Chapter Six:

A week had passed, an impatient week in which Tom found other things to occupy his mind outside of Harrison Evans…or, at least, other things to dull the monotony and boredom of school life when he didn't have his new toy to play with.

All of his old ones seemed so dusty and used and familiar in comparison - it was like a puzzle he'd completed before, he already knew all the answers.

There was little thrill.

Not like with Harry. Harry was still unsolved.

He could admit in the private recesses of his mind that he may have been wavering on the edge of a new obsession, but it didn't really bother him.

He was, by nature, an obsessive person, ruthlessly discovering everything he could about whatever the present form of his interest took, to discard aside when he was satisfied.

Harrison Evans would no doubt follow the same process, and, indeed, his plans would be better for it as such obsession only favoured his aims to have the boy dependent on him.

He knew well enough that other people found the twists and changes of his attention to be disconcerting. Of course, none of his other toys had so insistently demanded privacy and for him to leave them alone, but that just made this more fun.

Now though, finally, the week was over and he could pick off where he left off, now that Harry was sufficiently forced into public scrutiny and respect by his new found competence.

An incompetent, pathetic stranger slipped by unnoticed, a powerful one - especially if they were also reasonably handsome and charming, as Harry was when he wasn't butchering his own persona - drew lights like moths.

They knew he was there now, he couldn't so easily slip into obscurity again.

He hadn't been idle during the week though, stealthily gathering reconnaissance through various webs and strings across his empire, as well as setting plans in motion and completing old ones.

According to his sources, Harrison's quick tongue had been making a frequent appearance, serving to highlight that despite his apparent appalling obliviousness in many aspects of Slytherin life, he was naturally insightful when he wanted to be. He could cut down his enemies well enough - both physically, as shown by the duel he'd witnessed, and verbally, according to the shaken and disgruntled assessment of Rosier.

He doubted the boy could match him, even if his power was higher than average (he didn't know how deep such power went, as he'd yet to coax Harrison's full aura out, but it was unlikely to come near to his) but he'd enjoy this anyway.

He was half way out the corridor, when someone called his name.

Lestrange.

"Can I talk to you?" Lestrange asked, softly, voice breathy.

"I have errands to run," he returned.

"-It won't take long!" the male had the gall to touch his arm, as if to restrain his movement.

The same fingers slid away under his icy gaze, but Lestrange continued to look at him. He switched his cold stare to the other's face, knowing and hoping it was liable to encourage that gaze away. Instead, Cygnus seemed to take it as an acceptance. "In private..?"

He studied the other for a moment, having a feeling he knew where this would be going. He didn't allow his expression to change. Then, he stepped out the common room, his follower at his heels. Lestrange's hands twisted anxiously, giving away his pathetic nerves.

"If you wanted to speak, speak," he ordered curtly.

He'd given Harry space for a week, he was loathe to give the other more time, especially when the boy tended to disappear for the whole of the weekends without sign.

If he wanted to secure a game, he'd have to do so now, as Harrison's last lesson of Friday (Divination - really?) finished. He had about a fifteen minute margin to catch up with his prey, providing Watkins and Pierce would try and encourage him to be more sociable, which they would, if their track record was anything to go by.

"I-I like you Tom," Lestrange blurted out, flushing a distasteful red colour. "A lot."
This was what he thought it was. Joy.

"Stop now before you embarrass both yourself and me," he ordered disdainfully. Lestrange swallowed.

"I mean as more than friends-" he continued.

"I know perfectly well what you mean," he stated. Lestrange flushed further, glancing up at him, hopeful for some reason.

"You did?" he sounded delighted.

Of course he did, or did the stupid idiot not realise how he played these exact emotions to manipulate what he wanted out of him, and any other who tried. He knew the boy wasn't completely lacking in brains, otherwise he wouldn't tolerate him, but right now, he was struggling to see why he'd thought so.

He was silent, wondering how he could use this. He couldn't believe Lestrange was baring his foolish heart so openly; didn't he know Tom would just peck it out and delight to watch him bleed, only to give it back to continue tugging again? Surely, he knew.

Then, he supposed, that most people did. That was where the game and finesse lay - to have them know how much he would abuse them and still have them utterly addicted to him.

"So…would you want to go out sometime?" Lestrange persisted. Settled once more in his game, despite his initial surprise that the other was actually going through with this, he twisted his lips to a smile.

"An excellent idea."

"Really-" he watched the hopes rise to a crescendo, interrupting smoothly:

"Hogwarts can be so dull, I'll have to organise some trip for us all…when's the next Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Us all?" Lestrange squeaked, before seeming to realise he wasn't advocating the filthy thing his mind had jumped to, but simply a group trip to Hogsmeade.

He resisted the urge to smirk. The hopes crashed down, suspending inches before a bloody death.

"That's not what I meant, Tom," he said. "I, well, I meant, you and me, together, alone…on a…date."

Date: a) the day, month and year, the time of an event…b) a romantic engagement with somebody or c) a general appointment to meet someone. Lestrange meant the second, but he would use the third.

"I already have a date - right now in fact, sorry," he smiled. "But, who knows, impress me and prove your worth my time."

He turned away without another word, knowing full well the other interpreted his 'date' as a different type of date, in projection to his desires and the more common meaning.

Conclusion? Lestrange would be even more malleable to do whatever Tom asked him in an effort to impress him, while he himself never actually committed to anything because he knew he'd never find Lestrange worth his time and highly doubted the other would impress him.

Harrison would grow increasingly flustered and annoyed at where the assumptions and insinuations were coming from and would lash out, revealing his secrets in anger like Tom had planned.

Perfect.

Lestrange walked back slowly into the common room, an odd, wired feeling in his gut.

Tom hadn't said yes, and he knew it was likely that his lord was just humouring him because he was amazing like that, so considerate of everything.

Still, he could feel resentment bubbling aside his happiness, and stopped beside Abraxas and Zevi, who's rivalry was temporarily being challenged into a game of chess.

"Say," he tried to sound casual, "do you know who Tom is meeting now?"

They didn't look up, dismissing him as if he were some irritating fly. They would see who was laughing when their lord was his boyfriend!

"Evans, I would imagine," Abraxas replied coolly.

All his happiness vanished.

"Evans?" he demanded incredulously. "Tom's dating Evans!"

But…Evans was pathetic! Sure, he could actually cast a stunner it seemed, but he wasn't dating material. It was probably only a phase. Tom went through those, and they'd get to see the stupid boy crushed.

Zevi lowered his bishop back on its place, turning towards him for the first time, a slight frown on his face.

"What do you mean Tom's dating Evans? Where did you get such an idea?"
He was smug with the knowledgeable of their rapt attention.

"Tom told me," he replied. Let them see what they want in to that - let them be jealous that Tom shared such things with him, not them.

Abraxas' head tilted.

"Evans?" he repeated again.

"I know, it's despicable," he began. "What does he see in-"

But they'd turned back to their game without further comment.

Actually…would Tom have wanted him to share that?
Oops.

Harry turned the corner, calling an apology to Roger and the reluctant promise that he'd drop in on them at some point to prove he hadn't died in whatever his 'mysterious lonely pursuits' were, only to walk smack into someone as he didn't look where he was going.

Damn it!

"Oh god-sorry-!" he began, looking up, ready to try and do some serious appeasing.

Riddle.

This wasn't even funny. He straightened stiffly.

"Apologies, I'll look where I'm going next to time-" he hastened to continue, only for a grip to hook around his wrist.

"You know," Riddle said lazily. "When I said it was fate that we ran into each other, I didn't mean for you to take it quite so literally."

He tried to retract his hand, only for the other's grip to tighten.

"Let go," he said.

"And let you disappear for the next forty eight hours? I think not."

Harry was disturbed to know Riddle had picked up on his habits so quickly, and hadn't just assumed he was in the library or whatnot.

"You said you'd leave me alone," he reminded, hating the confusion pounding through his veins.

"And I did - for a whole week," Riddle smirked, his amusement only increasing as Harry's indignation grew.

"That's not fair!" he exclaimed. "That's-cheating!"

"It's not my fault you don't word your agreements better," Tom murmured, flashing him an innocent, dangerous smile. "Besides, all's fair in love and war."

"And considering this is neither, the point is moot," he snapped, about a second from drawing his wand and seeing how well his training had progressed on something other than a golem dummy.

"Perhaps," Riddle conceded, eyes glittering. "But, alas, I cannot claim any partiality towards fairness anyway."

Of course he wouldn't…

He gritted his teeth.

"Let me go I'll curse you."

"The thing about threats, darling," Tom returned, "is that they tell your opponent what you're planning to do, so they can prepare."

"Opponent?" Harry questioned. "That would suggest we are at war."

"I never said we weren't," Riddle smirked, dangerously. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"What the hell did I do to make you declare war on me and Merlin - let go, threats aside, I'm this close to cursing you!"

"I would love to see you try," the Slytherin Heir dared in response. "As for what you've done…it's more that you appear to have declared silent war on me the second we met, so it seemed only hospitable to reciprocate."

Harry resisted the urge to gape at the reply.

"You're insane."

There wasn't as much venom to his tone as there should have been, but he refused to admit that it felt nice lashing out like this, venting his frustrations, with no one to truly judge his behaviour.

He wasn't the Boy who Lived here, he was just Harry, so whatever he did here, was just Harry too, and he could only be judged for the present.

It was…liberating.

"Far more sane that most, actually," Riddle replied. Harry shook his head after a moment.

"Sane people don't stalk the new kid."

"It's only stalking if its inappropriate, unwanted attention."

"…and this isn't?" Harry demanded incredulously, wondering when the conversation had got so surreal, and why he wasn't simply firing a blasting curse at the other and having done with this whole conversation.

It had felt strange not being pestered by Riddle the whole week, and he'd already come to the conclusion that it was probably safer for all involved when he knew what Riddle was doing (at least partially, the Slytherin was confusing in his intentions, dancing between charm, threat, almost flirtatious commentary and total dismissal.)

"No, because if it was wholly unwanted you would have followed through on your threat-"

and didn't that just make Harry reach for his wand, only for Tom's hand to snap out, catching hold of his other wrist, tightly. He dug his nails in response, but the other didn't flinch. He figured he could kick if he needed to, and, in all honesty, he was more curious than he'd like to admit. There was just some quality about Tom Riddle that drew you in. He hated that thought so much, but wasn't stupid enough to deny its truth. He could see why this boy had followers, but he also knew he'd never be one of them.

"-and I find it to be perfectly appropriate. Therefore, it is not technically stalking," the other finished.

Harry almost laughed at how Riddle could make something like that sound reasonable. After a moment, the Slytherin pulled his wrist up, bringing Harry's wand to his eye level for study, with a light frown on his face.

"What?" Harry questioned, warily, tightening his grip so the other couldn't pull it off him, willing to humour Riddle for now, for whatever reason.

Probably because he felt better if Riddle was planning evil schemes to affect his wellbeing, as opposed to ruining the life of some poor innocent sod who thought butter wouldn't melt in his arrogant mouth.

"Why did you hide being hide the mask of an incompetent, weak wizard?" Tom questioned quietly, eyes flicking up to lock on his.

"To stall annoying people from talking to me," he said, like he had to Rosier, but Riddle's query was an echo.

"Hardly," the other stated. "You associate with Watkins and Pierce, rendering that objection invalid."

"Imogen and Roger aren't annoying!"

"Funny, for someone seemingly so untrusting, you're oddly quick to give your loyalty to those who are, still, essentially strangers," Riddle murmured.
Harry's eyes narrowed to slits, and he violently yanked his wrists away, noting the slight surprise in the other's eyes when he did so, taking a step back.

"Come now, don't look so offended. If you liked them, you'd spend more time in their company."

And then Harry realised that though he was physically free, mentally, verbally, he was pinned. If he protested, he'd have to give a valid excuse as to why he didn't spend more time with them - ergo, what he did instead, and if he agreed, he was conceding to something horrible Riddle said, which wasn't true besides! He nearly growled.

Tom's eyes gleamed, but revealed nothing.

"Very clever," he breathed.

"Thank you," the other replied, with that smile.

It momentarily took Harry aback that Riddle wasn't denying having done anything. Silence stretched. He should have been walking away again, like he normally did and would have done so already, but to that in this occasion would be like submission, a concession that Riddle had beat him.

He refused.

"Roger and Imogen are great friends," he said carefully. "And I enjoy their company, but being of a rather more solitary nature I prefer to-"

"Solitary nature?" Riddle's eyebrows arched. "You're hardly of a solitary nature, Harry."

"And you know me so well, right?" he questioned, again, irritably. That smile broadened, dangerous.

"Perhaps not…but I'd like to get you know you better, if you'd let me."

"I won't let you," Harry said automatically, and to his shock Riddle laughed.

"Oh, and you try and convince me that you have nothing to hide…"

"Everyone has something to hide," he returned pointedly. Riddle was the biggest hider of them all - a Dark Lord in disguise.

"And yet, you seem to know far more about my secrets than I of yours," Tom said silkily. "I thought you believed in fairness!"

"All's fair in love and war," he returned, mimicking Riddle's earlier response.

Some part of him wondered how his efforts of keeping up with all Tom's retorts appeared clumsy to the other, and the even larger part wondered why he cared. The smirk fell of the Slytherin Heir's face.

"Spend the weekend with me and my associates," he stated.

"No thanks."

"Then I will take you as a coward - what, darling, are you scared that I'll figure you out?"

Harry's teeth gritted at the butchered endearment, and at his remembrance of Riddle's terms should he want the other to stop. It was so - disconcerting, unbalancing - to deal with Tom.

He kept expecting to have Voldemort shoved in his face, and while it was more than obvious that a cruelty and alarming, dangerous nature was more than present in the other boy, he wasn't seeing Voldemort.

He was seeing a dark, powerful intelligent and charismatic teenager with a tongue like razors and a surprisingly quick humour. Not Voldemort.
It disturbed him.

He wanted to hate Riddle as fiercely as he did Voldemort, for the same reasons, but he couldn't. Oh, he disliked him, certainly, but it wasn't…he didn't know. Whatever. He was too tired.

He'd barely got any sleep the night before due to the freaking nightmares.

The blunt fact was though that Riddle had hit the nail of his concern on the head with a deadly, eerie accuracy. It was like the other just sensed weaknesses on another person, knowing exactly where to aim.

It was chilling.

He'd seen Riddle decimate people in the common room with the same talent. Yet, to back down would be a failure, cowardice, and it injured his Gryffindor self to be called a coward…and yet, to agree, would be to suggest he cared what Riddle thought of him.

"I'd rather choke myself," he replied coolly. The other's mouth opened immediately to strike, and he continued quickly. "If you're that desperate for my company - not that I can't understand your own desire to avoid your…associates, as they're annoying and generally pathetic and dull - then you can come find me and spend the weekend with my associates."

Riddle had just said he found Roger and Imogen annoying, he'd never agree. Besides, neither of them were pureblood! And his followers would no doubt give him hell for it.

Tom studied him, his expression unreadable, or frozen, he didn't know.

"Where will you be?"

Harry almost blanched.

And somehow, he'd managed to get stuck into a weekend with Tom Riddle.

He wondered what Roger and Imogen would say to the new addition.

Damn it.

A/N: This one didn't seem blocky :) Progress! I hope you enjoy it!

Thanks for all the reviews! :D

Watching a horrible programme on cyber bullying :( Don't ever do that, okay guys?
Apparently 1/3 people suffer from cyberbullying.

PS: Go and read Krysania's "The Fate changed, now what?" T'is awesome!