Players of Fate – Chap. 2

(Originally posted 6/8/14)

A/N: There's been some new interest in this story lately and I wanted to thank everyone who has faved and followed, as well as jameselvendork1123 for reviewing a while ago and reminding me that this story was still unfinished.

There will be a couple more chapters filling in the background hinted at by The Fictionist in Past's Player, exactly how a poor half-blood managed to establish dominance over Slytherin House. This chapter and the next will be from Tom's POV, followed by more Harry and Tom interaction after that.

XxXxXxX

Tom woke in the dimness of pre-dawn, the faintest of green light seeping in from the thick underwater window fronting the lake. He could hear the quiet breathing of his roommates as he dismissed the wards protecting him, slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom to wash up for the morning.

He had always needed little sleep, and found it gave him an excellent advantage over everyone else to be dressed and alert before they had even crawled out of bed. Returning from the bathroom, he scanned the room briefly before stopping in front of Malfoy's bed. He drew his wand and traced the motions of a subtle spell, then watched the magic sink into Malfoy's sleeping, unwarded body.

Returning to his bed, he slipped back under the covers and with a quick 'Lumos' made enough light to read the book he had pilfered from one of the seventh years. A book from the Restricted Section, chock-full of fascinating spells that they certainly didn't allow first-years to even know about, much less practice.

Tom's eyes glinted as he devoured the forbidden theories and information. Ah, yet more evidence that Hogwarts was his place.

An hour later, when the others started stirring, he lay back under the covers and closed his eyes to slits.

Malfoy groaned as the alarm went off, and then stumbled out of bed, heading for the bathroom. Tom threw off his covers and glided towards the bathroom in his wake, his fingertips brushing his wand in the pocket of his sleeping robes. Malfoy's head swung toward him and his eyes narrowed. As Tom approached the sinks Malfoy moved to one side and stuck out a bare foot while giving him a hard shove. It should have caught the taller boy off balance and sent him crashing to the floor. But somehow, as Malfoy moved toward Tom, he tripped over his own robe and banged against one of the sinks, bruising his arm. And when he tried to get up, his feet slid out from under him and he landed hard on the tile floor.

Tom gazed down at him with a faintly superior smile, and then with patently fake concern, asked, "Are you all right, Malfoy?" He offered him a hand up.

Glaring, Malfoy ignored the proffered hand and pushed himself to his feet. He muttered to Black, yawning at the next sink. "Did you see him do anything?" but the other boy shook his head.

There were no further incidents as they finished their morning ablutions, but the other first-years all pointedly ignored Tom. They were all to wait in the common room to walk to breakfast with the other Slytherins. Malfoy had planned to make contact with some of the older boys that he knew from family and pureblood gatherings, but for some reason, he was having still trouble keeping his feet from sliding out underneath him.

Orion Black raised one slender eyebrow and remarked how clumsy the newest Malfoy appeared to be, and all his friends laughed. Fuming, Malfoy looked back at Riddle. The tall boy was gazing at him out of violet eyes, just the faintest hint of amusement on his face, before he turned away and joined the crowd moving to the dining room. Riddle must have done something! Malfoy had heard of spells that made the victim clumsy, awkward… but he himself certainly couldn't cast a hex that subtle and advanced… so how could this mudblood do it? And what was worse, Malfoy couldn't even detect any spell on himself. It was infuriating.

Lestrange, the traitor, had sidled up to Riddle and was asking him a question. Riddle considered at length before he answered. Then he fixed the shorter boy with his intense gaze and the other dropped his eyes before mumbling something. Riddle brushed him away and walked faster, and Lestrange looked after him with a curious light in his eyes. Malfoy frowned. He would have to speak to Lestrange. How had things gotten off on such a wrong foot? He had always assumed he would be the leader of his year in Slytherin; all the Malfoys always had. He had always been top of the heap with his age-mates in all the family gatherings.

It was time to take action. His eyes narrowed and he hung back to speak with Zevi Prince. He knew the youth was a fanatic about potions and had studied them illegally even before entering Hogwarts.

"Zev," he whispered. "You already know what the teacher will ask us to do in Potions today, don't you?"

Prince glanced at him, nodding slowly. "Yes…I've completed all the first-year work."

"Excellent," Malfoy hissed. "But you know we have a problem in Slytherin this year already, don't you?"

Prince looked nervous. He adjusted his book bag on his shoulder and half turned away. "We should get to class. Don't want to be late the first day, eh?"

"You want to teach that mudblood Riddle a lesson, don't you?" Malfoy persisted.

Prince was still shaking his head as they walked into Potions, as Malfoy continued to murmur in a low, persuasive tone.

"Malfoy, this could really hurt him," Prince argued in an undertone.

The blond smirked at his friend. "So? Who cares about some mudblood? We need to get him out of Slytherin, Zev. It sets a bad precedent, letting anyone other than purebloods into our House. It's going to lower us all, and tarnish the reputation of the great Salazar Slytherin himself."

"I don't know, Malfoy," replied Prince, shaking his head. "You don't even know for sure he's a mudblood. His magic is powerful, couldn't you feel it?"

"But with a name like Riddle?" hissed Malfoy. "What kind of a name is that?"

"You don't know who his mother is," Prince pointed out.

"So? Are you going to do it, Prince? Are you going to stand up for your House and pureblood honor?"

The dark-haired boy heaved a huge sigh. "All right, Malfoy. I'll do it."

XxXxXxX

In Potions, Tom found himself seated next to Zevi Prince in front of a table with two cauldrons. The Potions professor, Horace Slughorn, a short man with a gingery blond mustache and a huge belly, bustled about the classroom in his maroon velvet jacket, moving much faster than Tom would have expected for someone of his bulk. The professor liked to ask random questions from their texts, and from the second and third year textbooks as well. Tom, in keeping with his plans to become a model student, raised his hand and gave the answers in a cool, precise voice. Slughorn's straw-colored eyebrows climbed with each correct answer.

Prince, sitting beside him, began raising his hand as well, competing with him. Slughorn became excited as his questions became more and more advanced, obviously thrilled at the thought of not one but two star pupils in his class. Tom's face was placid but inwardly he burned with competitive fury at the other boy's responses. Prince's potions knowledge was astonishing. Tom could see he would have to work hard to be top in this class and surpass the pureblood who had obviously been making potions since far earlier than Tom had even heard of them. The other boy gave a detailed answer to a question Tom hadn't a clue how to solve. He kept an air of relaxed superiority on his face, but had to acknowledge to himself that he was unlikely to win on pure knowledge and ability alone.

So if a direct victory was not possible… well, there were plenty of other methods to obtain what he desired. He had dominated the other children at the orphanage primarily through sheer will and guile, only partially able to access what he now knew were magical powers they lacked. Of course, there were always the old standbys of deception, blackmail, and intimidation.

It was always so delightful to establish dominance. Some delicate probing to extract the other's weaknesses, perhaps obtaining the information from Prince himself or his friends. Then, go for the jugular. Tom favored the other boy with a dark smile; Prince's eyes slid away from his as he ran a hand through his hair nervously. Fear… and, oddly, another emotion… were visible in his eyes.

What was that other emotion? Tom mused. It almost seemed like… guilt. Or perhaps apprehension? Maybe a bit of both, Tom decided. He had not missed Malfoy's actions earlier, pulling the dark-haired boy aside. Perhaps, he realized with glee, they were plotting against him? How splendid. He decided to appear slightly distracted to give Prince room to hang himself.

The moment came about halfway through the lesson. They were supposed to be adding dandelion root to their potions. After an uneasy glance in Tom's direction, Prince went to the cupboard to get the ingredient and bring it back to their table. Pretending to be extremely focused on reading the instructions in the textbook, Tom watched out of the corner of one eye as Prince divided up the roots into two small piles and began cutting up his set with a slightly shaking hand.

Only… the pile that Prince had left for Tom was not what it was supposed to be. They looked very similar to dandelion roots, but the texture was ever so slightly different. Tom did not recognize them. Clearly, though, judging from Prince's nervousness, there would be some negative and potentially dangerous effect from replacing the correct ingredient with this one.

Still, it did not matter. When Prince lifted the small bottle of valerian extract, a quickly muttered spell from Tom caused his hand to slip and the bottle to end up rolling on the floor. Irritated, Prince bent to pick it up, and in that instant, Tom swapped the piles of roots, giving Prince the pile he had intended for him. He was willing to bet that Prince was too nervous to notice the subtle difference, but just in case, he added a little extra effort to brown-nosing Slughorn just to tweak and distract the other boy.

They continued on with their work, the potions simmering quietly away as Slughorn swooshed among the tables, jovially handing out praise or corrections. Tom's expression was neutral and absorbed as he worked; one of the skills he had perfected long ago in the orphanage was that of appearing disengaged when in reality he was paying close attention to everything going on around him.

He noticed, for example, that Malfoy, who was sitting behind them and to their left, was so focused on Tom's and Prince's table that he was slipping up with his own potion. Also, Prince's hands were sweating and he kept giving Tom's cauldron sidelong, nervous glances.

So; he was learning a great deal about the dynamics and personalities involved here. It was always amusing how easily people gave themselves away. Tom kept his smirk to himself, but inwardly he was pleased that wizards were going to be just as easy to manipulate as the muggles in the orphanage.

It appeared there was going to be a visible, likely humiliating or dangerous reaction shortly. He ran through several scenarios and the best ways to react in each case. Yes. With this event, he would remove Prince from Malfoy's control. It would only take a modicum of psychological pressure to move him in the direction he wanted.

When it happened it was dramatic. Prince's cauldron exploded without warning, shooting the clear liquid straight up to the ceiling, where it rained down directly on the hapless youth, who leaped up in shock, knocking over his stool. Ugly purple boils began to appear on his skin where the liquid had splashed him.

Slughorn swooped over, wand out, shaking his head and chortling. "Oh oh oh, Mr. Prince, now that is an unusual effect!" He waved his wand but it had no effect on the ugly skin blemishes. "Now, now," he lectured, glancing over at the rest of the class, "This is an abject lesson on why it is so important to follow each and every instruction extremely carefully when preparing a potion. One drop too many, stirring the opposite direction, heating for too long or not long enough… can have drastic consequences." He waved a demonstratory hand in Prince's direction.

The class, after their initial shock, started laughing at Prince's astonished and chagrined expression under the boils.

But Prince's eyes were riveted to Tom's. Tom met his eyes with a knowing glance just for an instant, just enough to let Prince know what was really going on. Then his face smoothed out and was all fake concern as the teacher came over to inspect the damage.

Slughorn was still shaking his head. "Now, my boy, I think it's off to the hospital wing with you!" He examined Prince one more time. "You're fine, Mr. Prince. No long lasting ill effects—this time," he admonished, waving a fat finger.

Just before Prince left the room, his eyes met Tom's again, and dropped. Tom felt a wave of pleasure as the dark-haired boy winced with the pain of the boils and reddened with the humiliation of a very public failure in what was supposed to be his best class.

Tom relaxed in his seat, eyes returning to his perfectly prepared potion. One, maybe two down. Not bad for the first day of class. He could feel Malfoy's chagrin from across the room. Oh, it was going to be fun to bring him down. His confidence restored itself. It had been foolish to imagine that wizards might pose a challenge for him to manipulate and control. He was better than them. He was better than all of them.

XxXxXxX

A/N: Soooo... should I continue this?