Sorry for the absence but honestly, I have written a shitload of chapters for this story. Leave it to me to be so unorthodox and actually write the ending chapters before actually getting there! And *warning* I actually cried writing the very last chapter! I am so excited to get back to updating the middle parts because this story holds a very dear place in my heart and it isn't as if I can jump straight to the end. I did time hop a bit for this chapter but honestly it would have been a few filler chapters anyways if I hadn't. And besides, I needed to time hop a bit because I want some tomione already even though I have to ease into it and not go full relationship mode.

Following this, this story is so fucking dark in the next few years to come. It will not be all sunshine and daisies and I cannot heed this enough. Anyways, ignore my babbling because here is the next chapter!

Chapter 17:

2 years later…

Tom stared hard at his reflection in the mirror, his hands clenched tightly along both sides of the cheap basin's edge as he continued to bore his dark eyes into the glass surface. He stared for a long time; seconds soundlessly ticking by until they morphed into minutes, yet he still kept his gaze glued forward, heavy and harsh and searching. Always searching.

It was a face he had seen his entire life; pale white skin that was translucent enough that he could see the vinework of verdigris veins that he could trace if he wanted to, his blue-black eyes that shined like obsidian, a head of black hair that curled at the tips and laid methodically across his forehead in faint waves.

It was him.

Yet, it wasn't.

Cheeks and a jaw that had once been curved with childhood were now sharp and angled. His shoulders, that had always been narrow were now broad, adorned by arms that had been too thin at one time and now rippled perfectly with toned muscles. Even the smooth panels of his stomach had now hardened with age as his body grew and stretched towards the sky without any restraint.

The person he stared at was no boy.

He was no longer a child. Tom was already on his way walking along the paved road of young adulthood that held so many expectations and demanded his full attention.

Tom was at the ripened age of 16, soon to be 17, and easily towered over any other child or adult at the orphanage. Bones covered in thin layers of flesh and muscles had swelled without him knowing and it left him in a body that refused to allow him to ignore the obvious: he had grown up.

His throat became dry and scratchy at the thought. It was difficult to swallow. But Tom stayed unmoved, still staring at himself with unblinking eyes.

He would be returning to Hogwarts for his sixth year and it would not be long until he would graduate and be forced from the main doors without a second of hesitation, just as all the students were. He would be thrown into the real world without a care and expected to simply become like the rest. He would have nowhere to go; no family, no school, no orphanage.

Not that he cared about the last part. As soon as Harry was out, he planned on returning and watching the building crumble into nothing but a pile of smothering ash, with one mere hand sticking out from the rubble that's fingers were charred and burnt and broken, small slices of flesh split open and revealing the pink tissues. Nothing else would remain of her, or that wretched building.

School, however, would not be something he could burn down.

There was something there, he knew. Perhaps memories, or what it represented, or even how it had become his home, offering him an entire world he had always longed for and given to him with a welcoming that had been warm and light even when all he had ever known was the harsh reality of the muggle world.

He had been- was- a familess orphaned boy that had grown in the wizarding world with nothing more than his belongings stuffed away in his trunk and the secret bloodline that coursed through his veins. He wasn't a rich pureblood that dominated society with his every word or action. Unlike them, no one would listen to him once he left the safety of Hogwarts.

His name meant nothing.

It would remain etched in gold on the ever growing plaque that listed every prefect in Hogwarts history, and it would be neatly scrawled on Slughorn's list of Slug Club members but apart from that, what would remain of him?

His professors would remember him, but that would fade as soon as they died off. His classmates may remember who he was- the charming, polite Tom Riddle - but they didn't know him and it wasn't plausible that they would carry on his name into the next generations. If he were lucky, the Bloody Baron may remember his face for the next century or two, but would he desperately- pathetically enough- depend on a fucking ghost to keep his memory alive?

He released a ragged sigh and dipped his head into his chest. Nagini was coiling around his feet, her cold, thick scales pressing into his skin.

At one time it would have been enough. He would have felt the strong, unmistakable swell of power but now, it was a burnt crisp of his ambition, a sad reminder of what he truly had.

Nothing.

When he was physically gone from the school, how long would it be until he was a figment of the past? How long would his reputation last? He would become a mere memory within the walls until time faded even that.

It was all so cruel.

Hogwarts was his home- the only place he had ever truly belonged but no matter how strongly he felt for the aged castle, it didn't truly belong to him. It was as much his as it was for the Weasley troll or the no brained students like Flint, Goyle, and Crabbe. A slap in the face was all he felt every time he looked at the damn school. Once a home, now he was consumed with anger and fury and the strongest desire to watch it burn down into the ground, brick by brick, just as he desired for Wool's. The only place he had ever longed for, was now something he could no longer stand. Somehow, along the twisted, deviant road he had taken, Tom no longer held Hogwarts in the light he once had as a naive boy.

It was no longer welcoming as everyone said it was- as Dumbledore vowed year after year. He felt none of that any more. Not a single slice of it. It had sucked the life out of him just as if it were a dementor.

All Tom could feel, emotionally and physically, was the looming threat of leaving. It was there, a horrid black cloud in the distance that inched closer day by day, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. No matter how hard he fought or how avidly he pushed himself, making sure he received perfect marks and captured each of the professor's full attention with nods of approval directed and words of appraisal spewed his way.

He was better than what the school stood for, what it represented. He was better than the students, some of the teachers even.

He knew it.

They even knew it.

But when he was gone, would they care to remember that?

He was expected to carry onto some piss-poor job at the Ministry, work paycheck to paycheck doing meander work like some commoner and not the powerful wizard that he had become. His power was there; raw and manifested beneath his skin, radiating off of him in waves that made the hairs stand straight up of people passing by and giving them the warning that they needed. It had taken years to get where he was now but he didn't regret it, not in the slightest.

Working for the Ministry would be belittling of him and everytime the professors brought the topic up, his fingers would twitch against his wand, ready to slice and tear and inflict the most excruciating pain he could manage and then some.

None of them knew any better. Part of him knew that he couldn't really blame them, even though he did. They didn't know what he had become.

It's what history had done since the very beginning. When professors would see brilliant minds, they would press them onto the Ministry, ready to use their young intelligence and morph it into their advantage. The only thing better than that, was to become a professor. And although the idea seemed… pleasing enough, he wanted more. Needed more.

He needed a reputation that would outlive even that of the Minister of Magic, or a Headmaster.

It had started off as a childish joke, in a sense. Wanting to rule an entire world had been something that he said for theatrics, only wanting to push himself to do the absolute best he could in a society that was so alienish yet exciting. But the possibility of what if had always lingered in his mind, always playing and whispering its sweet temptations against the lobes of his brain. When he read, it was there. When he did his school work, it was there. When he sat and listened to the other students drone on and on and one, it was there and stronger than ever. As the years had passed, the thought had consumed him just as the Chamber had. But the chamber was minuscule compared to this.

Tom's head snapped up. His grip around the basin tightened with deadly force, his face contorting into rage as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. The veins bulged through his pale skin at the pressure, one vivid on the side of his neck and another at his temple. The glint in his dark eyes made them flash beneath the light, the blue almost completely nonexistent from the dilation of his pupils. Above him, the light bulbs began to flicker dangerously, their shadows casting sinful shadows across his face. At his feet, Nagini coiled tightly.

He paid attention to neither and narrowed his eyes at his reflection.

This was him now; powerful and strong. No longer a lost, orphaned boy without a purpose in the world. This was him. He could feel the magic crackling between his fingertips, begging to be used.

There was no mistaking that his plans would be difficult to accomplish. Something that could only be defined as unthinkable to the common wizard; something that was impossible.

With his jaw clenched, Tom pushed himself away from the porcelain edge and masked his expression.

The world couldn't see him like this. Not yet.

He had to stay composed. He needed to stay the perfect student everyone thought he was. On the exterior he was charming as ever, white teeth sitting in a straight, welcoming smile, while on the inside… something dark and feral scratched to get free, clawing at his organs and feeding off of his bloodstream while he silently screamed and cursed at the world.

The fire in his eyes burned deadlier than ever.

And oh how it begged to be sated.

"You know, if you want I can get Ron to extend the invitation to you. He'll understand."

As soon as the words left Harry's mouth, he watched as Tom's shoulders tensed, his pale hands halting their movement of drifting across the parchment. If he had had a quill between his fingers, it would have snapped in half.

Tom's gaze narrowed, the written words on the parchment blurring briefly as Harry's voice echoed throughout his skull. Again with this? He had lost track of the times he had already answered with a defiant 'no'.

And yet, as many times as the words had been thrown at him, he was still greeted with a flare of agitation as it bled through his veins.

He didn't bother to turn around. "Do you really think I would want to spend my time anywhere near that thing?" he lazily replied. "When I desire an invitation, I'll be sure to tell you."

Harry rolled his eyes at the back of his brother's head. Leave it to Tom to be so damn stubborn. He was just trying to be polite for Merlin's sake. It took everything to smother the dramatic sigh that wanted to escape his lips. "So then what are you going to do for the two weeks that I'm gone?"

What a stupid, pointless question, Tom mused. Did Harry really think he wouldn't manage on his own for two blithering weeks? The thought was laughable. If need be, Tom could have lasted the rest of eternity in isolation. He frowned at that and glanced at Nagini who laid atop his desk, basking in the low rays he allowed to enter his room. One look at her yellow-green eyes was enough to see that she saw straight through his silent lie.

Tom turned his head from her quickly, and spun around in his chair to face Harry. He grinned a crooked grin. "I'll do the same thing I did for years before you got here," he answered, voice low. "Honestly, Harry, do you think my entire existence revolves around you? Just because you will not be here does not mean I suddenly lose my sense of function. You make me sound as stupid as your friend," Tom scoffed, a sneer dancing across his lips.

"I'm just trying to be nice-"

"Nice?" Tom repeated, his brows raising slightly on his forehead. The word sounded foreign on his tongue. "Weren't you the one who was trying to manipulate Hermione into going with you?"

That caused Harry to pause. How did- His eyes shot towards the open parchment on Tom's desk, his green orbs wide in disbelief. "It wasn't manipulation. I simply felt that it would be more fun if the three of us spent time together without having to worry about school. It's not like it matters now, since she said no. Numerous times."

Tom, however, ignored him.

"What, couldn't take two seconds with the Weasel without having her to fall on?" Tom grinned but his eyes displayed a very different emotion. "Who's the dependent one now?"

"I wasn't trying to manipulate Hermione-"

"-Besides-," Tom's voice boomed over Harry's. He stood up, careful to place the written parchment in his desk drawer, and crossed his arms over his chest. With fluid strides, Tom crossed his bedroom and leaned against the frame of his bed.

"-I have my own plans for these last few weeks of summer and surprisingly enough, brother, I will not be extending an invitation for you. So you go and have fun with a poor excuse of a wizard while I go with those that actually know the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane."

Harry's mouth opened, ready to argue in Ron's defense, but he stopped. His dark brows furrowed. "But there is no difference?"

"Does Weasley know that?" Tom didn't hesitate. His piercing stare almost made Harry want to just turn around and not bother to respond. Nothing he said would change his brother's mind anyhow.

"I'm sure," Harry lied through his teeth. At Tom's exaggerated look of speculation, Harry rolled his eyes. "So what if he doesn't? Half of the students in seventh year wouldn't know that."

"My point," Tom exhaled heavily, "is that you are wasting your time with the wrong people. Weasley has as much potential as a doorknob and by that, I'm being lenient enough."

It was routine by now that they could ignore the insults they gave each other. The only reason why they didn't scream and fight at each other was because neither of them settled enough to make anything out of them. They were always quick to move on, to push forward onto other important matters because the both of them knew how tedious an argument would become.

It was better to ignore the jabs for both of their sake. They had outgrown their childish stages. Although, he would argue that Tom never had one to begin with.

Harry dropped Tom's stare and moved his attention towards the sole window in the room. "Where will you be going?"

"Warrington has invited us all to his house over the break." Tom's response was short and clipped, providing nothing more and nothing less.

Harry sighed impatiently. "And what will you be doing?"

Tom's eyes flickered down at him, a coy smile aimed at the younger individual in the room. "If I tell you, then where would be the element of surprise?"

Harry's gaze narrowed. "You aren't one for surprises, Tom. And more importantly, I know you wouldn't waste your time going to Warrington's house unless it benefited you. I'm not stupid."

"I suppose you're not entirely wrong," Tom tilted his head to the side in consideration. "But you are incorrect if you think I will share with you the details of what I plan to do while there."

"That doesn't sound unusual," Harry sulked and watched keenly as Nagini slithered up Tom's bedpost. She was too large now; as thick as a child's thigh and impossible to hide as she stretched past four feet in length. He was quick to divert his attention as her head flicked up towards him. It never failed that those beady eyes of hers unnerved the life out of him. "You never tell me anything. You know, not once have you introduced me to your friends."

Tom's eyes flashed, his jaw tightening as he set Harry with a reprimanded glare. "First, they are not my friends- as you of all people should know- nor will they ever be yours. Second, you do not need to meet them. Not now, not ever. All that is important is they know who you are."

Harry's brows furrowed. "What does that even mean?"

"It means that they know to leave you be," Tom drawled out, his lips curling as he reached down and stroked the top of Nagini's scaled head.

Harry frowned at his brother as the words replayed through his skull. "Leave me be?" he repeated with a scoff. "You act as if they are brutes. I've seen the way they act, Tom; how you all suck up to the professors, so eager to please and get the best marks possible. They aren't purebloods."

It was Tom's turn to scoff. "I would certainly hope not," he sneered. "It is an insult to compare their talents to those that are the ill result of inbreeding, and I would advise you from saying so in their presence."

"What's the worse they could do?" Harry asked with raised brows. He couldn't imagine any of the boys from Tom's little 'gang' doing anything wrong- it's how picture perfect they all were; some of the best students that Hogwarts had to offer with manners placed in pristine check and ties knotted without imperfection, buttons and robes immaculate. To Harry, none of them, by long shot, frightened him and he couldn't imagine viewing any of the young men as a serious threat, let alone cause him actual harm.

The thought was almost enough to make him laugh. The air lodged in his chest and rattled against his ribs.

One glance at Tom, however, had Harry stifling everything and anything that threatened to spill forth. His throat was suddenly dry and he could feel his face beginning to redden as he realized Tom was watching him.

Dark eyes were sharp like those of a hawk. With a tremendously forced effort, Harry held strong as Tom's stare narrowed, "You do not believe me."

It was no question.

He shrugged his shoulders with faked ease. "What do you expect? You are talking about Warrington, and Montague and Bletchley and you. Slytherin's top students, refined Slug Club members; young men that would rather sit in the library or in front of a potion cauldron than watch a quidditch game or go to a joke shop. I'm sorry, Tom, but that doesn't seem like a group that would have me trembling in fear."

A humorless chuckle escaped Tom's mouth as he turned away.

On the bed, Nagini coiled tightly in a circle as Tom's fingers twitched alongst her scales.

"Of course," he murmured. "What could possibly be more concerning than a group of swots?"

The far-away look in Tom's gaze was disconcerting to say the least and it made Harry wish he could have taken the words right back, swallowing them up one by one until they no longer existed. He opened his mouth to apologize, clearly seeing that his brother had taken offense, but Tom gave him no chance.

"Then again-," this time Tom's tone was sharp and cutting, "-what is more dangerous than those that seek to expand their knowledge at every opportunity? They would be the most powerful, would they not? And would strike with surprise, with force and you would have never seen it coming."

Power. It's what Tom always came back to, no matter how many months and weeks went by, no matter what came into his path time and time again. It was all that mattered to him- power, power, power. The more the words spewed from Tom's mouth, the more Harry wanted to bash his head against the wooden walls. He was tired of hearing it!

He craned his neck as he felt the muscles clench in frustration. "Powerful as what?" he bit out, his brows raising high onto his forehead. "You? They are people, mere teenagers, wanting nothing more than to graduate Hogwarts and get placed into a decent job at the Ministry. They don't want what you do."

"No?" Tom inclined his head. He pushed himself away from his bed frame and took a slow step forward. "And tell me, dear brother, what is it that I want?"

Harry stuttered,"I-I-". He couldn't find the words to say, his tongue too thick in his mouth. It was like sandpaper. Mentally he cursed, now of all times.

"Better yet, what would you say if I were to tell you that perhaps, just maybe, they too envision something better for themselves?"

"What's better than the Ministry? Being an Auror or Cursebreaker-"

Tom rolled his eyes and turned away, stalking back towards his bed and ignoring the rest of the words that Harry spoke. They were lackluster, unappealing in every way and form as they flew through one ear and out the other. The truth was painfully laid out in the open, something that he had tried desperately to see past as the years had carried on. His brother had lost their vision. He had had it at one time, Tom was sure, but now, looking back on their younger years, he couldn't tell if it had been as strong as it had needed to be. It hadn't driven Harry in school, hadn't pushed him to focus on the important things and not damn quidditch and useless friends and things that Tom didn't want to even begin to describe.

No, there was no doubt in Tom's mind that it had faded. It had festered as Harry had aged and was now only wisps of the radiance it had once been.

And the worse thing was, was that Tom had allowed it. This was just as much his fault as it was Harry's. There was no one to blame but him.

Tom turned once more and faced Harry, not paying attention to the words still being said by his brother, and looked- really looked- at the young teen before him. Nothing much had changed with Harry. He had grown but not by much. He was quite short compared to how tall Tom had been at the time. Even Hermione was nearly the same height, just a tad under. His bespeckled brother was still leaned towards the younger side of the spectrum of youth and barely reached Tom's shoulders, although it was mainly due to how his hair stood straight up.

Harry would be a fourth year this go around. Unlike Tom, Harry still had plenty of time to do… whatever the hell it is he wanted. It wasn't as if Tom wasted his time hearing Harry describe his quidditch matches, or how he won the game by catching the snitch, or how he complained about assignment after assignment and how professors were truly a bore.

Tom paused his thoughts, frowning at the direction he had taken. Yet again he was complaining about Harry's lifestyle while physically doing nothing about it. He bit the inside of his cheek from cursing aloud.

He had no choice but letting his brother be.

"And is that what you want?" he voiced towards Harry. "You want to become an Auror, to catch the bad guys and make the world all bright and shiny?"

Harry snorted at that, making Tom grin in amusement. If only the world were truly that stark; black and white, good and evil. The shades of grey were far in between. Harry, ever the brainwashed Gryffindor, couldn't possibly see that, couldn't possibly begin to understand that not everyone was so good.

"If I became an Auror then I would spend all of my time correcting your wrongs," Harry gave him a pointed look.

Tom laughed at that, short and sweet. He tilted his head to the side and spoke, "True, but you would never be able to catch me. It would be an endless game of cat and mouse, I would reckon. Who do you suppose you will be- the cat or mouse?"

His brother shook his head, wild black hair shifting from side to side with that familiar green spark ever present in his emerald eyes. Tom recognized it well. Defiance.

"I would be the lion," Harry said.

Both of them stared at one another, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at each other. Neither blinked as if refusing to back down first. The challenge, although nothing serious, was in the air and neither wanted to acknowledge or ignore it fully. They were in the grey area; not entirely in the pure white but not in the sinful black either. The ever present shade of slate was clouding around them. It waited for them to pick which way it would go- black or white, good or bad. Tom could feel it and could only wonder if Harry did too. It would be far too easy to let the balance tip.

But Tom didn't want it to.

He forced it away and smiled, his perfect teeth on perfect display even if it physically hurt to do so. The motion strained against his face and the muscles clenched in their forced actions. They begged him to stop.

"Then I suppose that makes me the snake."

Harry nodded, slowly. "I suppose it does."

Tom's brows rose and with nothing more to say, he pushed himself away from the frame of his bed and turned his attention to his half-packed trunk resting on his sheets. Like Harry, he wouldn't be returning to Wool's until the following summer, not as if that was a bad thing. As Harry journeyed with the Weasleys to Platform 9 ¾ , Tom would be doing the same with the Warringtons. Same destination but separate- completely separate- paths.

With his head down and attention pretending to be busy accounting for his belongings, Tom peaked through his lashes and glanced towards Harry. His brother's unblinking gaze was trained on the drawer of his desk and oblivious to Tom's heavy stare.

The corners of Tom's lips curved at the sight and tucked his head back down. He reached down into his trunk and let his fingers graze against the book that was safely tucked between his school robes. It was hers yet it was his too. His. The familiar embroidered surface ran smoothly beneath the pads of his fingers, tantalizing and making him want more, so very much more.

It wouldn't be too long now.

"The east corridor on the fifth floor is always empty, it would be the perfect place," Bletchley spoke, crossing his arms against his chest. "If we want a hideout, then that's where it should be."

Warrington shook his head. "We have already discussed the east corridor. It's too accessible. The only place that we can be assured will remain unlocated is the chamber. There is no way around it." He turned his blonde head and looked toward Tom for reassurance but Tom stayed silent, watchful as the three debated before him. As if they had a choice. Montague seemed to be thinking along the same line as he sat in silence.

"Can we really say that we will be safe in the chamber?" Bletchley argued. "I would rather much risk getting caught in the east corridor than risk getting eaten by a fucking basilisk." Bletchley ran a hand roughly through his dark hair, tugging on the ends with more force than necessary. Tom eyed him through his peripheral.

"Why would we be eaten by the basilisk if we have the bloody heir of Slytherin with us?" Warrington threw his hands out towards Tom.

"In case you have forgotten," Bletchley hissed, "a basilisk is a creature. It will do whatever it damn well pleases."

Finally, Montague stood up, releasing an impatient sigh, "Oh for the love of Merlin! If we are truly dedicated to our cause, then who fucking cares about any risk? If that is why you are so worried then the risk of getting caught is more dangerous than getting eaten. If Dumbledore or any of the other professors catch us, then we will all be expelled without any hesitation on their part. And if that were to happen, how are we to get our message out if none of us are at school to spread it?!"

Montague's outburst impressed Tom, but he didn't show it and instead, watched as the other two dipped their heads in embarrassment.

Silence washed over them. Tom wanted the moment to sink in, to let them wallow in their mortification of such disappointing behavior because Montague was right. If they were as loyal to the cause as they said they were, then they wouldn't be arguing where their… activities would be taking place. Eventually they would have to learn from their mistakes. He would give them no choice but to follow his every command until any thought of going against him would disappear instantly in their minds, the idea dissolving just as quickly as it appeared

"The chamber is our only option," Tom spoke. His voice was collected and refined, and the three pairs of eyes glued onto him made him reek of authority, feeling it pulse through his veins. Tom basked in it. "It is the option we will be taking," he finalized.

Bletchley took a shuddering breath, but refrained from speaking. Tom's eyes dared him to do otherwise.

"They will all know who we are in due time," Tom continued. "We will start off small but word will spread fast. By the end of the year, the purebloods will all realize that their rule of the Wizarding World is running on dwindling time. Have trust in our cause," he commanded them. "For without us, no change will ever become of our society."

The three young men nodded their heads; strong and confident as they glanced at one another. Tom's words had filled them to the brim and he could see their want gleaming dangerously in their eyes. They were his start.

His first followers.

The firsts of thousands.

Arriving to Platform 9 ¾ was strange without having Harry by his side, but yet, it was almost… refreshing as well. He didn't have to deal with Harry's constant chatter or having to drag him by the sleeve onto the train before it pulled out and left behind. He was able to maneuver through the crowd with ease, with Warrington, Bletchley, and Montague flanked by his sides; collars perfected, robes straight and unwrinkled, polite grins flashed to those students and parents they passed. They all had a purpose now, after all.

Unlike the other three, however, Tom's smiles were forced and abrupt. He was far too occupied with scanning the crowd, his gaze flickering up and down, side to side.

The rest of the crowd passed by him in a blur as he was possessed with his search. None of them mattered. None of them had any significance. Not like she did.

He had made it halfway down the outside of Hogwarts Express when he finally found her. And when he did, his gaze stuck to her and watched as she said her goodbyes to her parents, his breath held in his chest.

It never failed that she could hold his attention without having to even try. She could speak utter rubbish and he would lap up her every word; she could have her hair in an utter mess, strangled in some hair band and he would trace its wild patterns with entranced eyes, barely containing the urge to run his fingers through it. Or those days that she would stay up past midnight studying the night away and only manage to get a few hours of sleep, she would come to breakfast less than her usual self and yet still, she was the only one who could capture his full and undivided attention, making feelings bubble beneath his skin that he knew weren't because he thought of her as a mere friend. No, friends didn't mean anything to Tom. To him, Hermione was so much more than that.

So much more.

With his gaze still on her, he turned his head to the side to order the three behind him, "Go secure two compartments. Right across from one another."

"And if none are free?" Warrington asked. Bletchley and Montague paused their departure and turned their gazes towards Tom, waiting for direction.

His eyes flashed, feeling the flare of frustration creep into his vision. "Then see to it that you remove them. By force, if necessary."

The three were quick to follow his command and, with their trunks in haul, climbed up the steps onto the train. He stood there, alone, and waited until Hermione moved away from her parents before he began to approach her.

She spotted him nearly right off the back and visibly brightened as she smiled towards him. Her footsteps quickened.

"Hello Tom," she spoke, stopping directly in front of him and gazing at him in a way that made his heart rattle in his chest. He liked it best when she was this close, to where if he wanted to, he could reach out and grab her, to hold her close. Not only that though. Up close he could trace her features with ease- from her dark brows to the splash of gold that glowed in her brows iris', and the black lashes that she gazed at him from behind with the faintest splash of freckles that were splayed across the bridge of her nose. Her face was something that he had memorized long ago.

"Hermione," he greeted her. Her name rolled off of his tongue like water and he watched as her smile widened. They held each other's gaze but it was quick as the whistle blew behind them. She jolted at the sudden noise which caused him to grin but he refrained from teasing. He had learned years prior that she didn't like to be teased- something that Harry and the fucking-twat-Weasley always did to her, not knowing how much she despised it. It isn't like she was bold enough to confront them about it, but Tom could see the fury that burned in her eyes each and every time they did it. Pure, powerful emotion that bled from those eyes of hers.

Hermione's gaze trickled to his side and eyed the empty space with raised brows.

"He's late," she stated.

Tom scoffed at that. "He's with the Weasley's. Were you expecting him to be early?"

"No," she admitted. "But I expected him to be here by now." Hermione turned her head and skimmed the quickly dispatching crowd. Harry was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Weasley. He doubted she cared about the later though.

He turned his head to take one last look but he knew it would be pointless. Harry would have approached them already if he was here.

"Perhaps he is already on the train," Tom spoke. He knew it was a lie. It was the Weasley's afterall. But it wasn't as if either of them could stay rooted on the platform waiting. Knowing Harry, he would probably show up just as the conductor blew the last whistle.

"Maybe…" Hermione muttered. Her gaze was still searching the crowd.

Tom's fist tightened around his trunks handle. Where the hell was he?

Once more, the whistle blew into the air.

To his side, Hermione sighed heavily and turned towards the train. He held his arm out, beckoning her to go before him.

Hermione shot one last look behind her before she took towards the step. Tom followed her closely behind.

With every compartment they passed, both he and Hermione swivled their heads from side to side, quickly trying to see if Harry was already on board. But the further they made it up the train, the more frustrated Tom became because Harry wasn't anywhere to be found. It wasn't as if he couldn't show up. He had to. He didn't have a fucking choice.

He began to feel the sharp claws of panic sink into his flesh when he caught sight of the dash of red hair- the twins- and no sign of his brother. But he refused to stop and approach them. He was quick to continue pushing Hermione forward because he had no doubt that if she saw them, then she would stop and they would use every chance they could to drag her into their compartment and keep him out. The Longbottom boy had been with them as had her friend Justin, so it wasn't as if there was no strong temptation for her.

Soon enough, he spotted Warrington leaning through the doorframe, with his head turned as he gazed at the remnant students making their way down the halls. When he spotted Tom, he nodded his head and motioned towards the compartment across from him. Tom nodded, dismissing Warrington, and eased his hand onto the small of Hermione's back to direct her into the compartment.

With her getting settled, Tom quickly placed his belongings onto the bench and took the few steps towards the door to call the attention of those across from him. Bletchley was the first to notice him and Tom watched as Bletchley's gaze strayed over his shoulder, into the compartment where Hermione was. Bletchley's brows furrowed, turning his head back to Tom.

"Where is your brother?" he asked.

Tom glanced down the hall, left and right, but it was empty now as the last students found their spots. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head. His gaze settled on Bletchley and Montague, who now lingered over Bletchley's shoulder. Tom's black-blue eyes were hard when he spoke, "Find. Him."

The two jumped into the hall as Tom turned away. He slid the door closed behind him and refocused on Hermione as she sat down.

"If he were here then he would find us," she said, her brown eyes looking up at him. "Harry isn't here, right?" Hermione's lips were tugged down into a frown.

Tom found that he didn't like it. He preferred her without the worry, without the frown. He wanted her smile back.

"I do not think he is," he answered truthfully. "But one thing I do know-," Tom pushed himself off of the door and strided to the bench directly across from Hermione, "-is that when I see him, he won't make this mistake again."

She scoffed at that, shaking her head softly in disbelief. "As long as Ron stays glued to his side, then I find that hard to believe."
Tom nodded. He could feel the thoughts creeping into his mind, the possibilities, the plans… His head stilled. That could be done, he thought to himself.

"You're right," he admitted, more lost in the plan formulating between the lobes of his brain as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The movement brought him closer to Hermione. "Absolutely right."

She grinned at that, her brown eyes sparkling. Those strange feelings bubbled beneath his skin again.

"Aren't I always?" she mused.

His gaze peered at her from behind his dark lashes and he grinned. "Don't push it."

Her laugh filled the compartment.

It was during the welcoming feast that Filch bursted through the doors of the Great Hall. The old croon was dragging Harry by his sleeve with one arm and the redhead with the other. He was pulling them straight up to Dumbledore himself.

Tom watched Harry unblinkingly as he was dragged along the stone floor and from the way Harry refused to look in his direction, it was enough to tell Tom that he knew he fucked up big this time. Good, he could only think. It was only a matter of time before Harry's bullshite antics caught up to him. Perhaps now Harry would start taking things seriously instead of thinking it was always fun and games here.

But the longer Tom looked, his brows furrowed as he took Harry's appearance in. Harry's sweater was nicked in several places, a hole and slash in his trousers, and his hair was an absolute mess.

Where the fuck did they go?

The entire school watched in silence as Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled towards the two boys. Tom, however, was done. He was done letting Harry fuck up and he was done letting that redhead ruin everything. The Weasley boy was a problem, and there was only one thing you do with problems- you end it.

Tom turned his attention back towards his meal.

A flying car. Of all things. A fucking flying car. And to make matters even worse, Muggles had spotted them! Harry made him look like a fool. Tom had heard the stray whispers around the common room that ridiculed him- "Isn't that Riddle's brother?", "You would think Slytherin's Prefect would teach him better.", "Honestly, with Riddle being so uptight, you would expect his brother to be the same.", "How pathetic." The whispers had began to drive him insane because they were right.

Tom was left with no choice but to kick his plan into action. They would all learn. Harry included.