Tom yawned and laid back on the blanket covering a patch of grass near the Black Lake. Abraxas and Flynn were also stretched out near him, enjoying the morning chill and pre-dawn light. All three were still a bit wound up from their morning run, but they were more awake now than they had been half an hour ago.

"Either of you feel like casting a tempus?" Flynn asked with a tired groan.

Rolling his eyes behind his lids, Tom reached to the side, slipped his diary out of his satchel, and flipped to the back.

"It's about seven," he said, noting the time for Hermione — roughly quarter-past three in the afternoon. Despite how his tired muscles protested, he sat up and summoned his quill from his bag as well. A folded up, neatly penned copy of her timetable was always tucked in the back pages of his diary for quick reference.

It was a Wednesday afternoon in two-thousand-thirteen according to his time equation.

"She ought to be well out of Care of Magical Creatures by now," he muttered aloud. The pages ruffled quietly as he flipped to the front, back to the pages that were connected to Hermione.

How was class, Dove?

"She's already in classes?" Abraxas asked. "Do they start earlier in the future?"

"Salazar help her if so," chimed Flynn.

Tom rolled his eyes again. "No, idiots. Time doesn't move consistently between us. One day for us is two for her."

"Odd bit of magic," said Abraxas. "And a nightmare for coordination. How'd you know time for her?"

Tom saw her familiar blue ink start to bleed into the pages and quickly spelled them so they wouldn't fade until he cast a finite. "I worked out the arithmancy and embedded the equation into the back of my journal. I need to do the same for hers, if the magic isn't still there. And we have each other's timetables."

Good morning, Tom! Hermione had written. You're chatty early. You usually don't write me for at least another hour.

"Half hour," he muttered, even though they were both right. He and the boys were normally showered, dressed, and seated at breakfast by seven-thirty.

CMC was fine, I suppose. Draco made an idiot of himself playing up his snarky git nonsense. Dunno why he still does it, to be honest, but I suppose he has to keep up his rich pureblood image somehow. He's being a wuss now, though. Landed himself in the hospital wing.

Tom's lips twitched at the thought of Abraxas's grandson being a cocky, snot-nosed third year. Apples didn't fall far.

What creature did he piss off? Tom asked.

"I suppose you've gotten used to the patterns of it, as well," Abraxas said, bringing Tom back to the lake's edge.

He shrugged in reply, eagerly awaiting Hermione's answer. "I suppose so. We also wind up giving each other context simply by describing whatever is going on at the current moment. Being missorted causes her near-daily annoyances, so I generally know where she is and what she's up to if we're writing consistently."

Flynn and Abraxas shared a puzzled glance that Tom was too busy looking at his diary to notice.

"Missorted?" Flynn asked. "What do you mean, she's missorted?"

"Her true house gave her anxiety during her sorting," Tom answered distractedly — A hippogriff, Hermione had written. He insulted it. It might've broken his arm, but I doubt he's as hurt as he's acting. I only sort of feel bad for him. Tom grinned and told her Draco's grandfather had done much the same with another species of bird during one of their first Care of Magical Creatures lessons. — "She asked the hat to put her somewhere safer. It chose Gryffindor."

Abraxas made a face as Flynn muttered an emphatic bloody hell under his breath.

"What house could possibly be dangerous in the future?" Abraxas asked.

The question drew Tom's gaze away from the pages in his lap. The razor edge to his expression startled Abraxas and the subsequent heavy silence made Flynn open his eyes.

"One house has always been dangerous for non-purebloods, Malfoy," Tom said darkly.

Abraxas looked away, remembering his most recent argument with Black about blood-purity politics and Tom's subsequent fit of temper after the fact.

"She's a halfblood then, I take it?" Flynn said lightly.

"Muggleborn."

Abraxas's gaze shot back to Tom's warning stare in shock and disbelief. "A muggleborn has been winning your favor? What is she, the next Merlin?"

Tom's eyes narrowed and his lazy smile didn't reach them. "It wouldn't surprise me in the least if she was. She might even be stronger than I am," he said. "Granted, she has me to teach her, but she can already cast spells I didn't master until earlier this year. How many third years do you know capable of casting a corporeal patronus, Malfoy?"

"Most of the seventh years can't even cast a corporeal patronus," Abraxas said.

"What about corporeal fiendfyre?" Tom asked innocently.

Abraxas's jaw went slack. Tom smirked.

"Merlin, Brax, don't faint," Flynn muttered. "I didn't know you could get paler."

"You might confuse him with a corpse if he isn't careful," Tom warned. "Yes, she's Muggleborn. She also studies with your grandson multiple times a week. They're friends. Apparently, you and Flynn bought her birthday presents recently, too. If her parentage is going to be an issue, I'm happy to remedy it now, since it clearly doesn't exist in the future."

Abraxas shook his head and felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment and fear. "Not necessary," he muttered. "Just…trying to wrap my head around it. A muggleborn witch that's powerful enough to impress you of all people…"

Tom hummed and returned his attention to his diary. "Yes well, I rather do feel like a niffler loose in Gringotts when she exceeds my expectations. Even if she is an odd little bird sometimes."

"Most of them are," Flynn said. "Rosier's taken a shine to some little Hufflepuff thing recently and she's about as peculiar as most of the ladies I've tried to chat up as well."

"She's different in other ways," Tom said. "She's only ever mentioned one other girl she associates with amidst her small army of mates — a halfblood Slytherin, but I can't recall who the other girl's family is…" He trailed off for a moment. "I'll ask Dove to remind me later."

"Who?" Flynn and Abraxas asked together.

Tom stopped writing in his diary for a moment, cursed under his breath, and sighed. "I meant Wendy," he said.

"Her real name is Dove?" Flynn asked.

"No," Tom muttered, his frustration dripping from the word. "Before I say anything else potentially time-threatening, have you two been minding your occlumency? Dumbledore can't know about her. He can't find out I have a connection to the future or else he could ruin all the plans I make in the next fifty years and destroy or change time."

"He ignores us mostly," said Abraxas. "I think he only focuses on trying to sneak into your head. But I keep my shields up."

"Me too," Flynn swore.

Tom glanced at both of them suspiciously, noting their poorly concealed excitement. "Hermione," he said. "That's her real name."

"So…Wendy is Dove is Hermione…?" Flynn asked.

Tom shot him a warning glare. "Neither of you may call her Dove," he said darkly. "Except, perhaps, in reference and only in private. Wendy will continue to suffice in public for now. She's a very closely guarded secret. I'll feed you both to the basilisk if you fuck up and destroy the very comfortable futures we all have in her time."

"Understood," they chorused quickly.

"Wendy was a nickname she hated," Tom explained before they could ask. "It's a shame, too. It's a clever joke, I thought. Dove started as a joke too, then turned oddly fitting, and she doesn't fuss about it. Faster to say than her full name, anyway. You two may come up with your own little title for her once you've all met."

"She's a pretty little bird, then, I take it?" Flynn asked carefully. "Just wondering, I swear."

Tom rolled his eyes again. "You both like blondes," he said. "She doesn't fit your usual tastes. But she's pretty I suppose. There's a little bit of Caribbean in her and a little bit of French, she told me once, but mostly English. I think a grandmother is where the extra bits come from? She tanned a bit over the summer, her hair is wildly curly, and she has a few features that I suppose one would consider exotic…"

He pointedly stared at Abraxas. "Though I suppose any features not born from several years of selective inbreeding would be exotic in wizarding Britain. I doubt she gets a passing thought from muggles or most of her classmates."

"Well, maybe we can at least find something to help her hair," Flynn said, jumping in to diffuse the threatening undercurrents Tom had established. "We did say we'd help you find a gift at Hogsmeade today. And you mentioned we might get to meet her?"

"A late birthday gift too," Tom said, his voice hard despite the fact that he'd shifted his attention away from Abraxas again. "She neglected to mention the occasion until it had passed. And yes, I'll be introducing you all soon. She's probably met you both in her own time by now. You two morons are more loyal than I would've ever given you credit for prior to meeting her."

"So…you don't wind up feeding us to the basilisk then," Flynn joked hesitantly.

Tom stared at him. "Don't tempt me."

Still certain you want to meet Abraxas and Flynn? he wrote to Hermione. I'm finding them exceptionally annoying this morning.

They're your version of best mates, she said. So, yes. I think it'd be interesting to meet some of the people you spend most of your time with.

You'd best enjoy their company then, else it won't be worth the headache for me… I'm teasing, of course. They'll probably enjoy your company with their usual excessiveness.

He didn't add that it might not be worth the trouble of introducing them anyway if she didn't like them. But if somehow her meeting the boys who would become his two best and brightest followers added to her day, he'd take the minor loss.

"If she likes the pair of you, I may have you help with combative magic practice," Tom said. "There are a few odd threats surrounding her school year. Including a fugitive on the loose that apparently took part in the murder of her best mate's parents. Last she mentioned it, they had dementors stationed on the outer perimeter of the school grounds to prevent him from getting into the school."

"One fugitive is that much of a risk to the students?" Abraxas asked.

"Apparently everyone thinks this Pettigrew bloke is going to try to kill her friend and finish the assassination attempt he miraculously survived as a baby," Tom explained. "I don't understand why he'd do that during the school year, but apparently I follow through with it to preserve the accuracy of time, considering I'm Head of the Board of Governors." He briefly side-eyed Abraxas. "Deputy."

Flynn pouted. "No fancy future job for me?"

Tom shrugged. He didn't know and hadn't yet cared enough to inquire. "Ask her yourself when you meet her. I'm sure she knows or will find out."

"Well, if there is a potential threat, we should definitely teach her whatever advanced Defense you haven't already," Abraxas said. "Especially if this fugitive bloke isn't caught before we go on holiday. We can't help her if we're not even at the school."

Tom hummed his agreement. "I've been thinking the same," he said. "There are more variables to consider than I care to get into right now."

"We can always talk about it more at Hogsmeade," Flynn pointed out. "Over butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks if that's less tedious."

They seem nice enough from the little I've seen of them, Hermione wrote finally. Draco tries to downplay it, but I think he's quite close with Abraxas and loves his grandfather a great deal. Then again, I have dealt with the ugly side of the Malfoy airs, so I know how they can be. I've met Flynn once in passing, but he just talked quietly with you and smiled at me, so I don't know what to expect of his younger self.

They'll both like you more than I care to deal with, he wrote dryly. They're very easily distracted by birds with a quarter of the brains you have. You'll either terrify them - hopefully, since that would be hilarious - or they'll be tripping over themselves for your attention.

Tom really hoped for fear. With any luck, she'd scare the piss out of both of them and they'd be on their best behavior without him having to lift a finger. He wasn't counting on such happy luck, though.

Hogsmeade was abuzz with roaming students when Tom slipped into one of the smaller shops away from the high street. Full of antiques and trinkets, the interior was all tight corners and narrow aisles. The perfume of used books, haphazardly shelved along one wall, was made stale by the visible layers of dust coating many of the higher surfaces. Speckles of it even floated in the air, visible without the thin streams of afternoon sun peeking around the curtains.

It was the sort of store Tom normally would've liked, if not for the fact that he rarely had use for baubles and knick-knacks. And it was his only hope of finding something to gift Hermione in the bustling little village.

Zonko's was out of the question. Gimmick presents and pranks were not appropriate for the occasion, even if Tom was willing to traverse the joke shop. And he generally wasn't.

Abraxas and Flynn stayed close as Tom slowly wove through the store. All three of them scanned shelves of all sorts of dusty things, hoping for a diamond in the rough.

"Found something," Flynn said.

Tom turned around and backtracked the few steps to Flynn and the shelf he was inspecting. A silver chain hung off the boy's hand. A small, coiled snake encrusted with tiny emeralds pointed downward. A teardrop-shaped emerald about the size of a knut hung down from the snake's closed mouth. Tom assumed the teardrop was meant to replace its tongue. It would suit her.

"Rather on the nose considering what you mentioned about the poor girl's sorting," Abraxas said. "But perhaps that will increase its charm?"

Tom nodded his agreement, his mind turning faster than he could attempt to articulate his thoughts. If this was her reward-slash-birthday-present, she'd think he only got it out of obligation. While he'd already decided it ought to belong to her, he knew it needed to be saved for a more meaningful occasion. Perhaps a parting gift before he went on holiday? She had been quite upset at the idea of such a long separation so soon after her return, not that he was much happier about it.

She'd mentioned once, in passing, that the two things that struck her the most when they met face to face the first time were his prefect pin and the blue of his eyes being brightened further by their blue witchlight. Perhaps the motif, and its clear connections to their house, would serve as a reminder of his presence?

He couldn't just give her his prefect pin, after all. He'd need it next year, Slughorn had already told him he could reprise the role next term if he wanted to — and he did. But if he presented the motif properly, would she see it as a reminder of his return?

And on that train of thought, with him being out of the castle, he had no way to ensure her protection directly. Unless, of course, the metal in the necklace was pure enough, and the gems of sufficient quality, to imbue with protective charms and warding… With so little time to prepare and craft the spellwork, he'd need the boys to help him. There was already so much they needed to do before their O.W.L.s, but surely they'd like her enough to also be motivated to take on such a project with him.

"Tom?" Flynn asked, breaking his moment of thoughtfulness. "Do you think she'd like it?"

"Yes," he said, remembering the happy little smile she'd worn explaining her secretly Slytherin quidditch kit to him. "She finds comfort in acknowledging her true house affiliation when she can. But I think I have a better plan for this than using it as a reward, especially since she's not the materialistic type."

"Keep it but keep looking?" Flynn asked.

"Definitely keep it," Tom said. "It might be how we ensure her safety until we're back at the castle."

Abraxas eyed it with new appreciation. "If the metals are fine enough, we can imbue plenty of protections into it," he said. "The gems too. Clasp to clasp, as long as she always wears it, she'd be safe from damn near anything."

"Let's make it closer to anything than damn near," Tom said. "I don't know what she's up against, I just know she needs to stay alive. If I can figure out immortality, and I have a sinking suspicion that in the future I've managed it, then when she's older I'll make her immortal too. She's too clever to waste on one lifetime."

When Tom resumed his search, Abraxas and Flynn shared a look while the latter returned the necklace to its box, keeping it in hand. Abraxas raised a brow at Flynn and mouthed smitten. Flynn shrugged. He'd save his convictions for when he saw Tom and the girl in the same room.

They noticed Tom had left them behind once Flynn had closed the necklace box for safe carrying, finding him in a corner near other jewelry cases. There was a small, thin vanity with various patterns and types of ribbons in the drawers. Hanging off the rectangular mirror was an array of wraps, scarves, and long strips of ribbon — the sorts of things they normally saw ladies weave into their hair or tie it up with.

"They still wear headbands," Tom was muttering under his breath. "But surely something like this would suit the little fuzzball better…"

He lifted two long, thin scarves from the pile on the vanity's surface, one black and one white. There were other patterns as well, but he studied the simpler ones.

"Abraxas, how complex do you think the charm work would be to make these change color with ease?" Tom asked.

Abraxas shrugged. "Not difficult at all. Are they both satin?"

Tom nodded. "Feels like it, yes."

"Simple enough, I should think."

"And would it be possible to make it so that her hair styles itself a certain way automatically every time she wears them?" he asked. "She's not one for vanity, so I know she'll rarely wear them if she has to sacrifice study time to do so."

Abraxas hummed, frowning. "Trickier, but I don't see why not. It may require her to have certain products nearby, if she uses Sleekeazy's, for example. Then, so long as the necessary components are in proximity, we could trigger a spell-chain."

Tom nodded to himself. Flynn and Abraxas recognized the thoughtful haze that had taken over his expression again, though this time he was lost in his own head for far less time. "These, I think," he said. "If you two would like to choose patterned ones for her, feel free. I'm going to try my hand at charming these two solid ones so she can wear them with anything if she chooses."

Abraxas spotted and plucked a red paisley pattern with almost-Slytherin-green as a minor color before Flynn noticed it and smirked when the dark-blond glared at him.

"Arse," Flynn muttered. He found a cool-toned wavy geometric pattern that struck him as quite muggle-inspired and grabbed it. It still featured some green, but wouldn't be an obvious betrayal of her false-house's colors if she wore it, or so he thought. "Should we get her anything else, do you think?"

Tom scanned the area around them, zoning in around the jewelry again. He took a few steps away from them when he spotted a little tin of something and started to dig through it. Metal clinking against metal didn't help Flynn or Abraxas determine what he could be looking for until Tom stilled and picked something out of the tin.

"They're cunning," he said to himself. "Predators."

"What are?" Abraxas asked.

Tom shook his head as if to clear it, then held up what was in his hand so they could see it: a small silver charm in the shape of a fox.

"Her friends bought her a charm bracelet," he told them. "In her time, we got her charms as well, but I think I just found one charm she didn't have that only I'd know to get her."

"Birds, snakes, foxes," Flynn muttered. "Circe help her if she ever becomes an animagus. At this rate, she'd probably wind up being a fish."

Tom snorted softly. "No, she'd be a fox, I think. Might have to guide her through that process after she graduates as part of her sponsorship."

"She's sponsored?" Abraxas asked. "Bloody hell. By who?"

Tom grinned mischievously. "Me."

This time, when Abraxas gave Flynn a fierce look behind Tom's back, Flynn didn't bother trying to argue. Whether Abraxas was fully right or not, Tom definitely cared about the girl more than he realized, especially if he was still looking out for her fifty years in the future.

"He's all but making the world the girl's oyster," Abraxas muttered when Tom left them to pay for his finds. "These are the sorts of displays Father makes to reassure mother of his devotion."

"Has he been unfaithful?" Flynn asked carefully.

"No, she's just vain," Abraxas said. "If he doesn't spoil or compliment her for too long, she'll go on for days fussing about how he'll surely leave her for a younger, prettier bride."

Flynn blinked in confusion. "Your parents are bonded by the old rites, aren't they?"

Abraxas took his change from the near-mute shopkeep and took their bag of presents. "Yes," he said as they left the shop to hunt down Tom. "The only way to end their marriage is to kill one of them."

"Fidelity rites?"

"Yes, the family-tailored ones. He can't stray even if his magic was capable of letting him consider it."

"So why does she—"

"She's vain and he spoiled her when they were courting."

Flynn nodded, inclined his head towards a bookshop Tom often hid in since the shopkeep often offered them tea and scones if they stayed and chatted with her a while. It was quieter than the Three Broomsticks, which Tom tended to find headache-inducing after an hour or two. It was as good of a place to start looking for him as any.

Unfortunately, when they found him and Flynn asked if he'd explain why foxes were also associated with his clever little friend, Tom refused to tell them.

"You'll see," he said, smirking. "Eventually."

Tom didn't have time to rest after leaving Hogsmeade early. He wrote a list of all the enchantments he wanted researched for Hermione's gifts with the boys and told them he'd check the Chamber for anything else that might be useful to their various projects.

"There might be an old family scrying spell down there," Abraxas had mused when Tom mentioned wanting to investigate Slytherin's secret study. "And as heir, you might be able to manipulate that more easily than some of the other spells we need to test."

He was correct of course, but Tom had multiple priorities to address while he was in the Chamber of Secrets. The first and foremost required him to bring his diary and self-inking quill so he could write Hermione while taking notes and researching.

So let me get this straight, Hermione wrote as he walked through the winding, damp corridor towards the main entrance of the chamber. Your ancestor made a super secret hidden cavern under the school and the only way to get to it is via the girls' bathroom on the second floor?

Tom sighed. Yes, Dove. The toilets are modern plumbing, of course. The old secret entrance got built over and hidden by a former heir of Slytherin. I assume a great aunt or grandmother, considering the location.

Fair, she wrote. It's still weird.

I never claimed it wasn't, he wrote dryly. He stopped short, realizing the tunnel would probably frighten her alone, especially in her time. When he'd first discovered the chamber, the rats had been festering in places Cherie didn't frequent. I'm going to hope the castle's magic takes a hint from the Room of Requirement when you land down here and makes us a little time-pocket to coexist in. The Chamber itself is in good condition, but I can't speak on the giant pipe you'll be walking through. When I originally discovered this place, it was full of angry rats and rat shite, but Cherie and I take better care of things right now.

Oh that's reassuring.

Tom chuckled. What's the matter, Dove? Afraid of the dark?

More like a resurgence of the bubonic plague, arse.

"Poor little bird," he murmured. Is the little Gryffindor scared to be in the dark by herself?

You know, no one would ever find your body down here.

Tom laughed, surprised by the quickness of her reply, for a long time. He laughed long enough that the echoes around the pipe drowned out the sound of approaching footsteps…

A/N: I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, but the next scene got so long that it became the first half of the next chapter.

44 is in progress, so still technically only 9 chapters ahead (my new goal is to get 20 ahead, even though you guys feel eons in the past even though I'm only 9 ahead of you all) - but since 44 is really plot-heavy and my friends in my former state of residence just had a baby yesterday, I feel it's appropriate to update in honor of my first Chosen-Family Nephew. Hopefully early next year I can go visit them.

Also, in other news, I've been coerced into actually using my Twitter. So if you're not very active on Tumblr but still want access to my shitposting and nonsense, there's another way!

As always, you guys are more than welcome to pester me about Diary on Tumblr and now Twitter - I'm just mulattokitten over there.

I hope all my US friends had a lovely Thanksgiving, and if I don't update again until after the holidays, then I hope everyone enjoys their winter holiday of choice! I'll be celebrating Yule with my aunt and Christmas for pretenses with family. With any luck I'll be able to update on Tom's birthday though. xoxoxoxo