AN: Okay, another update upcoming. The updating might slow down a bit, I don't know. We'll see. Do you want this story to be focussed on Harry and Tom, Harry and the Slytherins, or have a bit of everybody? Do you want to see more of some characters or what? Any of Tom's POVs? Anyhow. Thank you so much for the reviews, they keep me writing my probably not so good stories. Complimented. - The Fictionist.

Chapter 4

Scowling, in a terrible mood, he trekked the familiar walk to the room of requirement. He'd been neglecting his training. Stuck in the past, with no wish to associate with one's roommates, you ended up turning to other sources of entertainment. He did enjoy his training. Reading wasn't so bad once he got over his textbook fever either; though he doubted he'd ever read for pleasure. Nonetheless, he wouldn't let anyone else die for. No more Cedrics. Never again would he be helpless. It was also an excellent way to avoid hexing everyone around him…lions…into the hospital wing. Namely, one Ginny Weasley. How dare she? What, because he wasn't going around screaming that all Slytherins are scum, now he was on the dark side? She had no right. Yes, she had a reason to dislike Tom, but she didn't even give the rest of them a chance. She never gave any of them a chance. Then there was the whole speech about how he was betraying his parent's memories by being friends with his parent's murderer. Tom wasn't Voldemort. Not yet. He had the opportunity to try and prevent that. But no! he was now a traitorous death eater: was she forgetting who saved her in the Chamber? Salazar. It was all happening too quickly. As the windows started rattling, he knew he had to calm down. Training helped. He had time while waiting for Tom to turn up anyway.

There was never any point looking for Tom, they always ended up crossing paths eventually. As he'd quickly discovered in the past, it was avoiding the other boy that was the problem. The future dark lord would know where to find him. They often ended up sparring, training together or mock duelling each other - despite everyone else's protests otherwise, it was mock duelling. The other's just didn't understand that just because they were trying to curse the spit out of each other, it didn't mean they were seriously arguing. Frankly, if their conflicts ever escalated to that level…it wasn't worth thinking about. Eventually, everyone had got used to them dragging each other, bloody and half-dead, to the hospital ring. It was strangely exhilarating, duelling Tom. Challenging, like so little things seemed to be. He probably had a death wish. Truth be told; he had never really tried at school. He didn't want the extra attention of actually doing higher than average, and he didn't want to outshine Hermione and lose wrong. He could already envision Tom blowing up at the fact he wasn't getting straight O's and E's. Whatever.

"How did I guess?" Tom walked calmly into the come and go room, easily ducking the instinctive curse fired his way. Bastard should have known better than to walk in on him without warning. A row of animated golems were rapidly destroyed. The wall behind Tom was scarred with a deep, ugly gash.

"You're psychic,' he replied, letting his magic settle once more.

"You discovered my deepest, darkest secret: I may have to kill you."

"Yeah? How's that working for you?" he scoffed. Tom frowned at his flippant tone.

"Keep talking and you'll find out,' he returned. Harry merely rolled his eyes. That was a new one. Tom transfigured his training ground into a replica of the snake's common room. They both sat down. There was a moment of silence.

"So, you think the name Lord Voldemort is ridiculous?" Tom stated conversationally.

"I almost had a heart attack when Abraxas said that," he admitted.

"I noticed," Tom smirked. There was a moment of silence. "Come on then?"

"Huh?"

"Pardon," Tom corrected automatically. "You think it's such a ridiculous name, you come up with a better one."

"Why? I'm not the one planning on becoming a mass-murdering psychopath," he raised a brow. Tom shot him an evil look. Any lesser man would have cowered. He merely grinned.

"Are we done?" he asked finally, when no answer seemed forthcoming. Tom's eyes narrowed.

"I swear you used to be tolerable," he said irritably. "You've spent too long with the Gryffindors."

"I am a Gryffindor. The tie says so."

"I'm going to burn that bloody tie," Tom muttered darkly.

"I thought it was the Sorting hat's fault?" He commented mildly. There was a moment of silence, intense, when Tom gave him a look.

"I can burn that too if you like?" he asked sarcastically. He didn't reply, causing Tom to look up again. The dark lord to be made an exasperated noise. "Okay. That's it." To his slight alarm, Tom's wand appeared by his throat. He tilted his head back fractionally, away from the smooth wand. How? Stupid, unpredictable fast-moving snake. Involuntarily, he inched back in the chair. Yeah, just because Tom wasn't all that intimidating (to him, anyway) didn't mean he was comfortable with the position. He hated the hospital wing and, frankly, wanted to avoid it.

"What did I do?" he asked cautiously. Why was it always him? His scar was burning painfully.

"The Gryffindor I could tolerate - Salazar knows you have a big enough hero complex to be sorted there. The mudblood and the blood traitor, again, expected. But this? Please, tell me now if I'm wasting my time here?"

"That would depend on what you're trying to accomplish?"

"Harry."

"Tom," he mimicked. Tom's expression was a classic. If it wasn't for the yew at his throat, he might have laughed. What was going on? He wasn't aware that he'd done something…deliberately…to annoy the older Slytherin. Nothing more than his usual back chat anyway.

"I am not here to associate with Dumbledore's golden boy, nor the light's hero. Either, everything I knew about you was a fabrication, and bearing in mind who that connection of your's is with, I doubt that I was mistaken. Which means…something's wrong."

"You think something is wrong, so you stick a wand to my throat?" he asked incredulously.

"No, the wand is because you're a slippery, lucky fool who has a bad habit of getting out of situations and evading questioning."

"Says he.""Harry!"

"Look, it's none of your business."

"It is when your brooding his giving me a migraine."

"Now you know how I feel…do you mind removing that wand now?"

"Sure…once you tell me what's bothering you." "Since when did you care?"

"Since I had to watch your funeral. Ministry run, by the way."

"Ouch.""Hmmm. Talk."

"No."

"Legilimens."Stupid dark lord.

AN: Not happy with this chapter. Not happy at all. Might work on a prequel instead? Delete this/hiatus it and come back one the prequels done? Your call.