The Thing About Magnets

AN:

Oni: So I reached the end of NaNoWriMo quicker than I had planned. As it is, this story should have 2-4 chapters left until the end, but I'm probably going to work on Come Together first and then return to this again.

Tom: We appreiate your patience and your enjoyment of this story.

Oni: Also, if you haven't yet, there's a poll on my profile about this story regarding Tom's Love Life.

Tom: Please don't be cruel. She doesn't own the Harry Potter franchise so she wouldn't be able to make it canon anyway.

Oni: Aaaaand ONWARDS!

Greetings again! So now we see Tom Riddle's fame skyrocket to nearly the heights of Harry Potter, as well as the probably expected animagus form of his. Alas, he really is quite the popular fellow right now, isn't he? If you watched the second movie (or just read his physical description during his teenage years) you will have probably seen that Tom is quite the so-called Chick Magnet. And no, no I am NOT biased! Why do people keep saying that?!

However, I did wish to briefly talk about magnets. The physical metal attracting ones and not the people attracting ones that have flesh and blood and usually clothes. You know, the ones you played with in science class (and might still play with, don't worry I won't judge) to lift up steel object of various sizes. Sometimes it doesn't matter how big or small a magnet is. In fact, they could probably look like innocuous little metal discs until you accidentally put it near some metal and suddenly your phone or watch nearly flies to meet it and all the intricate clockwork mechanisms inside are completely buggered because each little bit is fighting to get closer to the disc that had been previously innocently laying on the table.

Scary cool, huh?

In an MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) machine you're not allowed to bring any metal into the room because once the magnets activate you'll find these metal objects (from that necklace from Aunt Bertha to the horribly heavy oxygen tank) flying straight toward you (or around you in the case of the necklace) as if the machine Accioed them.

But such is the way of magnets, they can't help but pull in things that get caught in their field. Especially the ridiculously strong ones. They don't even know how powerful they are, how their attraction can help and harm, and tool or a weapon.

I wonder which one he'll choose to be?

Marmot Drool Devil.

"I can't believe we all get to be prefects this year! Isn't that exciting?"

From his bed that was transfigured from a flour sack, Tom Riddle glared at the piece of notebook paper in front of him as if his eyes alone could set it on fire. It did not. By ways of the snake inside the locket, his friends' voices filtered through.

"I'm a little worried about who else we'd be working with, Mona."

Vim Troll, Dad Romeo.

His pen (because he sure as hell wasn't going to use a quill when he didn't bloody need to) slowly scratched another phrase out, only to be immediately crossed out again. No, not that one.

"Oh come on, Fil, what are you worried about?"

Mild Doormat Lover.

Nope. That was bad too.

"Getting Hornby, I think. She's still got good grades and our Head of House still likes her."

Add More Vomit Roll.

Uuuuuuuuugh. That's just... no.

"Myrtle's right. But at least there will be four of us! And hopefully not four against us."

Lord Earldom Vomit.

Hmmm. 'Lord' And 'Earldom' seems decent but 'vomit' doesn't change to anything appealing. Scratch.

"I don't think Fudge made the cut, Minnie, so there's one in our favor."

I Am Loved Old Mr. Ort.

Also no, because that doesn't make any bloody sense. Although...

"I'm just worried how I'm going to do this AND Quidditch!"

I Am Lord Dolt Mover.

"Well You-Know-Who's got to do Quidditch, Dueling Club, AND Quidditch, so I think you'll manage."

I Am Lord Loved Mort.

Doesn't 'Mort' mean 'Death' in French? That sound pretty cool...

"Well why don't we ask him? He's right here... I think. Hey Tom!"

I Am Lord Dove L'Mort.

'Dove the Death' sounds badass, but he's not a dove so that wouldn't make sense. But 'Vol' meant 'Flight' in French, right?

"Tom?"

I Am Lord Vol De Mort.

...

"Tom!"

I Am Lord Voldemort.

"TOOOOOM!"

"AH-HA!" the teen in question shouted, lifting up his page in victory and only realizing now that his friends were screaming for his attention, "Oh, sorry guys, what were you saying?"

A collective sigh emanated from the snake-inside-the-locket. Part of it sounded like relief but there was also the ever-present tinge of exasperation as well. Let it not be said that their snake-whispering friend wasn't... eccentric.

"Tom," Filius' curiously amused voice asked, "what were you doing while we were talking?"

"Remember that anagram thing that we were talking about in Magical Theory, and how the letters of the original name give power despite being all jumbled up as long as the outcome also has meaning?"

"You've been trying to make up anagrams of your name this entire time?" Minerva muttered incredulously.

"Only since this morning!" Tom defended, circling the name with a pleased flourish, "And I think I've finally got one."

"Does it have the word 'dildo' in it?" Myrtle snickered slyly, "Because there are a surprising number of anagrams that spell that for your name."

Tom opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he heard the sound of footsteps coming up to his repurposed cupboard (mark two). Quickly he hid the paper in his backpack and transformed into his parrot form (on reflex, which he'd bee doing quite a bit lately embarrassingly enough) right before Mrs. Rosewood walked in the door.

The baker woman smiled and scratched his feathers like she done for the past few weeks since his return (he had told her that he had procured a pet parrot in Hogsmeade as an excuse... which she completely bought) and looked around the room, squinting. It was actually rather interesting, seeing what people did behind your back, and Mrs. Rosewood did a surprising amount of snooping. Thankfully he had a parseltongue-based password system (with an actual password instead of, you know, an order) on his bag so that she wasn't able to get into it, and all she could see was the pen and the blank notebook. With a sigh she left, and Tom waited until the footsteps traveled a good ways away before changing back and resuming the conversation which quickly devolved into how stupid a French name was for a British boy that just barely knew the language. With a pout he decided to scrap it to search for a better name at a later date.

With a sigh, he packed the rest of his things away and went around the back to look as if he had been returning from a trip to Diagon Alley. He felt a little bad about lying to her (since she let him stay with her and all), but he also didn't want to tell her the truth either. Tom didn't know why he was getting so jumpy around the baker woman lately (Filius just made knowing hums like he always did when he spoke of it and said that it was natural to try to hide the fact that he had performed what was essentially a dangerous and borderline illegal act), but if there was something he learned to trust (other than his friends, Professor Dumbledore, and his mother's locket) was his gut feeling, and his gut said that telling anyone other than those already in the know was a bad idea.

As it was, the bell in the front rang and he was greeted to the friendly sight of Mrs. Rosewood restocking the jelly donuts and apple strudels (which were flying off the shelves unusually fast this year...).

"Hello, dear." the baker woman says, handing him a donut with a smile, "Did you find what you were looking for in the Alley?"

"More or less." was his answer with a small shrug, intent on returning to his 'room' and resuming the name project he'd been working on.

"By the way, I ran into your bird again." Mrs. Rosewood called out, "Sweet thing. I don't recall catching a name though. What did you call him again?"

Right. The one problem with this sort of thing. He didn't have a name for his parrot form yet. But surely he could think of something that wasn't overly terrible, right?

"Erm..." the teen floundered a little before blurting out the first name on his mind, "Lord Voldemort."

"Lord Voldemort?" The woman tested, "Fitting for such a noble little bird! I suppose you don't mind me shortening it to Voldy, do you?"

"N-not at all."

Aaaand he blew it. He completely mucked it up. Now he was stuck with that name forever. Why was he like this?

"Riddle."

"Hornby, Umbridge, fancy seeing you two hags in the prefects' car."

Tom and Filius sat together, both glaring at their female prefect counterparts with annoyance (Filius) and utter disgust (Tom). Umbridge was giving the other Slytherin prefect a simpering smile that made her look even more like a toad than usual (it was almost like the girl was attracted to him, which was too horrible to think about), and Hornby was staring down at the half-goblin from her raised nose.

"This year's going to be interesting." Septimus Weasley muttered to Minerva, who nodded with rolled eyes, "But at least it won't be boring. Nothing is boring when you lot are together."

"Are you kidding?" Ambrose Macmillan grumbled from where he was next to his fellow 'Puff prefect Pomona, sneaking looks at where the three prefects were still glaring at each other (as Filius ditched the standoff to sit with them), "We're a powder keg waiting to explode! I wouldn't be surprised if the castle's up in flames by the end of the year because the faculty decided it was a good idea to make Riddle a prefect of all things!"

"I think they're hoping that he'd be too busy to pull anything insane." Pomona offered, passing around the Bertie Bott's beans with a smirk, "Plus you have to admit that he's perfect for the job, everyone listens to him. He's just got this pull that makes you want to do what he says."

Minerva immediately agreed with her friend, taking a few beans and passing the box along and recording the flavors. Weasley nodded sagely with Filius, having caught the unspoken admission while Smith just stared at Pomona and Minerva incredulously.

Eventually Filius managed to pull Tom away from the staring match (which he totally won) in order to begin their new duties as prefects - making rounds. Minerva went with Weasley and Pomona with Macmillan (as it should be), however it took a bit of coaxing and veiled threats before Filius and Tom teamed up with their own house counterparts. Macmillan mouthed the word 'powder keg' at his compatriots but otherwise said nothing else. They all knew this was a disaster waiting to happen.

In another car near the back, Abraxas, Eileen, and Lestrange sit with Myrtle and Rubeus, wondering how the bloody hell their life became so strange as to sit with what their parents would call 'mudbloods and half breeds'. Myrtle passed around the Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans box and allowed them only one, telling tell not to eat it yet until everyone had one. Eileen seemed to be the only one of the three Slytherins that knew what was going on, but refused to explain. It was only after Myrtle took out a pen and paper that she then said, with a completely straight face:

"Let the Bean Roulette begin."

It was by far the oddest experience in Abraxas' life. They would eat a bean and tell Myrtle the flavor, to which the girl would write it down, giving no indication as to why of whether the answer was good or bad. This was interspersed with normal conversation, which made the situation all the more bizarre. Lestrange appeared to be enjoying himself with gorging in sweets, and Eileen didn't even bat an eyelash as she discussed Tom's apparent 'attraction blindness' with Myrtle.

Then their prefect friends came along, two by two. Filius opened the door first, Hornby sneering at them from behind, and greeted them cheerfully. The Malfoy scion was about to ask him (as the most level-headed/sane of the four prefect friends) what the bloody hell the 'Bean Roulette' was before Myrtle beat him to the punch and asked for 'his flavor'. Hornby's sneer turned into confusion.

"Oh I'm lime pie this time." was what he replied cheerily, "Show me the results when you're done! I'm rather curious who wins!"

He left without an explanation and with a confused Hornby chasing after him and demanding what the bloody hell she just witnessed. His laughter bounced through the corridor. Neither Minerva nor Pomona were any help either, each just saying a flavor and leaving with their fellow prefect (both of whom were smart enough not to question whatever had just transpired). Then Tom had opened the door, scowling at Umbridge, who was prattling on about something behind him ("...and I do think you'd be a shoo-in for the Ministry with your grades...") before smiling at the lot of them. Myrtle immediately pinked but asked the question just as she had done with the Musketeers. The scowl returned as if remembering something terrible as the Slytherin prefect muttered out:

"Unwashed shady motel carpet."

Everyone made a face at the rather descriptive flavor as Myrtle gleefully wrote the answer down. Abraxas was absolutely mystified with the entire exchange, even when Tom bade them a good day with his easy smile that could make ones' heartbeat and breathing stop for a second...

And he was gone, the sound of Umbridge's continuously tittering voice the only indication of his retreating form.

When he turned around back to his compartment-mates, Abraxas was greeted to the sight of Eileen raising her eyebrows at him. The snow blond teen buried his face in his hands as he tried to deal with this new sort of emotion that should not relate to Tom in the slightest.

Lestrange just patted him on the back in understanding and Rubeus nods in assurance that whatever just happened was completely normal.

"It happens to everyone at least once." the half-giant rumbled, "You get used to it and eventually it passes."

"Not for all of us." Myrtle grumbled, her face still pink as she shook her head, "Sometimes it just eats at you."

Lestrange patted her on the back as well, as if she were a younger sister and not a 'mudblood'. Ever since they both had become friends with Tom they had also been adopted his other friends as well. It never bothered them despite the fact that it should, because Tom had this ability to make everything seem okay (even when they weren't) once you were on his good side. Great, now he was thinking about that easy smile that had been briefly aimed at him. Something must have shown on his face because Myrtle just muttered:

"Join the club. We hope you don't stay for your sake."

When did his life become like this?

The first night being a prefect was quite fun. It was obvious that between him and Umbridge, Tom was the immediate favorite of the first-years (especially when he started cursing out Peeves in Parseltongue, that had been great) and they all followed him like little imprinted ducklings to their dorms, their eyes wide and taking everything in with a sense of wonder and awe. The teen felt rather proud of this. If he had been looking at Umbridge's direction (unlikely, but alas), he would have seen her scheming eyes narrow at his back as he gave the first years the welcome pep talk he had written during the summer.

With his added duties as prefect, time began to pass by as if he were flying through it on a broom. Somehow he managed to balance his social life, his classes, Quidditch, and the Dueling Club alongside his own personal projects. The professors weren't making this easy, with it being their O.W.L year, but Tom wasn't a genius for nothing and being surrounded by fellow bright minds (in specific subjects now) helped immensely. Minerva took to Transfiguration like a fish to water, Filius was a master at Charms, Pomona's green thumb was the envy of all Hufflepuffs, Eileen's Potions expertise was already widely known, Rubeus was turning out to be a natural at Care of Magical Creatures (though he was too far behind to help the older students with the material, the basic concept was mostly the same), and Myrtle was acing Divination (though Lestrange was the only other person taking it).

On the other hand, Professor Merrythought had placed Tom on her list of potential future replacements for her position (she was hoping to retire in a decade or so) with all the skill he showed in Defense. He was the first to be able to spot, discern, pick apart, and unravel cursed objects, some of which he had been asleep in doing (no one was quite sure how though, not even Tom himself). His repertoire of dark curses that he knew had also grown to far more than the average adult wizard (due to his time studying the books in the Chamber and in Borgin and Burke's), and his answers were usually more in depth to the point where he ended up lecturing the class more often than not.

Weasley had joined their study group in an attempt to understand why they were doing so well (and to see if he could psyche Tom out before the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch matches). Macmillan had made himself scarce, convinced that they were all mad and about the explode at any point in time. Hornby and Fudge were still being their annoying selves, and Umbridge was doing... something. She kept giving him these glances that screamed 'I'm up to something and it has to do with you'. He decided to steadfastly ignore her.

When Halloween neared, Tom approached Headmaster Dippet and Professor Dumbledore to pitch an idea he had been knocking around - a new kind of activity for the holiday. After outlining the idea for the day and listing all the safeguards he had in place, he actually managed to get it greenlit by the Headmaster (who seemed tired lately), the Deputy Head (whose blue eyes were twinkling and who was also wearing an orange robe with purple skeletons doing the tango), the Care of Magical Creatures Professor (who was vibrating in excitement), and his Head of House (who wouldn't look him in the eye anymore due to shame).

On the actual night of Halloween, students were treated to a gruesome sight. On the wall near the dungeons was a message scrawled in what looked like blood (but was revealed to be strawberry jam upon licking the wall as a Gryffindor on a dare soon found out).

The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware!

Tom had finally managed to find the dratted spell that allowed him to control the entrances and exits, and used one of the less publicly humiliating ones which was instead hidden behind a tapestry depicting two snakes in an ouroboros pose (sigh, his ancestors weren't very imaginative in the slightest). The tapestry was set with a password ("I come bearing gifts of fun and trickery!") and rolled up to reveal the tunnel that led deeper into the Chamber. After classes the students were urged by more writing to find and enter this tunnel.

With most of the Chamber hidden away behind stone doors (oh he loved the spell that taught him how to do that!) the students could only roam the main chamber (the one with the fountain and the snake figures and the giant gaudy statue of an old man that was a descendant's interpretation on what Salazar looked like) and gazed up in awe and alarm (after a couple of screams) at the Basilisk coiled up to greet them. Hung around her neck was a giant blackboard, which dictated words in English whenever the behemoth of a snake hissed something out. On top of the Basilisk's head sat none other than Tom Riddle himself, who waved at the gathered crowd.

"'Lo everyone!" he called out with a grin, "Thank you for coming! This is Esmeralda, Queen of Serpents. Her eyes have contacts to make sure her gaze doesn't kill you. She also has been recently milked for her venom so there's less chance of any dripping on you. As you've probably noticed by now, nothing here is really going to hurt you. I've been given permission by Dippet to hold this game today to see how it goes."

"It should help to work up an appetite before dinner!" the blackboard stated in neat, elegant handwriting (Tom's) as the Basilisk hissed.

"Over near those snake statues you will see a bunch of robes in various colors." Tom continued, gesturing over to where several brightly colored piles laid, "Each color represents a single team that you will be a part of for the duration of the game. You will notice that no House colors were used. Please try to mingle people, we're all in the same school, after all."

There was a murmur of unease from the crowd, but the teen wasn't done yet.

"The general premise of the game is simple." the Slytherin Heir stated, once again gaining the crowd's attention, "Around the Chamber are various rooms with simple puzzles that you have to solve in order to continue. At the end of the puzzle room in an artifact, one for each color, that your team must retrieve and bring back to this central chamber and place it in front of dear Esmeralda here. Whichever team gets their artifact here first is the winner and gets this prize treasure box of Honeydukes' Candy."

This time the murmurs were of appreciation and delight.

"But there is a catch!" Tom interrupted before they could disperse, "I, along with my own Team, will attempt to delay you from getting your prize."

At this, a group of students came from behind the Basilisk's vast form. Each wore a mostly black ensemble with other colored highlights and each individual costume was different in some way, matching the personality of the wearer. Despite the ornate skull-like masks they wore, it was obvious who was who. The Musketeers especially now appeared to live up to that nickname, sporting feathered hats with a house feather and ornate gold rapiers.

"You may hit us with jinxes, but no worse." the teen continued, leaping down to reveal his own black knight-like ensemble, spreading his arms wide "This is supposed to be an exercise of fun, people. So if I haven't scared you off and you want to participate, please choose your teams now so we can get started. Teachers and faculty are welcome to join in!"

With that, the first annual Basilisk Run began.

After the success that was the Halloween Basilisk Run, students seemed to be more at ease with each other. Those that participated had a lot of fun, and team Purple Llama (which included Dumbledore) had won the prize box fair and square, the Transfiguration Professor leading the defense against Tom and his Knights of Walpurgis and hitting them with leg-lockers and jelly-leg jinxes faster that they could dodge. It was an overall enjoyable experience.

However, it brought along another wave of invitations courtesy of Professor Slughorn. This time, however, it was Dumbledore who decided to deliver it to the group personally. Apparently the Potions Professor was still scarred from that last essay. And drat! He was smart enough to use Dumbledore!

"Now Tom," The man in the periwinkle blue robes covered in prancing rainbow unicorns admonished, "Would it truly hurt to go to one party? I know Horace has a tendency to 'collect' students, but it does provide opportunities that seldom others get, and he is sorry."

Under the imploring twinkle behind half-moon glasses, what was he supposed to say? No?

"Fine!" he grumbled out, but with no malice as despite his obvious manipulation Dumbledore was still the one to bring him into the magical world (and thus, was still the adult he was the closest to), "I guess I can survive one party."

As it turned out, the entire group of his friends (which had been dubbed by the rest of the school as his 'entourage') had also been invited to the 'exclusive dinner' party. Which turned out to just include Slughorn himself amongst Tom and his friends in a fancy dress dinner (though he wasn't complaining about the food, though he had mixed feelings when he saw that the Slytherin Head of House had made Umbridge serve it to them with that sneaky, simpering smile of hers). Slughorn led the party, asking how their day was, their favorite subjects, how they liked the food, until he got to the true reason behind such gatherings in the Slug Club.

"So Tom," The rotund Professor began jovially, "I hear that you're having some difficulty deciding what to do after you leave Hogwarts - and not for lack of options!"

"I've got two years to figure it out, sir." was all he said, unsure of what the man saw him doing in the future, "Though I do hear the circus might still be hiring. If that doesn't work out I might open up my own bakery, I suppose."

Slughorn's smile faltered only slightly, before chuckling as if Tom had just said a funny joke.

"And what about Quidditch? It's no secret that you and Minerva have great talent in the sport, and I've heard that some teams are already scouting you out!"

As the dinner progressed and more about each person's talents were probed by Slughorn, Tom wondered truthfully what he wanted to do once he left Hogwarts. Sure, there was the circus, but would it really be that fun? He could do acrobatics on a broom and those were even more death-defying than a trapeze. Dark eyes roamed over the gathered students, all of whom were in their best robes and dresses. Tom himself sat between Rubeus (who was attempting to navigate the fragile-looking dishes) and Abraxas (who still wasn't looking at him directly... what was that about). Where would they all go after school was over and done with?

Minerva would most likely go into Quidditch with Rolanda, Filius into Professional Dueling, Pomona would start her own nursery and ingredients dispensary, Lestrange and Abraxas were probably going to follow their fathers' footsteps and get high ranking Ministry jobs, and Poppy would go to Saint Mungo's. And that was only those that were in his year! Myrtle wanted to try to reform the way wizards looked at Muggle technology (already aided by Tom's own efforts to do the same) so she would most likely end up in the Ministry, Rubeus would be off traveling as a Magizoologist, and Eileen would probably open her own Apothecary. With all of them going different ways, where was he to go?

Tom left the dinner feeling slightly more troubled than when he arrived (though he did promise Slughorn to attend another one... this was going to become a habit, wasn't it?) and he was brought out of his thoughts by a worried Myrtle.

"What wrong?" she asked, bumping into his arm like she usually did, lingering there in support, "You look as if Dippet told you that she's banning jelly donuts unless you get an O in Divination."

She had gone with a dark blue dress that sparkled at the bottom like stars and had worn her hair down. Far from her usual practical sense of fashion, the Ravenclaw looked far more mature than the girl he found crying in the bathroom three years ago. It felt strange seeing her like that somehow.

"Slughorn just had me thinking about the future, that's all." he replied with a smile that made her pink slightly, offering his arm to her as they bade the happy Professor a good night, "I realized that once school ends, we'll all go separate ways because you have such a clear picture of what you want to do and you have the talent to attain your goals, and here I am wondering what the bloody hell I want to do with my life."

"You're a Slytherin, Tom." Myrtle shrugged as she took to arm (with her face slowly reddening), "You got in Because you were cunning and ambitious. So what were your ambitions?"

"To be the best wizard this world's ever seen." Tom answered immediately before tilting his head to the side as they made their way out of the dungeons with the rest of the group (a few of which were staring wide eyed at the duo), "Ministry work sounds too boring, Quidditch is fun but I can't see myself doing it as a career. I suppose I could be an Auror or a Hit-Wizard, that might be fun..."

"Then try that." Myrtle interrupted before he could ramble too far (high-fiving Filius as he passed...), "You won't know that you like it until you try. And who knows? Maybe the lot of us will end up back at Hogwarts as faculty anyway. It's possible."

"True..." the Slytherin prefect mumbled before smiling widely at his companion, "Thank you, Myrtle."

"No problem, Tom." Myrtle replied with a tomato-red face which looked at Tom in confusion as he separated the two of them to check out why Abraxas looked as if he was about to faint.

"By the way," Tom threw back with a cheeky grin, "You look wonderful with your hair down like that!l

As Myrtle felt her knees buckle beneath her and Minerva and Pomona rush to help her up, she wondered why someone like him could remain unaware of how he affected people for so long. It's as if he didn't understand the nature of romantic love at all.

This required further research, she thought before brushing herself off and heading to the Ravenclaw Tower with Filius, who nodded to her as if he understood her train of thought.

From where she hid around the corner, Dolores Umbridge seethed.

Time passed quickly, and soon enough Christmas break came and went, and O.W.L.s were hot on their heels. In the meantime, Slytherin trounced the other houses in Quidditch due to their Seeker being a total maniac on a broom and Witch Weekly did an article on him every few months (as Myrtle was still selling pictures to them for some good coin) which made sure that everyone was still crazy about him and his supposed 'inhumanly gorgeous looks' (to his eternal chagrin). To get away from it all, Tom would often take naps as a parrot in the Owlry or on the shoulders of his amused friends. Keeping up with the lie he had told Mrs. Rosewood, everyone just knew the African Grey as 'Tom's Pet Parrot, Lord Voldemort'.

Those in the know found this hilarious, though they soon followed his lead when the studying became too rough and they wanted to relax without worrying about social interaction. For some reason the girls' favorite person to go to in animagus form was Tom himself, though he didn't complain. The tabby cat, rabbit, and chipmunk were just too darn cute to deny them the much-needed respite. Soon the canary and the large dog joined them, and everyone just assumed it was Tom who had a ridiculous amount of pets that came and went wherever they bloody well pleased.

The O.W.L.s proved to be defeated by the combined might of their genius minds, study, friendship, and the disturbingly high amount of caffeine their coffee. Since the scores would be mailed to them during the summer, the only thing they could do now was unwind before catching the train back home.

As he read a book on the crimes of Emeric the Evil (and his supposed plan of immortality that was so horrible that the merely knowing what it was and how to do it was practically banned and penalized in the continent), pausing only to let the purring tabby cat on his lap, Tom wondered if he was once again being a bad influence. Or at least, a stronger influence than he had initially thought. His friends had followed him and his (sometimes admittedly insane) ideas without much question, some of which had the lot of them end up in the Hospital Wing for the day when a project went wrong. When he had pitched the idea of the Basilisk Run, they had immediately jumped on it and they all had enthusiastically designed and made the Knight costumes without much overseeing. When he had gone to Rubeus with concerns about his rapidly growing pet Aromantula Aragog (as he couldn't be hidden in the Chamber due to spiders being naturally terrified of Basilisks), the half-giant had immediately released the arachnid into the Forest (though both he and Tom still checked up on him) despite his tendency to hold on to his dangerous creatures.

But now it wasn't just on his friends anymore, but on the younger years that looked to him as if he was their shining authority. This applied to the Ducklings... err, the first years... in particular, as they seemed to do whatever Tom wanted them to do without him specifically asking for it. They had immediately gone down into the Chamber at Halloween, and seemed to have taken his speech about mingling with the other houses to heart as he saw that the tables were more mixed than they had been when he was a first year.

Perhaps this was why Slughorn had joked about Tom becoming Minister during their Potions classes (to Fudge's obvious annoyance) all throughout the year. When he asked his friends about his influence on the train back home, they had all laughed and asked him in turn why it took him so long to notice it. With a shrug, he sat back and listened as his friends excitedly discussed their plans for the summer, suddenly very aware of the map folded neatly in his bag. A map that would hopefully lead him to the Gaunt Shack and his Uncle Morfin (and most importantly, lead him towards some answers about why he was abandoned in an orphanage).

Shunk.

The inhabitants of the compartment stopped and stared as Tom's locket flew and stuck to a small horseshoe shaped object that Filius was holding in his hand.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" the Slytherin questioned as the object also managed to get Pomona's brooch and Minerva's glasses as well.

"Sorry!" Filius squeaked, "Dumbledore had asked me to transfigure a mink into a magnet. I guess it turned out a little stronger than I thought!"

The other three prefects grumbled as they (along with the ever-helpful Weasley) attempted to regain their items, but the magnet wouldn't release its hold on the objects until eventually Minerva just huffed and changed the magnet into an actual horseshoe.

Because that's the thing about magnets. It's hard to get out once you've been caught in their field.

AN:

Oni: That's all for now, folks!

Tom: Please Follow, Favorite, And Review. Also please go check out the poll on her profile if you have an opinon on my love life.

Oni: And I'll see you next time, My Pretties!