AN: Well, here goes. Enjoy - The Fictionist

Question of the update; if you went to Hogwarts, what Hogwarts house would you be in?

Chapter 8

The hag.

Blood dripped down his wrist: I must not disrespect my superiors. How even the ministry hired her…pain shot up his hand.

'Is there a problem, Mr Potter?' that sickly, saccharine voice simpered.

'This is illegal,' he bit out. She leaned over the desk, straightening her utensils in an obsessive manner. The cats hissed from the walls. The whole office was pink, awful and pink. Just like her. He wanted to claw something. She smiled sweetly.

'And who are you going to tell? Your parents?' Ouch. His blood pounded, frozen in his veins with pure hatred. The worst thing was, she had a point. Who could he tell? He was an orphan and the freaking chosen one…he couldn't afford to be shown as weak. Slytherin had taught him that much. No. This was his problem. Her smile widened. Stupid toad.

'What about Tom?' he dared. Her eyes glinted, rather manically.

'Mr Riddle is cleaning the second floor. Without magic.' Ah. The whole second floor? That was barbaric. Then again, so were blood quills. He looked down at his wrist, gripping the quill tightly between his fingers.

'How many lines?' he asked tightly. Her grin seemed to spit her face.

'As long as it takes for the message to…sink in.' Funny. If it were at all possible her comedic skills were worse than her teaching. It was a close competition though. He continued writing, refusing to flinch. He couldn't give the bitch the satisfaction. Her pudgy, stubby and ringed fingers clamped onto his shoulder. Her breath smelt sugary and foul. 'I'm doing this because I care. Deep down. You know you deserved to be punished.'

Care. Right.

Well, so long as no one found out.

'I will take you down,' he promised pleasantly. She blinked.

'Detention for threatening a teacher.'

'Looking forward to it already.'

He was glad to see her good mood had soured.

She so totally deserved it.

The demon in pink.

____

'What did the bitch have you do?' Ron asked sympathetically, his ginger hair Gryffindor red in the soft glow of the fire. They had nabbed the best seats by the fire. Harry shrugged, faking nonchalance and ignoring Hermione's shrill "Ronald!"

'Just lines,' he said, not even lying.

'Oh. Well, that's not too bad,' Hermione said, peering at him. Her warm, chocolate brown eyes were soft with worry, cancelling out any annoyance her - perhaps slightly - patronising tone had.

'Pity it wasn't worse,' someone muttered. His magic bubbled dangerously. He stood up, gripping his wand tightly in one hand. He spun round, instantly aware of who had spoken.

'Something you want to say, Mcclaggan?' he demanded.

The common room fell silent, thick with anticipation. It was strangely reminiscent to Slytherin. Except in Gryffindor, it was a blood lust for a physical fight, while in the snake pit it was the eager, blood thirsty sharpness of a scavenger waiting to devour the fallen. Physical verses political. He never thought he'd say that they both had their advantages and disadvantages. There was something exciting, complex and challenging in a political stand out that a mere fight lacked - politically it was about being smart and keeping one step ahead of your opponents. Gryffindor it tended to be who had the best curse or punch. Gryffindor was great though. Never call him anything but a lion in a snake skin, or a snake in a lions mane.

'No…'

'That's what I thought.'

He charmed his hand with a parseltongue glamour.

___

He sighed, in a foul mood and heading - once again - for the Room of Requirement. It was selfish of him, but he almost didn't want Ron and Hermione to know about the room. It was the only place, pretty much, in the entire castle where he could go to train and be in peace. Only Tom could find him there; and frankly, due to their bond, Tom could probably track him down anywhere so it didn't really matter. Summoning and enchanting several faux fighters to duel, he got stuck in. It was an amazing relief, dropping the golden boy restraints. Until he'd tasted Slytherin, anonymity (well…to a certain extent) and freedom he'd never realised how exhausting his act really was. Yes, it was true: he didn't always try his best in lessons, letting Hermione thrash him and generally acting exactly like a Gryffindor jock - no degrading the awesomeness of quidditch - but still. Everyone expected the chosen one to be amazingly brilliant, so the act cut down some of that pressure.

Not to mention, he didn't want to make Ron feel inadequate, or Hermione feel robbed of her one shining point of academic achievement. They were his best friends. Ron already had seven siblings to compete with; he didn't need the extra Harry gushing.

He felt, more than heard, Tom enter: the aura was unmistakeable. They never really spoke about it, but they always seemed to end up meeting in this room…around this time. He wasn't really surprised.

'How was the detention?'

'Great fun,' he replied sarcastically, demolishing the last of the golems. He turned round to face the Slytherin heir. 'What about you? Second floor sparkling clean?'

'I won't even ask how you come by your knowledge of everyone else's business,' Tom replied.

'Probably best,' he grinned. Tom shook his head, somehow managing not to displace a single hair on his head.

'I still can't believe their letting her teach, then again - Dumbles, ministry, what can you expect?'

'Dumbledore's alright,' he shrugged. 'Manipulative bastard, but he's well intentioned.' Tom shot him a look.

'I'm going to forget you said that.'

'Sure sure, you have the memory of an elephant Tommy dearest -' Riddle hissed lowly at the endearment - 'never forget and never forgive.'

'I'll have you know I'm a very forgiving person,'

Harry managed to last a couple of seconds before laughing. Tom smirked.

'Okay, concede, I'm a forgiving person if it suits me,' he amended.

'Better.'

'Harry?'

'Yeah?' he replied.

'Call me Tommy dearest ever again and I will rip out your tongue and feed it to you.'

They started to duel.

___

Halfway between a volley, they'd barely even gotten started, Tom stopped.

'Tired, already?' he taunted. Riddle's eyes were sharp and shrewd.

'You've switched hands.'

Oops.