I just finished watching Chamber of Secrets and spontaneously decided to post chapter 7.

Nothing really happens in this chapter, but here we'll finally take a peek into Tom Riddle's mind, so I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless. I couldn't find a way to include the confrontation with Dumbledore in this chapter without giving away some plot for the next couple of chapters, but there's a good chance that it'll be included in chapter 8 or 9.

Merry Christmas!

Sleepless

Chapter 7: No longer childrens games

Saturday evening, Tom Riddle could be found in the dungeon that served as the Slytherin Common Room.

He had claimed his favourite overstuffed armchair near the green fire as he did most evenings he spent along with his housemates and had transfigured a sheet of parchment into a small plank of wood that served him as a tabletop whilst he did his homework.

As Tom did always when he mingled with what he planned to become his obedient subjects one day not so far away, he sat in their midst, but he didn't truly sat amongst them. Tom made it a point never to join one of the friendly discussions about Quidditch or Hogwarts' hottest girls, nor did he participate in the heated arguments about Light magic versus Dark Arts or Grindelwald's fall. He sat in the Common Room and worked quietly on his homework and his less incriminating private pet projects and he didn't uttered a single word unless he was spoken to. Even when he was approached by those people who considered themselves his friends, he would react with the kind of haughty mix of annoyance and boredom that the other Houses had come to expect from Slytherins, but not from the bookworm Tom Riddle. Everyone in this school who valued his life knew that Tom Riddle was not to be disturbed whilst he worked, if someone decided to ignore that, then he should rightfully consider himself kissed by fortune if he got away without serious hexes, as far as Tom was concerned.

And these were the days when he would even bother with the immature dunderheads.

Sadly, it just wouldn't do to completely alienate the House from which he planned to recruit most of his followers after graduation, otherwise Tom wouldn't have even wasted as little of his precious time on his fellow Slytherins as he did now.

And you did learn the most fascinating tidbits of information about the true convictions of your fellows when everyone believed you to be oblivious to your surroundings… The best part, though admittedly also the most tiresome one, of being classified as a weirdo nerd was that no one took you seriously. The more paranoid of his Housemates guarded themselves like rabid dogs against possible eavesdroppers, yet they didn't even noticed when they staged their little illicit meetings right under Tom Riddle's nose.

Yet the brainless little schemes of his Housemates had long ago begun to bore Tom. He was no longer a child who played among children, if he had ever been one in the first place, which he was loath to admit.

In the greater scheme of things, it did not matter that Telemachus Rooke plotted to denounce Lucas Bedford as a Mudblood-lover to make Sarah Fairdale break up with him. Nor did it matter that Sarah Fairdale meanwhile planned with her girlfriends to use Gryffindor Seeker Ian Carr to boost her status so that she would get a chance to dig at Tom himself and thus get to use his Head Boy privileges. Tom couldn't have cared less either that Fairdale's supposed best friend had designs of her own for the oblivious Gryffindor and wasn't about to tolerate the competition.

Tom gave a disgruntled sigh as he picked up yet another strand of whispered scheming. Apparently, one of his lackeys had betrayed Rooke to Bedford and now he bribed one of the seventh-year girls with supposed NEWT questions that he would steal from his Ministry-employed father so that she would brew a Dark potion, a Loyalty Draught, for him.

The Slytherin Heir's lip curled up in disgust and he had to stifle a disdainful snort. How unimaginative. The fool could have at least asked for the stronger version, the Faithfulness Oil, if he was insane enough to believe that he would be able to slip a potion that smelled like brimstone into his paranoid girlfriend's drink.

The whole despicable lot of them were nothing but children who liked to pretend that they knew how to play grown-up games.

Now Hermione Granger on the other hand…

At the mere mental mention of her, Tom could feel his spirits soar.

Despite that she was one year below him and half a century away, the little Gryffindor Mudblood was the first true challenge that Tom had had since Hyperion Lestrange left Hogwarts. He had not yet decided what particular use she would be to him apart from the obvious one, but even if she would prove herself unable to be manipulated and used in his ambitious schemes, she was at the very least an enjoyable, inspiring pastime entertainment.

That was more than Tom could say for his future lackeys…

Tiberius Lestrange suddenly flopped into the armchair next to Tom. "Tommy-boy, my favourite friend", the younger Dark wizard said amiably, "you look a bit glum tonight."

Tom had to fight a very strong urge to roll his eyes. He tried to calm himself down with wishful thinking of how enjoyable it would be to take his impromptu tabletop and beat Tiberius Lestrange into a bloody pulp with it. Call him old-fashioned if you liked, but when it came to this particular Pureblood, Tom had always found crude Muggle-style violence to be more satisfying than magic. In particular, since Tiberius Lestrange would never except to have his pure-blooded self bested by such a simple matter as a punch. Or maybe rather a fall from the top of Hogwarts' highest tower, if Tom bothered at all then he might as well make it worth his time.

The friendly exterior fell away when Lestrange didn't received the reaction he had aimed for. He narrowed his eyes in anger and glared venomously at Tom. "Slytherin isn't good enough for His Lordship anymore?", he mocked in a sickly-sweet, yet acidic voice.

Tom glared right back, but he wasn't willing to otherwise rise to the bait.

Lestrange, though, wasn't easily discouraged. "You think you're so far above us, Riddle, but you're just a filthy little Mudblood and everyone will know!"

Inhale … exhale … repeat. Do not let him get to you. With a cracking noise, the quill in Tom's hand broke.

Tiberius Lestrange smiled triumphantly. "You know that I hold your future in my hands, Riddle, you might just as well act the part! Do you honestly believe that Slytherin House will believe you that you aren't a Mudblood? When it's your word against mine? All Lestranges have been Slytherins for fifteen generations, even longer than the Malfoys, we are Slytherin's heirs in everything but name!"

He was going to kill Tiberius Lestrange, Tom promised himself. One day, the haughty miserable rat would die. His whole family would serve and cower before Tom and they would tremble with terror whenever he spoke. He would make them pay, the whole lot of them, just as he had made his worthless father's new family pay for the idiot man's mistakes.

He could barely wait.

And in the meantime, maybe he would take another look at his research on the charmed Astronomy Tower. He, soon-to-be Dark Lord and ruler of all wizards, couldn't let himself be shown up by some muggle-born bookworm, after all. No matter how entertaining that particular know-it-all was and how amusing that gleeful expression on her face would be if she did indeed sow him up… it wouldn't do to let some little Mudblood think he's growing soft, that wouldn't do at all.

Tbc…