A/N: Indeed, it took longer than planned, this chapter. It's just that when you're your own beta reader, the trust system is minimal. That is to say that I can't always trust my objective judgement.

Disclaimer- If I owned JK Rowling's work, I'd own her odd sentence structure and frequent grammatical errors within her representation of dialogue. I wouldn't want those for any amount of money. This is, of course, coming from the mistress of odd sentence structure. Ah well…

-Time Or Manner-

Chapter 11

It was a strange swim, the inside of his mind. He felt an essence within his grasp. It was a sense of understanding, a certain knowledge set up beneath the wire of his central being. He had hold of it, but like something liquid, it fell between his fingers, splashing up against his feet.

In such a vast ocean with water up to his waist, Tom felt he looked up at the sky and the clouds had come far too low. His fingers dragged ripples in the strangely still waters, trying to grasp—re-grasp his thought, but it was an effort with nothing attached to its tail as the clouds parted to let in the light.

He looked up at bright green, and for one wild moment, Tom thought he had returned to his nightmare, but the immediate sight of a pair of smudged spectacles abeyed that moment of horror.

"Are you all right?" Potter whispered.

Tom made the valiant effort to sit up, but his head immediately protested. As he flopped ungracefully back on the pillow, he was disgusted to find that he had bathed himself in cold sweat. "I'm fine," he snapped irritably.

"Are you sure? You look really awful."

He couldn't resist grimacing at the other boy. "And your glasses are smudged! Really, Potter, how can you look through those things?"

Potter removed the spectacles and rubbed them vigorously against the hem of his shirt. "Don't make it sound like it's intentional. I've got a whole bunch of other things to worry about aside from how my glasses look."

A noise caught their attention before Tom could make a reply fitting for such ridiculous logic. Madame Pomfrey had come bustling up the aisle of beds to where Tom lay.

"Mr. Potter!" she exclaimed. "The infirmary's purpose is to heal the unwell or to cater to those feeling poorly. You are neither of these, and you don't appear to be a healer, so off with you!"

"I was feeling poorly," he returned innocently.

She frowned. "And not two hours before, we couldn't hear enough 'I'm fine!'s from you, could we?"

Upon receiving only silence from Potter's end, she moved her gaze toward Tom, who made another attempt to sit up.

"What happened to me?" he demanded as his arms gave out. He felt positively boneless and weak, and he kept shuddering now and then as the cold in the room seemed intrusive. Also, he felt that his voice was coming out rather hoarse.

"Dementors," Harry supplied readily. "Askaban guards, you know. Sent here to look for Sirius Black if he comes."

Tom blinked at the word "Dementor." How, throughout his extensive reading, could he have missed something that could cause him this degree of weakness? It was quite apparent that he was not working hard enough. The entire scope of it made him embarrassed just thinking of it, the manner by which he had chosen to cruise through his studies, simple as they had been so far.

"Yes, yes," Madame Pomfrey cut in. "You will be filled in on the details soon enough. For now, I'll need you to eat this." She proffered what appeared to be a dark brown stick on a plate. Tom regarded it suspiciously before he picked it up.

"This is chocolate," he informed her.

She nodded sternly. "Yes, and I'm giving it to you to eat."

"It's all right," said Harry. "Professor Lupin gave me one. It helps."

Tom bit into it, and was surprised to feel an immediate blaze of warmth shoot down his throat. As it blasted its way down, making his heart race, he was sure that it was flooding his very blood veins.

"Better?" Madame Pomfrey prodded, her expression business-like.

Tom, yet to leave the deep stillness of the sensation the chocolate had given him, nodded without a sound as he finished it off.

"Excellent. Now, I'll just have you wait right here. I've to call the Headmaster; he would like to speak with you."

Tom jumped from his lethargy, making to swing his legs off the infirmary bed. "I don't need to speak with him, thank you," he snapped, gesturing for Potter to move aside.

Madame Pomfrey made a grand sound of dissent as she pressed him back down. "If the Headmaster wishes to speak with you, then you'd better stay right where you are. And Potter, I know I don't need to tell you a third time. You are quite obviously well; go to the Great Hall for dinner…now!"

"And I'll be going with him. Tell Professor Dumbledore that I'm very tired…"

Harry, seemingly ignoring Madame Pomfrey, muttered, "Maybe you should speak to him-"

"No!" He hadn't meant for his tone to exude such vehemence, but it was all too true that the very last thing he needed now was an exchange between himself and the Headmaster. He struggled to sit up again, but was inhibited by Madame Pomfrey's firm grasp.

"Tom..." Harry began reproachfully.

"Potter, outside!"

"I won't be bullied into anything this term!"

"That's not what this is about!"

"Potter!"

"Would you release me!"

"No! You're to wait for Dumbledore as he instructed!"

"I'll do no such thing!"

"I don't think it's a good idea to make him wait, Madame Pomfrey…"

The old nurse, positively exasperated with the both of them at this point, gently, but firmly pressed Potter toward the door. What with her being preoccupied, Tom took up the opportunity to slide out of the bed and make for the door behind them. He had intention of side-stepping Madame Pomfrey, who had since taken to pushing strongly against the immoveable obstinacy that was Potter.

Before any of them could so much as brush either door handle, the door opened and Dumbledore strode in, only stopping short to behold the three of them mid-struggle. Tom froze, feeling the crumbs of resignation build a tiny wall before his resolve.

"It seems I've to add admirable timing to my list of humble talents," the old man remarked, his usual benignity several twinges stronger than usual as he surveyed Tom.

Madame Pomfrey straightened, huffing a little as she straightened her nurse's apron. "I'll leave these two to you, Headmaster. Both of them seem in capital health, if you ask me."

"Thank you, Poppy," Dumbledore returned amiably as she shuffled into her office. "I'm sure neither of you will mind a short stroll alongside an elderly man?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was Tom who was the quietest as they moved down the corridor, the Headmaster hummed a little and Potter shuffled his feet as they went along, seemingly debating with himself on whether to speak or not, but catching the forbidding glances from Tom his way immediately shunned the idea.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore finally began as they neared the Great Hall. "I trust you've had some nourishment?"

"Yes, sir. Madame Pomfrey gave me something." Tom glanced at Potter again as he answered. He saw the expression in the other boy's eyes still relayed an immense respect. In disgust, Tom looked away.

"That is relieving, as it seems you've missed the feast. However, I do not wish to deprive you of the delights of pre-scholarly exchange before lights out. I'm sure your friends have saved you a seat in the Common Room as we speak."

Harry looked at Tom, who felt the glance, but didn't look back. "Sir, what about Tom?"

"He'll be joining you in a while. Now, hurry along."

Potter didn't move, and Tom finally looked at him. The other boy was looking at him with that thunderous expression again. It was quite unsettling as he knew Dumbledore was watching with great interest.

"Harry," Dumbledore said lightly, but pressingly.

Tom gave a slight nod, hoping the other boy would take it as his cue to leave. For all he knew, Dumbledore would interpret the entire thing as Tom's effort to corrupt the Boy Who Lived. Harry returned the nod as if to indicate quite blatantly their silent conversation before he took his leave.

Idiot, Tom thought.

Dumbledore's office seemed so much more silent despite the whirring instruments and the occasional puff from a strange contraption in the corner

The headmaster took his seat behind the desk, and Tom chose to meet the gaze of the Headmaster with great steel. He had done nothing wrong, and this was only more harassment he could add to the list of Dumbledore's faults in trial.

"Now then," the professor said quietly. "I believe we have a talk that is quite overdue. Please…have a seat, Tom."

Refusing to take his eyes away, Tom sat slowly, ensuring that he leaned back. He was casual, calm, and he would not be bested this year.

Even seated, the old man still managed to tower like a wizened statue, his intelligent blue eyes were off-putting in their lazurite glare. "To begin with, I wish to offer you my deepest of apologies. I can barely express in words my regret regarding the actions I've taken this past term. No doubt it has left you with a grand mistrust in the faculty of this school."

So this would be the old man's strategy? Penitence? How audacious of him to make the assumption that by putting up such a weak mask of goodness and purity that Tom might look petulant in his lack of response. He raised his chin. "It is not the faculty I distrust, but you¸ rather. First, you have made assumptions about me without pausing at all to question your righteous resolve. Then, you've proceeded to keep from me an essential truth, which could have saved me a great deal of trouble."

The headmaster's eyebrows had drawn low, his stature composed, however, and his hands folded in his lap. "And it is in this particularly that I wish to beg for your forgiveness. If we could but move forward from these impractical mistakes on my part, then perhaps further trouble could be avoided."

Tom was just about to open his mouth to put forth his best cutting reply, when he realised that this had all come too suddenly. In fact, so suddenly that he hadn't had the time to really think. Yes, of course Dumbledore would employ strategy like this; it is all part of this game. And even as he processed this, it occurred to him that despite the fact that this was, indeed, the old man's game, it was still one in which Tom could emerge the winner. It was only important for him to remain dispassionate as the headmaster had a particular talent in the department of vexing him. And when Tom was in such a state, he had a great deal of trouble concentrating.

"I understand, sir. Had the situation been reversed, I'd have taken the same course of action."

Dumbledore looked at Tom for an uncomfortable length of time, his hard expression became all the more probing and Tom felt his lie might be read. As ridiculous as it seemed, his suspicions had often saved him. He quickly scanned his mind for distracting things; trivial things at best. He thought of magic, first and foremost, thought of the little spells he'd taught Neville, and the larger ones he'd mastered with time. He thought of Ginevra's using the Visveres Jinx. Finally, he thought of Potter and the Luminus Caecus. The last thought had not been intentional at all, but like the rest of the thoughts in his head, it bloomed up on the front of his mind.

Finally, it seemed, Dumbledore smiled warmly after allowing the pause to grow a bit too tense. "I see. I'm grateful that the two of us might see eye to eye from now on."

Tom merely offered a nod as he was still a bit unsure as to whether or not the old Headmaster had read his thoughts.

"Having said that, there is something else I would like us to address this evening before you take your leave."

Tom sat up a little straighter, not completely at ease, but with the knowledge that he'd somehow passed some type of test.

"A week ago, perhaps, I happened upon, and quite by accident, a news article in the Daily Prophet detailing the good motives of a particularly important man toward a young man attending this very school."

Tom knew immediately what he was getting at, but he refused to say a thing in response as his hands clenched closely together.

"It is strange, is it not? My attention was so strongly riveted to this article because I believed it to be true. I know I need not say anymore than that for the sake of listening ears." The headmaster cast a quick glance toward the ceiling whereas Tom naturally followed suit, and was quite jolted to see several pairs of eyes fixed shamelessly upon him from the inside of a number of portraits. "Headmasters of the past," Dumbledore supplied carefully, his own gaze fixed stolidly on Tom. "Not to divert from the current topic of discussion, but this news article I happened upon, Tom; do tell me if I might accept it as fact."

Tom allowed a moment to pass. Despite his qualms about meeting with the old wizard in the first place, he felt quite prepared for these questions. From the moment, he'd agreed with Lucius on the matter, he had begun planning his answers, reactions, and mannerisms. "Were it fact, sir, might I consider problems arising from it?" Tom returned, looking somewhere above the top of Dumbledore's head.

"I shall be frank with you, Tom. If it really is family you're searching for, I'd advise you to wait. You've turned thirteen this year, and it really is far too early to allow things to occur so rashly."

"Rashly, Professor?" Tom queried albeit innocently. "I am quite alone in this world; it will never make sense to me for someone to attempt to exist without some feeling of belonging." He was lying, of course. The Headmaster seemed a man of great sympathy for the human trait of feeling. After all, wasn't it in the nature of battle to make use of the opponent's weakness? He had supreme intention of doing just that in the end.

As expected, the old man's eyebrows drew together with concern. "I see. I apologise once again, Tom; I wasn't quite aware that you felt that way. However, I want to strongly advise against your choice of companionship; I-"

Dumbledore was cut off as a loud grating noise rumbled from the direction of the steps downstairs. Tom recognised it as the sound of the guarding statue moving aside to make way for a visitor. The old man blinked expectantly at the office door, and Tom could not help turning as an abrupt knock resounded.

"Yes?" Dumbledore responded lightly.

There was barely a pause before the door delivered one quite determinedly dignified Lucius Malfoy. Though it had been a mere week since he last saw the man, Tom felt a deliberate and all encompassing sense of relief as Malfoy stepped into the room, resting the head of his cane on his arm as he removed his gloves. "Headmaster?" Lucius greeted, injecting as much satire as he could develop in his tone.

"Ah, Lucius," the Headmaster returned, only then seeming to have expected the other man's entrance. He waved his wand so that another chair clattered forward. Lucius ignored it, and moved to stand beside Tom.

"It seems only weeks ago you were here inquiring on Hogwarts business. I would imagine I'm not wrong in assuming your renewed interest is strangely particular nowadays?"

Malfoy's lip curled slightly. "I don't think I need to remind you that I have a great deal of influence with the Wizarding Education board," he replied swiftly.

Dumbledore only regarded him as if a much adored alumnus had only just complimented him. "Indeed not. I was kindly reminded of that fact not two months before this when the board proceeded to have me suspended."

"Quite," was Malfoy's stiff reply before he laid a hand on Tom's shoulder. "Though I do regret having to say so, I didn't come here for that matter, which shouldn't leave your mind as of yet—I am here about Tom. No doubt the matter of his guardianship has come to your knowledge?"

"It has."

"And this late hour meeting is to discuss your concerns, I imagine?"

"How very well you consider the atmosphere, Lucius. You are a true diplomat, after all." Dumbledore returned, rising from his seat at last. He came around from his desk, his hands folded behind him neatly. "I do not go out of my way with false modesty if I make it clear that one would do well to pay ear to my concerns. It is, indeed, about your interest in Tom."

Before Dumbledore could utter anything further, however, Lucius unearthed a sizeable sheaf of parchment and laid it flat, rolled out across Dumbledore's desk. "Concerns, though I may have been the one to broach the subject, must be laid aside in favour of a much more recent development."

Stepping forward, the old man looked down through his half-moon spectacles at the documents before him. Tom, too, straightened in his chair to regard the numerous pages littered in fine print.

"Adoption papers, Headmaster," Lucius supplied coldly. "By Wizarding Law, blind to Muggle jurisdiction within the meaning of the Muggleborn Act, chapter 27, Statutes of the Ministry for Magic, I, Lucius Malfoy, will take on the requisites of guardianship."

"The legal process is complete?" Dumbledore queried, unable to keep his tone as light as before.

The smile on Lucius Malfoy's face was a new one. Tom chose that moment to rise from his chair, picking up the first parchment to read it carefully. Malfoy had come through for him, indeed, but there would be many technicalities he had to ensure were settled before he completely gave his approval to this new contract.

"Legal processes that you helped to construct are complete enough that I can freely tell you, Headmaster, that the treatment of any of my wards is exceptionally important to me. I will have none of last year's nonsense occurring again. I will not hold back the power of the Ministry's mistrust in your ability to carry on your work."

Dumbledore appeared to consider this for some time. "I understand. I will say this, however. The extent of your power regarding this new guardianship is, like most positions of authority, limited. Tom remains a student of this school, and I shall not hesitate to exercise discipline and instruction when needed. This is whether or not he becomes Tom…Malfoy."

"That's not how it is,

Both older wizards gazed down at Tom, who had finally spoken.

He still kept his eyes fixed on the documents in his hands as if still perusing them while in truth he was quite finished. "Use of the Wizarding Law shall not change who I am. I am still Tom, and strictly Tom alone. Mr. Malfoy and I never spoke about any name changes." He chose then to meet the Headmaster's steady gaze. "Whatever my surname was once, and whatever it will be, will still be mine only." He finished on a defiant note, rolling the parchment and handing it quickly to Lucius. "My former orphan status only left me abridged, sir. Mr. Malfoy was only helping me rectify that."

For some strange reason, this caused a change in the Headmaster's strained polite countenance. He smiled with some disconcerting satisfaction, and nodded slowly. "I understand. Of course, this is to be expected. You will remain Tom in the school record, and nothing more just now."

"Thank you," Tom returned tightly. "May I go now, sir?"

"Yes, Tom. I apologise for having kept you so late."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"How ridiculously exhausting!" Tom couldn't help saying as he walked a bit ahead of Lucius. The Gryffindor tower was still two corridors away.

"The old man will always be known for conversing one to thorough exhaustion. The Dark Lord was known to complain of this often."

"Was he?" Tom returned with little interest. "Did you rescue him then as well?"

Lucius thin-lipped smile returned. "I never had the honour. One might attribute such an action to my father before me."

Tom stopped his steps towards the Gryffindor tower, abruptly turning to face the older man. "You've helped me a lot in the little expanse of a year. I want to tell you that I don't intend to forget this fact."

Satisfying as it was to see the dignified person of Lucius Malfoy bow his head in surprising homage, Tom spoke again quickly. "However, this arrangement of your being my guardian will be short-lived. It is a matter of convenience, and I am not your son, and you shall not be my father. I accept that I am younger, and have many handicaps in place due to status, but I am progressing and becoming a similar design to power. I'm warning you now not to underestimate me, nor the power of my father's blood."

"Never," was Lucius' heavy reply as he regarded Tom again with a look he was certain was saved for the Dark Lord. If anything, the expression on the older man's face heartened Tom. He was, for lack of any other expression, quite glad he'd met Malfoy.

With what he intended as a nod of finality, he turned to continue his walk, but he was quickly interrupted by Lucius speaking again.

"Be that as it may, Tom. You have a new status by Wizarding Law, and I, regardless of the public, intend to make it visible."

This gave Tom a moment's pause as he considered the prospects. "That is your jurisdiction."

Lucius made the small bowing gesture once more before he turned to return to the Entrance Hall, leaving Tom to stand thoughtfully in the now torch-lit corridor.

He imagined Bonny would be receiving a very surprising letter in a matter of days.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As he stepped through the portrait entrance, he had only enough time to register Ginevra bounding towards him from the armchairs. Her pause as she reached him gave him ample opportunity to shoot her a forbidding glance before she could develop any delusions of familiarity.

"We were worried," she said plainly, covering her own reaction to his expression.

His gaze moved past her to one now approaching Potter with Neville not far behind. "Why are you all up? I didn't ask anyone to wait for me," he cast out imperiously.

Neville looked blank, but Potter folded his arms. "I…we'd wait even if you didn't ask. What happened?"

"Potter said you were all right, but you still didn't come," Neville muttered, not looking up.

Ignoring all three of them, Tom moved to one of the armchairs. As he settled into the cushion and shut his eyes, he felt a light headache of exhaustion pierce the sides of his head, and for some reason the Common Room seemed a little bit cold. Perhaps he would go to bed before anything else.

"What did Dumbledore say?" Harry pressed, unmindful of Tom's present state.

"What? Is he still after Tom about that Slytherin's Heir thing?" Neville demanded suddenly.

This had the potential of being an exceptionally messy conversation. Judging by that tone, Neville was already in a state of outrage. And as much as she could go on about loyalty and sides, Ginevra was a flippant girl. Potter, last of all, was already trouble enough when it came to confidences. Why must he deal with all three at once? Still, it would be appropriate. He had since instilled himself with the calm knowledge that he would be a leader, and a leader did not take his followers into separate rooms and whisper to them quietly. No, they delivered unquestionable words to groups, crowds, and audiences. He would have to begin at some point. Besides, all this worry on his part, gave him the predisposition of being rather cowardly, which caused a degree of irritation at the back of his mind.

Resignedly, Tom opened his eyes, but sat back to find Potter practically leaning over him.

"Well? Is he?"

"What?" Tom snapped, sitting forward, but pushing Harry back with his arm.

"Is Dumbledore still after you because of last year?" the other boy queried nonetheless.

Tom took a breath. It had somehow become quite cold. Even his jumper did him little good at this point. Fighting his reluctance, however, Tom glowered at the three of them standing before him. With some irritation, he noted Ginevra wasn't looking at him at all, but at her hero, who didn't take his eyes off Tom. "I have come to the conclusion that Dumbledore will always be after me about something."

"Right…but what was it this time?"

"If you would just sit down and listen, I might just get a word in edgewise in order to tell you. The truth is, I've had agreed to a change in guardianship, and that doesn't make the old man happy in the least."

"Your guardianship?" Potter demanded, seemingly unable to keep quiet.

"That's the person signed by law to take care of me, Potter," Tom explained with some exasperation.

"Yes, I know what it means," was Harry's reply, mimicking Tom's tone. "What I mean is why would you change your guardian? You had plenty of freedom at…where you're at now."

Tom sighed. "Freedom, but not status. I regret to admit, Potter, that you'd find it quite hard to understand this as you have had the exact opposite."

This made Potter quiet for at least two minutes.

"Who is it?" Neville finally asked.

Tom didn't want to make it seem like he would dither over such a subject. "Lucius Malfoy," he returned plainly.

The silence in the room became like a dense fog settling over their heads. Tom waited for the uproar, especially from Potter's end.

"MALFOY?!"

As expected.

Neville seemed to have adopted an expression very akin to surprise with a hint of something else. Tom could almost see each calculating thought pass through Neville's head. As he had been trained, he was looking at the situation circumstantially, weighing the advantages objectively. After a steady slow moment, Neville's eyes drifted back to Tom's before he offered a faint nod.

Tom couldn't help being somewhat pleased.

Ginevra merely blinked owlishly at the proceedings. He could tell she wasn't sure how to react favourably.

Tom finally glanced at Potter, If seething could ever have been invented a second time, it would be in that moment where Tom gazed at Harry. The other boy's fists were clenched and at the ready. Ginevra jumped about a meter in the air as the flame in the fireplace leapt up suddenly.

"Well?" Tom prodded, ensuring he sounded completely indifferent.

"What do you really think you're doing?"

It was only as both Ginevra and Neville looked in surprise at Potter that Tom realised the other boy's last sentence had come out in an angry, hissing assemblage of Parseltongue. Another silence drifted into their midst before Harry, his eyes still set on Tom, spoke. "You lot go on ahead to bed, I'd like to speak to Tom alone."

Neville watched for a signal from Tom, who nodded quickly. Ginevra, however-- before even a millisecond could pass after Potter's order—was practically halfway up the stairs to the girl's dormitory.

Tom watched the edge of Neville's robe retreat up the steps until he heard the sound of a door closing above.

Finally, Harry, folding his arms in an otherwise righteous manner, snapped. "You realise that Malfoy's the one behind last year's attacks, don't you? Because of him Ginny nearly died, and I was nearly killed."

"No. My father's the man behind the attacks. Lucius was a mere instrument for his plan, as was I, and as were you."

Harry shook his head, his skin growing paler as he got angrier. "I don't believe for a minute that Malfoy didn't know what he was doing when he put that diary in Ginny's textbook!"

"Don't shout, idiot; it's past one am. And you're only angry because some part of your societal impulse says you should be."

For a blind second, Tom was certain Potter was walking over to punch him, but the other boy only reached out and grabbed his upper arm in a determinedly controlled manner. "Why does it always end like this with you? You do something you can't completely justify yourself, and then you tell me my brain is the only part of me that's angry. What do you think human beings are?"

It was a moment for thought, but he hadn't the strength to think on it just then. His view on human nature was something he'd reiterated to himself time and time again, but the rising illness inside of him kept his mind abuzz with thoughts of merely lying down, of resting. Even Potter's flickering fire in the grate didn't warm the room for him. He shook Potter's hand away. "I'd be wasting my time trying to put that answer into proper words meant for you. My main priority is that I am meant to achieve something. I cannot get by on fame because I have none. Lucius Malfoy is my ticket away from the Muggle restriction that stands behind me. Were I you, I'd do the very same."

"I don't want you to turn out like Malfoy…or your fa-Voldemort. That's why I'm worried."

As always, such comments from Potter annoyed him. "I will say this once. Don't ever make me have to repeat it. I am myself, regardless of whom I associate with."

"I'm not saying you're easily influenced. What I'm saying is that whatever you're doing by being adopted by Malfoy can't turn out well considering the type of man he is."

"I don't need to hear that from you. We've agreed to be honest with one another, and I have been. Your part is only to accept my decisions on principle whether or not they would make your headmaster happy."

"This has nothing do with Dumbledore!"

"Of course not. It's not as if your entire set of values isn't based on his word!"

"They aren't!"

"Don't lie. You may have wavered for a while, but in the end, if he doesn't approve of you, then you're worthless!"

Potter looked away and let out a rough breath, as if to expel an injury. Tom could hear his own exhaustion echoed in that deep, helpless sound. An abrupt discomfort seized him by his middle. It was one of the first moments he could remember wanting to retract his words.

He couldn't quite pinpoint why this argument was completely necessary, but a huge part of him desired this discussion. He knew he was doing the right thing, but for Potter to fail to understand like this only served to make Tom miserable. He wasn't sure what bothered him more. The fact that Harry stood inches away without any sense of understanding or the very fact that Tom allowed the other boy's ignorance to bother him so much.

"I don't know what you think of me," Harry muttered, still looking in the general direction of the armchairs. "I'm beginning to think that you keep me around just to feel better about yourself. I'm not the failure version of you, though."

Tom had to shut his eyes then. It was ridiculous, Potter's expression then. "Never in all of our conversations did I ever exhibit this thought. After all, if that was the case, then I might never have bothered with you. Right now, I wouldn't have bothered to speak to you about this issue at all. I want you to see that this time is essential for me, and for you. I want to make a difference in my life, and I am going about ways to do it. I know you want to put an end to Voldemort, but you sit there waiting for him to come along and kill you. If you had any modicum of ambition, then now's the time to prove it."

"Yeah?" Harry said softly. "And what do you want me to do? Go running after him? Maybe I ought to go chasing after Black right now."

"Not in the state you're in now, idiot. Think a little, would you. Unlike those others asleep in their beds tonight, we're aware of the balance. Life and death are meaningless unless you colour them with your achievements. You have the opportunity now to get ready, to be ready when he comes. It's…frustrating how you pretend to exist like you're ordinary."

When Tom finally did look at Potter again, the other boy was frowning with serious thought. "Ok…fine, I understand. But if you would just tell me why Malfoy; out of every influential Wizarding name, why was it him?"

Now was the time for him to drop his honesty. The last fifteen minutes of conversation had been inexplicably painful. As his words had flown from his mouth, he'd found it alarmingly difficult to discard their filter. Then, as the thought of Voldemort was in question, and Tom's nearing and secret intentions to meet the man, it was important to keep Harry in the dark. Tom smiled quickly, trying to inject the idea of a conciliatory friendliness into his next reply. "Because Malfoy's the only one who would look twice at me, of course."

Harry considered him for a moment. The brightness in his green eyes was a signal of the coming reconciliation, but there was still a remaining glint of worry. Tom interpreted this as a slight mistrust, which he tucked away in his mind to think on later. Finally, Potter expelled a soft breath-like laugh and smiled back. "Don't make me say be careful, OK? I hate sounding like Hermione."

"Don't worry," Tom returned, finding it suddenly difficult to hold his smile in place. "Whatever passes, you'll still be…the same…"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In selecting his classes for the current term, Tom had exercised very little hesitation. It was a matter of understanding the curriculum before he signed up. He'd advised Neville on the same line. Then, he narrowed them down to things he could easily study on his own time to things that required some type of tutelage. Out of the extra subjects, he'd discarded such things as Divination, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies. For his current term, he could look forward to a full course load of Arithmancy, Potions, Astronomy, Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Herbology. Neville, on the other hand, had insisted that he would take Care of Magical Creatures and another smaller class called Asclepical Studies, which sounded unpleasantly outdated to Tom.

"Asclepius was one of the earliest Healers, you see." Neville explained with a disturbing degree of mirth as he flipped through his textbook. "He invented the spell to locate nerves. To be more exact, he discovered the nerve."

Tom was vastly uninterested. Having woken feeling still poorly, he was relieved when he spotted a pitcher of chocolate milk at the other end of the table. Getting up, he felt rather grateful that he was an early riser as it allowed him to take monopoly over aforementioned pitcher for breakfast.

"Moo-orning!" Ginevra sang as she plopped down beside Neville.

Tom found the effect of the chocolate more immediate when he gulped more down at once. It was a trial, but he downed his entire glass.

"Wow," Ginevra remarked, blinking at him. "And I thought Ron was the only non-animal who inhaled anything edible."

Tom decided to ignore her as he checked for any symptoms of nausea. He didn't feel as light-headed or cold, so he surmised his own health due to the chocolate. It occurred to him that he would perhaps need a constant supply if he had any intention of surviving the Dementors.

A boy Tom identified as Creevey moved for the pitcher. Without thinking, Tom whisked it out of reach, as to his own dismay he'd already begun feeling another wave of ice-like sickness creeping up on him. Creevey only blinked at him before turning away to look for an alternative. Tom was aware people had come to tip-toe around him; it was to his liking, but this didn't alleviate his current horrid state. He gazed a little irritably at any other possible challengers, but only found Ginevra looking up at him with an impertinently raised-eyebrow expression.

"I'll probably have you take Divination next semester, Ginevra," he shot a bit snappishly at her whilst refilling his glass.

Her startled look right then warmed him. "What? Why?"

It had been a while since he'd employed the use of her vow to him; he thought it'd be about time. "Neither Neville nor I am at all interested, but judging by the excessive number of your siblings and according to myth, your hair colour, you might have a talent for it."

"I remember reading about that somewhere," Neville added, smiling slightly.

"Yes, then she might not be such a destitute witch after all."

He could see the deep regret crossing her small features. She said nothing, though, as she frowned at both of them interchangeably. She'd done well to learn to bite her tongue when her hot-headed nature wanted take over. Tom felt better now he'd made her day a bit less cheery.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tom's first class, Arithmancy, left him rather unsettled. Professor Vector immediately had them memorising the numerals applied to the alphabet and within the hour they were already calculating their character number, heart number, and social number. Tom did not interact with anyone else as his own three-letter name provided a mere second's calculation. He came up with a three, a six, and another six. With some trepidation, Tom flipped through the long entries for each number in his textbook until he could find the interpretation for his character number.

Three represents the idea of completeness or wholeness. Its nature embraces the threesomes of past-present-future and mind-body-spirit. Three is an indication of deep talent, vibrant energy, an artistic nature, humour, and social ease. Threes are often lucky, and highly successful, but they can also be unfocused, easily offended, and superficial.

That can't be right, was Tom's immediate thought. Though at times he had found himself quite unable to perfectly honest with others, he'd always known his own nature, his own wants. He redid the calculation quickly. It took another minute thereabout for his unsettled mind to drive toward the explanation awaiting him. But Tom chose not to think too much on his supposed original name, whatever it would have been had his childhood allowed the luxury. Even the reading for his heart and social life implied loving loyalty and other such useless condolences applied to those without merit. He came to the unfortunate conclusion that he would have to make do in calculating things not having to do with himself. Dates, objects, and the people around him would have to do.

Transfiguration, however, pushed all these thoughts from his mind temporarily as he took his seat in the classroom next to Neville. As the remaining students from their other respective classes filed in, Tom sensed a strange atmosphere about the room as Potter walked in. Everyone glanced at the boy-hero carefully as if gauging something on his face. Tom wondered with some resignation whether Harry had had another Parseltongue incident.

As it was the first day, he needed to pay some attention, at the very least, to the course objectives before he would consider what Potter intended to get up to this term. It was on that day they learned about Animagi, a subject which Tom had perused with some vague interest, but found the process to be too charging for his scheduled achievements within his school term. Besides which, he had found little current use for the ability besides the possibility of being given social liberty.

McGonagall demonstrated her own ability while the class looked on with little interest. This seemed to affront her somewhat as she broke out immediately after turning back, "Really, what has got into you all today? Not that it matters, but that's the first time my transformation's not got applause from a class."

Much to Tom's chagrin, almost every head turned to look at Harry, who proceeded to frown back at them. Last year had certainly given him some level of gall to challenge public opinion, whatever it was this time. Hermione was all too quick to alleviate Tom's curiosity, however.

"Please, Professor, we've just had our first Divination class, and we were reading tea leaves, and-"

"Ah, naturally," the older woman sniffed, allowing her gaze to drag across the room. "So which one you has been tagged for death this year."

Everyone looked with some level of awe at McGonagall. Tom turned to look at Potter, whose frown had slipped in favour of a guarded look. "Me," Harry said. Despite the immeasurable calm clouding the other boy's features from under the table he saw Potter's fists curl. Tom's own insides froze for a miniscule moment. Teachers were tagging students for death? And how on earth was it possible that the seemingly inoperable tea leaf reading could come up with something of believable accuracy.

McGonagall proceeded with reassurance and some mild derision. The summary of her following claim was that the professor currently teaching Divination was one who wallowed in melodrama, and had a habit of declaring death omens whenever she could manage. This appeared to reassure Potter's end of the classroom, and should have very well reassured Tom in a way, but there was a pin of irrationality digging into his mind as he tried to dismiss the issue. He'd read enough about Divination to know to write it off as much as possible, but when death had come into the picture, Tom found the universe didn't sit well with him.

He intended to corner Potter after class regarding details. If there was any merit to the Divination subject, he'd need to pay a visit to this Trelawney woman.

His intention was sadly averted as the very moment he stepped out from the classroom, a certain brat of the pale and ill-looking variety stepped into his line of vision. "Excuse me, I've another class," he offered Draco politely. As hostile as he felt, his tension level of late seemed to waver too often since school began.

"W-wait," Malfoy broke out, eyeing Neville—whose attention riveted quite disarmingly on Draco the moment he spoke—with caution. "I need to find out…my father didn't tell me…is this true?"

There was a moment before Tom realised Draco was holding a clipping from the Daily Prophet, which featured a rather large photo of Lucius signing something in the presence of the minister. The headline read, Patent Price of Political Popularity is Paternity subtitled Malfoy Heir no longer certain. Tom took the clipping from the other boy's now trembling hands. As he had been fully aware of the details regarding his adoptive case, he had felt little need to read the Prophet.

"This is actually the second issue on the story. I never saw the first," Draco pressed, albeit lightly as he glanced around for possible listeners. "It's not true, is it?"

Tom was displeased. "I'd have expected your father to have explained everything already. It's bothersome for me to have to make the issue clear to you." He handed the page to Neville.

Draco's usually malice-glittering eyes had paled as he stared helplessly at Tom. "H-how…" he began breathlessly. "Why would you…?" He broke off into a gasping tangent as he fiddled with the tiny pendant at his throat. Tom noticed that Neville was surprisingly impassive as opposed to that moral breakdown two years ago. It occurred to Tom that he might have to query about the boy's progress with his supposed search for atonement, if it could still be called that in the end.

"I don't want to talk about this now. I will contact your father soon, and have him explain it all to you or better yet, you owl him. I don't have the patience for any filial outrage you have baking inside of you."

Draco remained stricken, mouthing without sound as Tom signalled for them to depart.

"I knew I'd have trouble over this, but I wasn't expecting to get it from him," he had to remark as they moved for the Great Hall.

Neville didn't reply; rather he was looking at Tom in a peculiar manner.

Still at his recently common low tension, Tom didn't snap. He could only sigh irritably. "What is it?" he demanded, surprising himself with how breathless he sounded.

"You don't look…well," Neville observed. His bright, but narrow gaze fixed with a surprisingly practiced eye on him.

Tom touched the right side of his head where he felt particularly warm and felt the beginnings of a cold sweat. He definitely needed something less short-lived than the chocolate milk from that morning. "It's those Dementors. I…admit that I haven't been… myself since the train ride."

Neville made a sound which could only have been termed as a thinking hum.

"The very least you could do is put all that research to good use and find something to rid me of this illness. I don't see anyone else suffering as much."

"Erm…right, of course. I'll find something…but…it's more like I'm interested in why they affect you more. Don't get angry, but I read that Dementors suck all the happiness out of you. You're not unhappy, are you, Tom?"

Tom waved such vocalised musings aside as he walked a bit quicker toward the Great Hall. "I'd be happier if I could move through a day this term without having to consume a castle's worth of chocolate."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tom was pleased to find that he had a free period after lunch, so after forcibly swallowing about three helpings of chocolate trifle, he decided he'd visit the owlery. He may have told Draco to owl his father about the issue, but he still felt his own personal desire to make it known that he would not tolerate any grief on the matter.

He was delayed about a half hour as the very moment he'd stepped outside Tom found he wouldn't do well in the autumn cold. He was obliged to go looking for his winter coat in the dormitory before retrying the venture.

When he'd finally reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the wooden door to the owlery, he was much surprised to find Draco Malfoy there. The other boy looked up from his huddle of cloak in the corner, assailing Tom's vision with a tear-streaked visage. The boy appeared to have been in the middle of reading a short letter.

"Do you not have Care of Magical Creatures?"Tom queried, rather unkindly.

Surprisingly, the room echoed with only the sound of scattered owl noises and the wind blowing in from the owl entrance, and the absence of Malfoy's reply. Tom found being ignored to be one of his most favoured of pet peeves. Walking swiftly toward the Malfoy boy, he snatched up the letter. Draco blanched and stared up at Tom with a hateful look. "You do like taking things away, don't you?" the boy spat with vehemence.

He'd had the intention of looking the letter over, but Malfoy's words had taken him by surprise. At the foster home, he'd become accustomed to the unspoken hatred born from fear expressed with such looks. But that had been exactly it: unspoken. Here the perhaps dull-witted Malfoy heir was now ready to spill out tearful diatribes as best he could, and for what purpose? An upper-hand? Pride? Juvenile passion? Due to the sheer originality of it, Tom was intrigued apart from angry. Surely someone willing to jump past his own fear for the sake of pride could be useful.

Tom bent down to Draco's eye level, folding the letter neatly before pocketing it. "Well done, Draco; so clever of you to realise," he said, using his best warm smile—thereby causing Malfoy to shrink back in surprise. "I do like to take things away. And as your new brother, I wanted to tell you that I'll be taking several things away from you. As days pass, and as long as we are family-" He said the word with nothing short of utter distaste. "-I intend to leave you completely bereft."

Even Ginevra hadn't been able to make such a perfect expression of horror.

Tom rose, his smile much more genuine then. "Of course, I like to give as well. I've always been the giving sort; it's something I can't really help. I could make everything absolutely perfect for you, but that depends upon yourself."

"Wh-what?"

"Correct. 'What' is the word you're looking for. I give you a week to think and consider what it is that you'll do for me before I make a change in your life."

Malfoy let out a choked breath, one that appeared to have been held for a while. The boy was practically greying in the face as he adopted that helpless look he'd exhibited in the corridor before.

Tom observed, thinking. Must be strange, he thought. He spends his entire childhood summoning the power of his father to protect him, and now…what can he do when it's his father's power he has to face? Tom was genuinely curious to find out. Judging from the little brat's personality, he'd probably make the decision within the day.

He wasn't wrong about the decision, but it was Malfoy's next reply that made Tom reconsider his own perceptions.

"A-all right. I don't know what you mean by changing my life…but if you mean, like…power like yours, then I'll do it. You really make people do what you want, and I want to do that too. I'll do whatever it takes to get power like that, but my father…I don't want to lose my parents; that's something I don't want to give you. No matter what."

Tom paused. He decided his next answer would need to be careful. Draco had all but handed him his weakness with an explicit, "don't hurt me" next to it. The boy must have learned this type of bargaining from his father. A deliberate show of weakness would always be tempting to an enemy, but that was the key to a trap. However, bargains like these were hard to come by. To this day, he wasn't even all that certain of Neville's number one desire or number one weakness. When Tom had found him, he'd been all weakness, and now Neville had acquired a definitive strength, Tom found he was unsure about the other boy's aims, dreams, and fears. Speaking to Draco had rallied the thought to the front of his mind, and it became apparent to him how essential this all could become. Lucius' advice to him about collecting people burned stronger.

"I understand," Tom said. "It doesn't have to be your parents, yet if you aren't careful, I may find them much more useful than anything you could offer."

"I will! I'll think of something!"

Tom only nodded. His attention was drawn now to the letter he'd pocketed a moment before. Ignoring Draco's murmured protest, he unfolded the thin and delicate parchment. Scrawled across in long, effeminate cursive, he read:

Draco,

You shouldn't worry so easily. I'll love you no matter what happens. You must always remember that your father is an important man, and that he makes his decisions in the very best interest of the Malfoy name. He trusts you and I to believe in him. Yes, he and I have had words about it, but I'm convinced that he would never dismiss you for anyone. As a first step, try to get to know this young man. Your father says he's very pleasant, and more than eager to be accepted into the family. Anyway, your father is planning a visit, so you'll be able to discuss the issue properly. Remember that we love you immensely, and that I'll be sending you your favourite type of sweet in a few days…

The message moved into more proclamations of adoration and such. Tom, having found the tone of the letter completely inexplicable, let the parchment drop in front of Malfoy. It had left him a little unsettled, and also rather disturbed. Was this the atmosphere he would find when he entered the Malfoy manor? It seemed more stifling than Bonny's foster home. Had he perhaps jumped too quickly at the opportunity to be associated with a respectable Wizarding name? The very idea that a cold, calculating, and diplomatic man had married such a…

"What's your mother really like?" Tom demanded abruptly.

Draco scuffled to his feat, straightening his robes in a rather off imitation at dignity. "Why?"

Tom barely needed to change his expression before Malfoy ducked his head in a quick sign of repentance.

"I mean…she's…a good mother. I don't know…she's nice. She doesn't get angry at me as much…" Malfoy pursed his lips in a decidedly embarrassed expression. "You'd have to meet her…y-you'd like her." He finished softly, looking in any direction but Tom's.

As much as he took the time to think on it, Tom could not, for all he was worth, figure out this kind of behaviour.