A/N: Hello again. This is the second part to the Tom/Love Potions study and although it's cruel even for Tom, yes he has been given Amorentia. It is not a sequel, in fact it is set the previous year. Please let me know what you think :)

Disclaimer: So, after a lot of sessions of therapy I have come to accept I am not JK Rowling. At this stage I have to say it out loud: No, I don't own the Harry Potter universe! I don't own Knorr's book either.

On a happier note, Melody thank you for the advice on London through Depression, Tarry thank you for the help in English and apologies for turning you into a dictionary and Aura the Abraxas part was added just for you ;) That's for you girls :) Enjoy

He was running as fast as the wind through those London streets he knew so well, pure triumph in his heart.

Somewhere in the distance he could still hear the shopkeeper screaming curses and swears at him. He took a sharp turn to the right for a faster way to get back to the prison, hands holding his treasure tightly to his skinny chest.

As the tall, luxurious buildings and the wide streets gave their place to dilapidated shacks and built on muddy water, he slowed down a bit to estimate his position.

Whitechapel. The prison was not far away.

This was the time to admire his treasure! Then he'd have to hide it away from the other children in the ways only he could. They'd just take it away and laugh over the freak again and he wouldn't let that happen.

He approached a corner that smelled strongly of urine and cheap beer. His small grip seized the shoulder of the man leaning hopelessly there and gave a great push. The man seemed drunk into a stupor to forget how many days his children hadn't had food on the table, but was still lucid enough to get the hint. However small, skinny and ragged he was, that green-silver icy glare passed the message: Leave or suffer.

His lips let out a cry of delight and longing, while he unraveled the treasure he had so many times seen displayed on the window.

"Deliciae Naturae Selectae" by G. W. Knorr, a two-tomed, illustrated with ninety one engravings, guide on wild animals of all six continents.

Should he begin with a roaring lion or go straight to the reptiles?

He opened hungrily the first book and yes, it was an amazing illustration of a plump bespectacled girl with pigtails!

Hold on that can't be right, a little voice said in his head. He flipped the page again, finding the part about rhinos. That would be gr- since when do rhinos wear glasses? And most importantly, so pretty glasses?

He took his gaze from the book to think, only to see the familiar face again on the drunk's face. And on the little tramps playing in the mud nearby. Dazzled by the beauty and bizarreness he didn't notice at first the grim pink colouring the shacks and the dirty water around him. He felt light-headed and-

Tom Riddle practically fell from the chair he always occupied in the library the countless hours he spent there in his quest for knowledge.

Frantic, he looked around him, his breathing getting more peaceful as he reassured himself that the books had no traces of pink on them.

Tom checked his watch. Eight thirty in the morning.

After two sleepless nights deep in research, he had eventually fallen asleep.

He should take a shower, change and then go find that girl to take her to Hogsmeade with him.

No. No he didn't want to do that, he has already decided to stay in the library and study some more. He sighed. Sleep deprivation was driving even him crazy...

"To-om," a mousey sing-song voice came from behind.

He turned gloomily on his heel trying to appear politely to face the girl of his dreams. Literally. There she was, pigtails in order, small eyes enlargened by the glasses, looking at him nervously.

"I-I was wondering," she began again, "if you would like to go to Hogsmeade with me today."

"My thoughts exactly," he smiled the biggest smile of his life. "Just let me change first."

She nodded shyly and he hopped like a bunny to the Prefect's bathroom surrounded by the blissful mist, care-free for the first time in his whole life. All he had to decide now was which perfume should he choose.

Only when he had taken all of his clothes off and was about to jump into the pink water with the pink foam and the pink bubbles, did it occur to him that he didn't want contact with anything err... pink and perfumed.

But alarmingly this didn't matter at all, his body was already immerged in the pinkness.

And the torture had just began. Soon he realized that no matter what he thought or wanted to do, his body was working on its own accord. He got washed and cleaned with pink chamomile shampoo and pink toothpaste while he was screaming inside. On the outside he was still smiling broadly, and not because of his famous acting skills.

Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong, he decided as he approached the smiling bespectacled girl. It was social suicide going out with her, but his legs were happily moving foreward.

"Shall we?" he asked politely, his voice for the first time shaking slightly.

The girl blushed and took his hand. He'd rather touch the floor than her hand, only his slim fingers wrapped around hers in a very inappropriate manner.

Tom had always despised affection and its public demonstration even more, so what was the problem? The world seemed to be dipped in sugar and "I lone you cards"... Why in the na- "I love you cards".

Of course. Love potions.

Utter horror exploded in his mind as he realised he no other choice than going out with her.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in the Three Broomsticks and despite Tom's several attempts to escape he was still trapped. Now he was beginning to panic a little. And panic attacks were for hysterical housewives and- and silly people who hadn't studied for their exams, not him. Being a Mind-Arts-Prodigy it was the first time he was having difficulty in controlling his mind and body and Salazar he was using that phrase a lot lately.

Actually he was feeling a little hot, too. He who had slept with a tie numerous times, was now fighting the urge to loosen it, so he could breath freely.

His hand shot out to get a sip of his tea, maybe it would make him feel better, tea made everything better, but got distracted by the size of his hand. It was twice as big and bright red.

"Tom, Tom you don't look ok," the girl was whispering.

He knew that, oh he knew that far too well. And it was all her fault. But instead of the swear he wanted to use, he said sweetly.

"Just a minute, I'll be right back."

Flashing a smile he dashed to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. A glimpse of himself at the mirror was enough to tell him the truth.

His handsome face, with the high cheekbones and the ivory skin that made all the girls and some boys go nuts, was now puffy shiny and red, his glands swollen. He put his left hand on the right to take his pulse. Oh Salazar, his heart pace was alarmingly slow and the beat weak. That meant that if he didn't do something soon he was going to pass out.

Wracking his brains very calmly, he found the answer far lowlier that usual.

Epinephrine would help raise his heart rate. Frantically he searched his robes for the yew, not even recognizing his over-controlling, OCD self, when he discovered his wand in his never-used-before back pocket.

A swift slash and his robes were cut open at thigh height. Finding it more difficult to breath by the second, gasping desperately for air and his diaphragm contracting in full anaphylactic shoc, he didn't hesitate a moment.

Tom punctured his wand with the yew, thinking with all his might "Adrenalina" and... And the pink cloud was retreating, oxygen reaching his precious brain again.

He took several calming breaths staring at his reflection the whole time. His face was getting back to normaland so was his heartbeat. Strong and steady.

He swore under his breath in a very uncharacterstic way. Colourful language wasn't usually his thing, but this time... This time what was there to say apart from that.

Tom made sure he looked OK now and stitched his robes quickly while pondering in his mind: should he continue the date and then break the girl's heart when least expected so he could have fun or was something more efficient in order? He was glad to find that despite the whole poisoning adventure he was just as creative as ever in torture methods.

Concluding that after an allergic reaction like that he deserved some amusement, he entered the main room to find most of his minions forming a tight circle around a white-blond head. Abraxas.

He approached mildly irritated -he wasn't in a babysitting mood right now and a girl needed a good session of torture- but everyone let him reach Malfoy without even asking. The blond was sitting on a chair rocking backwards and forwards, pupils dilated in agony, heavy drops of sweat shining on his forehead. He was deadly pale.

"Alone, all alone in the bathroom," he was muttering to no one in particular. "What if-if something happens and it-it-" he let out a squeal of horror.

Tom sighed. Seriously he had no time for this. His day was already a waist.

In an uncharacteristic way -and Salazar knew how many times he had said that today- he grabbed Malfoy from the shoulder, but before he could utter a single word, Abraxas sniffed the air and said in a dreamy fashion:

"Can you smell it, Tom? The chamomile shampoo. Can you smell it? It's not alone in the bathroom anymore."

It was one in the morning when Tom slid out of his bed and headed towards the second floor bathrooms. Here lay his darkest secret yet and he knew exactly what he was going to do with it.

No more random Mudbloods petrified while sneaking out on dates or going to the loo. This time the basilisk would kill a very special someone to pay back for all today's mess. Well, he smiled darkly to himself, his mess, because he didn't really care if the chamomile shampoo would eventually say the yes to Abraxas' proposal or would break his heart forever.

All he had to do was wait. This bathroom was Myrtle's favoutite, anyway.

A/N: Thanx for reading, please review. The info on anafylaxia comes from my biology book from school.

The book Tom is so thrilled to have err... "gotten" is real and the title means The Delights of Natural Selection. Georg Wolfgang Knorr (1705-1761) was a German endgraver and naturalist.

Whitechapel is a real neighborhood in London, East End, that's where the Jack the Ripper murders took place, horrible place to live in.

OCD: Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, for some reason I'm convinced every psychology book has his picture near that disorder... Another reason to love psychology.