Thankfully Illus' words proved correct and the next morning Ailill Peverell was seen with no mark upon his face. And so the month of October closed with a rather interesting end.

However, to Tom Riddle, November had already started off on a bad foot, finally after many push backs due to poor weather conditions Quidditch lessons were scheduled to start. Many first years were beyond themselves with excitement and the rest coiled tight with anxiety and fear. It was hard to blame them, over twenty feet in the air and you're relying on a single piece of lacquered wood to hold you up? It is easy to see why any sane person would be more than comfortable to forgo such endeavors and instead have a nice solid life with their feet on the ground. The sky to many is for the hollowed-boned feathered friends, not fleshy arseholes who like to run their mouths too much.

The instructor for these lessons was a lady with a tall and willow frame, lean muscle, and serious expressions. Word has it she was a rather well-liked Quidditch player for a national team before he sustained a hefty injury and was forced to retire in fear of the injury flaring up during a match and further worsening the condition of her body. Miss Lidia Woods, one of England's most promising players forever now stranded to the earthy banks of the world. It was a shame too, it was still the 1930s where most women were expected to play housewives, Lidia was a role model and inspiration for many young women to come. Witches will always be far more terrifying than wizards.

Tom Riddle expected much this coming day, many plans on how to not fall off a tree branch being one of the most circled thoughts. He did not think he would wake in the morning to a cold bed and a best friend bleeding as he shoved a needle through his own ear. Tom just sat and watched him for a minute with dead eyes before what he was witnessing actually registered. He fumbled to free himself from his bedsheets failing miserably and ending up as a heap on the mattress. Where did all his prized agility go?

"Ailill just what are you doing?!" His voice did not put a cap on volume and so it roused the other boys from sleep.

"Hmm…" Ailill absentmindedly hummed as he inserted a silver ball earring into the upper part of his left ear's cartilage. "I thought my ears looked a little boring so I wanted some piercings."

"You're bleeding, Ailill!"

Tom's words had a lot of the other boy's finally paying attention and getting out of bed to see just what Peverell was doing in order to stir his counterpart up into a frenzy. They moved around until they saw a pale sitting figure of their friend staring into a mirror as beads of crimson trailed down both his wrists and neck.

"Oh dear," Abraxes muttered as he brushed past the rest of the gawking first years and gently grabbed a rather out of it looking Ailill's hand and made the boy look at him. "Peverell, that's dangerous. You could give yourself an infection if you aren't careful. You've also created a mess, just how many piercings did you give yourself?"

"How many?" Ailill mumureed. "Nine…"

"Nine?!" Tom cried in disbelief as he approached his friend tiling the boy's head from side to side and sure enough, there on his right ear were five newly created holes. Three going up in a line from the bottom of his lobe and another two opposite of each other at the top of his cartilage. The left side had the same three-lobe piercing and one more fresh cartilage that Tom caught Ailill just doing.

"Peverell, nine piercings in one go is really bad, especially if they're all so close to each other," Lestrange informed the boy. "Your body could reject them and give you a bad infection or they could deform your ear."

"We'll just have to see then," Ailill said with complete disinterest in his voice.

"How about," Alphard said as he walked to Ailill's side and helped him stand up along with Malfoy. "We go and help clean you up, you've gotten blood all over you. We can't have you looking like you murdered someone on the day Quidditch lessons start!" Black tried to make a joke out of it but the strain in his voice made it difficult to work.

Tom stood worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as the three left to clean Ailill up. He was terrified of this new development. Was this genuinely a thing Ailill wanted as a way of self-expression and fashion or was it an expression of self-harm? One that a person wouldn't think of as one. Ailill never cut open his flesh for it would arouse too many questions but he did tend to take hits sometimes that Tom knows he could escape. Sometimes Ailill will eat food or drink tea too hot and burn his mouth. One time Tom caught Ailill bashing a rock onto his fingers with such a blank expression that it scared him, he never brought it up afraid that it might lead to Ailill being less careful and in so becoming more drastic in his efforts to hurt himself. It looked like Ailill tried to hide this part of himself from Tom and if that makes Ailill stick with less lethal means Tom will never bring it up nor admit to knowing and having witnessed some of the other boy's actions. Tom wants to believe that Ailill really did just find his ears boring but the blankness of his eyes made it hard to believe.

The day was not starting off well.

The other boys within Slytherin have started to notice that Ailill can be very worrisome when it comes to his own health. His mannerism can be concerning in his blatant disregard for himself and often more than not they find themselves checking in on him and making sure that he had done nothing drastic but they're starting to second-guess themselves. They don't know if they should bring this up to a figure of higher authority, they're afraid that someday they'll come back to their rooms and find their friend taken from them at his own hand. They don't know what to do, what happens if they do tell someone, and end up with Peverell feeling betrayed by them, dropping them from his small group of friends. What if Peverell ignores them and brands them traitors never to hold his trust again? They don't want that, they love him and want the best for him even if he himself isn't a good choice for his own mind.

They're honestly surprised that Marvolo hasn't done anything to his friend's actions but there must be a reason for that. That Slytherin would never let anything take Ailill, not even the boy himself. So just what was the reason Marvolo let's Ailill's nature run amok with no supervision, just why does he not seek help. What is the duo hiding?

Once Ailill was cleaned up and dressed with all his new piercing disinfected he was ushered out of the room with a bouncing Alphard at his tail. Breakfast was consumed with rising chatter as first years anticipated their first lesson to come. Morning classes were replaced with Quidditch and would continue to be for one day a week for twelve weeks before the series of lessons were finished. Twelve weeks before the weekly class of death was finished.

The quidditch field was dry if not a bit cold as the winter months flitted at the edges of the year. These lessons were with the Gryffindors, the rowdiest of the four houses. Two rows of brooms were laid out parallel to each other and both houses stood beside a broom. Lidia Woods eyes the class she was to teach critically trying to sniff out the ones that may have some talent. She's heard the Potter boys have marvelous skills in the sky, the same is to be said about the Black line. Perhaps the boy with amber-like eyes from Slytherin will be a candidate? He seems to have a solid build, but the boy next to him is definitely out of the running. Too spindly and thin; the look of disgust on his face can also attest to his feelings of the sport. Definitely not him, he looked like he was ready to stab anyone near him with the blunt end of the broom he was forced to be beside.

"Alright!" The oldest there shouted, having her voice carry over the chatter of children. "Everyone hurry and line up beside a broom and listen clearly." Her stern eyes pierced through them nothing but seriousness rolling off her. "In this class, you listen to every instruction, am I clear? I do not care if you are a prospective national player, here you are my student and my responsibility nothing more. One toe out of line and you're benched from ever touching a broom for the whole year."

A shuffling of feet made it known that her words weren't well-liked by many people while the sly smile pulling at Tom's like showed he quite liked the idea a fair amount.

"Now stand by your broom and place a hand extended over it and shout a stern 'UP!' the broom should come to your hand but the word must be said with feeling. Magic is sentient and not something that will follow your every word, you must create a bond with it as its harnesser. You must be firm. Come on, try it!"

Uneasy but anticipating eyes looked around before the students started to shift their hands out to hover over the broom on the floor, they were battered and looked like they'd seen better days but surely they must be up to standard if they were letting children learn on them. Right?

"Up!" The high-pitched cries came in unsynchronised bursts and various strengths. Tom and Ailill did not raise their voices but their brooms were the first to fly to their hands. Of course, Tom expected nothing more, they were the best of the best after all.

It took ten minutes before the whole class had a broom in their hand and the teacher was satisfied.

"Now straddle the broom but do not push off from the floor. Before we take to the air we must correct your hand grips! A bad grip can lead to you falling from the broom so take this seriously everyone."

She went around adjusting some hands and praising others for their positions, it was mainly the purebloods due to their growing up with such things from a young age. Tom and Ailill looked to Alphard and copied his positions and passed the inspection under the eyes of the critical women. Tom really did want to be there, why should he have to rely on wood to fly? They have magic. Why don't they fly with it instead of a contraption? Do they have no confidence in their magic? How pitiful.

"Okay everyone, it looks good. Now what we will do is gently kick off the floor, you should rise no more than a few feet, you must be firm, remember this. I've been stressing this all day, you work with the magic to do what you want, you must be clear and firm. Magic follows you. Give it a try."

Many were successful if not consumed with anxiety. Tom got it down but hated every second of it, the seating was uncomfortable and he just hated the whole experience. Ailill was indifferent, sure the seating could be better but the fact that he was hovering mid-air made up for it enough. He wonders what free-falling from a higher height would feel like, he remembers in the first life of his that sky diving would have been a similar experience, he never got to do it but the magic would work like a parachute, right?

Once everyone was in the air the instructor had them fly in a single line in a circle, it was outrageously borning for some in the class who just wanted to take to the sky and feel the wind fight against them. Abraxas huffed as he was forced to circle again at least they were allowed to rise a bit more, he was at least twenty-five feet in the air, he tried to occupy his time by looking around at the others he was flying with. Some girl from the house of lions was flying like it was her will to live while the boy three paces behind her was clinging to the handle for dear life near tears. Everyone in Slytherin was pretty well adjusted, even Marvolo and Ailill even though they had never been on a broom before. Marvolo may have looked like he was planning murder but as long as it wasn't directed at the blond he didn't care. He looked to Peverell and nearly fell off his broom, the boy looked happy. It's not that Ailill always looks depressed or anything but his eyes rarely have light in them, even when with his childhood friend Ailill always looks like he's not supposed to be there like his mind is in another place while his body keeps him trapped for everyone to see.

There has never been light in those haunted whiskey eyes, they may have been warm and affectionate sometimes but never truly with a spark of life. It always only reinforced Malfoy's theory that Ailill was a doll. But the sight before him was mesmerising, Ailill Peverell - cold and sharp forever hurting others with either a fist or words had a smile on his lips that made him more beautiful than ever before. It was a soft upturn of lips but it was paired with the eyes of a boy who was finally present in the body he held. The wind pushed back inky hair and exposed the face usually hidden behind it. A softly smiling heir of Slytherin flew beside his friend even if he hated it with all his core, he supposed though if it got Ailill to smile like that then it can't be too bad. He extended a hand to Ailill who happily took it in his own.

"We're flying doll!" Ailill's words accompanied a closed-eye smile that made his dimples pop and giggles fill the air. Tom thinks he's never been so in love with a person; he may be twelve but this is his brand of love, the one he will offer everything to with no regret nor obstructions.

Ailill looked so alive, it nearly made him cry. How he longed to see him so present for so long, not even magic had made him look like this. Flying seemed to be something he enjoyed so Tom vowed to make it possible to fly without a broom if no spell is already created. He will make that look upon Ailill's face ever-present and a thing he gets to witness every day for the rest of his life. He will make his treasure forever shine.

"Yes, Treasure we are."

"Treasure?" Ailill cocked his head confused.

"You don't like my nickname for you?" Tom teased though he was secretly worried.

"A bit possessive don't you think, Doll?"

"Not at all, treasure."

Tom thinks he could live this day over and over again and never get tired of it.