When the summer came and classes seemed to drag, Professor Riddle started abandoning his robes and preferred to roll his sleeves up and do a more hands on lesson outdoors, instead of forcing his students to stay cooped up in the hot castle. Not that he even was keeping classes right now, not with exams being completed the following week. They'd finished reviews the week before and he was giving his students a well needed mental break in between all those harsh study sessions.

"Miss Granger, why don't you pair off with Mr. Malfoy, and I swear if I hear one snide comment Draco I will not hesitate to take points from my own house!" The Head of Slytherin scolded as he gestured for Mr. Potter to begin helping Mr. Finnegan, switching up the pairs for the third time that class. Luckily Malfoy didn't dare argue and just gave a curt nod before showing Hermione the proper stance to start a duel in.

"Will there be anything on dueling in our final, Professor?" One of the Gryffindors asked and he shook his head in response before giving them a few spells that were approved for dueling in class.

"What about-?" He heard Mr. Zabini ask, but lost whatever else he'd been saying when a certain ginger haired boy was slammed straight into him, knocking the greying professor off his feet. Grabbing the bridge of his nose and attempting to keep a straight face as Ronald Weasley scrambled to his feet, blushing right red, or was it maroon?

"Did you actually just try to Accio your opponent?" He asked Weasley's partner dryly, earning a nervous glance to the side. Letting out a loud sigh, the professor gave up with keeping order, dismissing the class with a wave of a hand. "Oh, go on, get out of here the lot of you."

Luckily they knew him well enough to know that he wasn't angry, rather just exasperated, and so each gave excited grins before darting over to one of the trees where they had all dumped their bags. Ronald gave him one more embarrassed smirk before joining a few of the other Gryffindors, Granger, Potter and Longbottom among them. "Don't forget to review the study guides for the exam next week!" He called after his class before giving a chuckle and following his students back into the castle.

While the man was in his late sixties, he didn't quite look it, outside of the now obnoxiously prominent silver hairs on his head. Minerva claimed that his hair was still relatively black but that came from a woman who'd begun greying in her thirties, so he tended to not believe her. And then there was Lilith, his only daughter, who insisted to him that it wasn't so bad and that if it bothered him so much he could charm it black again. He liked to think himself above such nonsense, though lately he'd given it more thought than he'd like to admit.

His bag strapped over his chest he smiled as he took the path down to the dungeons, pausing as he passed by one of the open doors and hearing Severus's familiar voice echoing from within. It had taken him a few years to break him into actually teaching and not just snapping at students, but he was brilliant at his chosen subject, there was no doubt about that. Albus had expressed to him that is Riddle was to retire he'd likely pick Severus to take over as the Head of Slytherin, and perhaps that was Albus's way of manipulating Tom into staying on for as long as possible, but he didn't understand handing that sort of position over to a man who clearly had an aversion to younger children. Not that Albus had to worry. He'd likely be on until he was as wizened as the Headmaster himself, wanting to be the one to teach his granddaughter, Sophia, once she came along, and then any others who were begat from his line.

Thinking about it like that almost made him feel old, something he tried to avoid as much as possible. It had been so long since he'd been taken on as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and not shortly after that he'd taken over Horace's job as Head of Slytherin House when the old Potions professor had retired. No, Albus had nothing to worry about. He didn't ever think he'd want to retire. Hogwarts was the first home he'd ever had, and he wouldn't leave it willingly. Of course there had been the years after graduation when he'd rented an apartment in London and hopped from job to job, taking up several as a tutor to some wizarding families, then working for the Ministry for several months, hopping around the departments into the odd jobs they'd need him to do. It had been when Albus owled him to say that Professor Merryweather was finally retiring that he'd owled in his resume and anxiously awaited a reply. Albus, the closest person he'd ever had to a father, or perhaps a batty uncle, hired him almost instantly.

Peaking his head into the Slythein, he checked in on his snakes to find a few groups working together on homework or reading by the fire. Yeah, Albus didn't have to worry. He couldn't dream of thinking of any other place as home.

During the summer, when he had little else to do, sometimes Tom found himself helping out the ministry with things. Not that Shacklebolt didn't run a tight ship since his promotion to Minister, but there was always the odd job that he or Albus would be called in for. Lately it had been regarding the restoration of artefacts that the department of Mysteries had long since given up on. There was only the slightest hope that either wizard might actually figure something out about said artefats that a whole department full of Unspeakables could not, but Riddle and Dumbledore were known for their discretion and Shacklebolt and most of the Unspeakables saw little harm in having them help.

Sophia had stayed over with him the night before, so Tom was a little late when he strode into the unplottable building on a very hot day in early July. Dumbledore was off discussing a possible link with Beauxbatons and the Salem Institute, something about an exchange program, so he was in the warehouse by himself. He preferred it that way, honestly. Touching the arch of stone carefully he tapped his wand to different parts of the stone, familiarizing himself with it once more, not having seen it since the week previous. It was rough and worn and he could still feel traces of old magic within it. While the ministry file gave a vague outline of the few things that had been known or uncovered about the strange arch, Tom was sure there were things he wasn't being told. That's how the department of mysteries worked, after all. Not that he didn't face the challenge head on with any less enthusiasm. It was a puzzle to him, and no matter how difficult, he loved puzzles and demanded to solve them.

He had studied runes while enrolled at Hogwarts, of course, but whatever the etchings on the stone were, they were either gibberish, decorative, or in a language he was unfamiliar with. He'd discussed this with Albus the week before, and they'd considered asking Professor Babbling, given it was her area of expertise, but they'd yet to copy down any of the patterns to take to her. Conjuring a stack of plank paper and some graphite, he gently placed the paper over the markings and began rubbing the graphite furiously, making an imprint of the design onto the paper. It took him two hours to complete the entire arch, front and back, as well as labeling the papers so Babbling would know what order to put them in.

Wiping his face, he contemplated apparating off for a bite to eat, perhaps at the Leaky Cauldron or somewhere in muggle London. Lately Lilith had bringing over containers of Tai food and he found he liked it. Stepping dead in front of the arch, he stared at him, not really thinking about much of anything, letting his mind wander over possibilities. Giving a sigh he stepped through the arch, but nothing happened. Giving a shrug, he disappeared off with a pop, returning an hour later with a small container of food he'd grabbed from a small Asian restaurant that his daughter had showed him. He sat down with a slight grunt, running his dark eyes over the arch again.

What did he know about it? From what he understood on the arch, from both his own observations, alongside the little information received from the ministry report, he knew that the Department of Mysteries had had the arch a very long time. So long in fact they weren't completely certain of the date of acquisition, which was odd for them given their detail to paperwork. He could also feel the magic emanating from within the stones that held up the dilapidated arch. The Unspeakables report indicated that on only a handful of dates had the arch ever showed a reaction to any sort of probing. Four dates, so be specific. Even then it had only been on chance that someone had been around o record it, so it was possible there was more than that. The dates and times were written in the file, but they didn't correlate to anything he or Albus recognized and therefore he abandoned these numbers as being erratic, or due to some force he had no information on.

Albus had suggested it could be in reaction to some more muggle-like science, and it was certainly possible but he wasn't exactly the person to deal with it, if that was in fact the case. Sure he'd spent plenty of time studying the Dark Arts, he was the Heir of Slytherin, after all, but this magic didn't feel… dark.

It puzzled both he and Albus that neither were quite sure what they were feeling. Pushing some of the noodles around the container with a fork, he scowled at the arch and rolled his eyes. Perhaps he could go and bother someone for something else to do, for it was clear he wasn't getting very far with the arch. At last not on that day.

Cleaning up and gathering the few items he'd strewn about while working in the warehouse, he grabbed the papers only at the last minute, grateful he hadn't forgotten them. Perhaps Babbling would recognize something and give them a lead. Shoving the folder of papers into his bag he blinked, his eyes adjusting to a sudden dimness to the room. It wasn't dark, per say, but it looked outside that a storm appeared to be brewing. He paused at that and found, some of the hairs on the back of his neck coming to stand to an end, followed by the hair on his arm. Dismissing the sudden dread he felt in his chest, the professor reached up and tied his hair into a tie, running his hand over the back of his neck in thought. Perhaps he'd just curl up with a book, if the weather was going to get so nasty. Perhaps it would cool down some. He turned as he neared the door to the warehouse, ready to shut it when something caught his eye.

Something was in the arch. Blinking, part of him thought it just might have been the shadows cast from the storm rolling in overhead, but no, there was something in the arch. The dread in his chest suddenly increased tenfold and a pulse of magic surged from the arch. He blinked, hurriedly looking to his watch, hoping that he could remember the time it occurred, for he'd need to jot it down in the file (3:18, 3:18, 3:18).

Stepping back into the warehouse he frowned as he realized what the shadow was. A veil? A long threadbare veil or sheet of some type appeared to be draped over the arch. No. Not over, hanging from within. How strange. Approaching the arch he dropped his bag to the ground and ignored the bad feeling that surrounded the arch. Touching the veil hesitantly, he could swear he heard a voice whispering in his ears, even turning to look over his shoulder to check and make sure no one had entered the ware house.

But he was alone. Blinking rapidly, he rubbing the fabric between his fingers and stepped closer to examine the sheet.

Only he'd set his bag down relatively close and his foot snagged on the bag, causing him to trip forward through the arch. With a sudden gasp his hand shot out to catch himself, but he missed and he grabbed onto the veil with the sort of desperation of someone falling off a cliff. He didn't realize it, but he might have well have fallen into the ocean for what he saw when he opened his eyes.