Dissindere Temporalis

So here we are again!

Tom's voice literally flew onto the page, he had a lot of thoughts about his new world and his people. So I hope you all enjoy him.

I won't be posting again for a week, Easter will be a time of relaxation for me!

Enjoy

Natus Malum

I refuse to believe someone is born evil. Magic always seeks balance, nothing is ever absolute or without a second half. Sometimes that knowledge is lost, but it exists. It is therefore against the very fundemental core of Nature and Magic itself to ever think that someone is born evil. Born doomed.

No one is born evil. They become evil, through circumstance or through choice, sometimes not even their own.

Sometimes the path of evil and good is so thin, so on the borderline, it's hard to see what is truly good, and what is evil.

- Excerpt from "Dark and Light: The Thin Path Between." by Marlyn Greywell

Tom wasn't a good person.

Or rather he knew he wasn't 'good' by the standards of the Church, or the caretakers at the Orphanage. What he had seen as taking care of himself, and solving problems was monstrous to them.

They had treated him as a demon, as possessed, as damaged, broken, even dangerous. They had called a doctor who had wanted to dose him with medicine, and it had taken an especially sharp use of his 'gifts' to 'convince' the man that Tom wasn't in need of his treatments after all. He'd endured nights without food, beatings… so many things that they said would drive the demons away.

His gifts helped him endure the worst, but there was only so much it could do. Too many uses and he was left weak and sick, vulnerable. No, his gifts could only help him so much.

The church would still call him evil. He used magic after all.

But that was judgement based on fear, stupidity. He wasn't evil. He was exceptional.

He was a wizard.

He knew that the actions he'd taken in the orphanage could still be considered evil, or at the very least, a bit dark. But it seemed the areas around this were a bit blurred here in the magical world, because the Gryffindors seemed to automatically think him evil for being in Slytherin.

Which was ridiculous.

He'd always known he wasn't a monster. Wasn't a curse or a demon. He'd known he wasn't mad.

But it was hard to hold onto that belief when everyone in your life looked at you like you were.

Professor Merrythought had been the first to ever truly 'see' him.

She'd invited him to her office on the Saturday before classes began, and it was an invitation, one that he could have declined if he wanted to.

He hadn't wanted to.

It felt natural to walk into her office and find her there, wearing simple black robes over her clothes, sleeves rolled up as a tendril escaped her bun.

She'd smiled at him, welcoming him like an adult, like an equal, and he'd relished her presence. She'd come to that horrible place. And she'd seen him. She'd promised he never had to return.

The two of them had talked for long hours, discussing books he'd read and magical theory, and never once did she make him feel stupid or less for asking a question. In fact she encouraged them, and he relished soaking up her knowledge.

He rather thought the others would like her too, but a part of him wanted to keep her to himself a little longer. Despite her being a Professor, who would teach all of them… he felt a pang at 'sharing' her.

He'd felt it also when Potter, Granger and Weasley had been sitting with all those kids on the lawn. They looked so comfortable, so easy and happy.

He'd wondered for a moment if he was wanted…

Not that it mattered, or even should matter.

He was exceptional.

He didn't need anyone. He never had.

He was about to turn away when he saw Weasley wave in his direction, calling him over specifically.

Potter and Granger too.

They had wanted him , even with all those people sitting there, they'd wanted him.

That warmed him to his toes, a rush of possessive pleasure that they were his , and he'd been happy to take a seat beside them.

He ran his eyes over the group and once again felt his magic come alight, just like it had the day before on the train.

But it was different this time.

When he'd first seen Potter it was like electricity, like sparks, like a thunderstorm under his skin. This time it was like sitting before a roaring fire after being in the snow, like pure liquid warmth slowly filling him from his fingertips to his toes.

It was a heady feeling, and he wondered if he'd always have this reaction when Potter was nearby.

Thankfully it only happened those two times, and soon he put it far from his mind.

He grew fond of them, these classmates of his, these young men and women who listened to him, accepted him, even encouraged him.

Naturally he had favourites.

Hermione, brilliant and fierce with her wild hair prone to frizzing the more she ran her fingers through it. She was smart, and determined with a ruthless streak that made something curl inside his stomach. Hermione was someone who would do whatever it took to protect her friends, to achieve her goals. Even as she pretended to be the good girl.

He liked that.

He also liked the elegant Druella, seeing the sharp knife sheathed in the soft pouch. She had a grasp of politics and diplomacy that he couldn't help but appreciate, and he soaked up her knowledge. She seemed to enjoy his company too, as they traded lethal quips and barbs, designed to wound, and yet never did.

The other two surprised him far more.

Potter. Harry was the one who had made his magic crackle under his skin, and when they practiced spells together magic seemed to come more quickly to his call, his power even more increased. Their wands shared a core, they were unique. But Harry was also gentler, kinder, with a temper that burned fast and hot before it faded. He made Tom think, opened doors and avenues that he had not considered.

He made him stronger.

He also had a moral streak that Tom did not share. But he found himself feeling more fond of it than exasperated by it.

The final one was perhaps the most unexpected.

He'd met her in the circle on the lawn, but he'd never really spent any time with her one on one.

That was until he found her in a quiet nook of the castle, a small room in one of the castle's many tower spirals. It was tiny, but warm, with a window that looked out over the grounds.

Immediately he felt a frisson of disappointment.

This would have been a perfect place for him to study alone.

He turned to leave, but her quiet voice stopped him.

"If you study quietly, you can stay."

Slowly he turned to look at her.

She hadn't looked up from the book on her lap, the soft scratching of her quill the only sound in the small space.

Slowly he shut the door behind him, and took a seat, settling in to work on one of his potions essays.

Neither of them spoke.

Soon it began a pattern, the two of them studying quietly together, but after a while they began to quietly discuss the work.

She was smart, clever, a mind made for problem solving even if her creative ways of thinking meant she missed details. She made him think, much like Harry did. But she was kinder even than Harry. Harry wanted good things, but was prepared to break some eggs to get there. She was innocent.

It frustrated him, annoyed him. Because she was so naive, so foolish. But he also envied her. Envied that she could look at twisted, ugly and broken things and still see beauty.

So he scoffed at her.

But deep down, he wanted to make sure she never lost that spark.

A spark he'd lost long ago. If he'd ever had it.

Maybe he was just too dark.

They found out about the attack at lunch.

"Did you hear?" Weasley sat himself down at the Slytherin table, ignoring the filthy looks he was getting from the table dressed in red and gold, "They attacked Malfoy and the others."

Harry's head snapped up sharply and Tom felt ice slide through his veins.

"Who?" Harry demanded, voice a quiet growl, "What happened?"

"Apparently some fourth years found them," Weasley was pale, "Draco, Kel, Aurora, Victoria and Tierra… they were coming out of Potions, all the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. They'd been cursed. Malfoy was unconscious and bleeding and the others-"

Sparks flew out of Harry's wand he was clenching it so hard and Tom reached over to push the hand down, forcing him to let go.

"What do we do?" Hermione asked quietly, glancing between them all, and Tom shot a look at Harry, at his pale face, before he considered Sebastian, Absraxas, and Druella, all of whom were eating with them.

"We make them pay," Harry murmured back, green eyes glittering.

"Hang on-" Abraxas started, but Hermione whirled on him fiercely.

"They attacked Draco, a Malfoy . Doesn't sound like they care about his name or blood, does it?"

"Selwyn too," Sebastian pointed out quietly, "And Greengrass."

Abraxas nodded, looking sheepish, "You're right."

"They're still older than us," Druella pointed out quietly, "We have to do this subtly."

"We have to make a statement," Harry insisted.

"We can't go toe to toe," Sebastian agreed with his twin.

"Merlin's balls to that," Weasley responded hotly, "We did before!"

"Enough." Tom's voice made all of them stop and look at him, "You're all right. We have to make a statement, something that can't be ignored. But we can't get caught for it."

"I assume you have something in mind," Hermione murmured, brown eyes locked on his, "What are you thinking?"

Tom smiled at her, and then turned his gaze to Harry, whose green eyes burned with the anger he himself was feeling.

Those Ravenclaws, that Hufflepuff.

They were his .

No one hurt what was his.

They planned their ambush perfectly.

One moment the Slytherin fifth years were walking down a corridor, laughing and joking together, and the next they were yelling as the ground turned soft under their feet.

Unstable and wobbling, they were easy targets for the young witches and wizards hidden in the passages behind the portraits.

And so it was that they were found shortly afterwards, with broken ankles from their feet being buried in stone that had suddenly turned hard again, and marred by all manner of wicked little curses.

On the wall in glittering silver writing there were three words.

"You won't win."

Naturally Tom was questioned, but since he and Harry had been in Professor Merrythought's office all night, they were dismissed as suspects pretty quickly.

Hermione had also been seen in the Library.

Professor Dumbledore, the transfiguration professor who was investigating the incident gave them all equally sceptical looks, but faced with the evidence, or lack thereof, he had to dismiss them as suspects.

Tom resolved that he had to ask Thompson about that nifty little spell she had that made the fifth years feel like they constantly had a spider web across their face.

Soon enough the first years were assigned a flying class.

It was something that Tom had both eagerly anticipated and dreaded. He loved the idea of flying, but a part of him worried that he might not do well at it.

In the end he found it was something he rather enjoyed, but he clearly didn't love it the same way that Harry did. Harry looked like he'd been born on the back of a broom, he was so natural with it. It made both Malfoy and Weasley look at each other with identical looks of amusement, since Harry had been constantly saying in the lead up to the class that maybe he wasn't really interested in this.

The two had been sceptical, and now were vindicated.

It took less than half a day before a big sixth year stopped in front of Harry at the House table. "Potter!" he declared, looking pleased, "I hear you're a bit of a natural."

Harry blinked at him, "Er…"

The boy rolled his eyes, "At flying, Merlin I'd hoped you were a little quicker on the uptake than that."

"Oh!" Harry looked abashed, as Sebastian snickered at him, "Thanks?"

"Don't thank me yet. I expect to see you on the Quidditch pitch. After class, Thursday."

There was a pause, and then Harry, the idiot, coughed, "Er, why?"

"Tryouts!" The boy boomed, "Be there Potter, or else." and then he stalked off, leaving Sebastian in stitches and Harry looking utterly lost.

"What just happened?" the dark haired boy asked plaintively.

Tom smirked.

"I think you just got recruited Potter, it serves you right for showing off." and his smile widened as Harry shoved his shoulder, feeling warm and pleased at the gesture.

Things came to yet another head one evening, the night before the first Quidditch match of the season.

Tom was walking through the castle with Hermione and Sebastian, the three of them working on their charm essays together. Curfew was close, which had driven them from their Library sanctuary, and they headed to bed, chatting as they went.

The stunning spell came out of nowhere, striking Hermione in the head and making her crumple to the ground, instantly out like a light.

Sebastian gasped, and Tom immediately cast protego, sending the second spell, aimed at the boy ricocheting off.

"Good boy, learning your little first year spells," a voice taunted out of the darkness and Tom felt sweat trickle down his spine as laughter followed the words, a number of voices chuckling.

They were outnumbered.

Sebastian held his ground beside him, his wand raised defiantly, "What do you want?"

"Want?" Bulstrode stepped into the pool of light from the nearest brazier, "What do you think I want? I want to teach your little Mudblood here a lesson."

Tom felt fury sizzle through him, "You can try,"

Three boys moved up behind Bulstrode and Tom felt his stomach sink.

"Last chance, Rosier." Bulstrode pointed his wand at Sebastian, "Leave. Or share the lesson."

Sebastian didn't move, "I'd rather join him in teaching you a lesson of our own."

The first spell crashed against his shield and Tom gasped, feeling it rather like a punch to his stomach.

"Duelling isn't all about power," he remembered Tia's voice, during their long discussions about magic and theory, "side on, make yourself a small target, stay light on your feet. If in doubt, attack, keep them off balance, but don't exhaust yourself."

And then it was on.

Spells flashed and flew around him and he gave into his instincts, the instincts he'd honed through long years in the Orphanage. He moved, always moved, never presenting a stationary target and he felt more than saw Sebastian flanking him, backing him up as much as he could.

He sent two of Bulstrode's bullies falling before suddenly a bright orange bombarda blasted past him and into Sebastian.

The other boy didn't stand a chance, and was blasted off his feet into a stone wall, chest pulverised as he slumped to the ground.

For a second Tom stared at the shape of the other Slytherin boy, and saw the terrible damage that had been done.

And then his magic screamed .

It was like a banshee, ripping through the air and sending all of his opponents flying away from him.

A moment later and suddenly there were teachers flooding the corridor. Sharp orders were given, cries and alarm as they saw Sebastian but Tom saw nothing but the roof that was suddenly above him.

The world felt hazy.

"Tom!" Tia appeared above him, pale and alarmed, "Oh Merlin,"

"They hurt Sebastian," he breathed, and he saw her nod, "Is he dead?"

"No."

Relief flooded him, "Oh good."

Professor Merrythought laughed above him, and it was vaguely hysterical. "Oh good, he says. Tom, I think half the castle felt that blast of magic from you."

"Oh…"

He didn't feel guilty.

"Oh," she smiled down at him, and waved her wand, before suddenly Dumbledore was there, looking very serious.

"We need to take him to the Headmaster, Professor Merrythought. That was a careless-"

"Careless!" Tia scoffed, and Tom hazily felt glad she was on his side, "Did you see Mr Rosier-"

"That was still a very dark-"

"You've got to be kidding me-"

"Excuse me," Tom mumbled, interrupting them, "Why is the ceiling spinning like that?"

"The boy is magically exhausted," Tia retorted, glaring at Dumbledore, "You've seen accidental magic before Albus, the boy was trying to protect his friend."

"This wasn't accidental-"

"Enough!" the nurse had arrived and Tom felt himself being floated, it made his stomach swoop uneasily, "Professor Merrythought is right, the boy is in no state for anything."

"Oh good," Tom let his head loll to the side and smiled at the worried face of Professor Merrythought, "Can I pass out now?"

Tia's face crumpled, with tears or laughter he wasn't honestly sure."Yes Tom."

And he did.

Twenty four hours later he was in the Headmasters office.

And he had backup.

"This is an outrage!" Mrs Rosier was in a fury, "My son, my precious boy was almost killed."

"It was a regrettable incident," Dumbledore began before Headmaster Dippet interrupted.

"More than regrettable. Deeply reprehensible. Rest assured Mrs Rosier, the fifth years will receive punishment for their actions."

Her nose flared and Tom felt Professor Merrythought's hand tighten on his shoulder.

"However," Dippet continued, glancing at Dumbledore, "We feel it is best if the incident is left here."

Silence reigned, and Tom looked at Mrs Rosier.

"What, do you mean?" she murmured, and even though her voice was soft, it was venomous.

Tom watched Dippet shudder a little at her tone and took mental notes.

"Accidents happen in Magical schools, sometimes hijinks go too far," Dumbledore replied calmly, "Especially among Slytherins."

Tom opened his mouth to object and then closed it again as Professor Merrythought's fingers dug into his shoulder sharply.

"Are you implying something about Slytherins, Dumbledore?" Mrs Rosier hissed.

"Not at all Mrs Rosier," The professor's blue eyes twinkled, "Just that most of the incidents where things have gone a little far…"

"'Gone a little far'?" Mrs Rosier's voice rose again, "My son's ribs were crushed by an explosive spell!"

"And Mr Riddle here sent all of the boys to the Hospital wing with serious injuries," Professor Dumbledore pointed out, giving Tom a disappointed look. Tom blinked at him, genuinely bemused.

"That was accidental magic." Professor Merrythought spoke up, voice sharp, "Brought about by extreme stress and fear."

"And anger," Dumbledore began, only to be shushed by Headmaster Dippet.

"No first year could deliberately perform a spell like that Dumbledore, you know that. Mr Riddle reacted instinctively, and while we do not encourage such a lack of control. We cannot blame him for defending himself. Mr Riddle won't receive any punishment, nor will Mr Rosier."

Mrs Rosier stared at the two men, lip slightly curled. Clearly she didn't think much of either of them, and right now, Tom was inclined to agree.

"Well then, Headmaster, Professor, I bid you good day. Come on Tia, I want to hear about your year so far."

And the two women promptly whisked him out of the office and into the Castle.

"Ridiculous." Mrs Rosier fumed, "Dumbledore has always had his biases but this?"

"He's been getting worse," Tia agreed, and her hand on Tom's shoulder was gentle now, guiding him towards her office, "I've been wondering if it's been because of Grindelwald. I hear he's been stepping up his campaign."

"You think this was because of Vinda?"

"No," Tia sighed, "I mean I don't think that helped, but… more and more I hear him make comments about dark magic and Slytherin qualities. He's a brilliant wizard but he's not being fair to the students…" she gave his shoulder a little shake, "Which you will keep to yourself Tom."

"Of course." he promised her.

Mrs Rosier smiled at him as they entered the Defense classroom, "Thank you for defending my son, Mr Riddle. His letters home are full of praise for you and your friends. I'm glad that he and Druella have such exceptional people in their lives."

Tom gave her a small, neat bow, "It's my pleasure Mrs Rosier."

Her smile warmed even more, "Very pretty. Now, I believe there is a Quidditch match?"

His eyes widened in alarm, "What time is it?"

Tia laughed at him, but it was warm and fond, and he didn't feel the prickle of resentment.

"If you run, you'll be there in time for kickoff."

He nodded and bowed to them both before hurrying out of the room. As he went, he heard Tia murmur to Mrs Rosier.

"He's going to be a great wizard one day."

Pride flooded him. Praise was always wonderful to hear, vindication after so long, but from Professor Merrythought…

Just as the others in his group were his, so was she.

She was the adult he wanted to prove himself to, the adult he wanted to be proud. She was the one who introduced him to this wonderful new world, she taught him new and interesting things and talked to him like he was someone to be respected.

Dumbledore had condemned him for what he'd done. But Professor Merrythought had approved, fiercely approved of him defending someone else.

It just confirmed to him that he was truly where he was meant to be.

His friends waved at him as he entered the stands, and the warmth that had grown under his ribs when Tia praised him, burned even brighter.

He chuckled as Robins, Weasley and the two Malfoys bickered playfully, smiled as Hermione and the Ravenclaw girls rolled her eyes at them and watched Tierra and Kara following the players with worried eyes.

He cheered as loudly as any Slytherin when Harry, his Harry, caught the Snitch, and didn't even object as the enthusiastic Victoria slung an arm around him as she jumped up and down with excitement.

And as they left the stadium he turned towards the others, "We should go visit Sebastian. Tell him we won."

And he wasn't sure why Hermione suddenly hugged him tightly, but he hugged her back just as hard.

He was where he belonged.

These people were his.

No one would hurt what was his.

Ever.

To be continued... whose perspective? Nobody knows...

Reviews

Shiara - This was the reason, in the end, that made me choose to have Draco go with them. His perspective, his upbringing and his position that was once on the other side of Blood Purity, gives him a unique place in this story. And I love it!

amk - He is indeed the consumate Slytherin. What can be more Slytherin than hiding your Slytherinness in another house?

Same as Smithback - Hopefully this chapter appeals to you just as much!