Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. The Harry Potter series is created by J.K. Rowling and owned by Warner Bros. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only.


Tom Riddle walked down the stone steps leading to the dungeon, filled with that sense of rightness he always felt when he came back to Hogwarts after a hellish summer at the orphanage.

The corridors of Hogwarts Castle were empty; most students had succumbed to sleep, and the rest were not far behind, overcome by the exhaustion that followed the Start-of-Term feast, but Tom had stayed awake, walking through the deserted corridors, taking in every corner and nook, memorising the contours of the beloved castle.

A book was tucked under his arm, bound in faded leather. One of the more gruesome books found in the library of Hogwarts. It wasn't the first time Tom had retrieved a book like this one from the Restricted Section in secret; no teacher would have given him permission. Most would have been shocked that Tom Riddle, model student, newly appointed prefect, would read such a book.

Tom had reached the stretch of bare stone wall that hid the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He spoke the password and the hidden door slid open. The common room was a long room, extending partway under the Black Lake, giving the lighting a greenish tinge, enhanced by the green lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Chairs were strewn all over the carpeted floors, just as elaborately carved as the marble mantlepiece. It was empty; all the other Slytherins had long since retired.

He headed for the chair closest to the fireplace, where he usually sat. A small fire was flickering in the grate, logs crackling loudly in the silent room. Tom sank into the seat and opened the book carefully. The pages were yellow with age and use, and the ink had faded so that some of the writing was nearly illegible. Tom smoothed the worn parchment and began to read.

He had just turned over the page when he heard the entrance to the common room slid open.

With remarkable speed, he shut the old book and stood up, hiding it within the folds of his robes. He felt a prickle of annoyance at this interruption. Although most Slytherins knew – or suspected – he wasn't the perfect student he pretended to be, it still wouldn't do for any of them to catch him reading such a book. He had thought they would have all gone to sleep by now.

But it wasn't a Slytherin student who walked in through the door. It was Professor Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin, in an emerald dressing gown. With him was a girl who looked Tom's age, with dark curly hair pulled back in a ponytail at the back of her neck. She was wearing school robes, but Tom was sure he'd never seen her before.

Tom's annoyance vanished in the wake of curiosity at this irregular scene. He put on a mildly surprised smile as Slughorn noticed him standing there, stepping into the role he'd made for himself at Hogwarts.

"Tom, m'boy," he exclaimed, gesturing for him to join them. "What are you doing, awake at this hour?"

"I couldn't sleep, sir," Tom lied smoothly. "I thought I'd get some air and go back to the dormitory."

"Well, it's lucky I found you awake." He motioned to the girl next to him. Her face was narrow, with a fine, straight nose and bow-shaped lips. "This is Astraya Sader, a new student in your year. She's just arrived."

Tom blinked. The Saders were a pure-blood family, not old as the Blacks or Lestranges, but they were still influential. The last Sader had supposedly left Britain years ago and hadn't been seen since. He wondered what had pushed him to return now with this girl, who must be his daughter.

Then he wondered morosely why she hadn't come on the train like everyone else, instead of arriving at an hour approaching midnight to interrupt his night-time reading.

"And, Astraya," Slughorn continued, "This is Tom Riddle, the fifth-year prefect."

"It's nice to meet you, Astraya," he said, giving her his friendliest smile. She had been surveying the room with mild interest in her green eyes, but now she gave him her full attention. She gave him a small smile, but her eyes had narrowed slightly as she looked at him, as if she wasn't entirely fooled by his friendly mask. He kept smiling, though inwardly he bristled with annoyance at the scrutiny.

"Tom here is one of my best students," Slughorn proclaimed proudly. "Indeed, he's one of Hogwarts' best students. You'll be in good hands with him. I'm sure he'd be happy to show you around the school." He clapped Tom on the back, and Tom had to hold back a grimace at the contact. "Now, I'll leave you to get some sleep, Astraya, you've had a long day. That goes for you, too, Tom. Good night!"

With a cheerful wave to both of them, he left the room. There was a loud click as the stone door slid shut.

Tom turned to the girl, his friendly mask still in place. "Shall I show you the way to the dorms? You must be tired." He needed to get rid of her so he could go back to his newly acquired book. He was nowhere near finished reading for tonight.

She shook her head, walking over to one of the chairs by the fire and sitting down. His chair. He felt his mouth tighten with irritation. Any other Slytherin would have known that that particular seat was for Tom, and the ones around it were for his friends. He had the urge to take out his wand and teach this spoiled brat how things worked right here, but he shook off the notion. She'd learn soon enough by herself. She wasn't the first one to come to Hogwarts unaware of Tom's position in Slytherin. His position in the whole school, even.

"I think I'll stay down here for a while," Astraya said, leaning back in her seat. The chair was carved with an elaborate design of two serpents slinking up the sides to meet at the top, where their necks coiled around each other's.

Skulls, green lighting, carved serpents… if she didn't know better, she'd think Salazar Slytherin himself had designed this room, she thought wryly.

Riddle came to sit in the chair opposite hers. He was staying? She stifled a groan. She wanted to have some time alone, get herself together before she went to sleep. The last person she needed for company was Tom Riddle.

Slughorn hadn't been the only teacher who'd praised Riddle. The Headmaster, Professor Dippet, had also spoken highly of him, which had led Astraya to believe that any student who was perfect enough to have his praises sung by two teachers in the space of an hour was unlikely to exist. Especially in Slytherin.

Which was a bit self-abasing for her since she was a Slytherin now, but it was the truth. She'd known she'd be placed in Slytherin, of course; but it didn't make it any easier to be in a house that placed value on the purity of blood and the superiority of the wizarding race when those beliefs had led her parents to ruin their life, and by extension, hers as well.

"Why didn't you come on the train?" Riddle asked, his voice innocently curious. "You could've attended the feast and met everyone."

His expression was polite, but there was a look in his dark eyes that Astraya had noticed the first moment she'd seen him. A detached gleam that seemed almost out of place with his handsome features.

As someone who often wore a mask of her own, Astraya was an expert at recognising cracks in other people's masks, minuscule gestures they couldn't hide. It was all very well to put on a benign smile and a charming demeanour, but few people could banish their true emotions from their eyes completely. Riddle was no exception.

She wondered what it would take to get him to drop his act completely, to see the real Riddle.

She shrugged and said lightly, "I'm sure you'll introduce me to everyone tomorrow. Professor Slughorn said you'd be happy to help. So did the Headmaster." Her head tilted curiously. "Do all the teachers like you so much?"

"Most of them," Tom said, giving her a thin smile. His mind had automatically turned to the one teacher that had never seemed to like him.

"Only Professor Dumbledore seemed not to like you very much."

Tom gritted his teeth.

Dumbledore had been the one to deliver Tom's Hogwarts acceptance letter four years ago, leading him to discover that he was wizard. He still felt angry with himself when he thought of how much he'd let slip to the old fool, in the excitement that followed his discovery of magic.

"And you don't like him either, it seems," said Sader, watching him.

He stiffened in annoyance at her correct observation. There was something almost challenging about her manner, but he immediately dismissed the thought. How in Slytherin's name could this girl challenge him?

Still, his fingers twitched towards his pocket, where his wand was. He didn't think anyone had looked at him the way she was, as if they could see past the face he showed the world, and it was grating on his nerves.

"Why wouldn't I like him?" he asked curiously, carefully keeping his growing anger out of his voice. "He's a very good teacher, and a great wizard." The words tasted like bile, but he got them out.

"He is," she agreed, then added, "But you still don't like him."

Maybe she shouldn't keep on goading him; she could see a muscle twitching in his jaw, and she was sure his hand had twitched towards his pocket and his wand a moment before. She could already tell that Dumbledore was a bit of a touchy subject for him. It wasn't exactly on her list of priorities to start a fight with the first person she met, but she couldn't resist pushing him further.

"You know," she started conversationally, "Your first name sounds like a Muggle name. Are you Muggle-born?"

"No," he snapped, his eyes turning darker with anger.

She always did have a talent for getting under people's skin. Even those who were good at putting on a composed exterior.

"Half-blood, then?" she guessed. From the look on his face, she'd guessed right. "Was your father a Muggle or was it your—"

"Shut up, Sader." He enunciated each word, his tone quiet and deadly. He'd dropped the act completely now.

She held up her hands placatingly. "I was just—"

"Why don't you drop that innocent look?" he asked mockingly. Evidently, he'd seen past her mask as well. "It doesn't suit you."

"It doesn't suit you, either." Her tone was easy, but her eyes were appraising him closely. His true face seemed more dangerous than she'd thought it was. Perhaps she'd underestimated him.

Riddle stood gracefully from his chair, looking down at her in the same calculating way she was looking at him. "If you want to survive at Hogwarts, especially in Slytherin," he hissed, "then do yourself a favour and don't speak to me this way again. I'll let you off this time, seeing as you're ignorant of the way things work around here."

She stared at him for a moment, then her face changed. Her eyes hardened, and a grave seriousness came over her face as she stood up. She was tall enough that her face was almost level with his.

"Don't kid yourself by thinking you can take me on, Riddle," she warned quietly. "I've been trained by wizards who are more powerful and dangerous than any teacher here. No matter how good you are at magic, even if it is Dark Magic, you won't match me."

The tension in the room was so high it was nearly suffocating. His eyes were so dark that the pupil was barely distinguishable from the iris. She couldn't see any fear or even anger in them. Instead, they seemed dilated with anticipation and curiosity, like he was excited to know if she could back up her words.

She sighed. "Look, I didn't come to Hogwarts to cause trouble. But that doesn't mean I won't defend myself or strike back. So, it's up to you, whether you want us to be enemies or…" She searched for words because she didn't think they could ever become friends. "… or if you want us to be civil," she finished.

She let a tired grin come to her lips. "Could you show me where the dorms are? It has been a long day. I think I'm ready to turn in."

He blinked at the abrupt change of subject, then smirked. "I guess we'll finish this tomorrow." He pointed at a mahogany door on the right side of the marble mantlepiece. "The girls' dorms are through there. Yours is the third door on the right."

A long corridor lay beyond it, both of its walls lined with doors, tapestries covering the interspaces between them. She went to the third door on the right and opened it, stepping into a spacious, lavish room, with high, circular windows that filled the room with ghostly light. The slapping of the lake water against the glass created a gentle rhythm in the silent room.

There were five poster-beds situated against the walls, forming a rough circle around the empty space in the middle of the room, where a thick green carpet covered the cold stone floor. The green curtains were closed on the beds, concealing the girls sleeping behind them.

Astraya felt like a thief in the night, walking into a room full of obliviously sleeping girls. She bet their reaction was going to be interesting when they woke up the next morning to find a girl they'd never seen before sleeping in their dorm.

Suddenly feeling tired, she walked over to the only empty bed. Opening her trunk, which she found placed at the foot of her bed, she searched for her nightclothes in the piles of neatly folded clothing. As she did so, her eyes fell on a slim, long box at the bottom of her trunk.

Her hands tightened into fists, and she could feel the anger stirring in her chest as she glared at the box, or rather, at what it contained. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she shut the trunk with a force that was only a tad too weak to be a slam, and which caused one of the girls to stir behind the drapes before she succumbed to sleep once again.

She stayed there for a while, her hands white-knuckled on the lid, lost in memories she tried to suppress. Suddenly, the dormitory with its luxurious beds and quilts and green silk hangings reminded her of another room she had slept in long ago, and even the common room beyond with its mahogany furniture and marble fireplace seemed altogether too familiar.

That time is over, she told herself desperately. It's over. I'm at Hogwarts now. I'm not there anymore. Not anymore…


Tom sat in the common room for a while, twirling his long wand between his fingers, as he was wont to do when he was in deep thought. The book lay forgotten on the small table in front of him. The object of his musings was, naturally, Astraya Sader.

He kept replaying their conversation in his head. She'd seen through his act so effortlessly and hadn't even blinked an eye when he'd showed his true face, which would have unnerved even the toughest student at Hogwarts.

Instead, she'd had a calculating understanding in her eyes. She knew what he was, and she wasn't afraid of him.

That alone made her interesting, but it was her warning that had drawn his attention more than anything.

I've been trained by wizards more powerful and dangerous than any teacher here.

Her words had been spoken with a severity that was beyond her fifteen years. It hadn't been an empty threat, but the warning of someone who knew how dangerous they were to others.

Tom ran his fingers over the white wood of his wand. He'd never met someone who could match his level of skill, not even the most powerful of his group of friends. Astraya, though… she promised to be someone who could at least present him with a challenge.

He couldn't let her carry on with her insolent treatment of him, of course. Perhaps tomorrow, when she saw how everyone treated him, she'd understand better. If she didn't, he'd teach her himself.

And he'd use the opportunity to see if she was as highly skilled as she'd made herself out to be. If she was, that would make his eventual victory that much sweeter.

He stood from the chair, taking the book with him, and swept from the room, his black robes slinking behind him.

If anyone had seen the grin that curved his mouth at that moment, they would have shuddered with terror.