Quidditch try outs.

I swear, my life would be twenty times easier if Quidditch never existed. The boys would stop bugging me, attempting to humiliate me (note the use of the word "Attempt." I refuse to acknowledge pathetic retorts followed by unnecessary laughter as decent comebacks), and pat me in the back and say, "You have a few more years, kid!" as though me not trying out didn't mean anything.

Now, I had nothing against the game.

I just didn't get the logic, understand the cosmic power people seemed to gain from flying, and how being good at Quidditch equaled automatic power when all it did was give you better reflexes.

Okay, so maybe I had a few issues with it.

But there was one advantage associated with Quidditch try outs: The Common room would be empty, and I could snoop around and pick up a few books that Avery and his followers possibly left lying around.

I hardly came to the Common room. I wouldn't be able to refrain from hexing them – especially since the Heads didn't supervise often. But I'd lose my prefect badge, possibly my possible nomination for Head Boy next year and, if my luck was particularly rotten, they'd make my silly hex look like a Dark spell and convince Dippet to kick me out.

I refused to look at this as cowardly. I could stand up for myself, but I also needed to be careful.

I'd get back at them some other day. I promised myself this, not empty words.

Sadly, the Gryffindor try outs were first, which meant the Slytherins would have theirs only at the end of the week.

"Who do you think the seeker would be?" Malfoy asked me, like I actually cared. "Most people have placed it on Weasely, but personally I think he's better off as a Beater. If I do say so myself, a seeker needs a more slender build. It helps you penetrate the air faster. Hermione calls it a streamlined body. Weasely's got beefy shoulders…as much as I hate to admit, he's not stupid, he'll pick someone else…"

Oh, so he's all enthusiastic and technical now, but just nods dumbly when I explain something in the library!

I was going to tell him flat out that he was pissing me off, but Flint came in and saved me from the possibility of losing my only friend. "Abraxas, they've chosen the new seeker for Gryffindor!"

"How did they pick him so quickly?" Abraxas asked, bewildered.

"She, not he. And apparently it was some on-the-spot thing."

"A girl?" he was shocked now. "A female seeker?"

"Granger," Flint said simply.

Malfoy laughed. "Unicorn shit. Hermione's afraid of heights."

Flint looked a little uncomfortable now.

"Malfoy," I said slowly, "Wrong Granger."

He stared at me for precisely eleven seconds before bursting into peals of laughter.

Well, I wasn't dead right now, so I supposed this was a good thing. Then he stopped. "Are you serious?"

Flint nodded. "I'm sure she'll be horrible and easy to beat," he added hastily. Suck ups. They never made sense to me.

Nah, I think she'd be pretty good actually," he said casually, throwing us off. "I mean, Weasely isn't stupid. Maybe just a bit impulsive, if he chose her on the spot. But who would pick a girl unless she was better than the whole lot? Unless," he added thoughtfully, "She's going to try to appear as a distraction."

"How?" Flint asked, not quite getting the drift.

"Like a slut."

The other's jaw dropped. Malfoy never spoke of girls like that, even the actual sluts.

I cautiously considered if he was going to pose a threat to me in the future. I respected him, but if the time called I wouldn't seek his companionship. If he acted like this about a silly fifth year girl just because she didn't react well to him, what was to stop him from trying to force me onto his ideals? The probability of him actually succeeding to force me was low, but if there was one thing I learnt from Dumbledore, it's that you must never underestimate anyone.

"I'm going to the library," I interjected briskly. But they were too immersed in the conversation to notice.

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My favourite table was taken. It was an important section of the library, and the books explored every branch of magic imaginable.

It also happened to be a really good place to share secret conversations, I realised quickly, as I listened to the Granger cousins converse.

"He's trying to make you think exactly that!" Indignant, rebellious and slightly annoying tone. I spy a redhead.

We've got no proof," Granger said. "Let's judge him when he actually does something, okay? I'm sick of arguing with you."

Obviously, the conversation had no more scope to develop, and I emerged from the shelves. I adopted an expression of mild surprise and curiosity on seeing them. Then I shrugged, making it look like I didn't care that they read the same books I did.

My feigned indifference seemed to assure Granger I hadn't eavesdropped, but the other girl wasn't so sure.

"How much did you hear?" she asked.

I snorted. "Please. I didn't even think other people visited this section. Granger – I mean, the brunette here, well, I'm not so surprised, but I didn't think you liked learning. Congratulations on your new position in the Gryffindor Quidditch team," I said this with all the sincerity I could muster.

It must have been a good thing, because she looked pleasantly surprised and Granger shot her a triumphant look. I had an odd suspicion they were previously talking about me. "T-thanks."

"You like reading, too?"

"Oh, no! Not much. When I need to, or when I feel like it. I, um. I think I'll go, do my homework." Then she hesitated, and looked at her cousin. She rolled her eyes, and gave an all-shall-soon-be-well look.

I assumed the flame child was afraid I'd kill Granger in her absence. As much as I wanted to argue that if that were the case, I'd have done it weeks ago, I considered the possibility of my argument fuelling her suspicion even more.

"I'm sorry my companion is behaving like a jerk to you." While I said it to make a better impression, I also meant it. To some extent.

This elicited another show of shock, and she stuttered her goodbye.

"The miscellaneousness is amazing, isn't it," I commented after a few minutes, running my fingers across the bonds. Granger, whom I could have sworn was pretending to read her book while she attempted to look at me 'sneakily,' blushed at my address. "Yeah. I feel my options really aren't so narrow when I'm here."

"What do you mean, narrow options?" I asked, resisting complimenting her intelligence again. "You'd have plenty." Damn.

"Not many good ones," she said. "St Mungo's healing programme, Auror training, or a ministry job."

"You have a lot of sections at the ministry," I pointed out.

"They're all the same kind of work." She sighed. "Papers, desk, file, muck around. And far too corrupt," she ended darkly.

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"Research, ultimately." That made sense. "Maybe a curse breaker." What?

"As in, simply breaking curses?" I asked incredulously.

She nodded. "It sounds mediocre, but at least you move around." She paused. "And not fly."

I chuckled, once again feeling weirdly nice when she looked at me in amazement. "Research is your thing. Though, I think you'd make an excellent teacher."

"Really?" Then she scoffed. "You're only saying that because my lectures get on people's nerves."

"I'm absolutely serious. When you were explaining Arithmancy the other day, you were brilliant," I insisted. "Please don't make me say that again."

She laughed softly. "But won't it be binding? Can't move around, too much commitment."

"Actually, you have even more opportunity to explore. You know the Floral Growth Potion?"

"Of course."

"Invented by a Mister Horace Slughorn."

She gasped, her eyes wide with admiration.

"I promise you," I said almost childishly, grinning now, feeling quite encouraged, "I had no idea until I got to the end of the page and saw his name, with all seven initials, followed by "Potions master at Hogwarts.""

"Unbelievable. And seven initials? Honestly, now?"

"His name is longer than Dumbledore's."

She rolled her eyes. "How would you know?"

I proceeded to recite both their full names dutifully.

By the time I was done, she was laughing extremely hard. I couldn't help but grin along. Her utter warmth and light heartedness was contagious – and although I was slightly disappointed at myself for keeping my guard down around the girl who had tried to kill me, I couldn't help but also feel relieved that I was not abnormally immune to her charms.

She then picked a book completely out of random. It read, Basic Healing techniques of the Dragon Trainer: A guide. The debate lasted for over an hour.

"Oh, Merlin. It's no use arguing with you," she sighed, leaning back on her seat.

I smirked. "I'm serious, though. Hogwarts never makes cheesecake for dessert. There has to be a reason. Either the professors are allergic – which doesn't make sense, they could just skip dessert – or the elves who cook are allergic." I regarded her. "You're not going to stop arguing with me completely, are you?" I said mock worriedly.

Her smug smile caused me to break out of the act and snicker. "I am quite entertaining," she said haughtily. She leaned forward, and this time, I didn't feel uncomfortable when she made eye contact. "What colour are your eyes?"

I shrugged. "Grey. Blue. Big diff."

"Did you say, "Diff"?" she said in awed tones.

I huffed. "I'm not some kind of knight who speaks elegantly all the time."

"In Potions, you are. Slughorn seems to fancy himself as your damsel in distress."

I laughed aloud.

"What part of it was that funny?" she asked curiously.

"I was imagining him wearing a pink dress, climb down a tower and fall on a Donkey and scream, "Tom, my boy! Give me a hand, would you?" even though there was technically nothing I could do."

She stared at me. "You're crazy," she said finally.

"Took you long enough," I feigned boredom, inspecting my nails, and she laughed.

Then suddenly, she turned intense and serious again, and I realised I enjoyed this side of her, too. "When do you think you'll snap out of it?"

I heaved loudly. "I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific."

"Sorry. When do you think you'll snap out of the childlike innocence thing?"

"What?" Did she read me wrongly?

"Okay, that came out wrong." She was nervous. "It's just, I first thought you were cautious and guarded, and now I've learnt that you're more than capable of loosening up. You have to understand, not many people go from monoexpressive, to teasing left, right and centre in a matter of seconds."

I thought about it. "well, considering I just realised I had a light side, I think I'll let it stick around for a while."

She didn't smile. "We'll all grow out of it eventually, you know." Oh, Merlin. The matter of fact tone. Ruins everything, it does.

"Why do you think so?"

"Well, I guess it depends on what sort of ambition you want to pursue." She sounded like she felt awkward. "What is your ambition?" She phrased carefully, as though the words could break.

"Can I answer in a general sense?"

She nodded.

"There are some spells – spells that are considered to be Dark, by law – that are actually quite useful and harmless with the right potions," I said. "While they could be misused, it's not fair to avoid them on that basis, as there are also a lot of legal spells that are just as tempting to use for harm. I don't care what sort of job I get – I might just teach at Hogwarts – but I want to make a plea to the Ministry, to make these chosen spells legal."

"Why?"

"Because I want liberty," I said simply. "I know it sounds vague, but people have done this before; I'll have to work for years to gain evidence that these spells aren't dangerous, and work on back up potions, but if I could bring them to the 'Light Side'", I said the last words mockingly, "I'd be contributing to an extension of magical borders. I hate limiting magic when these spells are no different from the basic attack spells which are allowed."

I thought she'd laugh at me. Instead, "What do you think of blood status?"

Talk about random. "I can hardly afford to be prejudiced, being who I am. That's called hypocrisy," I said pointedly, like she was stupid. Sometimes I was ashamed of my blood status – I didn't remember how I'd come across it in the first place – but I couldn't change facts.

She gaped, but recovered. "What do you fear?"

"I don't think I can trust you with that yet. No offense," I said quietly. She actually looked a little hurt. Just a bit, but it was noticeable.

I didn't know why, but I felt bad. Maybe it was because she was so genuinely nice and real. "It's not just you, I don't trust Abraxas with that, either," I lied. "It's a Slytherin thing."

"O-oh." She swallowed. I could see what she was thinking, so I corrected myself. "A Slytherin boy thing."

Her look of relief confirmed my assumption. No matter how nice the Slytherins were to her, she couldn't help but feel insecure, like she didn't belong.

There was a brief silence; the first silence in the past two hours. Then, I couldn't resist asking, "What do you think of Avery?"

She seemed confused, like she hadn't been expecting me to be interested in her opinion. She took a while to think about it. "Usually, I dislike bigoted people," she started, "But Maddex is sort of sweet when he's okay with you."

I snorted. "Anyone would be. Don't you think he'd act differently if you were a Mudblood?"

She flinched. "Why do you use that word?"

"Nothing personal," I said honestly. "I'm trying to emphasize on the fact that Avery quite openly discriminates against muggleborns."

She nodded, still slightly disturbed. "He's smarter than you give him credit for."

I must have looked incredulous, because she exclaimed, "It's true! He's better than Abraxas at Arithmancy, Tom."

"Even a mentally disturbed donkey is better than Abraxas at Arithmancy." I paused, suddenly realizing she had used me first name.

Well, that escalated quickly.

She must have realised, too, because she turned her famous shade of peach. "Hope you don't mind me calling you Tom."

"Hoping you don't mind me still calling you Granger," I said seriously.

She smiled.

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Bol – Cassandra was sitting with that Ravenclaw sixth year today.

I felt funny.

"She's sitting with Marcus today," Malfoy observed loudly. Well, loud enough for just me to hear, that is.

"Who?"

"Luke Marcus. The sixth year."

"Lucas Marcus?" I snorted. "Weird name."

"Well, considering he's smart and the Ravenclaw seeker," he said, "His "weird" name isn't helping your case."

Did I mention I hate Quidditch?

"It's not "my case"," I snapped. "I'm not pursuing her."

"With that language, you're not. "Pursuing her."" He scoffed. "Why can't you just admit it, though? You can beat this guy," he said even more quietly. "He's not got anything on you… and I'm not going to say that again."

Ah. I and Abraxas were quite alike. But I didn't agree with him. "Nerdy creep against Mr. confident "He's-so-cute!" Seeker? I don't think so."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What are you going to do?" He asked like it was the most obvious first question.

Wait. Oh. It was the most obvious first question.

Flint's stupidity was rubbing off on me.

I ignored Malfoy after that. I looked at the Ravenclaw table as secretively as I could, sometimes just staring at Granger with a confused expression like my "public friend" wasn't supposed to be there, just to catch a few glimpses of Cassandra.

Bolarden smiled, an almost flirty kind of smile.

Not at me, though. At Marcus. Whoa, she just winked at him. Winked.

And proceeded to very, very slowly extend her hand and rub his shoulder. It wasn't that I'd never seen her do it before; but the way she touched him made my insides blanch.

"Is it too late to give my name for our House's Quidditch try outs?" I asked Abraxas suddenly.

A/N: My goal in writing this fic is to a) Portray Tom Riddle as a Not-yet-Evil teenager, b) Improve my writing skills as a Not-yet-evil Teenager. *smirk* So do review, and show me how far My Not-yet-developed skills have progressed/ declined!