Part X

Tom wasted no time walking from the greenhouses to the Great Hall. It wasn't that he was particularly hungry, but Hermione would be boarding the Hogwarts Express soon. He could feel the gentle magical hum that he'd first noticed in the middle of Herbology, and he wanted to respond to her message before she got distracted on the train.

Abraxas and Flynn weren't far behind him, but he reached the Slytherin table first and settled himself in his usual spot as far from the staff table as possible. He didn't want Dumbledore getting suspicious of his diary and his thorn of a Transfiguration professor paid him enough unwanted attention as it was. Tom didn't want anyone outside of his control learning about Hermione.

She was his little secret.

Thankfully, Dumbledore wasn't at the staff table when Tom sat down, so he was free to take out his diary and a quill without concerning himself with the handful of people trickling in around him.

So. I had a meeting last night.

He raised a brow at the words. It was such a hesitant admission. What had this mystery meeting entailed to make her afraid of talking to him about it?

What sort of meeting? he asked. What constituted as a 'meeting' for a second year, almost third year? A study session? Her coyness bothered him.

Well, there was a pause after she wrote the word, I met my sponsor.

Ah. He'd been wondering who had sought out his Dove as a protegeé. Primarily because he had no desire to share her or her brilliant little mind with anyone in any time period. He'd found her first. You mentioned your sponsor was head of the board of governors? he wrote.

Yeah. He is.

Tom glared at the words. Why so coy, Dove? Do you dislike him?

No. It's just…kinda awkward.

Tom rubbed a temple. He didn't like guessing games, but she was clearly at a loss for how to approach whatever situation she'd found herself in. Why? Is it someone you know? Abraxas' father was on the board now, if memory served. Was Abraxas, or Draco's not-yet-conceived-father, her sponsor?

Yes. You.

He blinked, rereading the words a few times before they faded away. Me? he asked. I'm head of the board? Did that mean his plans to move up in the world would succeed? How successful would he be?

The irony surprised and pleased him. Sharing her with himself wasn't actually sharing, was it?

Yep, she wrote. You wrote me a few weeks ago. I just wasn't sure how I felt about it.

Tom resisted the urge to snort. He didn't know what he'd do if faced with two of her either. Must be odd. That explains why you were quiet.

Yeah. Professor Snape and I Floo'd to your home for the evening.

Coveting Snape would work as well, then, Tom realized. How many of the ideas and plans he' had, would have, pertaining to her would come to fruition he wondered.

Harry waited up for me, she wrote before he'd thought of a reply. Apparently he asked the hat to put him in a different house too.

Did he now? Tom wondered. So your reasonable friend is a snake in lion's skin too, is he? he wrote.

A rush of students descended upon the great hall and the tables began to fill in the moments it took her to respond. He is.

That explains why he's decent, Tom wrote. Another missorted Slytherin. How frequently did students request the sorting hat to put them somewhere aside from where they belonged, he wondered. Was it a common occurrence or was it purely situational on the hat's part?

You're starting to sound like Ronald, she told him. No one house is better than the other.

Tom rolled his eyes. Righteous little thing. Apologies, Dove, he wrote. He'd stand by Slytherin being the best house until proven otherwise, but he didn't feel like arguing with her about it. To be fair, the Weasley boy doesn't exactly paint the best picture for thoroughbred Gryffindors.

Fair enough. Her begrudging amusement was obvious and Tom smirked. Little victories were just as important as bigger ones sometimes. Still, Ron's our friend.

Tom felt a brow twitch upward. He's a shite friend, Dove. The boy was a terror, from what he'd heard. Selfish. Couldn't see the world past the end of his nose. Belittled Hermione's intelligence.

Tom was fortunate enough that the Weasleys of his era wouldn't have another wave of Hogwarts aged children until after he graduated.

What am I like in 2013? he asked her. The curiosity was nagging at him, but he wasn't sure how much she could, or should, tell him. Playing with time was messy, dangerous business.

Charming as ever, she told him. His eyes narrowed. He got the sense that she was making fun of him somehow. You've certainly built a life for yourself, though I still don't understand why you're paying for my school things. I don't need it.

Consider it an investment into your future, Dove. Sponsorship was a hell of an advantage to hold over one's peers. He'd gladly present that advantage to her. I assume I must be fairly well off, then.

You're comfortable, no doubt.

She was being passive again. I detect sarcasm in the form of understatement, he wrote.

Sarcasm? Gryffindors don't know the art.

Tom noticed that dinner had started around him, but didn't start building his plate. Food could wait. If she wanted to play with words, he'd play.

You were never meant to wear red and gold, Dove, he said.

And yet I do.

He snorted softly. Yes, well, I think we've already decided that you and your friend are a pair of lost boys.

Tom glanced up when there was movement beside him. Abraxas had taken Tom's plate and beaten Mulciber to the baked ham. He smirked when Abraxas put all three rings of pineapple on his plate without breaking eye contact with Mulciber before passing Tom the dish.

"Appreciated, Abraxas," said Tom.

"You're busy," Abraxas said with a shrug. "I assumed you wouldn't mind a second set of eyes, under the circumstances."

Tom nodded to signal his agreement, but was already writing a reply to Hermione despite having finally picked up his fork.

Was that a Peter Pan reference? she'd asked. Her surprise amused him.

Muggles may have turned the myth into a bedtime story, but I've always though Pan was more than just a Greek deity, he wrote. A boy who never aged? Don't you think it'd be grand to be young forever?

He started eating while he waited for her to answer, cutting a bit of glaze covered pineapple with his fork before leisurely savoring the morsel of fruit. She took so long to write him back that he'd started to wonder if she'd been distracted by preparing to leave.

Been researching, have you? she asked.

Tom thought the question was odd. Of course he'd been looking into immortality. Was she surprised?

You can't have power if you're old and senile or dead, darling, he wrote, rereading the words until they disappeared.

Darling. It was rather fitting wasn't it? She was his Wendy. A girl who'd caught his attention. A companion. His Neverland was a future where he held power and control, and she was the only person he was determined to bring with him as he built it.

That has a pleasant ring to it, doesn't it? My little Wendy Darling?

Don't even think about it. Her quick response nearly made him choke of a bite of ham and pineapple.

Kill joy, he wrote. Would you at least follow me to Neverland?

Despite waiting for her answer, it didn't come as quickly as he wanted. She was probably boarding the train. He'd just have to be patient. Tom put his diary away in an attempt to ignore his building disappointment. Seeing how annoyed Mulciber was that he'd gotten all the pineapple helped his mood, but he was still the first to finish his dinner and leave the great hall.

He was bored.

The journal didn't hum again until long after Tom had trudged up to the Room of Requirement to study. The room felt too big without her mass of frizzy curls sitting across from him.

Maybe.

His lips twitched. Hermione was amusing when she was being playful.

Harry and Hermione ended up having a compartment to themselves when Ron vanished halfway through the train ride. He'd made some feeble excuse about wanting to ask Seamus something Quidditch related but when he didn't return for an hour it became clear he had no plans to do so.

"He's being such a prat lately," Harry muttered.

Hermione only shrugged. "Let him. I imagine we'll still get invitations from Molly to spend some of the summer at the Burrow."

Harry's brow drew together in confusion and Hermione knew what he would ask before he got the words out. "She didn't send you a letter yet?"

She clenched her teeth and said nothing, seething internally. Harry's temper flared as well. "Nevermind it, Harry," she tried to tell him. He didn't have to sacrifice part of his summer just because Ron had made sure she'd be excluded. "You have fun. Tell everyone hello for me."

Harry was already digging through his bags in search of a quill. "There's no way I'm going," he said. "He's being bloody ridiculous!"

Hermione didn't think it was necessary to remind him that Ronald had a reputation for being ridiculous, as well as absurd. She just let him write his letter of refusal in peace and decided she'd tell him about Tom the younger while they were alone. She also thought he might like to know that Snape had told her to come to him if she wanted to switch. Surely that invitation extended to Harry.

She just wanted him to know that they had options if he ever wanted to take them.

Switching to Slytherin probably wouldn't be as stressful if Harry went with her, anyhow...

Ron,

I'm not coming over this summer.

There's no way I'm excluding Hermione from our summer when she's done nothing to deserve it, you prat. Especially when you tried to be a sneak about it.

Get over it, mate.

-Harry

p.s. Good luck with the Prophet contest.

Happy Friday~

Diary Veterans — Get ready. Next week is when things really start to change ;)