off, his eyes wandering around the tower, taking the details of the environment they were. He had no wish to share all the knowledge he had gathered these two years with this first-year, not when he had so much to learn, but he could train his reflexes. In no way Pyrites would be more agile than him.

"I have an idea, however. I will throw knives. You dodge them."

[][][][][][][][][][

Meier had been avoiding her during those three weeks after yule. Not that this fact bothered her. Not meeting him allowed her to research more about his pendant, and about his person. He had tried to kill her, after all. She had to find something to use against him.

Unfortunately for Anya, there were quite few books about Austrian families in library, and the professors of Durmstrang weren't very open to the British students. Because of that, she had taken into her hands the harsh task of sneaking inside the Durmstrang towers.

It hadn't been so difficult. Laws was friends with a Belgian girl named Delphine van Tovenaar, and her birthday had been a good occasion to arrange a sleep-over in the Durmstrang dorms. Anya had only needed to suggest doing the same at hers. Not that she was planning to.

It was snowing outside in the middle of night, an impetuous snowstorm knocking against the windows of the library – a dark wooden anthem to high ceilings and old and extremely organised bookcases – Teutonic perfectionism indeed. Although the collection of the ship's library was much smaller than the castle's (and the number of books she could read was even more restricted), the knowledge in it was much more accessible.

Anya held an out-of-the-date copy of Zaubererfamilien: der germanischen Völker published during the German unification, almost seventy years previously. It contained a brief overview of every wizarding family of the nation, the kind of thing Anya had wished the Brits had written so that it could be used for Tom's survey of his own family. Surprisingly (but not really), the Grindewalds were there; a line of ancient pureblood merchants, it informed, one of the first to explore China a thousand of years before. At the time of the book's publication, the sole heir of the family had married a lovely-haired Bavarian girl, Mathilde Hedanreich, whose mother was the sister of- can you imagine who? Bathilda Bagshot.

The Slytherin wondered if the dark wizard who had begun this war was the son of the couple – the only surviving members of the family, according the book.

There was no entry on the Meiers, however. So was Meier a half-blood? Or maybe his family had migrated to the country after the book being written. It was a German surname, no doubt of that – but Germans could be found everywhere in the world even at that time, couldn't they?

She shuttled the book in frustration. What to do now? Maybe there was a book on immigration – certainly those things must be recorded somewhere within public access...

At least she had found out what the symbol on the pendant stood for. The Deathly Hallows were part of an old myth which had permeated every country in Europe, attracting believers everywhere. Apparently, Meier was one of those. That spoke highly about his person. They were interesting, mind you. With a cloak of invisibility like that, she would never need a ghost to watch her back again. But truly, Anya was more curious on the stone – if she was allowed to talk with Fanni once more, she would be glad.

She looked over her pile of self-updating books she had gathered, which were only books used for registering legal matters – deaths, births, marriages, contracts, feuds, alliances. They were all for those in Austria, because if the Meiers had lived there, they had to have bought a house and all. Besides those, packs of journals and gazettes were piled, all also published in Austria. As a native, she was supposed to know what had happened in her country the last fifteen years – at the very least.

Anya found one mention only relating to her search, signed on July 15th, 1933: a lonely line stating that a pureblood witch M.B. Liohtleben had married a muggle, W. F. Meier. Judging by the year, Anya would think the girl was his sister-in-law – but there was no way a Muggle-born would be accepted in Durmstrang... was there? Would he resort to blackmail Anya with her muggle childhood, when he was a Muggle-born himself?

Anya stopped her grin before it could show. She had to discover more, keep it quiet for a while. There were many things that didn't match up at all. She copied both the newspapers she had found and the book with a spell, before placing everything in their places again and hurrying up back to bed. Even if it was still dark like midnight, the actual time was almost seven in the morning. No one could find her there.

She slipped in the bedroom, where the mattresses Delphine's older sister had conjured for them covered the floor. Anya placed her bag on the bed she had shared with Dorea – who was still sleeping soundly. The younger witch chuckled, poking her friend's ribs before sneaking into the bathroom and taking a bath, a red-faced Laws following her inside.

[][][][][][][][][][

Ragnar observed as a small entourage of second-year girls walked back to the castle in their black, high-necked and trumpet-skirted uniforms. He was aware where they had spent the night, of course – Brianna hadn't been able to stop rambling about the nightgown she would wear in front of the Durmstrang students.

The auburn-haired wizard cringed. The girls his age were so shallow – well, most women were. He could only truly relate with Dorea, Clemency and Nastya. The first because she was intrinsically different from the concept of the fairer gender, the second was absolutely shallow, but his first friend, a girl full of innocence who actually could see her own shallowness. The later simply because she was too mature to be ignored, too powerful to be forgotten, and too charismatic to be left alone.

She had, after all, saved several people's lives in November. Ragnar could tell the emerald-eyed witch was uncomfortable with the attention she had received from the wizarding world in these two months. Anyone who had known her a bit could see that.

Otherwise, no other attack had occurred in the Britain Isles, and the muggles were faraway from battling in these grounds. That made the raid on Hogsemeade even more curious as while obviously Grindelwald could reach them, he refused to do so.

Kahila Temnov had joined forces with the United Kingdom and France as well, and now every Auror squad against Grindelwald had its own necromancer. It was interesting to notice that something that would be highly frowned-upon in different circumstances was widely accepted by the population in general these times – the only opposition it met came from some rather prejudiced light families.

Tom had been rather amused by this turn of events, and he was there with them now – he had left Moon and Scrimgeour at least. Now he was parading in a fast-pace to meet up with his fellow Parseltongue, leading their group to the Astronomy Tower for their theory class with the Puffs. Ragnar didn't try to contain his sneer when he caught the eyes of Therese Prewett staring at him.

Mr. Prewett was a friend of Reimond Lestrange, and his father had expressed an interest in marrying Ragnar with one of his friend's daughters – be it Marlene, the eldest daughter or Therese, the youngest. Ragnar hated both of them dearly, even though Marlene was actually friends with Brutus Scrimgeour – Wilhelmina Scrimgeour's brother and someone Tom had insisted they should be friendly with.

Ragnar knew Tom's motives for such friendliness. He had been suspecting him since the first time he had seen his friend escorting Georgiana Moon around the castle, as if that was a normal thing to do. The auburn wizard had questioned the indigo-eyed two weeks ago.

"Parading with older ladies around? I'm sure Nastya doesn't agree with such behaviour." Ragnar had declared one afternoon, while they lazed around the border of the Forbidden Forest, a place they used to practice some spells.

"I don't see why she should mind. I've done nothing with them."

"They are nearest you can get from politicians in Hogwarts, Tom."

"Really?" The younger wizard had answered, in a noncommittal tone which had almost convinced Ragnar his friend didn't know what he was actually doing. "I had no idea. But I'm not a social-climber, Raggie. You have confused me with Mucliber."

"Of course you aren't." Ragnar enjoined. "But you want to get in politics."

"British Youth Representative at Wizengamot, at my fifth year. Fourth, perhaps." Tom confided him, eliciting a gasp from his companion. "Does that shock you, Raggie?"

Ragnar had shaken his head, denying the accusation. No, it didn't really shock him. They were Slytherins, an ambitious folk. As the heir of a lord, Ragnar had a seat in Wizengamot awaiting for the time Reimond chose to retire – or died. Whatever it came first. He knew that this wasn't his friend's reality. His family wasn't part of any aristocracy, although they were supposedly rich. But that didn't matter, because Tom would have wanted, and he wanted a seat. Ragnar thought about his own situation, waiting eagerly for the time his father had an encounter with death, but doing no plans of what would happen when he took his place.

"Why?"

"Because I want change."

"Are you alright?" Abraxas checked out, loading his belongings over their desk.

"More than ever." "Just fine." Were the two answers the blonde wizard received from his bestest friends – male and female. He only laughed merrily, sweeping his arms around the other two's shoulders. Ragnar rubbed his neck in frustration, while Dorea gestured with her fists, sharing the auburn wizard's state of mind.

Dorea was also in a pensieve mood that day, even though they were in the astronomy class – to which she usually would dedicate her entire attention. She had hired a half-blood detective to discover some information about her brother, but the man had disappeared into thin air. Thankfully she hadn't paid him entirely. She wasn't keen to losing fifty Galleons to filth.

Still, the idea of knowing the name of her niece – a niece she could actually like, not Walburga (who she secretly detested) – was firm in her brain. There hadn't been a methamorphmagus in the family since great-great-grandaunt Phoebe Black had died in 1882. Most already considered the trait was extinct. She had never married nor had children, despite the fact that she could change her body to be as attractive as she wished. Her family kept hidden the records of the fact that Lady Phoebe had been in fact a very active spinster – using other identities to enjoy pleasures most women couldn't at her time. Dorea had laughed out loud when she had found those archives, hidden in her brother's office.

Her family had some curse on every generation. The traitor curse. The marriage curse. The squib curse. The spinster curse. The mentally insane curse. Someone was always blasted off every generation for the first three, while the others were quite welcomed. Somebody was always disowned for supporting muggle-rights, Phineas II, Eduardus I, Eridanus IV, Naos XV, Capella XIX being the latest. Then there were ones who married the wrong person like Iola V, Carina XI, Deneb III, Norma I. Someone was born without magic: Marius VIII, Bayer XXI, Apodis II, Doracetia IV; all of them ruining perfectly good names she no longer could use because they were ill omen.

The spinster curse had many motives usually. Sometimes, a member of their family happened to be ugly, like Andromeda III, Alexia VII or Capella XVI had been. Others it was a question of power, or lack of it, like Hamal V, Eridanus II, Lyra VI or her sister Cassiopeia VIII had suffered. Yet, there was those little times when a fiery personality kept the others away, those included Phoebe X, Antares XVIII and Theodora II had.

But it was the insane factor that truly worried her. It hadn't been like this forever. Their family had started in Norway, around the fifth century. The second son of Halfdan Svarti, whose first son would be the first king of Norway, would leave the lands when his brother rose in power. He had been fascinated with the stars, and travelled to Greece in order to read the ancient studies on it. His son and daughter would leave the country, a traveller like his father. Prokyon Blaec – the first named after a constellation – and his wife and sister Chelae. They would have four children: Delphin, Stephanos, Parthena and Megale. And the first insane Black would be born from the union of Stephanos with Megale, Wulfricus Blaec. Yet, it would take almost two-hundred years for another insane Black to appear, Therion Blaec. Now, there were several in every generation.

Cygnus Black XI had killed himself at the age of 22, just after poisoning his wife Ella, whom he had married his fifth year, while she was pregnant with their fourth children, and he had poisoned his six year old son as well. Both of them would die in 1853.

Their third child, who grew up into Aunt Elladora, the crazy woman who had the brilliant idea of beheading house-elves when they got useless. Frankly, Dorea found the tradition disrespectful to the creatures who had long-serviced them; but she would have never revealed that to her aunts – who loved it dearly.

Her great-great-grandaunt Hesper VI killed herself in her insanity, losing control over a necromancy ritual – her death cause being eaten by the corpse of a dragon while cackling. Her aunt Lycoris was the kind of person her brother had always protected her from; the woman wandered around the Black Ancestral Home muttering nonsensical things. At the age of thirty-five, Dorea never understood why none had wanted to marry her. Lycoris was her most beautiful relative, in an androgynous way.

From her generation, Dorea feared that everyone was half-insane, some in more deceiving ways. Walburga and Cygnus were the most, clearly, but she knew Lucretia was worse – only better at diplomacy. Young Aramita, at the age of nine, could easily repeat the same rhyme she had learnt in her cradle. She wanted to hunt muggles, she wished to dominate them. Dorea was aware that Aramita's parents – Lacerta née Black and Godophredus Burke – travels to Germany weren't in order to taste baumkuchen.

Sometimes, Dorea wondered if she would go insane as well.

"Dora, are you feeling well?" The sound of the voice of her cousin ringing across the classroom stirred her up. Lyra Black had been blood-adopted by Dorea's cousin Regulus XI and his partner Gaius Rosier as soon as she had been born in 1917. Dorea wondered if insanity could be passed through blood-adoption, because Lyra wasn't the sanest pea of the pod either – even if she seemed to be. At the age of 23, Lyra changed lovers more than she changed underwear – and she took three rose baths every day, Dorea knew.

"I'm incredibly fine, Lyra. Has everyone left already; how dare they?"

"I told them to leave you behind." Her teacher answered, her silver mane of hair shining brightly against her violet eyes. She was gorgeous in a manly manner, a consequence of being blood-adopted by two men.

"Is that so? Well, I'm sure you are not that worried over my well-being. I may love Astronomy, but this wouldn't be the first time I didn't pay attention to something I knew everything about even before I was able to walk."

"Very well. How is Ms. Donbyre? She left quite an impression after her stunt in Hogsmeade. And you, Orion, Ms. Donbyre and Mr. Riddle are the best of the year in the subject. I quite like them."

"That's rather expected. If Blacks don't do well in Astronomy the ghost of Prokyon Black will haunt they forever. Aside that, Nastya and Tom are the best in everything they do – it's bloody annoying. Teachers shouldn't waste their time trying to stir competition between our year, those two will always occupy the first place together. It's unbelievable." Dorea marvelled. "But, Nastya is fairing as well as possible. She hates the attention, and she blames herself – the foolish girl – but she is breath-taking, in all her helplessness."

"And Mr. Riddle? I take he is the one who is most affected by whatever happens to her?"

"I have no idea how Tom is feeling. But I assure you he doesn't feel guilty over it – and probably nothing else." Dorea related, looking over her cousin. "Why the question?"

"They are powerful, more powerful than you think – when you come of age you will understand. And they have talents…" The woman trailed off, absent-minded. "Our family is interested in them, your brother mainly. You should keep them more informed, Dora. About everything. Pollux won't betray your secrets."

"I'm not sure if I should. They take secrets very seriously."

"If you know secrets, you should confide to your blood, Dora. You can trust us."

"Thanks Merlin Tom and Nastya are distrustful enough to confide none to me, if my duty is to retell them." The young witch replied acidly, skulking into the empty corridor.

"I didn't toke you as the loyal until disownment kind." A voice commented, causing Dorea to stare at Charlus Potter fixatedly. "I would say you are more an 'avoid-any-problems' traitor; you are a Slytherin after all."

"You don't have this image of Nastya, though." Dorea affirmed what they both knew to be true.

"She is an exception." He declared.

"Not whatever Slytherin who gave you the idea we were back-stabbers?" She scoffed.

"It was more than one, actually." He reported.

"It could have been a hundred. It'd still be an equivocate generalisation. To be right, you would have to have talked with all Slytherins since the founders. If seventy percent of them were back-stabbers, then generalisation would be acceptable." She snapped. "Slytherin is the house of fraternity and self-preservation. Anyone with a surviving instinct doesn't betray people at one's first chance…What are you doing here, by the way?"

"Quidditch. I'm helping Sean train to get in next year. I had to speak with him. I saw Nastya and the rest leaving, and she asked me to wait for you. Who am I to deny the Hestia of People?"

"Helping your enemy, huh? I don't know, Potter, surpassing a chaser like you can't be that difficult. Are you sure the pupil won't be better than the master in some weeks?" She laughed when he spluttered in indignation and began to run quickly in the direction of the Transfiguration Tower. Dumbledore didn't like delays, and the mad Gryffindor running angrily behind her was a good incentive to run.

[][][][][][][][][][

Callidora was searching for her two sisters. They were supposed to meet in the Great Foyer in order to search for the abandoned garden Nastya was organising their cousin's birthday in. However none of the two had appeared. She found her youngest sister while she walked down the direction of the Snake's Pit.

Charis was sitting quietly in the Dungeons Hall, making a portrait of her fiancé while he ignored her in exchange for reading a book. Callidora frowned. While she had been friends with Caspar when she was little, the time had passed and with that, he had become more and more emotionless towards everyone.

She peeked over her sister, taking her drawing in sight. Charis was far from being an artisan – she lacked creativity and passion for the activity – but nevertheless, she had put some effort in it and her technique was good enough.

"Ari, while I appreciate your drawing skills, you must hurry up. We promised to show up in time to help with the final arrangements. Nastya and the girls are doing all the work. And the boys won't be able to keep Dora away forever, not from her girl friends."

Charis looked between her fiancé and her sister hesitantly, trying to decide what to do. Her sister took the decision from her, to the younger witch's relief, and grabbed her wrist in the gentle but unyielding way only Callidora Black could.

"I didn't say she could leave." Were Caspar's first words to her that day, in the cold tone.

"You weren't even talking to her." She pointed out. "Besides, I was her sister before she became your fiancé."

And then she rudely stalked out accompanied by a delicate beauty, none too pleased with the treatment of her sister. "You don't have to endure his rudeness, Ari. I may not be able to prevent your marriage, but I promise to always be there if something goes wrong."

"A good wife never bothers her husband with whines." Charis recited in the emotionless tone she had used her whole life.

"You are not his wife yet, Ari. And even when you become, you will never be solely his wife. You are a sister, a daughter, and a friend as well. He isn't going to be the lone person in your life."

"Caspar would never harm me, Ally."

"But I'd never put past him to forget about and leave you starved in a corner because he didn't care to warn the house-elves you are their mistress." Callidora grumbled, catching the sight of Blishwick walking down the Slytherin corridor.

"Have you seen my twin, captain?"

"Elly Black? She was with a Gryffindor."

"Her redhead beau." Isla Crabbe informed her. "You should have a talk with your sister, Ally, before she turns into a muggle-lover. I like you, and because of that I'm warning, but the Malfoys won't forgive if she betrays Master Caesar with a blood-traitor."

"Although I suppose your cousin could marry the heir for their forgiveness." Blishwick pondered over.

"Dorea and Abraxas would kill you if they hear you speaking like that, Blishwick. Near the Lion's Den?"

"Or inside it. Who knows, they could be in a broom cupboard as well." Isla sang, linking her arms with her partner's.

Callidora nodded, avoiding to comment further in the subject. She turned to her sister. "Pick a location."

"I don't like Quidditch."

"The Gryffindor Tower, then." At the end, they found a disheveled Cedrella in a broom closet, clearly panting and blushing to death. Her shirt had buttoned wrongly, the high-neck of it disappearing in a heavy scarf which, at the early Spring, had only one reason to be there – and it wasn't the light breeze.

"Where is he?" Callidora demanded.

"Who?" Her twin asked petulantly. The eldest daughter gave her a pointed look. "I have no idea what are you talking about, dear sister."

Callidora looked at their youngest sister, who was watching the whole thing with something akin to horror. "Leave us." She ordered, and only turned to her twin after casting some silencing charms around them. "This whole room scents heavily of bodily fluids, Cedrella."

The younger witch blushed. "I was touching myself." She lied, knowing her sister also recognised it as a lie. "My mind must remain pure and innocent as well, dear sister? I think you confused sisters."

"You weren't wanking, we both know that."

"Are you denying my happiness, Ally?!" Cedrella lashed out. "You are such a hypocrite. You fight with dad everytime you can over Charis's wedding…but you don't care about the fact I'm to marry a sadist prick, do you? I'm your twin! You were supposed to care more about me than about your own life! But you don't do you? You are going to marry perfect Longbottom, who loves you much more than you will ever be able to. You are cold-hearted, yet you will have the perfect relationship. Why is that me? Why is me who has to suffer? I love Timmy, why do you deny my happiness? It's because you are jealous, aren't you? That I'm the prettiest twin. That I'm marrying the richest and oldest family – you can have him for all that I care, but he doesn't want you. And I don't want him because Timmy is my soulmate." She looked at her in despair.

"I love him, Ally. More than anything. More than life."

Callidora looked at her sister. She knew her sister was truthful when she spoke of love (although not of jealously, Callidora had no wish to marry Malfoys). She had suspected for a while that her sister's boyfriend meant more to her than it was common among those relationships.

Nevertheless, she also knew her father would never undo the contract, and neither would the Malfoy family. Crouch could be intimidated; their family wasn't as powerful as the Blacks, neither in society nor in riches. The House of Malfoy, au contraire, had always been their betters and they would never accept the House of Black snubbing them – even more if it came from a side of the family that wasn't even the principal. It had to be done, and the bride options weren't open to discussion.

"Has he deflowered you?" She questioned harshly.

Cedrella retreated at the tone of her voice, her eyes searching for something akin to compassion at the face which was hers as well. "No. Of course no, Ally, I would never-"

"Make sure he doesn't. A sullied bride is the last thing a Malfoy needs."

"Listen to me! I love Timmy, Ally, I refuse to marry Malfoy."

"Did Weasley ask for your hand in marriage?"

"He is a fifth year-"

"Answer the question."

"No, but he loves me! And he speaks of our future together and I want it, Ally. I dream of our family – our large, extensive and beautiful family."

"But he would have to ask you to this future before it has the opportunity of happening." Callidora stated venomously before sighing. "Whatever. If you have this necessity of playing with Weasley do what you want. But don't let your interactions with him make you forget the fact you are still the fiancée of Caeserus Malfoy. And you will continue to be."

"You don't understand, I don't want to be with him like this. He is not a thing, a phase. I don't want a taste of what it is like to be with him and then be forced away. How can you be so cold-hearted?"

Callidora stared at her, her face blank, void of any emotions. Cedrella shrieked in a fit of rage and hurried past her sister, not caring if there was someone else around to watch them.

The older witch sighed. Not so long ago, the two of them had been inseparable. Twins who could read each other's mind and guess their thoughts every time. Now that bond seemed lost in a sea of fights and compromise. She remembered the time her twin and herself had sworn to protect their baby sister. That oath and many others were lost, she knew. The three of them who had been so united, skating and laughing, were no more.

She opened the door, and Charis looked at her apprehensively. Callidora gave her sister a weak smile and motioned to follow her. It was Dorea's birthday after all.

Charis walked behind her silently and meekly. Callidora wanted to groan. Why were her sisters so difficult? She was only doing that to protect them. To protect their family. Cedrella was a luxurious girl who wouldn't find happiness amongst the muggles the Weasleys lived in and the poverty they were very fond of. Charis was too submissive already, she didn't need someone to lower her confidence even more. She would always retreat until came the time when she didn't exist anymore.

[][][][][][][][][][

Tom walked down to the Owlery, his hands playing with a small pouch, humming softly: the image of cheer to anyone. As he approached the castle the sounds of giggling girls and boasting boys got louder. A trio of Hufflepuffs third-years was making goo-eyes at him. He cringed internally. Pettihart, Bennet and MacHaren were far from being interesting to him.

Nevertheless, even a bunch of Mudbloods and muggle-lovers wouldn't stop his joy that day. Of course, as Mark Twain would say, to get the full value of joy you must have someone to divide it with. And he planned to share this happiness with someone else in less than two weeks. The thought made him smile again.

Even the fact his Anya's dream visions had become more and more incomprehensible wouldn't sour his mood. Oh, he should get her one day and go exploring that cavern under the lake she had told him about. Perhaps a continuous exposition to such dream-like scenery would awake something in her unconscious.

A chuckle caught his attention because it was nearest than all the sounds – much too near to not be directed at him – and he turned around to see an elegant and slightly gangly figure leaning on the wall, a presumptuous expression in face. He had brunet hair, rich long waves, and long jade eyes. Tom obviously recognised the figure. He had seen the Durmstrang student far too many times around Anya.

"Tom Riddle, what a coincidence!"

Tom raised one of his eyebrows. Meeting with someone who lived in the same castle you did was hardly a coincidence. It was rather expected. "Anya spoke of you of course. You must forgive me, I'm Dominik. Dominik Meier."

The Slytherin felt his muscles contorting into something more angry as he heard the Austrian address his partner with such causality – with his nickname to her. "No – it's me you should forgive. I fear she had never ever mentioned you." He emphasized. "But beyond question you have heard of me. We have spent too much time together to be differently."

"Indeed. May I inquire the reason behind such glee? The narratives Anya told of you too never conveyed such happiness."

"Really? You mustn't have spent enough time with her them – I'm sure these will come soon. As it is, the reasons beyond my cheer are nothing more than birthdays. You must know Dorea Black, today is her birthday. I'm only pleased with my choice of present. And of course, soon will be Anya's date of birth – but I must be boring you with old news."

"Undoubtedly not. I'm waiting eagerly for the date." The older boy assured him. "Has your birthday already happened, Anya didn't mention it."

"In the last day of the year I turned thirteen actually." Tom stated. "You had something to speak with me?"

"I was wondering what I should gift her. Do you have any suggestions?" Meier questioned.

"I have none. I carried out all my ideas, I fear." He drawled. "Spoiling one's fiancé is the raison d'être of everyone, obviously."

"By all means. Is that one of them?"

"It is." Tom agreed.

"Very well. It was a pleasure to be introduced to you, Mr. Riddle." Meier said, disappearing in a corner instants latter. Tom barely contained a scowl.

Now, his mood had gone sour.

Guesses? Follows? Favorites? Suggestions? Critiscism? Reviews overall? Love ya, guys!