The Serpentine Chain Part 1 - Year Of The Snake

She still couldn't quite take it in. Oh, she'd known there was something special about him, she'd have to have been a complete fool not to - but this? Constance would never have guessed, never even have dared to entertain the merest suspicion that this was possible. The Heir - this was Slytherin's Heir! The living, breathing embodiment of the legend she'd grown up with, the subject of the games she'd played with Marcus when they were children - and he was real, he was here, in her lifetime - and her family were bound to him. It beggared belief. Tom Riddle. Halfblood, Parselmouth, Heir. What more besides?

"Salazar," she breathed, hardly daring to speak aloud.

"Not quite," the dark haired boy replied, holding out a cup of tea. He was smiling slightly, as though he knew exactly what was running through her head. And quite possibly, he did. "You've slept for twenty eight hours, by the way."

"Oh," she said, utterly unable to think of anything to say. She didn't feel capable of much right now, regardless of how long she'd slept. She didn't know what had happened after the ritual, didn't know what excuse had been given on her behalf for her long sleep - and didn't really care. All she could do was stare.

"I always wondered what it would take to render you speechless," he said, not unkindly.

Only half aware, she nodded slowly, still looking at him. Gods - it had been so obvious! The anagram, Salazar's blatant, almost arrogant, marking of his descendants. The Zalaras Riddle - Salazar's Riddle, and he was, truly. An idiot could have figured it out - had it not been so perfectly hidden. Concealed within her bloodline. And it was the colour of blood, of roses, that she remembered now. That was still present here, in this room.

"I'm not in my room," she said, startled as she looked around to find herself surrounded by flowers. She was still in the Rose Room - had she been here since that night? How had that been explained to her parents?

"It's taken care of," the dark haired boy answered. "Your brother saw to that."

She accepted that in silence, mulling it over for a minute. The glow from the Rose Window cast a soft light over the room, over Tom. She could almost sense the thrill of deep magic that had filled her only the other day.

"Who else knows?" she asked suddenly, her voice not entirely steady.

He laughed at that, and she realised with an unpleasant feeling of guilt that she'd shown him no deference whatsoever, demanding an answer with no consideration of his rank - and she still couldn't take it in. Couldn't believe that Tom, her penniless halfblood, was the Heir of Slytherin. She felt herself flushing. No doubt Marcus, after his awakening from blood, had responded with the proper decorum. Well, she thought, aware that there was humour in this situation, somewhere, it's not everyday you get waited on by the Heir of Slytherin.

"I don't know what to call you," Constance said lamely.

Tom Marvolo Riddle looked at her seriously then, dropping his amused expression as swiftly as he'd assumed it. "My father's name," he said carefully, "is not one I intend to keep. Nevertheless. It will have to do. For now."

She'd have to suppress her curiosity on that matter, that was obvious. He might tell her later. And she had so many other questions!

"We are yours, then," she said formally. It went without saying, after the blood ritual - but speaking the words felt so natural, so right that what else could she say in response to what had happened? Her family was his, she was his - and, she realised, the Heir of Slytherin had even more right to her now that Aurelius had forsaken his claim. A small pang of guilt, there at the thought of Aurelius, but one that she could live with. It was a shame he had been caught up, however slightly, in her family's affairs - but if he knew, he would understand. He was Slytherin to the core. Loyalty to the ideal - that was everything. And Tom - well. He was the ideal. In the greater scheme of things, the Heir's scheme of things, personal matters had to be put aside.

She felt her pulse quicken at the thought of all that was now possible, and smiled. "I am yours," she added, making her meaning quite clear.

He smiled, but did not move from where he stood, a few feet from the bed, the light from the window spilling over him, around him. He looked like a being from her childhood dreams, wreathed in power, magic, myth. He was who he was.

Without hesitation, with no qualms, doubts, with nothing but the resolute certainty that this was right, this was what they both wanted, Constance pushed back the covers and stood up. The pink silk chemise her mother had given her for Christmas clung to her, revealing the contours of her body - almost, Constance thought, almost as if mother had known I'd use it for this. It rustled softly as she took the necessary few steps to Riddle, whispered kisses against her skin as she slipped it off to stand naked before him. The rise of desire in his eyes pleased her more than she could say - this too is power, she thought, even the Heir feels it.

Searching for confirmation in his face - finding it there - she reached for the buttons at the top of his shirt, began to unfasten them, slowly at first, then less so. When undone, she slipped her hand inside to touch his chest, to savour every inch before she could finally possess it completely, to feel the scar that he had not hidden from her, not now.

"Remember that," he said then, his voice slipping several tones lower, "later."

She nodded briefly, kissed him, slipped her hand further down. To sense him tense beneath her touch, an action that was becoming familiar but never ceased to enthral her. A minute - less - of her touching him so and his control finally broke. They hadn't touched since before the end of the winter term, and such restraint had taken its toll on the pair of them. She could feel the trembling of her own body, through desire, through excitement at this next step, as he pressed her backwards to the bed, pushed her down, bruising her lips with the strength of his kiss. Biting. She could taste blood, knew it for her own, bit back. Felt him push her legs apart, wondered how on earth he'd managed to take his trousers off without her noticing, stopped thinking and slid her hands down his back to press him against her.

"It will hurt," he warned her, drawing back for a minute, his voice rich with passion. For her.

She'd known that anyway, women's tales passed down, books, girls talking in the toilets, instinct. "Worth it," she said, "please."

Without reply, he moved closer to her, letting her hand guide him, pausing momentarily as he felt her flinch. It did hurt, more than she'd expected, and she thought for a while it would be too much, but then he was truly inside her, moving slowly to ease her discomfort though she could see from the tautness of his face how he was struggling to control himself. An unbearable moment of almost panic, during which she came close, far too close to crying out. Forcing herself to relax, she moved tentatively beneath him, trying to accustom herself to this, and as she did so she felt him quicken his pace slightly as though to match her faulty rhythm, it didn't hurt quite as much now, the next time will be better she thought, urging him on with her hands and voice until he gave a shuddering sigh, clung briefly to her, then let go.

They lay in silence for a while, the colours of blood and magic rippling over them, then,

"It will be better next time," he said, almost to himself.

"It was not so bad then," Constance said, and indeed, it could have been worse.

"It hurt?"

"A little. As expected."

Tom looked at her seriously then. "Twice in as many days. You are mine, now."

She'd hurt for him twice, had bled for him twice. A trickle, nothing much this time. What they'd just shared then had been the physical form of the contract she'd signed in blood on Christmas Eve. That and something else, something between the two of them alone. She was his, marked out in a way that Marcus - thankfully - had not been.

"Irrevocably," she said, assenting with a smile.

"Almost," he replied, his hand playing absently in her hair. "Almost."

*

It wasn't that Quintus regretted what he'd done. The word regret would not have encompassed the uncertainties and doubts that had assailed him since he - since they - had done what they had done. In his classroom, of all places, although that wasn't really the issue. His act had seemed like a very good idea in the split second of time before he'd kissed Elspeth Haven, despite all the evidence pointing to the contrary. The Divination teacher's motives were complex. She and Octavius Malfoy had been, well, after him for reasons Quintus could not fully comprehend. The fact that he was aware of this, had been aware of this when he'd had her didn't really reassure him. They, by virtue of who they were, had probably been aware of it too. And yet, Elspeth had done it anyway. Were the two ex-Slytherins then so confident that it didn't matter whether Quintus suspected them? And what, exactly, did he suspect them of?

He'd harboured a fleeting desire to talk things over with Flavia, when she'd booked a room for them in an exclusive Hogsmeade hotel over New Year. And then he'd realised that that probably wasn't the best option. Spilling the beans about his dealings with Malfoy's mistress would be to tread on very thin ice. Whatever game Elspeth was up to, Quintus found it highly unlikely that it would benefit him or his family if the details were to become public knowledge. And then, of course, confessing to his own erstwhile partner that he'd been with somebody else certainly wasn't the best of ideas. Even though Flavia made no secret of her unusually active love life, she did lean a little toward the possessive side with her men, as she called them.

She'd greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, flinging her cloak carelessly onto the back of her chair. "Darling, you look like shit," she'd said, bluntly, "they can't be working you hard over Christmas, surely?"

"Tactful as ever," Quintus replied, wryly amused. "And I'm just tired."

Flavia had sniffed. "Not too tired, I hope."

He couldn't help but smile at her single-mindedness. "Not too tired, don't worry. But how are things with you? You look - well."

An understatement, that, Flavia had been positively glowing. And it hadn't required a genius to work out why, as she'd waggled her fingers to display a ring that had a diamond almost the size of a dragon's egg on it.

"Isn't it hideous?" she'd said proudly, in response to his raised eyebrow. "Absolutely disgusting - I don't know what kind of girl he thinks I am, but this really does give the wrong impression. I'm not tacky."

"Who gave it to you?" Quintus had asked, not especially surprised, certainly not bothered. Flavia and he had only ever been casual - and he doubted she'd end it because an extremely gullible and rich man had put a ring on her finger.

"You'll only know him by name," she'd replied, turning the ring so that the enormous stone faced inwards, "he's old, rich, and not from the most respectable of families. The nouveau riche, you know. I'm not his first wife - but I like to think I'm the prettiest and the youngest."

"Gold-digging tramp," the Potions Master said without rancour. It was comforting, to be able to relax into friendly, meaningless banter with Flavia.

"That I am," Flavia replied, with a grin that would have rivalled that of the Cheshire Cat. "Aren't you proud of me?"

"Horribly proud. And desolate. You're marrying a rich old man. What's left for me?"

Her grin, if possible, had widened even more. "A lifetime's servitude as my male mistress - or whatever the term is. But don't think I won't be keeping my eye on you, though," she'd warned. "I won't tolerate any shenanigans on your part." She'd looked at him sharply as she'd spoken, obviously trying to determine whether he had been seeing someone else. "You haven't, have you?"

"Of course not," he'd lied blandly, without any pangs of guilt. It was appearance only that mattered to Flavia. She needed her ego pampering from time to time. "There's a distinct shortage of available females where I work, if you hadn't noticed."

"A distinct shortage of attractive females, I'd say," she'd said tartly, "unless that old dumpling Bloom tickles your fancy."

Quintus had sighed in mock despair, knowing perfectly well that it was out of the question to get Flavia's perspective on Elspeth and Octavius. "I admit it," he'd said, "it's the smell of soil that really does it for me."

She'd wrinkled her nose, her suspicions allayed, then moved closer to kiss him. He'd welcomed it, as he always did, this taste of light relief for both of them. Uncomplicated release, and in the morning they had parted as they always did. Friends.

Which was all very well, Quintus thought now - somewhat unfairly - but what am I supposed to do? After what they'd done, Elspeth had gone swiftly and silently, before he'd regained sufficient composure to ask her what it meant, what would happen now, and she'd been elusive ever since. So had Octavius Malfoy. Not that Quintus really wanted to see him, of all people, at present. That would be far too complicated. He hadn't wanted to ask anyone else where they were, if they were still in the castle. And then he'd seen Elspeth at breakfast, sitting at the end of the table next to the Head of Slytherin, in silence. He'd watched her, surreptitiously, noting how she avoided being drawn into the argument between Seraphim and Nadine de la Tour, how she picked at her food, and how she left the table early. He'd left as soon as he could, after that, in an attempt to catch up with her in the corridor - but she had disappeared.

It wasn't until the last few days of the Christmas holidays that he finally caught up with her, alone, down by the lake of all places. And then, only because he'd happened to glance out of a window and see a distinctive redheaded figure making its way down to the water. Taking two steps at a time, sometimes three, he ran down the main staircase, grateful for the fact that there were no students around, and headed out of the door.

So much for the casual approach, he thought, slowing his pace as he grew nearer to her. She looked around, hearing his footsteps, then, with no visible emotion, turned back to contemplate the still dark winter water. The set of her shoulders, however, seemed not accepting exactly, but resigned.

"Looking for me?" she asked, staring at a point somewhere toward the middle of the lake.

"You're very hard to find, when you want to be," he said by way of answer.

"Yes," Elspeth replied, "I apologise for that, but it was necessary."

"I wanted to talk to you. You left very quickly - the other night."

She turned to face him then, and he could see her clearly. Fine lines around her eyes, a deep furrow in her forehead. "I thought you would. And I ought apologise for that, as well, but -"

"It was necessary," he finished for her. "I can understand why you left like that, though."

Elspeth looked momentarily surprised. "You can?"

"Of course," Quintus said, willing to feign ignorance if it meant that he could coax answers out of her. "You didn't want any - entanglements. I quite understand. Perhaps we should both just pretend that it never happened?"

He turned to go. Five, four, three.

"Quintus. Wait."

He did not turn back. Two.

"It wasn't that. And I don't want to pretend."

Careful to keep his face free from any telltale emotion, he swung round. "What about Octavius?" he demanded.

"Octavius has never before put any limits on my freedom," she said carefully. "Why should he do so now?"

"Why indeed," Quintus asked, "as you aren't married. What is it you want from me, Elspeth?"

She looked up at him, almost nervously. "I like you," she said. "Is that so terrible?"

"Of course you do. I'm very likeable. And I suppose Octavius likes me too, and I suppose you've both been following me around since Halloween making suggestive remarks because I'm so likeable." He didn't bother trying to disguise his disbelief. There was, quite frankly, more to it than that.

"Octavius wouldn't mind screwing you, I admit," she said, and there was bitterness in her voice, "but he was sounding you out. Making sure you were -"

"Susceptible?" Quintus suggested. "Easy? Gullible?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I may not now, nor ever have been a Slytherin," he said, "but you would do well to remember that I am a Snape. And remember what that entails. Octavius should have known that."

She smiled brightly, suddenly, at that. "Had you been anything else, Quintus, you would have been quite unsuitable."

"So is it me you want, or my family?"

Elspeth looked at him guilelessly. "You, of course," she said. "Your family is already planning its union with the Malfoys, is it not?"

That was common knowledge, he supposed. His cousin and Constance Malfoy had practically been joined at the hip since they'd been babies. But if Aurelius' concerns are correct, he thought, suppressing a frown in case she picked up on it, perhaps the Malfoys seek to make another overture towards us? Through me, somehow. And perhaps not. Octavius and Elspeth might want him for purposes entirely their own, and nothing to do with family matters. He remembered her spider tattoo only too well. He was quite prepared to let them have him - as long as he was careful, and did not get too involved.

"It is," Quintus replied thoughtfully.

"And so, you see," Elspeth continued, calmly, "the real question is this - do you want me?"

His eyebrow went up again. He couldn't help it. "Well, yes," he said, and wasn't surprised to find it was actually true. "You must know that by now. But -"

A cool finger against his lips prevented him from speaking further. "Walk with me, then," she said, taking him by the hand, leading him up the lakeside path to where the small copse of trees would shelter them from prying eyes. There, she sank down into a thick clump of grass, pulling him down with her.

"Do you trust me, Quintus?"

"Truthfully? No."

"I suppose that is to be expected," Elspeth replied, frowning slightly. "But you have nothing to fear from me, you know. Nor Octavius, if it comes to that. Neither of us desire any misfortune to come to you or yours."

"And is that likely," he asked, "if I continue to associate with you?"

"I think not," she said. "Of course, I can't be sure."

Quintus smiled. "I thought you were the Seer?"

For some reason, she looked momentarily thrown. "Yes. Yes, I am," she said, as though thinking of something else. Then she recovered herself, smiling at him in a way that could not be misconstrued. "Come here."

And he did, and for a time there was nothing but the woman beside him, above him, the pale January sun casting its light over the pair of them, glinting in the unbound red hair that fell all around him. Afterwards she shifted so that she lay beside him on her stomach, fingers threading through blades of grass as though they were harpstrings.

"My classroom, now by the lake..." Quintus said lazily, "will the Astronomy Tower be next, I wonder?"

She didn't answer, but continued to play with the grass, watching the movement of her fingers intently.

"Or the Owlery?"

"Not particularly pleasant," Elspeth said then, dragging herself away from the grass with a sigh to rearrange her clothing. "You'd be running a great hygiene risk. Come on. We'd better be getting back."

*

"You did what?" Richard asked, incredulity etched into every line of his face.

"I let her go," Aurelius answered simply. He was sick of talking about it, sick of thinking about it. He had gone over all the events of that night again, and again, and he preferred to put them from his mind completely. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it. And he didn't like that uncertainty. So as far as he was concerned, he would be happy to pretend that the whole Riddle incident had never happened. Ignorance was bliss, in this case. Except that Richard had been dying to know what had happened, and, seeing as how he'd been instrumental in setting the situation up, would not desist in his relentless barrage of questions. Aurelius had fobbed him off for the remainder of the holidays with evasive answers in his letters, using family affairs as an excuse for his vagueness. It was true, of course, the Ministry had sent their inspectors out to Summerisle despite the insult to his father, to all of them, he'd spent the last days of the holidays being coldly courteous to them, answering extremely probing questions with a gleaming veneer of politeness. He hadn't really had the time to spare for long, detailed letters in any case, but his secrecy had only served to intensify Richard's curiosity. The brown haired boy had managed some restraint upon the Hogwarts Express - it wasn't the kind of thing to be talked about in public, after all, especially when Constance was only in the next carriage unleashing hell upon some unsuspecting third years - but when the Sorting Ceremony was over, after the feast, he'd dragged Aurelius up to the dormitory early, to unleash his version of the Spanish Inquisition.

"To him? Have you gone completely mad?"

"No," he answered patiently, "and I don't really want to talk about it anymore. It's done, that's all there is to it."

Richard looked at him in bewilderment. "And you don't mind?"

"Constance can do what she likes," Aurelius said flatly. "I'd rather it wasn't with him - but that's irrelevant."

His friend's look of bewilderment intensified. "But I thought -"

"It doesn't matter." Aurelius was aware he sounded too tense, but it was rather a personal matter. "It keeps her happy, it prevents - trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Richard's eyes were gleaming.

"Well. Tension. Resentment. That kind of thing. Constance and I are friends - friends," he continued firmly as Richard showed signs of wanting to interrupt. "If this keeps her happy until it fizzles out, that's fine."

"You think that by letting the person you're supposed to marry in a few years sleep with someone else now, you're preventing resentment and tension?" Richard asked, slowly.

"Yes." Aurelius was getting impatient. "She won't hold it against me, will she, like she would if I'd put my foot down, if I'd -"

"If you'd what?" A pause. "Oh, Aurelius, you idiot! The whole point in my staying sober for half that bloody night was that so you could - and you didn't?"

"No. I didn't. And I don't want to talk about it."

Richard was blessedly quiet. For a moment, Aurelius thought his friend had finally learned a little discretion - and then he spoke again. "Are you sure you won't regret this, later?"

"Why would I?"

"Because you're you," Richard said simply. "I couldn't care less what my delightful gaggle of girls get up to behind my back, because I'm usually doing the same thing - but you're different. Even if you don't care what Constance gets up to now, you might later. You're very proud."

"No more or less than anyone else like me," Aurelius said crossly. "I have a lot to be proud of."

Richard shook his head. "Not that kind of pride," he said, almost gently. "I just happen to think it'll eat you up, later."

"Well, thank you for your obvious confidence in my decision making abilities. I happen to think I did the right thing. And it was my decision to make, not yours, and you don't know anything about it," Aurelius ended, knowing perfectly well that he sounded quite petty. And not really caring, either. He had more important things on his mind, he told himself, than Constance Malfoy. A new term had begun, and he had more than just schoolwork to concentrate on. His father had made a decision; it was up to Aurelius to carry it out.

*

Christopher Cale wasn't entirely sure how to broach the subject with his friend. It could, if he wasn't careful, cause real offence. After all, wasn't he implying that Quintus could not defend himself from Malfoy's - or the Divination teacher's - attempts to use him as a pawn? It wouldn't be flattering to anyone's ego, especially not one whose family thrived upon the ability to scheme, outmanoeuvre, outwit any other. But if what Matthew Seraphim had suggested was correct, then Quintus could be about to fall victim to his own curiosity. Watch and wait, Matthew had said, but that Christopher would not, could not do.

And yet, that was all he did for the first cold weeks of the January term. He waited. He watched, in a manner more circumspect than he would have believed himself capable. At mealtimes, when Quintus' gaze lingered on Elspeth perhaps a fraction of a second too long before glancing pensively at Octavius for a moment. He watched as Quintus left the staff-room at times shortly before the DADA teacher entered. He watched, but he did not say anything to Matthew, and he did not dare say anything to Quintus yet.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do. But he knew he ought to do something. Before it was too late.

*

The first few weeks back at Hogwarts went very quickly for Constance. Her days, which previously had been filled with as little work as possible, became so full that she found herself sleeping for only five hours, sometimes less. She'd get up early, to start on whatever homework she could, eat breakfast, and rush to classes. Lunchtimes would have to be spent in the library, concentrating on whatever work she'd been set that day - or, if by some miracle she was ahead of schedule, learning new hexes and countercurses for the training sessions she had late at night in the Zalaras Wing. She was immensely grateful that she'd worked on her History of Magic assignment assiduously over the Christmas holidays, and, able to hand it in a few days early, she'd managed to gain a little extra time to devote to her other pursuits. Consequently, the first few hours of the evening were her own - although it was quite obvious that she had to maintain as normal a façade as possible, and that involved spending time with Richard and Aurelius.

Which was less awkward than it might have been. Aurelius, for all he showed, may very well have wiped the memory of what had passed - or rather had not passed - between them that Christmas Eve from his mind. He was the same as he always had been. And she wasn't sure whether he'd told Richard, or how much he'd told Richard - save that the brown haired boy acted as a skilful diversion whenever the conversation wandered perilously close to Riddle. So skilful, in fact, Constance couldn't figure out whether Richard had been fully informed, or was just guessing. Or playing the idiot, as usual. Tom, of course, had more than enough sense to steer clear of her during the evenings. And most of the daytime, as well.

Later on into the evenings, they'd all turn their minds to work, Constance claiming that her New Year's Resolution had been to put more effort into schoolwork.

"Well, you could hardly put less in," Aurelius stated, quite unfairly Constance thought. "You and Richard are as lazy as each other."

"Ah, but unlike her I don't have to put any effort in. She'll always be thick, however hard she tries," Richard claimed, grinning. "My natural genius shines through in everything I do."

"Including Divination?" Constance demanded, not prepared to let that one slip if she could help it. "Didn't you get a D for your last essay? What was shining through then?"

"General indifference," Richard replied, casually. "I really did prefer it when we had Lockhart, y'know. At least he didn't force us to work. I'm a free spirit, I won't be tamed by any woman."

"No woman would have you," Constance retorted, although it was a pretty pathetic comeback considering Richard was linked with Teresa Symmonds, for starters, and about half of Ravenclaw now. Including, funnily enough, Susanna Lessops. It didn't seem quite the moment to mention the supposed bet now, though, bearing in mind its subject. "Unless she was really desperate."

"You should be awed by my nobility then," Richard said seriously. "I am the saviour of damsels in distress. Verily, they flock to me. Can I help it if they want me to save them from their despair, their woe, their general stupidity?"

"Oh, you hero," Constance said, laughing. "I'm sure we've had a similar conversation before, you would-be Gryffindor."

"Will you two shut up?" Aurelius demanded abruptly. "I have to write another two feet about the Phrygian mode, and I've already copied down "I'm a free spirit" by mistake because I was listening to you. So just be quiet."

"Well that's us told," Richard sounded flattered. "Are we just too devilishly distracting for you, my son?"

"You were," Aurelius replied. "Now you're just irritating."

"I'm finished anyway," Constance said smugly. "I'm going to bed."

"Finished? Now?"

"Some of us didn't stuff ourselves senseless at dinner," she said tartly, "and did work instead."

Richard snorted. "I give you another fortnight, maybe less, before you crack and turn back into the old slothbucket we all used to know and love."

She made an extremely rude gesture as she left, but she was smiling. Another couple of hours reading in bed, curtains drawn for privacy, until she was sure everyone else was asleep. Slipping away unnoticed, away down to the Zalaras Wing had become such a familiar part of her life that she did not regret the hours of missed sleep as once she would. It was only during the darkest hours of the night that she and Tom could be together, as Marcus left them alone - either to seek his own sport elsewhere or to sleep. But even then they never had much time, having to return to their respective dormitories before long. In short, she was the busiest she had ever been.

Slothbucket indeed. She was putting more effort into her schoolwork now, as Tom had advised. Had she not, she'd surely have suffered from all her extracurricular activities - although perhaps not in Defence against the Dark Arts. Her brother's training had dramatically improved her own skills. Even though she had no chance whatsoever of trying them out in the real world, at least, not yet. She'd been warned - and could quite easily have guessed for herself - that certain of the curses she'd been taught wouldn't go down very well if she started using them on other students. She hadn't asked, and felt sure that she would not have been told at this point, why she had been taught them in the first place.

*

Valerius Snape's letter was uncompromisingly defiant. His words might as well have been etched onto the parchment with white fire, Quintus thought, sensing the fury behind the ice-cold text. It had not been delivered by owl, such was the content, but by house-elf. Courtesy of Floo Powder, of course. Straight from Fizzy's hand to Quintus' own.

Reading it, Quintus could understand the need for such direct contact. It was exceedingly unlikely that the Ministry were monitoring his family's post - they hadn't found anything amiss in the inspection, Aurelius had said, and they'd been most apologetic afterwards - but no chances could be taken with this letter. It was starkly unambiguous.

Following the Ministry's breach of oath-binding contract with our family, Valerius had written, we are no longer to consider ourselves bound. This Aurelius already knows. Being at liberty now to do what is most profitable for the family, I trust you will not fail to assess any opportunities that may present themselves to you. Assess, but do not commit either yourself or your family until the current climate casts a more European light upon such matters. I leave it to you to share this with Aurelius.

A clear example of the dangerous nature of the letter, that Valerius would remind him to burn the letter in the way that he had been doing with all correspondence since he'd been a boy. It could almost be regarded as treasonous, Quintus supposed as he watched the parchment curl and turn to flaming ash, the rather less than subtle message. Do not reject any offers you may have from Grindelwald supporters outright. If war comes to England, we may well accept. Not that issues such as treason really mattered. Family first, then country, the way it always had been. Admittedly, such lack of unity amongst the powerful families had been a major factor in the large-scale invasions of the first millennium - and was quite likely to work out in Grindelwald's favour in this one. But it could work out quite profitably, for the right family, at the right time. Not just financially. That was almost a secondary issue. Prestige, power, status. Money helped. But it wasn't everything, especially when you already had it in abundance.

In a way, Quintus thought, his uncle had just given him the go-ahead for what he'd already been doing. Not that Octavius Malfoy, or Elspeth Haven were necessarily Grindelwald supporters, but if they were then he had already begun to assess the opportunity they presented. Perhaps not in the most formal of ways, true, but he was playing their game with them whilst remaining fully aware of the intricate web within which he could so easily become entangled.

But then, he thought, there was something else, something his family would not consider and would not think it fitting of him to do so either. Nevertheless, his mind was drawn inevitably to John Cale - Christopher's brother, killed by Grindelwald's armies in Europe. Killed horribly, too. His friend would, quite rightly, consider it a personal betrayal if he were to discover that the Snape family had cast their loyalties in with Grindelwald. Their friendship would be irrevocably destroyed. It wasn't in the best of shapes now, really, he'd not seen as much of Christopher since the incident at the Three Broomsticks as he had used to. And when they had had chances to talk, it had been as though Christopher's mind was on something else entirely. His friend was certainly less forthcoming than usual.

But really, what choice did he have?

Still preoccupied with thoughts of this nature, he headed out of his rooms and down the stairwell to the staff-room. He had House matters to discuss with Lydia Grey, something about a first year Ravenclaw who was being bullied by her older sister. Something that the Head of Ravenclaw could quite easily have dealt with herself, were it not for the fact that the older sister was in Slytherin and perhaps Quintus could get his cousin to exert a restraining influence? He allowed himself a brief flicker of amusement at the thought that it might actually be a refreshing change to concentrate on school matters for once. It was what he was getting paid to do. With all their extracurricular plotting and scheming, of course, it was a wonder half the teachers managed to get any work done at all.

It was not Lydia Grey waiting for him in the staff-room, however, but Christopher. One of the two people it had become very, very awkward to be around these days. The other, thankfully, he'd managed to avoid ever since he'd first slept with Elspeth Haven.

"Hello," he said, covering his unease and resolving not to think of the letter. "I thought Lydia was supposed to be here?"

"Gone," Christopher said, looking at him curiously. "She said you were half an hour late, and she'd have to speak to you later because some of us have classes to teach."

"I've always had these two periods free," Quintus said mildly, "so have you. She helped fix the timetable, so she can stop complaining. And I'm not late, either, she said half three, and half three it is."

Christopher almost smiled. "You tell her that, then."

"...Maybe I won't," Quintus said. Lydia was, most of the time, a very calm, benign sort of person. She just happened to have a very unpredictable temper. "So, what brings you here all alone?"

"The chance that I might bump into you, as a matter of fact," his friend said. "You've been remarkably busy lately - well, I assume that's why you've not been around much."

"Well," Quintus replied smoothly, "we're all busy, aren't we? Except now, obviously, otherwise we wouldn't both be here now. It is good to get a few hours to myself though - did you want to talk to me?"

"Oh. Yes." Christopher produced a teapot and two teacups. "Care for one?"

Quintus nodded as his friend filled a cup, waited for him to continue.

"Well," Christopher continued, obviously ill at ease. "I just wanted a chance to catch up, really. I haven't seen much of you these past few weeks. So. How are you?"

The Potions Master eyed his friend sceptically. "I can always tell when you're making up excuses," he said kindly. "Because you're never very good at it."

"I'm glad you're not my teacher," Christopher muttered, shifting in his seat. "Too observant for your own good."

"So what is it really?" Quintus asked. "Open your mouth, words come out, it's called talking. Give it a try."

"Don't be flippant," his friend said. "This is - a little difficult. Please just listen, and don't be offended."

Acutely aware that this might turn into a tricky situation, even more aware of what his father had decreed for his family, Quintus was silent, waiting.

"It's about Octavius Malfoy," Christopher said, almost apologetically. "And Elspeth Haven."

The Chantwork teacher paused then, waiting for a response. Quintus forced himself to remain entirely still, putting an expression of polite puzzlement on his face. He can't possibly know about that. Not the part that matters.

Playing ignorant had worked for him before. It could do so now. "You mean - what happened in the Three Broomsticks? With Seraphim?"

"Not exactly, no," Christopher said, flushing. "Although - that could be a part of it."

"Then what?"

"They seem very interested in you."

Shit. "Before Christmas, maybe," Quintus said without much interest. "But I have a hard enough time keeping up with the friends I already have - as you've noticed - I really haven't the heart to make things more difficult for myself by chasing after new ones as well. What's the problem?"

"It's hard to say - I don't want to break someone else's confidence - but the thing is, I just don't think it's safe to be too close to Malfoy."

Quintus almost smiled then, from sheer relief. Christopher didn't know. "Unsafe for me? Or unsafe in general?"

"For you," Christopher answered. "I don't know anything about Elspeth, but from what I've been told Malfoy isn't to be trusted. He looks out for himself whatever the consequences to others - hires himself out to the highest bidder -"

"You think he could be working for Grindelwald?" Quintus said, as if the idea had genuinely never occurred to him.

"Not just that," his friend said tentatively. "We - I," he corrected himself hastily, and Quintus pretended not to notice the slip, "think he might be trying to use you, somehow, as some kind of pawn. To do what he can't - if he thought he was being watched, for instance."

An interesting idea, and one which he really should have considered earlier. That vexed him, and there was a degree of irritation in his voice as he replied. "I'll take care of myself, don't worry."

"You're cross," Christopher said. "I thought you would be. I didn't mean to be offensive, I know you're capable of looking out for yourself. I just had to say something, in case you -"

"Hadn't noticed?"

"In case your curiosity got the better of you," his friend said instead, resignedly. "I know what you're like."

"Christopher, my family - and Malfoy's, too - have been playing games like this for centuries. I know how to behave." A mild rebuke there - a reminder that Muggleborns (most of them, anyway) just wouldn't understand the complex threads that wove the old wizarding families together.

"Can't you just cut ties with him completely?" Christopher pleaded, unintentionally proving Quintus right.

"That would be impossible, I'm afraid," Quintus said, trying to sound regretful. And it was out of the question - his uncle would not be happy if he did such a thing. And neither would Octavius Malfoy, and by extension, the rest of the Malfoy clan. He was supposed to strengthen the alliance between the two families until the day Aurelius got himself married. "I have my cousin's interests to protect too."

"Of course you do," Christopher said, heavily. "Blood sticks together, doesn't it?"

"You do know I don't agree with what Octavius says about Seraphim? About -"

"Mudbloods like me? Of course," but there was no real belief in his voice.

"Have I ever given you cause to think that I do?"

Christopher looked at him. "Maybe not intentionally - but it doesn't really matter, does it? Regardless of my blood, you'd put your family first. Before everything."

"That's the way it is," Quintus protested, wounded by the implication that he'd treated Christopher the way Octavius treated Seraphim. Disturbed by the fact that he knew what his friend had said was true - he would put his family first, before everything else. Before Christopher, before Christopher's dead brother. The Chantwork teacher could never know about that. Could never know that if Octavius was working for Grindelwald, the Snape family may very well accept whatever offer he made them. Through Quintus.

And the Potions Master could think of nothing else to say.

"I have to go," Christopher said then, tipping the contents of his teacup into a plant pot. "I'll see you around, I suppose."

What could Quintus say to change anything? Things were the way they were. Even if he were to follow Christopher from the room, to argue his way back to one or the other's rooms - it wouldn't change anything. He'd still be on the other side, with Octavius, Elspeth, and his family. It was a whole different world - and it seemed that there just wasn't a place for Christopher.

But really, what choice did he have?

*

Aurelius was thinking about the Ministry, about Grindelwald, about the Beauxbatons students, and about his father. They were all intermingled, even before Quintus had passed on the contents of the letter. What his father had written was only further confirmation of what he'd already been told before the inspection of his family's business had begun. Nothing angered his father more than a broken oath - especially when his family had faithfully upheld the oath in question. Yet it would not do to let the Ministry know this now that it was too late - for the perfect revenge, the Snape family had to appear irreproachable both now and in the future. There could be no signs of real affront at the Ministry's blatant lack of respect for honour, tradition, the family word - but complete acquiescence could perhaps appear somewhat suspect.

Although Aurelius was of the opinion that if wizarding oaths mattered so little to the Ministry, they wouldn't expect them to matter to anyone else. That, as his father had informed him, was down to the influence of pseudo-wizards within the Ministry.

"They can't be blamed for it, I suppose," Valerius Snape had said bitingly, "it's the fault of the people who voted for the Muggleborn Acceptance Acts, with no thought for the consequences. These Muggleborns are working in a world that is entirely unfamiliar to them, alienating those who would otherwise have been loyal."

"Like us," Aurelius commented.

"Quite," his father replied. "Their presence within the Ministry undermines the very structure of wizarding society. They should never have been allowed access to positions of power - their ignorance is what will, if unchecked, destroy us."

"They might be taught to understand," Aurelius began; mostly for the sake of debate, then wished he hadn't as he saw the look on his father's face.

"You sound like your cousin," Valerius said disapprovingly. "And I will say to you what I said to him years ago. Muggleborns might be taught to appreciate the complexities of blood, its power - but they will never understand it instinctively, intuitively. They don't have it in them. It's not enough to speak the language, so to speak; you have to be able to feel it. Live it."

Aurelius had nodded. "I overheard several Muggleborn students talking, once," he offered. "Some of them don't even see why they should learn our ways. They seemed adamant about it - claiming it was us who should adapt."

"Influenced by the more radical Muggleborn politicians, no doubt," Valerius said, lip twitching in disgust. "Even the compromise offered by wizards - who ought to have known better - does not satisfy them."

"Is it likely that Copernicus was influenced by them, when he authorised the inspection of our premises?"

"Possibly. Not directly, however. There are those within the Ministry who have no real interest in the Muggle issue - but who would like to see the power of the great families checked. Jealousy is no doubt the main reason why certain wizards clamour for Muggleborn rights."

Aurelius had digested this in silence for a minute. "The inspectors arrive tomorrow, don't they?"

His father gave him a brief nod. "For the main, you'll be dealing with them. It's well within your capabilities."

And it had been. The inspectors had been scrupulously polite men who were evidently well aware that what they were doing was offensive. Though they were duty bound to obey the orders the Ministry had given them, they did not ask to see Valerius Snape but accepted Aurelius as his representative. They accepted the rebuke implicit in Valerius' delegation of this matter to his son, accepted the intended impression that although Valerius might be personally offended, his family would do the right thing by everyone and submit to the Ministry's wishes.

Their inspection was, nevertheless, rigorous. They had questioned him relentlessly at times as they examined various accounts and orders from certain companies. Aurelius had been very grateful for his father's rigid training, for the almost obsessive attention to detail he'd been taught. None of his answers could have been faulted. There had been nothing for the inspectors to find.

The conversation he'd had with his father after they'd left had been on the night before he was due to leave for school. Despite the inspection, his mind had automatically - and unwillingly - turned to Constance. He hadn't seen her since Christmas Eve, and, although he'd almost welcomed the inspection as a chance to pretend she didn't exist, he had been a little concerned as to how things would be when they next met. And as to how he'd explain it to Richard. His friend wasn't as dim as he liked to make out - he'd undoubtedly notice that things hadn't changed between Constance and Tom. He'd probably notice that things had in fact intensified. If Constance wasn't discreet - and Aurelius really doubted that she was capable of it.

Valerius Snape, oblivious to Aurelius' other concerns, had quickly drawn his son's attention back to the matter in hand. He'd given him a rundown of the direction he intended the family to take - Aurelius, remembering his mother's quiet introduction of the Beauxbatons element, recounted that conversation to his father.

"Your mother is sometimes more perceptive than I give her credit for," his father had said, with a ghost of a smile. "Had our situation been different, I would indeed have advised you to steer clear of such possibilities. As it is..."

"I should consider every option with an open mind?" Aurelius had finished. "Not overtly, obviously."

"Exactly," Valerius Snape had agreed. "Your cousin is to do the same. But remember this, Aurelius, you are to commit yourself to nothing until I give you consent. Appear - approachable. That is all."

"I understand," Aurelius said. He'd ignored the memory of Constance's voice, had tried to put it out of his mind completely although his talk with Richard on the first night back hadn't helped. You're not the most approachable of people. She had been referring to something else, he told himself, but still, his father's choice of words had been less than comforting.

There hadn't been much he could do, initially, to appear friendly and open to all of the Beauxbatons students. There were quite a few of them in his House alone, it would take time to transform himself from a casual acquaintance into something else. He had decided to begin with the ones in his year - Camille, Remy and Jacques - that being certainly the easiest option. All it required was for him - with the unwitting Richard in tow - to take advantage of Constance's sudden desire to work at lunchtimes and so forth. Whether the blonde girl knew it or not, her trips to the library provided Aurelius with the perfect chance to strike up conversations with Remy, Camille or Jacques through the Slytherins who seemed to have befriended them the term before. All completely innocent, of course, for despite Aurelius' subtlest prompting the subject of Grindelwald rarely came up - until one breakfast-time in the first few weeks of February when everyone was talking about it.

It was easy to see why.

"GUERNSEY'S SECOND SURRENDER," cried the Daily Prophet, "GRINDELWALD GAINS CONTROL OF BRITISH WIZARDING COMMUNITY! MINISTRY FEARS FULL-SCALE INVASION!"

"Oh my goodness," Teresa Symmonds said, reading over Richard's shoulder, "that's getting a bit too close to home, isn't it? Why on earth weren't we prepared?"

"The Muggle population of Guernsey's been in German hands for a while," Tom Riddle informed her calmly, "but the Ministry didn't do anything because Grindelwald hadn't shown any interest in it. It has no interest in fighting the Muggles' war for them."

"Odd, though," Richard interjected thoughtfully, "the pattern so far has been the other way round - Grindelwald's lot batter the wizards into submitting, and that makes it so much easier for the advance of the German army."

"That was true in Germany," Riddle said dubiously, "but the two armies have been working symbiotically across Europe -"

"Well, that's all very interesting," Simon Harper interrupted, "but none of you lot have read what's at the bottom, have you?"

They hadn't. For a few minutes, there was silence amongst the group as they scanned the rest of the paper.

"Oh my," Constance said, evidently at a loss for words.

"Oh shit," Richard said, frowning. "Things are getting serious, aren't they? Thirteen of our wizards killed on the south coast - and only two prisoners taken. Wonder what they'll have to say for themselves?"

"I doubt they'll say anything that we couldn't surmise from these reports," Tom replied, "It's unlikely that Grindelwald is in the habit of confiding his plans to the average foot soldier."

"I'd say it was pretty obvious what's going on," Aurelius said directly to Richard, steadfastly not looking at Riddle. "They're going to try and pick away at our defences, and whilst that's going on, they've undoubtedly got their spies within our world proper - eating away at us from the inside. That'll be why the Ministry's coming down so hard on certain families."

"At times like this, they're desperate for support," Richard agreed.

"No doubt," Remy Flaubert said, speaking for the first time, "if you are going to send proper troops back into my country to help the Resistance, you will find yourselves quite vulnerable to attack from within."

"There's no mention of sending troops anywhere," Constance said then, still examining the paper. "Just stuff about manning our coastlines properly - which you'd think they'd have been doing anyway."

Remy shrugged casually. "It's only a matter of time before your Ministry takes some real action," he said. "Now that they feel themselves truly, personally, threatened by Grindelwald."

"You mean they didn't feel threatened when persons unknown bumped off Flay?" Aurelius asked sceptically. That inspection had seemed to him to be a sign of a pretty threatened Ministry, not knowing where to strike. And striking in quite the wrong place, when they did decide to act.

"Oh, I'm sure they did," Remy agreed hastily, "but you can see that their efforts were concentrated, in the main, on dealing with potential fifth columnists. Now Grindelwald has stepped up his attack, they won't have any choice but to respond directly."

"And you know all this how?" Teresa demanded. She looked a little bewildered.

'It's not all that hard to read between the lines," Remy answered politely. "Especially when you've seen it all happen before."

"I suppose so." Teresa looked slightly abashed. "Sorry."

"What exactly has happened to Beauxbatons, then?" Aurelius asked, thoughtfully. "We know it's been taken over - was it too dangerous for you to have stayed in France?"

"Not that you're not welcome here, of course," Richard added swiftly. "Aurelius can be awfully rude at times - however hard I try to teach him manners."

Remy smiled, though his eyes lingered on Aurelius. "Mostly dangerous for the Jews amongst us," he said politely. "Quite a few of them left for America, deeming it safer. But Semitic or not - the majority of parents didn't want their children taught at one of Grindelwald's Learning Centres."

"The children of the collaborators, of course, are still there," Camille interjected. "But then, it's not Grindelwald they have to fear now - it's the French Resistance. "

"Who might wish to make an example out of them," Remy explained. "Only last month, there was news of a married couple - French, but they had helped secure our school for Grindelwald after the attack - whose children found them dead. Poisoned, apparently, but nobody is sure."

"Shit happens," murmured Camille, smiling slightly at Aurelius. "As you English say."

Aurelius frowned to himself as the conversation turned elsewhere. The questions he wanted answering without the inconvenience of actually having to ask would not be answered in a group discussion. It was too public, too obvious. However, he did feel that he was making some form of progress with the French students - inasmuch as he could tell that he would get more of worth out of Remy and Camille if he could speak with them separately. He knew very little about Camille - other than she seemed to have adapted perfectly to Slytherin house. Her behaviour after that incident in the corridors with the Gryffindors - months ago - proved that. And she had brought up the subject of French collaborators. It was quite likely that some had come to Britain themselves, fearing for their safety - or sent their children instead. As for the girl's smile just then - well. He wasn't entirely sure what it indicated. But perhaps he would start with her.

*

It was well into February when Marcus told her that he wouldn't be giving her any more lessons in the Zalaras Wing.

"Am I as good as you are, then?" Constance demanded, knowing that she was certainly close, if not there already. "Why are you stopping?"

"Because he asked me to," her brother replied. "He's going to be working with you now."

Her old curiosity about Tom Riddle's duelling skills was instantly revived. "What's he like?" she asked eagerly. "I've never seen him so much as raise his wand at someone."

"There's a reason for that," Marcus replied, "you should know it without having to ask. And he's not good. He is far more than that."

"He's more than good at most things," Constance said, realising that of course Tom couldn't go about hexing people in corridors in the way that most of her friends did. He was determined to maintain his unblemished academic record for starters. She knew he was aiming for the position of Head Boy next year and was more than likely to get it - but quite apart from such considerations, he was almost fanatical when it came to Albus Dumbledore.

"He dislikes me," he'd confided in her, one night after Marcus had left the Zalaras Wing to seek his bed, "and although I dislike him too, I have given him no outright reason to dislike me. So either he's taken against a tragically impoverished yet exceptionally charming model student - which would not, I think, be in keeping with the image he chooses to present to the world - or there is another reason."

"What?" she asked. "It can't be because you're Slytherin. He's always been quite amicable to me."

"I can only guess that he suspects," Tom had said thoughtfully.

"That you're the Heir?" Constance asked, shocked. "He can't."

"No, not that. But I do believe he suspects that I am not what I am."

She must have looked confused, because he'd continued quite impatiently. "He thinks I'm up to something. Which I am, with you in here for starters - but he has no reason to think this because I have been very careful not to furnish him with one. Which makes me very anxious to appear spotless before him, especially now. I do not wish to draw adverse attention to myself."

"This is different," Marcus said, drawing her attention back to the present. "He's very good, verging on brilliant at times academically, that's common knowledge. But Constance, you should see him fight, you will see him fight - it's like a dance, something in his very being -"

"Well of course it is," she said prosaically, wondering at her usually pragmatic brother's sudden flight of fancy. "He's a wizard, isn't he?"

Marcus shook his head. "I can't explain it. You'll see for yourself, tomorrow."

Constance had always found it very hard to be patient, especially when she was intrigued and wanted answers. Or, in this case, wanted to see what Marcus had seen and she had not. An aspect of Tom that she had never seen before. Although her day was as full as ever, and technically she had no time to think about the promise of the night, the hours seemed to stretch out intolerably.

"I really can't be bothered with this," she said to Richard irritably, during a History of Magic lesson in which Professor Binns seemed to be trying deliberately to exceed his own standards of dullness. "You'd think Dippet would've sacked the boring git by now, wouldn't you?"

"Aren't we bitter today," Richard said, not taking his eyes off the movement of his quill as he sketched a lady with a very large bosom being attacked by a raging dragon. "What's the matter? All that hard work not paid off yet?"

"Oh, shut up," she said crossly. "I hope to high heaven he dies soon, I really do. And I hope I get to watch," she added. "Might make up for all the times I've wanted to off myself whilst listening to this drivel."

"But you've never listened to his drivel before," Richard pointed out. "Free period, this, make the most of it."

"I can't exactly walk out, can I?" she asked snappily, having successfully worked herself up into a state of complete frustration. "Oh, what's the point!?"

The rest of the day was no better. Perhaps it was fatigue that made her so irritable - in truth, she had been feeling tired for quite a while thanks to her hectic schedule. Her tiredness combined with her natural impatience succeeded in making Constance an exceptionally unpleasant person until evening. Then, at least, she was able to go up to her room, read through a few of her notes in preparation for later, and try to catch a few hours sleep so that she would be refreshed when the time came for her to duel the Heir of Slytherin.

She was roused some time past midnight, by the Magiclock she'd been given for her eleventh birthday (and had promptly shoved in a box - out of sight, out of mind, until she'd finally felt it might come in useful). Slipped out of her dormitory, after casting a light Sleeping Spell on the others to reassure herself. Found Marcus reading alone in the common room, exchanged nods with him, slipped quietly out and along the necessary corridors, up winding stairways until she came at last to the Zalaras Wing.

He was already there, sitting at the desk that looked almost ready to collapse under the weight of books he'd piled onto it. As ever, his diary was close to hand.

"I always meant to ask you about that," Constance said, looking at the blank pages. "It's quite an achievement, to say the least."

The corner of Tom's mouth crooked upwards. "Technically demanding, perhaps, but in theory quite simple - and a much more efficient way of preserving the really important memories," he said, smiling for some reason evidently known only to him. Then, shaking his head slightly as though to clear it, he continued, "but I shall tell you all about that at some other time. We have something more pressing to deal with."

"Yes," Constance agreed excitedly, "Marcus told me you would be taking over my - training." She hesitated on the last word, but could think of nothing else that would be appropriate for what went on in this room after dark.

"Did he say why?" asked the boy she'd thought of for so long as the half-blood - although in his case, that one half was something more than special.

"No-o," she said slowly, wondering if Tom was going to tell her the purpose behind the training sessions she and Marcus had been undergoing. Wondering if it would be too, well, rude to ask Tom herself. "Well - he said you'd asked him to. Frankly, he seemed more keen on singing your praises," she added truthfully. "Apparently your duelling skills are nothing short of spectacular."

Tom Riddle almost smiled properly then. "Flattery will get you just about everywhere," he remarked, leaving the table to head towards the practice room. "Even answers to a number of questions, after we've finished here."

"Really?" she asked unnecessarily, as she followed him into the padded room. This was progress, if she was finally to ascend to the same level as her brother. She and Tom had their own understanding, obviously one which Marcus didn't share - but if Tom was finally going to share with her the things he must have shared with her brother, that was really something. Better than sex, almost. "Well - don't hold back now, then, I may be small but I can be quite tough."

He grinned at that, eyes sparkling. "I don't doubt it," he answered, then, without any warning, before she had time to think, "Expelliarmus!"

Her wand flew out of her hand, to be caught in mid-air by Tom. "So much for the courtesies," he said, smirking as she took a few involuntary steps backwards. "An unfriendly wizard isn't going to waste time bowing to you, remember that."

"I will," she said, disgruntled, "if I can have my wand back please."

He flung it back, watched her hand close around it, and without hesitation sent the Full Body Bind in her direction. She was, however, expecting something quite like that from him, and blocked it - with some difficulty, he was much stronger than she was.

After that, she learned two things very quickly. Firstly, her brother had been more than right when it came to an assessment of the Heir of Slytherin's duelling ability. There was an innate grace to his movements, an almost dance-like quality as he sent hex after hex her way. He was so fluent in this art - more so than she or Marcus had been - sending curses that she was hard-pressed to block and even less able to respond to. After a very short period of time, she gave up hope of launching her own offensive, and simply concentrated on defending herself. It occurred to her that it'd be much easier to appreciate Tom's skill if she weren't the one bearing the full brunt of it.

Because - and this was the second thing she learned - holding back was the one thing Tom Riddle didn't consider when it came to fighting. She'd had an inkling of this when he'd bombarded her with half a dozen potentially lethal curses in quick succession. The knowledge she'd gained from all her extra reading in the library had really been put to the test - with one curse in particular it had almost been a race against time for her to work the counter-spell. With her eyes focused on Tom as she waited for the tightness in her throat to subside, she was suddenly aware that he would be a most formidable enemy.

But it was when he cast the first Unforgivable that she could see just how dangerous Tom Riddle could be, if he put his mind to it.

She'd read about it, had thought she could give a pretty accurate description of what it felt like and how to fight it - but as she felt an eerie, dreamlike calm descend upon her mind she realised that reading about something was no substitute for actually experiencing it firsthand.

Drop your wand.

And it was so pleasant, more than that, it was lovely, really, to do just that. To let her wand, such an integral part of who she was, slip through her fingers, to forget it as soon as it hit the floor. She was aware that something somewhere was very wrong, that she'd been brought here to fight, that she should be resisting this -

You know who I am.

- but really would it be so unforgivable to surrender completely now and let herself float in the wake of the voice forever? She didn't think so.

Come closer.

Easy enough to obey that, a delight in itself because the voice was so very soothing and outside the voice what was there but confusion? The voice promised meaning, promised comfort, and it felt so very right to obey that voice as it whispered other things to her....

...until, suddenly, it was gone and Constance found herself shivering, half-naked, staring up at Tom in mingled shock and surprise.

"That was the Imperius curse," she said wonderingly. She was aware that she was supposed to be appalled, disgusted, all the rest of it - he'd used the curse on her. But this was Tom Riddle, and remembering all that implied, she wondered why she felt so surprised. Can he cast the others?

"Yes," Tom replied. He didn't sound pleased. "An Unforgivable curse. Why didn't you fight it?"

"You took me by surprise," Constance replied, getting to her feet. That was true enough, although she doubted Tom would accept it as an excuse. "And - maybe - I didn't want to."

There was no way he could have misinterpreted the look on her face. "Had I carried that to the logical conclusion, I would have been guilty of rape - on a technicality," he murmured. "Perhaps next time, I ought to set you tasks that you will find displeasing. You need to learn how to resist that curse."

"Yes,' she agreed, getting shakily to her feet. "How did you - when?" And why?

Fortunately he understood what she meant. "Your uncle taught me the Unforgivables," he said. "About two years ago."

"You've used the Killing Curse?" she asked. Horror and awe vied for central place in her emotions then. If theirs had been a real duel, she'd have died about nine times over. It was no wonder that so many people had feared that the art of duelling would become obsolete after the invention of the Killing Curse. "On what?"

"Spiders, at first. Then rats, and other small mammals. The larger the animal, the more effort is required. It's best to start small."

"There are wards in here, then, to prevent detection?" Because you could get a life sentence in Azkaban if you were caught.

"Naturally," he said, looking at her shrewdly. "Do you mind?"

She looked at him blankly for a minute, before working out what he meant. "Not really," she said, and to be fair, Tom was right. She would have to learn these, although at the minute she wasn't sure why. He would tell her in time, Constance knew, just as she was well aware that if it had been anyone other than him she'd have been furious. It was deemed an Unforgivable for good reason. With that very much in mind she added, "just don't use the others on me, please. I'm not good with pain."

"I don't think there will be any need for that," he replied quietly. "You will learn to cast them yourself, though."

"I can see why you don't duel like everyone else," she said, laughing nervously. "You'd have half the student body wiped out before the teachers noticed."

He gave her a mirthless smile. "Quite."

"Did you do this to Marcus?" Constance asked suddenly. "Have you taught him this? Or was it my uncle?"

"Come with me," Tom said, taking her by the hand and leading her back into the other room. "Marcus, Regal - they train together now. Your uncle hasn't the time, and I have you to deal with."

"I could do it myself, you know," she said, suppressing her indignation as they sat on the sofa.

"I'm quite sure you could," the boy replied, "but perhaps I'd prefer to be involved with your training."

"Oh," Constance said quickly, realising what she'd said might have been misunderstood. "I didn't mean -"

"I did say, didn't I, that you would have some answers tonight?" Tom interrupted her calmly.

"Yes - yes, you did," she answered swiftly, putting her momentary awkwardness aside.

"So," he said, watching her, "what is it that you would like to know?"

Where to start, she thought with growing elation. The shock she'd felt upon realising that Tom had cast an Unforgivable on her had dissipated; leaving her with the fascination that was becoming permanently associated with the Heir of Slytherin. "Well," Constance said slowly, "there are a number of things - but what I'd really like to know is why."

He raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue.

"Why Marcus started to train me in this way - what is it for?"

Tom appeared to think something through then, and when he did speak, it was with great deliberation. "When you imagined, as a child, the Heir of Slytherin - what exactly did you picture as the end result? What did you imagine the Heir would do?"

A very good question, and one that gave her a clue to what the answer to her question would be. "I never had a particularly good idea," she answered, "as a child, that is. But then, I was always going to be the Heir when I was little - I think I just pictured something incredibly impressive happening at the end - and there were going to be lots of dazzling duels, I know that. But it was Marcus, really, who tried to imagine a point."

Tom laughed briefly. "What did he come up with?"

"Well, he just went along with the legend really," Constance said thoughtfully, "doing Salazar's bidding whilst at Hogwarts - and oh, I'd forgotten - opening the Chamber!"

She looked at him expectantly.

"To release the monster within and wipe out those students who ought not be at Hogwarts." Tom paraphrased the words of the legend softly, eyes distant. "But Salazar's Heir should not be content with such - trifles. Was not Salazar one of the greatest wizards who ever lived?"

"Even to this day," Constance agreed. She was amazed she had the courage to voice her next question, but something within her urged her on. "Is there really a Chamber? Have you seen it?"

"Yes," he said, answering the questions she'd asked - but not the one she'd thought better of asking. "And if it were safe for me to take you there, I would. At the minute, I fear, it is not advisable."

She nodded at that, inhaling slowly as she tried to picture it. Actually seeing the Chamber of Secrets; the thought was almost beyond belief. And there would be so much more from Tom-as-Heir, she knew that already. "So," she began, piecing things together, "our training is for you - are we going to be your army?"

"Not quite an army." His voice was low, taut with suppressed feeling. "Closer - much closer than that. As close as blood."

"A family." Constance could understand, now.

"My family," Tom Marvolo Riddle said. "One I have created, one that will not splinter, no matter how far apart we may be in time or space. Blood binds us."

She remembered his blood dripping onto hers, less than two months ago. "Yes," she said. "But - are you planning on going away?" There was an almost plaintive note in her voice as she asked that. How far apart we may be in time or space. "Families should stay together. They're stronger that way."

The look on his face as she said that checked her sharply. Well done Constance, she scolded herself furiously as she remembered just why he'd been brought up in the Muggle world, put your foot in it, why don't you?

"In some cases," what all he said, however. "Nevertheless. It will, eventually, be necessary for me to go away, as your uncle did."

"When will you go?"

"After Hogwarts," Tom told her.

Not for another year and a half, or thereabouts, then. "When will you come back?"

He smiled at her frustration. "To this country - not for years. I have much work to do elsewhere, a life to create for myself."

She could accept that, she thought. He had his own myth to create, and it wasn't as if she didn't have enough to think about. Now that she knew he was going away - that was something she would have to face up to when the time came. She would miss him though, she knew that already. And what would she and Marcus do when he was away? "Where will you go?"

"To Albania, first, where my training will be furthered," he said, a far-off expression on his face.

Albania? Nobody could miss the significance of that - certainly not with the current war. For it was Grindelwald who had emerged from that country's dark forests to threaten all Europe - and, if she remembered rightly, she'd once suspected her uncle of having links with that Dark wizard. She felt strangely disappointed. She couldn't picture Tom as being a follower of any sort.

"You look troubled," Tom said, eyeing her closely. "Tell me why."

"I can't see you working for anyone else. In any capacity," she said honestly, knowing Tom would understand just whom she meant by anyone else.

"In which case you have assessed my nature accurately," he replied, looking briefly exasperated. "I have no interest in helping someone else take control of this country."

"Good," she said, and meant it. Then she thought about what he'd just said, and frowned. Just enough emphasis on one word had made his meaning crystal clear. "Then your training...."

"Some secrets are still my own," he told her. "And must remain so, for now."

Constance dipped her head in acknowledgement. In truth, she already had far too much to think about. The Heir and his Chamber, the Unforgivable Curses, the family Tom had forged for himself. Albania. His future, her future. She was exhausted, could feel her temples beginning to throb - a side effect of the Imperius Curse she supposed.

"You should sleep," Tom observed wisely. "Gather your strength. You'll have need of it before long."

There was no arguing with that, not after all he'd just told her. Her brother and her uncle had placed their trust in Tom Riddle; she would do the same.