Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Marvel.
A/N: I am not dead! Once again, a ridiculously long wait for a chapter that was already written!
Honestly, this chapter is more of a filler chapter, with Tom actually attending lessons. It isn't really that plot heavy, but it helps to show a bit more of his abilities, equipment and magical skills, as well as showing a bit of the aftermath of last chapter: AKA, self destructive, hedonistic Tom. Enjoy!
Chapter 23: A Fistful of Lessons
Tom looked himself up and down in the mirror, preparing for the day. Graphene weave? Check, albeit stripped of the titanium plates strapped to the outside. Handguns? Holstered on the inside of his silk jacket. Dagger? Strapped to his leg beneath his trouser leg. Throwing knives? Strapped to his biceps. Wands? Strapped to his triceps. Contact lens? He tapped his eyepatch, triggering the signal to activate the lens, watching a watered down version of his helmet's HUD flicker to life before his eyes, capable of infrared and ultraviolet scans. Now, if only he could bring the full helmet. If he had that, he could bring his swords, and the full form of his armour, too, but alas, some exceptions had to be made.
He nodded, tying his hair back, pulling the messy locks from his eye. He was ready to face X23, ready to put his plan into action. But first, he'd have to go to school. He shuddered. He did not like kids.
X
He really did not like kids. Unfortunately, they seemed to be too stupid to realise that.
"So Harry, is it true that you have spent your life in hiding, being trained by Dumbledore to defeat the next Dark Lord?" the bushy haired brat asked. "Because that's what it says in the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts!"
"No," Tom grumbled through a piece of toast. "Piss off."
"But I need to know! It doesn't seem likely, what with your… temperament, but it was in a book!" the girl, Granger he recalled, continued.
"Go screw your fucking books," Tom spat, spearing a tomato from a nearby bowel, biting into it savagely. "Fuck knows its the only action you'd be getting."
"Language!"
"What about it," he muttered, to which she merely replied with a huff.
"You can't really hate Quidditch, can you?" the idiotic redhead, Weasley, asked. "Nobody hates Quidditch!"
"Yes I do," he grumbled. "Now fuck off."
"But you're Harry Potter!" Weasley exclaimed. "You must like Quidditch."
Tom turned to the redhead, snarling as he slammed his claws into the child's plate, smashing it as his blades dug into the table below. "Get it through your thick skull before I skewer your bollocks - I ain't Harry Potter, so quit your yammering!"
Breakfast was surprisingly peaceful after that display. Just as he calculated
X
Tom smirked in satisfaction as he watched the flashes of fear that passed over his classmates' faces as he stalked into the dungeon that was the potions classroom. It was good for the school to fear him. It showed that they knew their place in the pecking order that was the hierarchy power.
He slid into his seat, the nearest he could find. He glanced to his side, and found a boy with a face as pale as his hair. He snorted, extending his claw, examining his reflection. "Mondays, huh?" he asked, baring his teeth at the metal.
The boy made a sort of squeaking sound, nodding, despite the fact that it was not in fact Monday, but rather a Friday.
Tom snorted again, retracting his claws, just as the professor made his own way in.
To say that Snape entered the room would be a disservice to the theatricality of the man's movement. The door slammed open with that sort of precision that results in the startling of a room's inhabitants, without damaging the fragile equipment around it. The man himself swept in, his smooth, stalking stride bringing to mind the deadly swoops of a bat, or a raven, only reinforced by the inky darkness of his cloak and the greasy locks that framed his pasty face, a hook like nose reminiscent of a beak jutting from beneath his beady eyes.
"Harry Potter," Snape drawled, the words finding themselves lengthened and filled with the man's distaste. "Our new… celebrity."
"Mercenary, sir," Tom drawled back, the last word mimicking the man's own pronunciation. "One profession has more morals than the other - though I can understand the confusion. And please, I go by Tom."
The professor's lips curled into a reluctant smirk. "It is quite… something, to see the day that you decided to grace the wizarding world with your presence."
"Well, I would rather have kept up my playboy lifestyle," Tom snarked. "But someone has to clean up this backwater nation."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Oh? And I suppose you are the hero to do that?"
"Definitely not a hero, sure," Tom smirked. "A few bigots, dropped by a bullet to the skull. Any suggestions? Any acquaintances you find particularly irksome?"
Snape's nose flared. "You think yourself above us, do you? Tell me, boy, how would you go about brewing a batch of Wolfsbane potion?"
Hermione, seated two seats to the right, blinked in confusion, before bringing out her spare potions book (seventh year, of course). "I don't remember that…" she murmured. "Was it even in the curriculum?"
"Aconite, quicksilver, powdered bezoar," Tom drawled, his tone filled with boredom. "Brewed on an open flame within a silver cauldron. Can only be stored in silver vials, sir. Fun fact, if you don't add the bezoar, you can use it as a grenade against werewolves. They sort of just dissolve, like a slug with salt." He leaned back, faking a dreamy sigh. "That was a fun night."
Snape's left eye twitched. "Felix Felicis!"
Daphne shook her head. "That is not in the curriculum."
"Two ways, sir," Tom snarked. "There's the plebian's route lasting six months, involving ashwinder eggs, occamy shells and the like, or the efficient route - brewing the swelling potion while under the effect of Felix. It is guaranteed to go wrong and, inexplicably, result in Felix Felicis." He shook his head. "I can testify on that last point."
Snape blinked. "Amortentia?"
"Mother of pearls, rose petals, pretty much any aphrodisiac," he snorted. "Drug a couple of girls and you get a brilliant cat fight."
Snape bit his lip. "Spells, then. What would Sectumsempra do?"
"That desperate to show me up, eh? Heard rumours from old Flitwick?" Tom snorted. "Gotta try harder than that - almost incurable gashes form against the opponent. They tickle."
Snape's eyes widened. "Muffliato?"
"Buzzing replaces your words for eavesdroppers," Tom grinned. "Brilliant for espionage."
Snape shook his head. "Langlock?"
"Tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth," Tom said. "Useful in some interrogations. Can't scream, see, and can't bite their tongue off."
Snape gritted his teeth. "Levicorpus?"
"Hung by the ankle." Tom said. "Makes a good pinata."
"Well," Snape said at last. "I suppose that you do have some knowledge to back up your fame."
"Did you really think that I'd have lasted this long if I didn't?" Tom grinned. "Or did you think I was just some feral beast."
"Your display at lunch suggested so," Snape said, his expression remarkably flat. Probably seen worse before, Tom thought.
"Touché," Tom admitted.
"Well, I suppose we can move on to other matters," Snape admitted begrudgingly.
"One last thing," Tom smirked. "I just wanted to say, I'm a big fan. Sure, you're a great potioneer, but your spells? That's what you're really good at."
Snape paled at the knowledge that his involvement - nay, his responsibility - in the creation of several dark spells was known to the boy. "Th-thank you."
"Credit where credit's due, professor," Tom smirked. "May not like you as a person so far, but your spells are quite useful. Helped me out in a lot of scrapes."
It didn't seem possible, but somehow, Snape paled even further.
X
"You know, I didn't know that Professor Snape had invented spells," the Slytherin girl, Daphne Greengrass, said as Tom left the class, fluttering her eyes as she attempted to press her bosom against his side.
"Lady, if I was interested in getting in your knickers, they would be around your ankles," Tom sneered. "I don't sleep with tramps."
"How crude, Potter," Draco drawled. "She's just trying to be nice… for some reason."
"Shut it you poncy blond pillock," Tom scowled. "And I'm not a Potter."
"Well what are you then," Draco scoffed.
Tom shrugged. "Well, that's a mystery, isn't it? A nice little riddle for you to solve."
"A riddle?" Draco scoffed. "How can you not even know your own name? A riddle indeed."
Tom frowned, a finger tapping his lip. "Riddle… that has a bit of a ring, y'know?"
"Tom Riddle," Daphne tilted her head, tasting the words. "Sounds sexy."
"Sounds… dark," Tom murmured. "Sounds… right."
Draco blinked. "You can't just choose your surname! It's passed down to you by your forefathers!"
"You can't," Tom corrected. "I'm special. You know why?"
"No…" Draco shook his head slowly.
"Because I'm Tom fucking Riddle, you son of a bitch," Tom smirked. "So shut up and bow."
On the other side of the wall, a certain greasy haired professor paled even further.
X
"A ghost. It's a fucking ghost." Sure enough, floating ten feet in front of him was a translucent spectre, decked in late Victorian garb, a pair of horn rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. "Finally, a good history teacher."
"I wouldn't hold your breath," Ron muttered from behind him.
"Sit down Flea, and stop distracting the class," the ghost droned in a monotone, before returning to his lecture. "In 1327 the goblin King Seveng III raised an army of three hundred and sixty two goblins and twenty four bugbears. They attacked the Ministry and killed two wizards. This was the start of the second goblin rebellion of 1327. It continued…"
Tom gaped at the ghost. "Did you just call me a flea?" he demanded. The ghost continued to drone. "Answer me, dammit!"
"He is probably remembering your grandfather, Fleamont Potter," Draco said.
"Don't care," Tom said, before trying to listen to the lecture. He didn't even last two minutes. "Uh, how can a ghost make history dull! It's like a merc making PE boring!"
"Ignoring whatever this… PE is…" Draco drawled. "You will find that Professor Binns is the most remarkably dull individual you have ever met."
"You don't even have PE?" Tom muttered, shaking his head. "Never mind. I wonder how much trouble I'd get in for performing an exorcism?"
"They've tried that before," Daphne sighed. "Despite his appearances, he is a remarkably powerful ghost."
"Well shit," Tom groaned, slumping back into his seat. "Wake me up when it ends."
A/N: That was shorter than I remembered, but hey, it was filler. Next chapter, we advance the plot, and there will be an advancement on the relationship between Tom and Laura! Woohoo!
Not much else to say. Follow, review. Lets get those favourites up to 1k people!
Anyway, until the next chapter, this is JaguarAJG, signing off