Part XIX

Tom woke up on a rainy Saturday in March acutely aware that he had nothing to do until classes that afternoon. He stayed in bed longer than usual, until he felt like reaching for his wand and casting a warming charm around himself. The dungeons being underground sometimes helped protect their dorms from the cold, but only so much could be done when drafts were inevitable and most of the flooring was stone.

He was still up, showered, and dressed long before Abraxas and Flynn had begrudgingly woken up. Their tired groans, slow movements, and sharp hisses when their feet touched the cold stone made him roll his eyes.

"Breakfast is soon," he said. "I'd rather not have to fight for my favorites. Do hurry up."

He fished his diary out of his warded nightstand and wrote Hermione while he waited for them. It was afternoon for her already. She was in the shared space between her room and Harry's at his godfather's house. Apparently it was raining in 2013 as well.

He felt a twinge of irritation. Did Harry realize how fortunate he was to spend near-unlimited time with her? Did he even truly understand how valuable her mind was? Did he realize how much of an honor her presence was for someone who wasn't on her tier like Tom was?

He'd been bored out of his mind since she left. The idea that there wasn't anyone else appreciating her value while she was out of his reach angered him. It was a waste of her time and talents to not keep her brain, and her magic, flexing. No one else could appreciate her skills the way he did, and even he struggled to find a way to make their unique…bond tangible.

When the boys finally came down, the three of them were still the earliest risers of their year. There were a few of the sixth and seventh years up, if half asleep on the sofas counted as being 'up', but that was it. Tom passed through the common room with disinterest in his frown and the boys close on his heels. The Great Hall was mostly empty when they arrived and Tom was relieved to find that while Slughorn was awake, Dumbledore hadn't shown up yet.

He could write Hermione a little longer.

The boys passed eggs, sausage links, bacon, toast, and all manner of breakfast things around until their plates were full. Flynn shook his head when Tom and Abraxas made a point to crush and chop bits of bacon and sausage with the sole purpose of topping their already buttered waffles, and drizzling the entire mess in syrup before they started eating.

"You two are heathens," Flynn muttered.

"It's sweet and salty," Abraxas said with a shrug. "You won't even try it. Hell, even Tom likes it. You're missing out Flynn."

"I'll take your word for it," the blond said dryly.

Tom snorted as he answered a Herbology theory question Hermione had penned to him. "It probably wouldn't be polite to eat breakfast this way in a more…sophisticated setting, but we're at school. We're growing young lads." He lifted a perfectly cut piece of waffle, bacon, and sausage to his mouth and chewed it with silent appreciation. "Besides, it's more efficient."

Flynn rolled his eyes and continued to mutter about how he was the only sane one among them. By the time they'd finished eating, the usual morning rush was starting to trickle in, including the professors, and Tom was happy to slip away just as Dumbledore sat down.

Abraxas and Flynn went ahead of him to the Room of Requirement to study while Tom detoured down to the Chamber of Secrets. Salazar Slytherin had a study hidden behind his statue. If there was anywhere Tom expected to potentially find information about bonds between two uniquely powerful beings, it was in Slytherin's journals.

There had to be something to help him explain, or at least define, his connection to Hermione. She was his 'friend', he supposed, but Tom didn't have friends. He had the boys and he had her. Everyone else was extra. Unnecessary. But there had to be some way to properly, formally, mark Hermione as different than everyone else.

He just had to find it.

Even though he called for Chersydri - his Basilisk who preferred to be called Cherie - she didn't answer him, not even as he opened the human entrance to the statue and slipped behind it. He peaked out to the pool that connected to the Black Lake and didn't see her sleeping on her rocky shore, meaning she must've been hunting either in the Forbidden Forest or deep in the water. Either way, he'd come down into the chamber for the books, not the company.

His search was a mostly futile effort however, and Cherie returned before he'd found what he was after.

Master seeks something…she hissed from the passage that lead from her pool to the mouth of Slytherin's statue. Her corridor was only partially walled off from the study Tom was combing through, allowing his familiar to curl up and watch him from the far side of the room. She had to occasionally move to look past a few bookcases, but that was hardly concerning for the serpent.

"I'm looking for connection magics," he said absently. "My protogeé…she's an exemplary witch, Cherie. Young, yes, but a quick study. I want her tied to me, her magic bound to mine in some way... I want her to learn even faster, which she'll be able to do if her less developed magic has access to mine."

An apprenticeship via magical osmosis. It was nothing more than she deserved.

The only rituals capable of binding the magic also bind the body, Cherie told him. And the mind. There are a few older rites that even bind two souls, assuming they're of the same cloth.

Tom frowned with distaste. "Marriage bonds?" he asked, incredulous. "That'd be ridiculous."

How so? Cherie asked. You clearly respect the witch. You admire her power. You enjoy her company.

Tom continued to scowl and tried to figure out how to explain why such an idea would be insulting. "For starters, we've above something as trivial as marriage. Love is for the weak, like Dumbledore. She's like me. She's better than that. I don't want anyone underestimating her just because she has a husband. Especially if it were me. No. We stand separate but together."

Cherie tilted her head at him and flicked her tongue thoughtfully. Your ancestors took powerful witches as brides. They learned to draw strength from love in most cases. It's powerful magic, especially when it's combined with your existing talents. It would be unwise to dismiss the idea entirely.

Tom made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. "I doubt it will come to apply to Hermione. All I need is a way to prove that she belongs by my side. If there are no binding rites, what else could I use?"

Cherie was quiet for some time while Tom continued to flip through texts from the study shelves. There is a way to share Parselmagic between people, she said. It is complex and difficult to explain, but Salazar used the ritual to be certain all of his children retained his gift. And his children's children, until the magic became hereditary. Would it satisfy your need for connection if her magic managed to receive the gift from yours?

Tom pondered the idea of a muggleborn witch strong enough to accept a rare pureblood magical trait. If she could, it would only be further proof that she belonged under his wing. If she couldn't, it wouldn't be a terrible surprise, as Parseltongue was a gift so rarely bestowed upon magicfolk as it was. As far as Tom knew, he was the only Parseltongue in Europe. To have her join him on that particular pedestal would be…

Tom didn't know a word strong enough to convey how pleased he would be. Excitement sang through his veins.

"Where do I find this ritual?" he asked Cherie.

She told him about the thin, blue, leather notebook, a journal of Salazar Slytherin's with Celtic knots pressed and carved into its face, and helped him find a much larger volume with detailed notes about various magical rites invented by Slytherin, but written by one of his children.

Those should aid you, Cherie said. Know that the ritual sometimes took days' worth of hours to take hold in some of your ancestors. If it's going to take root in the girl, it may take much repetition and patience.

Tom thanked Cherie and pet her head affectionately before gathering his spoils. He still needed to meet Abraxas and Flynn in the Room. They had work to do, on top of his existing personal projects.

Still, he found himself imagining how a Parselmouth Hermione would sound as he left the Chamber of Secrets and made his way up to the seventh floor.

She could do it. He knew she could.

He ended up spending most of their time in the Room of Requirement buffing out the Arithmancy that would allow him, and Hermione, to know what time it was on either side of the diary at any given moment.

He worked the last few times and dates into his equation before casting the spell to run it. The leather of the back binding of his diary glowed deep blue for several moments before all the magic seemed to slide into place. His data tables vanished and the runes he'd drawn around them moved to form a border around the edges of the binding. Aside from the outline of runes, the leather was blank, smooth, and unassuming once again.

Tom felt a smirk pull at his lips and chuckled to himself.

No more guessing games.

The light from the diary gained Abraxas and Avery's attentions.

"Find something you were looking for?" Abraxas asked.

"Solved a puzzle," Tom answered as he glanced at the time and dates writing themselves across the leather.

Saturday, March 16, 1963 8:45 AM

Monday, July 29, 2013 6:45 PM

His smirk widened. Under their current times, he wrote in the date and time he was most concerned about.

September 1, 2013 8:45 PM

He could've cried out with triumph when his corresponding time started to write itself under his entry.

Tuesday, April 2, 1963 9:45 AM

He closed his diary with satisfaction. It wouldn't be much longer before she returned. Just another fortnight or so. That was plenty of time to get his lesson plans for her in order and keep focusing on his research projects.

He could deal with the boredom until April.

"So," Tom began, pleased when Abraxas and Flynn perked up again, "when you've reached a stopping point in your studies, I'd like to speak with the pair of you."

He waited while Flynn finished a thought in whatever assignment he was working on. Once both of his closest…associates were listening, he gave them a hard look.

"I'm not sharing any of what I'm about to tell you with the lower ranks," he said, letting the firmness in his tone speak for itself. "I'll decide when and how much to tell those halfwits at a later date. For now, I trust the pair of you can handle this information…"

They bobbed their heads and quickly assured him that yes, they could take his news seriously and be trusted, to which he replied with a noncommittal sound from the back of his throat.

"I have a…" he frowned, his gaze turning to stare blankly at the wall as gears turned in his mind. Protogeé was the word, but she was also his associate…except she was above the pair before him. No. He needed another word. Something that gave Abraxas and Flynn a clear sense of were she stood in Tom's hierarchy. "…a friend," he finished slowly, tasting the word. It was foreign. He still didn't think he had friends, at least, not until now. But there wasn't anything else fitting enough to address her by.

"A very clever friend," he continued, more confident with his word choice now.

Internally, he repeated the term to himself a few times, tasting it on the back of his tongue as he connected her to it in his mind. It would have to suffice for now. If he found a better word later, he'd adjust accordingly, but this one was as fitting of a term as he could think of.

They shared a respect for one another, for their abilities and strength. They shared mutual interests. There was an unspoken rule between them to look out for one another. Tom would certainly feel better with her at his back in a duel than he would with either pureblood before him, and they were both proficient duelers. She had a wealth of potential under that fluffy head of hers, her heritage be damned.

Besides, he enjoyed her company.

"A friend…" Flynn repeated slowly.

"Yes," said Tom, turning back towards them now that his thoughts were settled again. Remembering their recent conversation the day she went on holiday, Tom's lips slowly twitched into a smirk. A companion. A friend. Someone to join him in Neverland. "Let's call her Wendy," he told them. He was counting on her finding out he'd used the moniker that irked her so badly as the way his boys would know her. Sometimes her hair got wilder when she was cross, but occasionally her flaring magic would tighten the curls towards something akin to submission, if only for a few moments. It was as fascinating to watch as it was entertaining.

"Do we…" Abraxas began hesitantly, "do we know this Wendy of yours?"

Tom couldn't help the snort that escaped him. "You do not." His smirk faded at the thought. He wasn't sure he trusted them with her enough to try introducing the lot of them… And he certainly wouldn't willingly battle for her attention if his two most competent buffoons decided she was worthy of their pathetic attempts at being charming.

His lips twisted into a scowl. "Nor shall you anytime soon."

A fissure of satisfaction ran through him when the pair of them deflated at the knowledge. He couldn't quite blame them, however. After the capable little witch had entered his life and changed all of his plans, Tom could certainly appreciate a little less testosterone floating around. It was a pity that so few of their classmates were acceptably malleable enough to recruit.

Granted, none of the boys needed anymore reasons to spend time chasing tail. Between Quidditch season and the idiocy that was Hogwarts dating culture, Tom usually marveled at how the wizarding world managed to produce even a handful of valuable members of society per generation. Worthless sods, the lot of them.

The most capable person Tom knew was fifty years in the bloody future, for Salazar's sake.

The nervous glance Abraxas and Flynn shared lasted just long enough for Tom's eyes to narrow in suspicion before the former spoke.

"Is…is she yours, Tom?" he asked with great hesitation. "That is to say…is she…is she to be our Lady?"

Tom blinked. And blinked again.

And again.

First Cherie and now the boys? He was positively befuddled.

As if snogging the little bird would benefit anyone.

"No…she isn't," Tom eventually replied, keeping his tone as neutral as he could manage. "Though she's certainly…most important to me, and thus should be considered important to you."

They both nodded their agreement without hesitation.

"Is there anything we should know to avoid any potentially…undesirable altercations with her?" Flynn asked.

Tom's smirk returned, if only briefly. "Of that, you needn't fret…" he assured them. "Your grandchildren on the other hand…well, we'll just make sure they know exactly who she is when the time comes, yes?"

Abraxas and Flynn shared a glance, their faces slightly paler than usual.

"Y…yes, Tom," they muttered.

By the time they worked up the courage to ask how he'd managed to meet someone ahead of their time, they only had another forty minutes until they were due to go to class.

Their anxiety amused him to no end.

By the time dinner rolled around, Tom had spent most of the day trying to figure out why both Cherie and the boys had immediately assumed a…relationship with Hermione was something worth considering.

A 'proper' relationship, of course. Their relationship as student and master, and as friends -the word still didn't taste quite right in his mind- was solid. Or so he thought. What did adding another layer of complication to his connection with her have to do with furthering his plans? Most of the…romantic and legally binding partnerships he'd observed were pathetic at best and a complete waste of time for the participants at worst.

So what was the fuss about?

He didn't think his basilisk or the boys would truly understand what he meant by that question, so as Tom picked at his dinner, he took it upon himself to start another research project. Thankfully, this one only involved observational study.

And if all else failed, maybe analyzing his peers would give him some insight as to why Hermione was always tense on the days where she reported being around his adult self. Did they not get along as well as she claimed or was the oddity of having two versions of him to juggle something she struggled with?

He only had one way to potentially find out. Unfortunately, his plan proved mostly futile within the first half hour of the meal.

Tom knew a number of his classmates were in platonic friendships, as well as several (usually fleeting) romantic relationships. Admittedly, most cases of the former appeared outside his house, making it difficult for him to get clear results.

He learned that Ravenclaw was hardly worth observing - they kept their ability for decent interaction hidden behind closed doors. He could see their calculating stares, something they shared with Slytherin, but knew they'd stab a friend in the back as soon as it became a benefit to them academically. Frankly, Tom found it barbaric. The few sane relationships he'd seen were hesitant and guarded - the polar opposite of what he was looking to understand.

Hufflepuffs, while being notorious for their gentle natures and strong bonds, gender and blood status be damned, made him uncomfortable. His skin crawled as he watched many of them practically cuddle one another. Leaning, hanging, hugging, touching. Always bloody touching one another. It was far more than he cared to think about and far beyond the limits of what he could handle.

And after a pointless, cursory glance around Slytherin table, noting the familiar politics and huddled, elite groups of comrades, Tom sighed around a bite of his dinner and focused on Gryffindor.

He was pleasantly surprised, if not rather shocked, at what he found.

They were more than annoying, and undeniably rowdy, but their relationships were…normal, compared to the other houses. There was no overly sappiness of the Hufflepuffs or the false-heartedness of the Ravenclaws. Affection, when given, was given freely, but not suffocatingly. Hugs —long, short, quick, and intimate— were commonplace amidst the lions, with more intense affection sometimes accented by chaste kisses in innocent places or brief, tender touches.

They weren't over the top or cold or guarded like the other houses.

He'd have to peek into Hermione's head when she returned to see how her era viewed such things, and how she viewed them, to get a better sense of what information he might be missing.

He'd been about to go back to focusing on his meal when movement caught his eye. A small Gryffindor blonde he didn't recognize, probably a fourth year or so judging by her height, and one of the sixth years from the Gryffindor Quidditch team stood from their table together. She reached up on the tips of her toes to wrap her arms around his neck, which he returned by circling her waist with his.

Tom's head tilted curiously. They were fused like jigsaw pieces, just holding one another for a few intimate moments with her head tucked under his chin before he pressed his lips to her hair. A beat later, they came apart, collected their things, and intertwined their hands as they left the Great Hall.

It was odd. They seemed to find some sense of mutual reward from their interaction, despite how…pointless physical affection generally was. Why cuddle together like animals when you have intellectual intimacy with a person, the way he did with Hermione? What was the bloody point? Snogging, hugging, sex, none of it held the same value. Half the time, he saw all three land his classmates in situations that decidedly decreased the value of their lives.

So why the bloody hell did his companions think it would be natural to pursue such an entanglement with Hermione?

Though he could admit that the Quidditch player and his little witch had certainly seemed delightfully contented after their brief interaction. He wondered how long that feeling had to last for people to consider it worth the hassle.

Hello, my dears & Happy Tuesday! Have some hopelessly naive and befuddled Young Tom :)