The Knights of Walpurgis

January 6, 1945

"I believe we have reached the point in which we should develop a name for ourselves as a whole, as well as individual names. This will permit us to maintain anonymity as we move forward with our more…complex plans."

Tom stood in the middle of Markus and Adam's dormitory with about fifteen of his fellow Slytherin boys seated in front of him. He was exhausted from his day of travel, but there wasn't a single day that he could afford to waste at this point, given his new-found urgency to at the very least subdue Grindelwald's bolstering control.

"What sort of plans, Riddle? Are we going to make more mudbloods cry – like Tresden and Drummond?" a fourth year, Jason Mulciber, asked with a twisted smile.

Tom smirked, pleased with his enthusiasm. "Of course…and much more, as well. We'll move on to planning shortly, but first things first: a name. Ideas, anyone?"

Silence. Tom crossed his arms and looked at them impatiently. When he was met with more silence, he sighed: "Let's think it over for a few minutes. In the meantime, come up with the name you'd like the rest of the group to refer to you as."

"Just call me 'Ladies' Man'," Markus smirked and elbowed Abraxas Malfoy in the ribs, who promptly rolled his eyes. Normally, he would have just ignored Markus' inane comments, but suddenly the majority of the room had joined in, coming up with equally-idiotic names for themselves.

Tom glared at him and said just loudly enough for everyone to hear: "If you don't plan to take this seriously, Avery, do us all a favor and see yourself out."

The room quieted instantly. Abraxas smirked and so did Markus, at least at first. "This is my dormitory." Tom's glare intensified and Markus suddenly seemed to remember who exactly he was talking to, as the smirk fell from his face and he added: "…but yes, of course I'm taking it seriously."

"Good. Now, I'll be passing around a sheet of parchment – please write your name and your chosen alias next to it. I expect you to have everyone's name memorized by the time of our next meeting."

He waited patiently as the list was passed around the room, the group whispering back and forth about potential ideas. Meanwhile, Dolohov rose from where he was seated on the floor between Nott and Malfoy, and crossed the room to approach Tom. "I might have a name for the group," he said quietly. "Unless you have one in mind, of course."

"Not necessarily," Tom told him. He had a few ideas, but none of which he was particularly attached to. "What is it?"

"Well, there's this legend I remember reading about in History of Magic and it referred to a gathering: the Walpurgis Night."

"Yes, I've heard of it," Tom said impatiently. After all, he had received the top grade in History of Magic each year he took it by far.

"Then what about the Knights of Walpurgis?" Dolohov looked at him nervously, as though Tom might hex him for simply having a bad idea. Which, on a bad day, was perhaps not far from the truth.

But as he considered Dolohov's suggestion, he decided he rather liked it. "Sure," he nodded in approval, before turning to the others. "Any objections to the Knights of Walpurgis as a name for ourselves?" he asked them.

Dolohov smiled in satisfaction as they were met with silence.

"And has everyone finished deciding on an individual name?"

There was some nodding and Lestrange handed him the list of parchment, which Tom quickly scanned to ensure that no one had missed it. "Excellent. I will keep this list for one week before burning it so you can consult it and memorize the other's names. From this moment forward, you are not to use anyone's given name while discussing anything even remotely related to the Knights of Walpurgis. Understood?"

They nodded dutifully.

"And what do we call you, Riddle?" asked Eric Rosier.

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as he recalled the discovery of his diary's secrets several months prior. "Voldemort."

He was rather pleased with their reactions, some of them looking quite impressed and perhaps wishing they could change their names to something a bit more creative. But there was little time and a lot left to cover that evening.

"So as I mentioned earlier, I have plenty of ideas targeting the school's illegitimate students. But right now I want to focus your attention on something a bit more broad – a way that we can bring the influence of the Knights of Walpurgis beyond the walls of Hogwarts." The group looked sufficiently interested, so he continued: "You see we must begin to target Grindelwald if our efforts within Hogwarts are ever to make an impact. If he gets his way and interacting with muggles becomes part of daily life – even controlling them – there will be far more concerning issues than mudbloods, as much of a pollution to the wizarding world as they are." He watched, slightly panicking internally, as their attention began to drift away from him.

Their sudden lack of zeal was discouraging. Of course, he could always threaten them into following his orders, but that simply wasn't enough past a certain point. Truly leading them and manipulating them to do his bidding while they remained unaware that they were being manipulated would require that they felt an allegiance toward him and his cause, not something as simple and one-dimensional as fear.

But how to do that? This was, of course, far easier said than done.

It was clear that things had gone astray the moment that he had mentioned Grindelwald. Perhaps it was too beyond them to consider that their efforts could have an impact outside of Hogwarts. Or maybe they were just so absorbed in the protective bubble of their pureblood lives to really give a damn about anything remotely political, a luxury that Tom was unspeakably envious of.

Suddenly, he had an epiphany: what if the problem was that he had never truly acted as an equal to them? After all, up to this point, he had simply been giving orders. What if he could change the dynamic to make decisions seem like more of a group effort while he remained in imperceptible control of each outcome? What if he found a way to make them relate to his views and gain that sense of allegiance? This, he concluded, would be the ultimate form of manipulation. However, there was a price to pay: he would have to play the part of an equal to them (or at least more of an equal than at the present moment). If this plan actually worked, though, it would be worth it. He would be unstoppable.

"I think I'll leave you with that thought tonight," he told them suddenly. "We can resume this discussion next weekend and perhaps determine what our course of action both inside and outside of Hogwarts will be."

All of a sudden, he could hear the muffled sound of music as it began to play and the jumble of conversations growing louder in an attempt to talk over it. "Avery, Lestrange – aren't Donohue and Orion hosting some sort of gathering this evening, just downstairs in the common room?"

Adam nodded somewhat nervously. "Faye thought it would be a good idea to have one last holiday party before classes begin again."

"It sounds as though it's started…Perhaps we should go and join them?"

There had already been a few surprised faces among the group due to Tom's abrupt ending of the meeting, but this suggestion extended this look of pure shock to the others as well.

'Yes, I can pretend to enjoy parties just as much as each of you dunderheads does.' Internally, he rolled his eyes at them.

With that, he opened the door of the dormitory and led them downstairs, their curious stares following every step that he took as though his willing participation in their gathering was just too good to be true.

In lieu of his beloved scotch, Tom opted for Firewhiskey – though he immediately regretted it as he tossed it back and felt the burn spread from his lips to the back of his throat.

At least he wasn't alone in his displeasure: Markus, Adam, and Rebecca all made half-disgusted faces as they stood in a circle and took their shots. Meanwhile, Faye burst out in laughter. "What pansies you all are! Come now, it's time to redeem yourselves – let's do another!"

By the time they were on the fourth, it hardly burned at all. Another fortunate effect was that he could now more easily talk to the others – in fact, for one of the first times in his Hogwarts career, he was actually socializing. Even better, his plan seemed to be working; slowly, the Knights of Walpurgis began to seem a bit more comfortable around him as he traveled around the room and conversed with each of them one at a time. He could still detect an air of caution toward him, but he wasn't looking to completely eliminate this entirely anyway. After all, he still had to be their leader even if they saw him as a bit more of an equal.

Like making small talk with his Slytherin inferiors and taking multiple shots of Firewhiskey, playing 'Spin the Wand' was another thing that Tom had never anticipated doing. That evening was full of firsts.

He had gotten sucked into the game by a group of six or seven of his Knights, far too wrapped up in his all-consuming goal of winning their allegiance as quickly as possible (as well as far too drunk) to retain any of his typical sensibility.

After Sylvia Goyle and Alphard Black emerged from the common room's coat room after their designated five minutes of who-knows-what, it was his turn. He couldn't help but notice the hopeful looks on the faces of each girl around the circle as he set the wand in the center into motion, as well as the way they quickly turned crestfallen as the wand slowed and inched past them, one by one. Until, finally, it stopped in the direction of Gwen Carrow.

Her eyes lit up gleefully and each of her friends looked at her in envious rage as she led the way to the broom closet. It wasn't until they were there, alone, that he actually realized what was supposed to happen next. He was hit with a sudden disorienting feeling that completely threw him: what exactly was he doing? And what would it achieve? Was it worth the hurricane of female attention that this one instance would likely inspire? He didn't want anything to do with Gwen Carrow (or really any girl at Hogwarts), let alone kiss her.

But if he didn't, he would surely lose face and he could hardly afford such a setback given his urgency to win the unyielding respect of them all. Plus, the truth of the matter was that flaunting his ability to make any girl at Hogwarts swoon was likely the fastest way to accomplish this.

Tom could feel her lips shaking with nerves as he kissed her, though she relaxed into his kiss quickly – perhaps a bit too quickly. He was sure that a minute hadn't even passed when she reached up and began unbuttoning her own shirt. When she finished, she reached down to grab his hands (which were still resting innocently at his sides), and pressed them against her nearly bare chest. She kissed him harder and touched his chest, neck and hair, while he stood there, completely frozen.

Wasn't he supposed to be enjoying this? He did have his hands on a half-naked girl, after all. But all he felt was queasy, which reminded him a bit of what it was like snogging the girl (whose name he completely failed to remember) at The Grindylow Grove. He told himself that it must be the alcohol – after all, he had drunk a substantial amount on that night as well as the night of his birthday.

But if that was the case, why did his mind keep creeping back to Horton and how much warmer and softer her skin was compared to Carrow's? He knew that such a thought was completely illogical, of course. For one, skin was skin. And two: he quite possibly hated (or at least intensely disliked) Rosemary Horton.

Unfortunately, this didn't stop this irrational tidbit from pestering him, as though he lacked any sort of control over his own mind. And this made him angry. Very angry.

"Ouch!" squeaked Carrow.

Tom's eyes snapped open and he looked down at his hands to see that they had moved to her arms and were gripping her quite tightly. He released her, muttering a quick "Sorry."

She seemed to recover rapidly from any sort of shock she had initially experienced, as she smirked and said "Actually, I sort of liked it." Then she giggled and bit her bottom lip in a sloppy, drunken way.

Tom managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes at her, though this was quite a feat in itself as it was all too obvious that she was merely trying to impress him. He didn't even need Legilimency to know that.

Carrow kissed him again, though this time on his neck and even more forcefully, and began running her hands down his chest toward his pants. Hit with that same, nauseous feeling, he was about to grab her wrists and stop her when a knock at the door marked five minutes and saved him.

She hovered near him the rest of the night, as though she expected him to suddenly turn and begin snogging her again. But he didn't. He wanted her to go away more than anything, not only because her presence was annoying but also because it kept reminding him of the way his mind kept wandering off to Horton.

It was beginning to drive him crazy, especially considering the fact that there was no way he could rationalize his way out of it – it was purely irrational. And so, his second goal for the evening became to drown out every whisper of her name, every glimpse of her face and naked body from his memory, one drink at a time.

When he awoke the next morning, he was met with both sheer disorientation and a splitting headache. Apparently he had ended up back in his own dormitory, though the means by which this had been achieved completely eluded him – in fact, he couldn't remember much at all from the night before.

Tom glanced at the clock on the wall opposite him and groaned as he realized his morning meeting was in just under a half hour. Oh, and it wasn't just any meeting: both Horton and Dumbledore would be there. That alone was reason enough for a headache.

He dragged himself out of bed, feeling as though he had been trampled by a herd of centaurs, and slipped into the small lavatory attached to his room. After splashing his face in the coldest water the faucet would allow, he chanced a look in the mirror. Thankfully, he only looked half as dead as he felt.

A small, oval-shaped spot just below his jaw on the right side of his neck caught his eye. He didn't have the first clue what it was initially, but as he leaned closer to the mirror to examine it and saw the slightly curved line of small teeth marks he recoiled from the mirror in disgust.

Fucking Carrow...now what?

He scowled and then cursed himself for never bothering to learn the simple spells that would get rid of this sort of thing. But he was clever, right? Surely he could figure out how to get rid of it all on his own…

Fifteen minutes and ten failed attempts later, he was running out of time. In the end, Tom made a snap decision to go with a simple, at least moderately concealing wound charm. The mark was still noticeable, but there was at least a chance that it could be mistaken for something other than what it truly was.

Despite his late start, Tom ended up arriving before Horton for their meeting. As the minutes ticked by, he could feel dread billowing inside of him. He finally felt as though he had cleansed his mind of the poisonous thoughts of her, at least temporarily, thanks to his excessive Firewhiskey consumption. Or maybe he just felt far too ill to think about anything other than feeling ill. Either way, there was a part of him that worried it all might have been in vain when he saw her that morning. What if the irrational thoughts began again and he couldn't stop them?

No, he told himself. He would not allow it. She was pathetic and dishonest - she didn't deserve even a sliver of space in his mind. He disliked her immensely – no, he loathed her. That was the truth. He concluded that the only reason he had even thought of her in the first place was merely out of habit and that perhaps some small part of his mind was simply lagging behind the rest as he adopted his new self: the one that would abandon the foolish part of him that had seen her for anything other than what she truly was.

Despite his impatience to rid her from his mind completely, he knew it would just take time and while he waited, he would just have to continue reminding himself of all the reasons he loathed her and interact with her as little as humanly possible.

"He'd pushed it back, where he'd kept the thought for weeks, but it wouldn't stay. Wouldn't stop. Wouldn't let him go." - Veronica Rossi

Tom was already there waiting for her when she arrived at their designated meeting room, adjacent to the library. His head was bent over a piece of parchment, likely his notes for the meeting, and didn't bother to raise it to greet her.

"Horton," he greeted her in an exceptionally monotone voice.

It certainly didn't improve her ill mood. "Riddle," she attempted to echo back in that same, blank tone – though hers was inevitably tainted with a trace of disdain.

He appeared not to notice, as his eyes had yet to leave his notes.

'How incredibly rude,' she thought. While she didn't exactly expect to be friends after breaking things off with him, she certainly didn't anticipate him treating her like dirt. Especially after she had done him a favor by covering his duties – not that she really had a choice in the matter anyway.

Well, two can play at that game.

As she pulled out the chair across from him she purposefully dragged it across the stone floor, causing it to emit three seconds worth of painful squeals. Even then, he still refused to look up at her. Now there was no doubt in her mind that this was all just to spite her.

But finally, he at least said something: "How did the meeting go?"

"Oh, quite well," she said nonchalantly, knowing full well that she wanted to report that things had been entirely chaotic without his presence. She should have stopped there, but she couldn't help herself: "Your notes were a bit incomplete to be perfectly honest, but don't worry. I filled in the blanks."

That certainly got his attention. "What blanks?" His head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes at her.

It was so typical of him to take such great offense at any mention of deficiency in his work. She felt like smirking at him, but forced herself to remain as professional as possible. Although, it seemed that the slightly snarky (if not entirely passive aggressive) edge to her tone simply couldn't be helped: "Oh, just here and there. There's no need to worry – I took care of it all. I'm sure you were just too distracted by your trip to be thinking about such things." She smiled sweetly at him and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

He just looked at her for a few moments and though he was surely trying in desperation to hide it, she knew him well enough to predict that he was fuming internally – which, of course, provided a great deal of satisfaction on her part.

But then, he sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and looked her dead in the eye while a nearly imperceptible smirk appeared on his face. "You didn't answer my question, Horton: what blanks?"

Her heart started pounding in her chest and any satisfaction she had drawn from the past minute or so scattered away in milliseconds: he was calling her bluff. Suddenly she felt very, very foolish. Why had she even tried to trick him? It was obvious that he could see right through her – literally right through her, if she considered his Legilimency abilities.

Apparently, she kept forgetting that she wasn't dealing with a normal wizard her age. After all, she had thought that she was quite extraordinary – so what did that make him? It was difficult to reconcile that Legilimency was even a possibility for him (or anyone, for that matter) at this stage, given that it was typically a skill that took a lifetime to master.

Rose knew she had to lie anyway, though, in the off chance that he wasn't actually reading her thoughts. "Well for one, they're pushing curfew to a half hour earlier…again." At least this was a plausible lie, considering that every monthly meeting with the Heads of Houses and Headmaster Dippet had resulted in some change to the curfew.

She was preparing herself for the worst when, miraculously, he took the bait. "To eight thirty?" he asked incredulously, surely thinking of the implications for Dueling Club, which typically ran from eight until nine. As the knots in her stomach slowly began to unwind, it took nearly everything in her power to prevent a triumphant smile from showing through on her face.

"I thought it was quite unreasonably early as well." she said. Then, to cover her bases, she added with a shrug: "Who knows? Perhaps they will change their minds again this morning."

Moments later, Headmaster Dippet and Professors Thurston, Beery, Slughorn, and Dumbledore stepped through the meeting room door. As soon as the pleasantries regarding the holiday (which, of course, included Tom's irritatingly impressive recount of his trip) were out of the way, they got straight to business:

"Thank you again, Ms. Horton, for leading the Prefect meeting on Friday evening," Dippet tipped his head gently to her in acknowledgement. "I am aware that there was quite a bit to cover, given the increased safety precautions."

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "Indeed. You have both shown extraordinary leadership in adopting the new regulations. I am afraid that we are not through with asking so much of you, however, as I must also announce that we have agreed to restrict curfew an additional half-hour."

It would have been better if Dumbledore had phrased this in a way to make it sound as though she wasn't hearing it for the first time, but she had gotten lucky: incredibly lucky.

And, apparently, so had Tom: as he turned his head to begin the inevitable debate with Professor Dumbledore about the stricter curfew rule, she noticed the small, red mark just on the side of his neck.

She told herself it could be something else, anything else, but she knew somehow that this wasn't the case. Of course, this meant that she had been right about the look Tom had given her at The Leaky Cauldron over the holiday – he was completely over her.

Rose was suddenly boiling. If that was the case, if he had moved on and was messing around with some other girl, then fine! She didn't care in the slightest – in fact she was glad about it, she thought defiantly. After all, she had Warren; the last thing she needed to worry about was Tom messing that up for her somehow because he was jealous. Now she could rest assured that things would be much simpler between the two of them.

I finally managed an on-time update. Yessss! :D Thank you all for your patience while I adjusted into the school year...hopefully I can keep on track at this point (and maybe even make up for lost time).

I know Tom's part was longer than Rosemary's, but there was a lot to cover and I wanted to make up for him having a relatively shorter part last chapter. Also, I know the interaction between Tom and Rose was short, but there is plenty more to come. Don't you worry.(; I hope you enjoyed it regardless!

Thank you to Oksanallex, Khaaotic, Lady Ravanna, RosiePosie15, Guest, and gr8rockstarrox for your reviews!(: