Chapter Six: Baby, you're not alone, 'cause you're here with me

"Each of you get one rag and one bucket. You need to get onto your ladders, pull out the books on the top shelves—carefully, mind you!—and wipe down the shelf. Anything that comes off the shelf, whether it be dust, spiders, or pieces of books, all of it needs to go in your buckets. I don't want any of it getting on lower shelves or the floor."

Tom rubbed his eyes. He was tired and was not in the mood for this.

Lucius raised his hand, with a snottily concerned look on his face. "Sir, can't we just knock it onto the floor and then sweep it up later?"

Professor Munch, the librarian looked aghast. "I suppose you think that would be easier, don't you?" Yes, thought Tom, but it was clearly a rhetorical question that required a different answer. "I suppose you think you can just go and dirty other books!"

"The books are already dirty," Lucius continued. "And we're going to have to dust them off, too, so…"

"In due time, Mr. Malfoy, in due time. But not tonight and stars help you if you leave the library messier than when you found it."

Lucius was fuming, not used to being talked to like that, obviously. He glanced at Tom and without thinking, Tom glanced away to avoid awkward eye contact. He hoped they would be having detention separately. As long as he and Quirrell could work in close proximity of each other, Lucius and the only other detentioneer, a girl with frizzy black hair, could work separately.

The librarian nodded, a jittery repetitive motion that signified she was thinking and also that her answer to Malfoy had shut him up. "Well." She clapped her hands together. "It takes two people to work a ladder and unshelve books. Four of you, so that means two teams. Mr. Malfoy, you go with Mr. Quirrell, and Mr. Riddle, you are with Miss Black."

Tom and Quirrell looked at each other unhappily. "But—" Tom began.

"Problem, Mr. Riddle?" asked Professor Munch.

"I'd just, I'd rather be with Quirrell," explained Tom.

"Well, Mr. Riddle, this is detention, after all. It isn't supposed to be particularly pleasant. Now, you and Miss Black take this bookshelf right here. There's a ladder halfway down, I'm sure you can see. And Mr. Quirrell and Mr. Malfoy, follow me please."

Sulkily, Tom grabbed the bucket and rag and heaved it to the far end of the bookshelf. Miss Black followed close behind. Without a word, Tom set down the bucket and went to fetch the ladder. Again, Miss Black followed, almost skipped. She had way too much energy.

"You're kind of a narglehead," she remarked.

A mix of anger and confusion flared up in Tom's stomach. What kind of introduction was that? Tom ignored her, grabbed the rag, and ascended the ladder.

"I said, you're kind of a narglehead," Miss Black repeated.

"I heard you the first time," sighed Tom.

"But you didn't answer, so how was I supposed to know?"

"I didn't answer because that was rude."

"How was that rude?"

"You just insulted me!" roared Tom, prying a book from the top shelf. "And I don't even know you."

"Don't you even know what 'narglehead' means?"

Tom swallowed and focused on dusting.

Miss Black drew in her breath in horror. "Are you muggle-born?"

"No!" Tom said so forcefully that it was obvious he was lying.

"But everyone in the wizarding world knows what 'narglehead' means," insisted Miss Black. When Tom didn't respond, Miss Black climbed onto the ladder with him, forcing Tom to scoot to one side and hang on for dear life.

"Please get down," Tom said, trying to keep the shake out of his voice.

"'Narglehead' just means that you act like you have nargles in your ears, as in you stare a lot and you get confused easily. It isn't an insult, it's just a saying."

Tom stared and got confused a lot because the wizarding world was completely foreign to him. Forget trying to learn what his lessons were about; he had his work cut out for him trying to figure out how to get into the Slytherin dorms and trying to figure out how to use a quill, but he wasn't about to tell her that. It would make him look like a muggle.

So instead of any sort of explanation or retaliation, he responded: "Oh."

"I'm Bellatrix, by the way. And I already know you. You're Tom Riddle. People are saying you've set the record for earliest and most frequent fights."

Tom silently wiped the shelf and took out another book.

"You don't take anything from anyone, do you? You show them all who's boss right from the start, don't you? You're not afraid to make enemies."

"Neither are you, clearly," muttered Tom, not meaning for her to hear. But she did hear; Bellatrix heard everything, commented on everything, to the point that Tom thought it might have been easier to work with Lucius.

"Look, um—"

"Bellatrix."

"Bellatrix," said Tom, "I want to get through this as quickly as possible, and my arm's starting to hurt. Could you take my place on the ladder for a while?"

Bellatrix smiled. "Sure!" She tried climbing the ladder before Tom had quite gotten down. He thought she would realize her mistake and then wait for him, but instead she kept pushing and eventually she was at the top, Tom was standing on the floor, and neither of them had fallen.

"It's nice of you to give me a turn up on the ladder," said Bellatrix, "but I feel I should warn you that it doesn't matter how quickly or slowly we work; detention is measured in hours, not tasks."

"How could you possibly know that?" asked Tom.

"Just guessing. They told us to show up at a certain time and said when it would end, so obviously it's measured in hours."

Tom nodded and gazed around. Professor Munch was nowhere in sight. "I'm going to see how the other team is doing."

"What? But you're supposed to be helping me," pouted Bellatrix.

"I'll be right back," Tom assured her, already walking away.

Tom spied Lucius on the other side of the bookshelf. He walked to him.

"Trade," said Tom, with as much dignity as he could, as much control as he could: lips in a hard line, shoulders square, eyelids half-closed.

Lucius smiled incredulously. "What?"

"I want you to trade with me," Tom replied with less dignity. "I know you don't want to be with Quirrell—"

"On the contrary, we're working together quite well." He looked over his shoulder. "Aren't we, Squirrely?"

"When is it going to be your turn?" Quirrell called from atop the ladder.

"See? We're practically brothers," smiled Lucius.

Tom glared at Lucius. "Remember our agreement."

"Yes, I remember," said Lucius flippantly.

"That wasn't a question. It was a command."

Lucius' eyebrows rose. "Oh," he said quickly. He looked around for the librarian but Professor Munch was nowhere in sight. Lucius gave a gratuitous sigh. "Fine. I'll switch."

Tom smiled smugly and walked towards Quirrell's ladder. Lucius grabbed him by the shoulder, and Tom tore it away.

"A friendly warning, though," said Lucius. "Don't overdo it with these 'commands' or I'll tell Dumbledore. Getting you expelled might just be worth another bop on the nose."

Tom rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Trust me," he said. "If you tell Dumbledore, it will be much more than a 'bop on the nose.'"

"There you are!" came Bellatrix's voice from behind Tom.

Tom went to Quirrell's ladder; before Quirrell had quite gotten to the bottom, Tom had grabbed him by the arm and was pulling him past Lucius and Bellatrix.

"We're switching partners," said Tom quickly. "Professor Munch said it would make work go faster."

Bellatrix watched them go, her mouth hanging open, the dust rag limp in her hand. "But—"

"Professor's rule," Quirrell confirmed with a smile as Tom dragged him away.

Bellatrix stood dumbfounded for a moment. "It is not!" she yelled, much too loud for being in a library. She spun to face Lucius. "They can't do that!" she insisted with a frown. "The professor didn't say anything to them. I would have heard. He's lying through his teeth, the little sneak."

Slowly crossing his arms, Lucius sneered after Tom and Quirrell. "Unbelievable. That mudblood."

"He's a mudblood?" Bellatrix gasped.

Lucius chewed his lip. "I don't know. But he sure as hell acts like one."

Bellatrix threw her rag onto the ground. "This is ridiculous. Go get Professor Munch. Make him make them switch back."

Lucius was quiet. When Bellatrix looked over at him, she saw he was staring, agitated, indecisive: very nargleheaded. Bellatrix couldn't stand indecision. "So?" she prodded. "What are you waiting for?"

Lucius sighed angrily and walked back towards the ladder, spitefully pulling a book off the shelf so that it fell to the floor. "Leave them."

"What? But they'd get in trouble if you only told the professor."

Lucius was silent.

Bellatrix approached Lucius, studying his face. This wasn't about telling on Tom and Quirrell anymore; this was something bigger and much more interesting. She got closer and closer until she was nose to nose with him.

"Why won't you rat him out?" she asked, a tinge of delight in her voice.

Lucius escaped up the ladder. "B-because. I don't want to cause any more trouble."

A smile curled Bellatrix's lips. She rocked back and forth on her heels. "I don't believe you," she sang.

Lucius' voice was so quiet it didn't sound like even he believed what he was saying. "I just want to get this detention over with and go to bed."

"You won't tell because then you'll be in trouble with Tom, which is worse than being in trouble with Professor Munch."

"Shut up."

"Ahh, it's true then." Bellatrix was delighted. "What did he say to make you so loyal? Did he threaten you?"

"He's just persuasive," said Lucius. "Merlin's beard, will you leave it at that."

But she wouldn't. No sooner had Bellatrix finished talking than she had scampered back around the bookcase and over to Tom and Quirrell, who were reading books rather than dusting them.

She marched up to Tom, who jumped and reflexively closed the book.

"What did you do to Lucius to make him obey you like that?" she asked.

"He stared at him!" said Quirrell from his perch on the ladder.

Bellatrix cocked her head. "You stared at him?"

Tom rolled his eyes and turned to Quirrell. "It's not staring, it's a 'stare-down.' A mental battle. Not staring."

"Sorry," said Quirrell, reading the book in his lap. "A 'stare-down.'"

"It's a thing, right?" said Tom, desperate for someone to have heard of this method of warfare. "Right?"

"Oh sure," Bellatrix said, shrugging. "I've done it hundreds of times."

Tom smiled at her and then smiled at Quirrell, who waved them on.

"I just can't believe a stare-down would affect Lucius Malfoy so completely. You know his family is pureblood?"

"Mmh."

"I'm pureblood too, you know."

"Mmh."

"Are you?"

Why was everyone always asking him this? What did it matter?

Seeing Tom's distress, Quirrell swooped in to save the day. "He doesn't know," said Quirrell. "He didn't know his parents."

"What?" Bellatrix couldn't believe that anyone wouldn't know their own parents. "You mean he stayed with an aunt or something? Surely, he would know whether they were pureblood or not."

"He doesn't have any relatives," Quirrell clarified helpfully. "He grew up in something called an 'orphaning'."

"Orphanage," Tom corrected under his breath.

"So he doesn't know," Quirrell continued.

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Hm," she hummed, stepping closer to Tom. "I bet I can tell. I'm pretty good at figuring out blood purity."

"Bellatrix, no you can't," said Quirrell, rolling his eyes. "Mum says that telling a person's blood purity without looking at their ancestry is just superstition and party games."

Bellatrix glared at Quirrell and Quirrell's smug smile quickly dropped. He went back to reading.

"Oh really?" she said, swaying her hips in an exaggeratedly intentional motion, as she approached Quirrell. "If it's so fake, why don't you let me figure out your blood purity?"

Quirrell glanced at Tom; Tom shrugged. "O-o-okay," said Quirrell in a small voice as he closed the book. "Go ahead."

Bellatrix got even closer to Quirrell. She pressed her forehead to his, never breaking eye contact. She sniffed and Quirrell jumped. She put her hands on either side of his head and gathered his hair in bunches.

"Is that really necessary—"

"Shh!"

There was definitely spittle in that shush: spittle that was now on Quirrell's face. Tom grimaced.

"You're eyes, your breath, your bearing…" Bellatrix began, in a mystical voice, "The wizarding world is not strange to you. You are not muggle-born. You have at least one wizarding parent. But your hair…" she fluffed his hair again. "And your voice, and your smell…" she inhaled again for effect. "screams muggle. But faintly."

"How can something scream faintly…" murmured Tom.

"Shh!" Quirrell was sprayed again. "I would say…half-blood."

Bellatrix squished Quirrell's cheeks, maintaining uncomfortable eye contact.

"Th-thath's not fair," said Quirrell through pinched lips. "You probably know my parenth from thomwhere."

Bellatrix let him go and straightened up. "Don't count on it. I'm just that good." She glanced at Tom. "Want me to read your blood purity?"

"Not particularly," muttered Tom.

Having given a correct prediction, Bellatrix was in too good a mood to be upset at Tom's refusal. "Well, let me know if you change your mind." She danced away, back to Lucius and back to work. Tom stared after her.

"What a narglehead," said Quirrell when she had gone. "Thinking she can guess a person's blood purity by yanking their hair and spitting on them. …My face hurts."

"Yes, definitely mental," agreed Tom, yet he was still smiling. She was terrifying and annoying, but Tom could tell she was intelligent and powerful: a free-thinker.

He shook it off. "We should at least make it look like we're cleaning the shelves," said Tom, putting his book back. "at least until Professor Munch has checked on us and gone again."

Quirrell shut his book loudly and balanced it on the rung beside him. "You're probably right," he said as he climbed the ladder, still rubbing his cheeks.

A/N: Reading blood purity in the wizarding world is akin to making cootie catchers in the muggle world: fun to try at sleepovers and birthday parties but no one actually believes it works-except Bellatrix.