A/N: I apologize for these fairly short chapters. I work in spurts these day. Maybe at some point in the near future I'll go back to writing slightly longer chapters but for now I find it's easier to write like this. It keeps you all waiting less. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty: Blood Extraction

If there had been a word to properly describe how Tom Riddle parted with coveted information, Aella was certain it would be "slow." It was perhaps the only time someone would use the word in conjunction with his name. Still, she found herself waiting endlessly for more casual mention of the ring that seemed to be a constant. She wasn't stupid, of course. The only motive she suddenly had for wanting to know was precisely because he wouldn't tell her. Now her eyes were fixed on the incessant movement, the twisting of the ring around his long finger.

She would guess he enjoyed withholding the story from her if only she had reason to think that he was even aware of his obvious attachment to the thing. His habits regarding the piece of jewelry seemed more subconscious than anything else.

After another week passed, she carefully mentioned it once more but received no further explanation. She was practically certain at this point that Tom had no intention of ever telling her about its origin or how he received it. This led to the conclusion that she would have to nose about until she unearthed some tidbit with which to pry the vault open.

A few days before Halloween Aella found herself collapsing into an armchair beside Tom who remained engrossed in a book. She sighed with great exaggeration. When he still did not look up she repeated with more audible emphasis. She could see his brows twitch in annoyance, his eyes sliding in her direction. Finally he set the manuscript in his lap and slowly turned to look at her fully.

"What?" He demanded coolly.

"Nothing." She replied in an annoying cheery voice. His lips thinned as they curved downward.

"I'm not in the mood to play games." He snapped.

I'm not playing games." She insisted before smirking.

"Will you just-" He broke off, motioning with his hand emphatically.

"I'm not allowed to breathe?" She inquired with a scandalized look. His frown deepened. "I see you're engrossed with that book again." She noted as she reached over and lifted up the back end, slipping it off his legs. For a moment it looked as if he would make a wild reach for it. He contained himself.

It was old, that much was for sure. Yet its pages were well preserved, like the kind of book that rarely saw natural daylight. The writing crept across the bound page in spidery black ink, looking, oddly enough, as if it had been written by hand with no attempt to disguise this fact. Her fingers traced the curvature of the calligraphy.

By casting away all remaining doubt, one will be able to proceed completely. One will not feel the splitting while in the act of-

Tom ripped the book from her hands, snapping it shut before shoving it in his bag nearby. His face was filled with annoyance. "I was reading that." She snapped. He shot her a glare. "If you didn't want me to read it, you shouldn't have it out so much. It's quite tantalizing, seeing Tom Riddle captivated by the same book for nearly a month. It makes one wonder." She drawled off before looking pointedly away.

"No one else has mentioned it." He told her as he leaned back in the chair.

She raised a brow when she turned back to him. "Really? Do you honestly think any of them read?" He smirked in response. "Why would you have remaining doubt?" She asked suddenly, hoping to derail his stubborn concentration.

"I don't." He replied smugly.

"Well the author seems to think someone would have doubt."

"I am not someone." He declared with what was pompous certainty. Aella had long since grown accustomed to such statements and hardly batted an eye.

"No." She agreed. "But, say for the lesser being, what would one have to doubt?" She pushed. She watched him consider her question. His face was carefully blank though she could practically hear the thoughts whirring in his head.

"Their worth, their strength, their power." He finally said, his dark eyes locking her gaze into place with little hope for relief.

"So everything you cannot possibly doubt." She laughed lightly, pleased when he smirked. It was, she admitted, a useful ability to know how to change Tom's moods. "I suppose you haven't questioned any of that since-" She paused to think. "ever?" This time he laughed. "Being Slytherin's heir certainly helps, I imagine. You've been born with them. They're in your blood." She added casually, not much thinking. She saw recognition dart across his face before it was replaced by nonchalance and another smirk. His fingers, though, began their endless fidgeting with the ring. Her eyes narrowed as she gave him a devilish grin. She bent in toward him. "I don't suppose that ring has anything to do with our revered House founder." His eyes shifted away from her noticeably. His face remained impassive. "I think it must."

"Why is that?" He asked lazily though she knew better than to think he interest wasn't piqued. He wanted an answer from her very much.

"You're not the one for jewelry." She said carefully, stressing the importance of the last word. "If it's not a sign of your lineage, you wouldn't bother." She finished suavely.

"You know me so well, do you?" His voice was cool but fire blazed in his eyes.

"I'm intelligent, Tom. I can piece thing together." She whispered before lessening their proximity by tilting back. They sat in silence for a moment. "Though, as far as I know, the Slytherin family's coat of arms could be completely different than that." She declared as she traced the symbol into the air before her. "You could be mistaken."

"I'm not." He replied, his fingers finally resting their busy work. His gaze fell to the stone.

"Why is that?" She asked, pleased with her progress.

"I don't make mistakes." He told her without moving his eyes from his treasure.

"Only you could think that answer would suffice." She sighed. Tom was silent for a long time before he looked to her. The handsomeness of his face wasn't the least marred by the intensity that raged through his dark eyes. Even the determined set of his jaw seemed to add only good to his countenance. Aella forced herself to shut her eyes against the sight of him. "Come, Tom. Indulge my curiosities." She breathed softly, coaxingly. "You know I am yours anyway." Those final words had been the key. She knew it before she opened her lids. What's more, she knew that Tom believed it fully. She did too, when it came down to it. She would likely never betray him. After all, she hadn't after the previous year's involvement with the Chamber and the events that had followed.

"It is a family heirloom." He affirmed slowly. Aella felt herself frown, her eyes focusing into tapered slits as she looked upon him.

"You grew up in an orphanage." She said boldly, not much caring if he grew angry with the level of her voice. A dark smile fell upon him. It was odd, she realized, that she thought him slightly less handsome when his grins were so dangerous. When such a change had happened she didn't know. The back of her mind recalled moments of finding that same smile enticingly dangerous, a predator drawing in its prey. Somehow, it had started to lose its power. At least on her.

"That does not mean there were no blood relatives out there."

She didn't bother to hide her surprise. "You found family?" She asked.

"No. They were not family."

"But you've said they're your blood."

"Not any longer." Aella felt an inkling of discomfort begin to radiate along the forefront of her skull. It felt, vaguely like a headache brewing. She suspected something else, a warning sign.

"Right." She said slowly. "The ring is an heirloom. Heirlooms, traditionally, are passed on at the time of death." He raised one brow critically.

"Oh that one isn't dead."

"That one?" She demanded frowning at him. Her fingers, grasped the arm of his chair as she pulled herself closer. "What in Merlin's name does that mean?" Her mind cast itself out for possibilities. Tom had found relatives and they had died, but not the relative that had possessed the ring now upon his finger. It dawned upon her that he had found two different sets of relatives. The Slytherin one, apparently, was still breathing. "You've never told me about your mother." She started slowly. "She was a witch, yes?" He didn't respond. "Why would her family give you up to a muggle orphanage?" His silence told her she was on track, though the route was likely to cause harm. "Unless-" She stopped, her eyes wide as saucers. She shut her mouth abruptly, aware that the answer that hung in her mind was entirely possible. Even plausible. His cool façade did not urge her to continue, nor did it demand her silence.

She swallowed and looked about the room. They were almost entirely alone. A pair of first year girls sat huddled in a corner, talking rather loudly. Not far away sat a group of first year boys, each paying more attention to the girls than to the older students. Aella exhaled gently as she returned to her still silent companion.

"If both of your parents had been magical, you would have had had family that would have taken you in. One way or the other." She continued with an attempt at a soothing tone. His dark eyes were like nets but she wasn't sure she didn't want to fall into them. "But you ended up with muggles. A descendant of Salazaar Slytherin, with muggles." Her breath was coming faster. Her temples had started to throb slightly. "He wasn't a wizard." She whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "You found muggles." Her voice was barely audible but there was little doubt he had missed her words. Tom Riddle remained unmoved, his face set as if in stone. The only thing alive about him happened to be the rise and fall of his chest. "Tom!" She hissed, her voice wavering fiercely.

He leaned in toward her with rapidness, his palm captured her chin. "I don't have to explain what will happen if you breathe a word of this, Aella." He whispered against her ear, his warm breath sending shivers along the flesh of her arms and spine.

"Why would I?" She demanded as she pulled herself away. "Merlin, Tom, I don't even believe myself." She shook her head, her eyes nearly closing as they were prone to doing when she was near tears. She averted her gaze. His body remained haunting close to her. After a brief moment to compose herself she returned to him. "They're dead now?" She inquired as calmly as she could. He nodded once, imperceptibly. "You spent your summer hunting them down." She declared. The word hunt sparked something else in the back of her mind. Tom was a predator. One who did not appreciate having weaknesses. Weaknesses like having muggle family members. "Tell me, how do you know they're dead?"

His smile returned. Aella's head was suddenly calm. The previous threatening pressure in her temples had lessened considerably. It was enough of an answer. She now knew what had caused her to think something had changed within him. It was the same thing that caused Stephen to once comment on it. There's something not right about him. Don't tell me you haven't felt it. Stephen's exact assertion rang loudly in her ears.

Tom's hand caressed her cheek deliberately, his eyes soliciting her next move.

Indirect killing through Slytherin's monster hadn't been enough. Not really. Not for him. Aella knew she should feel sickness, shock, fear. None of these came. In fact, she realized with some self-disgust, the fact that Tom Riddle wasn't a pureblood was more unsettling than the fact that he'd done such a thing. "Worth. Strength. Power." She remembered, smiling at him. "And a lack of doubt." She nodded. "Tell me Tom. What is this act that will split something? This act that will remove all traces of doubt necessary to continue with something in a book I'm guessing is from the restricted section?" His hand was still on her face. His thumb traced circles upon her right cheekbone.

"I think you know." He replied with assurance. He was pleased with himself. She wasn't sure what he planned to do next but she was positive he would continue to be pleased. After all, any person like Tom Riddle would be after removing all traces of his muggle heritage. Covering dirty secrets aside, she had reason to believe he rather liked the idea of murder.