Tres Tria

Tom had risen unwillingly early next morning. True, he had gone almost immediately to bed, feeling put out and sulky, not to mention extremely out of place.

He'd half hoped that Eris Echelon, the girl from the train, who was, he now knew, in the year above him, would talk to him-- or at least smile at him-- but she seemed rather taken with another First Year boy who had introduced himself as 'Malfoy'. As far as Tom so far knew, he had no other names. He seemed older and much more sophisticated than the other First Years-- to Tom anyway.

All the other Slytherins seemed already to have marked Tom down as a 'freak of nature' almost automatically, and so it was that Tom had eaten breakfast almost alone, with Malfoy occasionally making a general comment to the table, that Tom couldn't help but overhear, about what teachers they might have, and how he was glad no Muggle-borns had got into the House. Tom had answered in monosyllables and a monotone to match. Not that anyone really listened, he realised gloomily.

And now he was waiting outside the classroom for his first lesson: Potions. Tom had arrived early as a means of escaping Malfoy and, to a certain extent, Echelon, and was quite alone. He waited for a few minutes, bored and depressed, before being joined by a jauntily cheerful Louis.

"Oh, hello Tom. You're early."

"Yes. Well, so are you." Tom wasn't in the mood for being sociable, and Louis was rather taxing to be sociable with.

"I know..." Louis paused.

"Why?"

The fair-haired boy shrugged, "Oh, you know..."

"No, I don't." Louis was looking rather uncomfortable, but Tom was determined to dig into his thoughts. "Tell me."

"I suppose I'm just not that good at getting along with new people. I never quite know what to say. I mean, everyone's really nice, but... well... I just don't know what to talk about. Silly, isn't it?" he grinned vaguely.

Tom knew the feeling-- although the Slytherins hasn't exactly been 'nice'-- but wasn't going to admit it in a month of Mondays, "Well, just talk about, well, things. Be yourself!"

"I am myself."

Tom thought about this. It was logical, probably. A person couldn't exactly be anyone but himself or herself, could they? Unless they were forced to be something they weren't. Confusing...

"Well, you'll find people to talk to. Your lot look like nice types. More so then in stupid Slytherin, anyway."

The bell rang. The corridor started filling with chattering students, discussing their first lesson of the new term-- for some, their first lesson at Hogwarts! Potions... Tom didn't know anything about Potions. Not for the first time, he felt the gripping, squeezing feeling of nerves in his stomach.

"Do you think--?" he began, but a shrill voice cut across.

"Hello!" It was Connie, smiling broadly, eyes shining, twittering like a lark, barely able to keep from bouncing. "Isn't it super here? All the other people in Hufflepuff are great! I have Herbology now. I can't wait! After morning lessons, do you want to come and explore the school grounds, you two?! I heard that there are monsters and things, it'll be fun!" She chattered, her stubby brown pigtails bobbing as she did so.

"Hello, Connie," Tom gave her a thin smile, but felt, somehow, that disliking Connie would be like disliking a puppy. In more ways than one, she resembled a small, round, over-enthusiastic little dog.

"Oh, yes, hello," Louis nodded.

"So, do you want to come after class?" she persisted. It was too early for this, thought Tom. His brain had only just started working. But all the same, he might feel differently after class. You never knew. And after break they had flying, which would be an adventure in itself... all the Houses would be learning that together.

"Oh, why not?"

"Great! You too, Louis? Oh, please come--"

Louis laughed at her eagerness, "Yes, all right. I'll come, but right now, I'm busy feeling nervous about this first lesson."

"I know," Tom agreed, "I think I have butterflies establishing permanent colonies in my stomach."

"Don't worry," Connie grinned, "It'll be super! Can't you just imagine being able to do all kinds of great stuff, just by mixing the right potion, or saying the right words? Look, mate, I have to go. Don't want to be late for my first class!" Connie took off, sprinting down the hall towards the outdoor greenhouses.

Before either Tom or Louis could say anything, the door to the Potions room swung open, as if by magic-- which it probably was, Tom decided-- and the class filed in, silent, except for the odd murmur to a nearby companion.

They seated themselves nervously, as a tall woman with reddish-gold hair, who Tom recognised from the previous night, strode into the room, carrying a stack of books and a few jars of assorted things, none too pleasant looking. She smiled at them with thin lips.

"That's Professor Kane," Louis murmured, sitting beside Tom, "She's the head of Ravenclaw. She was very nice to me yesterday."

"Welcome, class!" Professor Kane announced in a strong Irish accent, "I am, in case you didn't realise, your Potions teacher for this year, and perhaps after, Shannon Kane. That's Professor Kane to all of you, though." She smiled good-naturedly.

"Good morning, Professor Kane." The class droned in monotone, as they were accustomed to doing in their primary schools, but she waved them silent with a high laugh.

"No need for all that! Anyhow, I hope that you are all good learners, and will cooperate with me and with each other." A dark haired girl sitting in front of Tom gave a high-pitched laugh. A Slytherin boy to Tom's right coughed in what sounded curiously like "Ravenclaw!"

"I will be having you for this double-period of Potions on a Monday morning. Yes, that's two hours, and you know you'll love it!" It sounded more like an order, although the teacher's eye twinkled pleasantly, "Although I should warn you now, there is no room in this class for unruly students..." Professor Kane paused, as if to emphasise this point, and looked meaningfully at the red-haired boy who had 'coughed'. "But I'm sure we won't have a problem with that kind of thing. Now..." and she proceeded to talk emphatically about potions, the different kinds, which ones they would be studying this year, and which ones were forbidden within the school grounds.

The girls started giggling at the mention of Love Potions and one or two looked disappointed that they went against school rules.

"It might be worth mentioning," Professor Kane said, "That-- as you know if you've been reading The Daily Prophet-- there is a very heated discussion going on in the Ministry concerning love potions. It has been suggested that all forms of Love Potions should be outlawed. Although we don't get into the composition of love potions, their origins, and their effects until Fifth Year, I don't see a reason why we can't just get the basics, and give you a little taste now, seeing as the situation in the Ministry."

Louis looked at Tom with a glimmer in his eyes, suggesting perhaps that he had been given a Christmas present six months early. "Love Potions," he whispered excitedly in his ear, "are very complicated and dangerous. Some of them are even classified as Dark Magic! She must think a lot of us, to be giving us such challenging work so early."

Tom was of a slightly different state of mind. In his opinion, they should just start off easy, with some simple potions from the book. More advanced stuff meant more advanced homework, and spending three hours a night on potions homework didn't catch his fancy, excited as Louis might have been.

"Wonderful," he muttered under his breath. "Just simply brilliant."

Louis heard him, but mistook his sarcasm for sincerity. "Oh, but isn't it, Tom? Can you believe we're going to be going into Fifth Year material? It's so exciting!"

Tom pulled up a strained smile. "Yeah, it is. Spiffing."

The lesson continued, and, as Professor Kane continued to describe the different types of Love Potions, Tom fell into a stupor. Most of this went way over his head, and he didn't really have any use for a love potion at that moment in time. Professor Kane explained that, obviously, doing a Practical lesson on Love Potions would not be a good idea, and Tom lost even more interest. He wanted to do something. Just... something! Two hours of sitting there was far too long!

Louis seemed fascinated by the whole idea of any kind of Potions, and asked question after question, nodding sincerely and making notes on the answers. Tom felt like kicking him, but decided against it. He wanted to stay on good terms with his friends, and kicking people, although fun at the time, never got him anywhere. Anywhere good, he corrected. The only place kicking Louis would get him was the headmaster's office and Tom didn't want to end up in there, receiving the plimsoll so soon in the year.

The plimsoll had been a popular form of punishment in his old school, where anyone who chose to even breathe out of turn would be sent to the front of the class, and returned red-eyed, red-faced and red-fingered to his or her chair, faced by sniggering schoolmates.

On the plus side, it didn't seem like that at Hogwarts. As they slouched out of class with the rest of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, Tom listened to some of them, most, if not all, Ravenclaws,

chattering excitedly, elated at this fascinating new knowledge. Tom, however, was hoping that Flying would be a vast improvement over Potions.

Most of the Slytherins, however, just skulked about and looked surly.

He had a broom up in his dorm-- not a terribly flashy or expensive one, but apparently not ready for its retirement in a Quidditch Museum just yet-- a Shooting Star 007. He had not quite dared to try flying on it yet, partly because he didn't know how, but mainly because he hadn't wanted to make a fool of himself. Not that he hadn't already.

They wandered down to the lake, after both boys visited the dorm to retrieve their brooms.

The lake, luckily, was not hard to find. Connie was waiting impatiently, and waved like a maniac when she spied them trotting towards her. Tom was willing to bet she'd run all the way there from her last class, although maybe her pink cheeks were only that colour because of the unusually sharp September cold.

"Hallo! What in 'Eaven's name took you two so long? Crawl, didja?" she asked them, pulling her cloak about her more tightly and readjusting her black and yellow muffler.

"You do know that you look like a bee in that thing, don't you?" Tom pointed to Connie's wrap, ignoring her question.

"And you don't look like some dodgy snake in yours? Please, Tom," Connie snorted.

"Good morning, Connie." Louis waved awkwardly.

"Hi, Louis!" Connie smiled happily, and regarded the two of them. "Well, OK, now! We have forty-five minutes until flying lessons start. And, oh, I almost forgot. Tom, Louis, I invited a girl from my Herbology class to come too. So we still have to wait for her. Lazy git!" she added jokingly. Tom wondered how on earth Connie managed to stay so blooming happy all the time.

"Oh, who?" Louis asked as he fumbled with his blue-and-bronze striped tie.

"Er, Abbey Warlock. She's a Gryffindor. In our year, obviously. She's really nice, if a bit of a stick in the mud sometimes."

"Well, that's... great." Tom said. Louis was too busy fiddling with the clasps on his cloak to say anything. Either he'd found the workmanship in the silver highly interesting or he was nervous. Tom found the latter was more likely.

"Connie! Hello, Connie!" a lanky girl with cherry red hair, sharp brown eyes, and a heart-shaped face loped over to them, waving. She grinned, a wide grin that didn't seem to fit right on her face. This gave the unnerving impression that she was about to go for the neck.

Tom stared up at her. She stood a good head and shoulders over him, and she even topped Louis' height. The girl wasn't bad looking, really, he considered, but there was something about the way she looked at him made him feel that he'd answered a question wrongly. Plus, being gazed down on from such a height unnerved him.

Louis looked uncomfortable and edged away from the newcomer a little, fiddling with his cloak. "Well, then," Connie cleared her throat. "I think I'd better introduce everybody, since you all know me. This," she gestured to Louis, "is Louis Gilbert, from Ravenclaw, and he is Tom Riddle. He's in Slytherin."

There was an awkward silence, Abbey gave Connie a suspicious look and Louis fidgeted a little. Tom knew exactly what Abbey was thinking. 'Connie is friends with a Slytherin? Is she out of her mind? They're awful.'

All the same, in the end it was Abbey who broke the uncomfortable moment. "Hello, then, both of you." She flashed a smile.

"Hello." Louis nodded, a little starkly.

"Hi." Tom smiled vaguely.

"We have flying next lesson. Do you like to play Quidditch?" she asked. Her tone was rather blunt, Tom felt. Maybe she always spoke as if she knew her mind.

"I... ER ...I've never tried it."

"Are you Muggle-born? That's odd, a Muggle-born in Slytherin! Very odd indeed. Most of the Slytherins absolutely, positively hate Mug-ow! What did you do that for, you fool?"

"Shut up!" Connie hissed.

Tom was about to step into his defence, fully prepared to tell Abbey about his mother, when she continued on.

"All right! No need to use aggression; attacking a fellow human without just cause is a manifestation of inner turmoil and conflicting emotions. Really, if you can't resolve your conflicts without violence, you really ought to get some classes. My friend said that Dr. Woodstrin, in London, is an absolute genius. Maybe you ought to owl him about it." She announced this with absolute seriousness. The other three students blinked at her, and Tom couldn't help but snigger, wondering exactly how Abbey's friend knew this doctor was really a "genius."

Abbey turned a stern eye on him. "And you oughtn't to laugh, Thomas Riddle; it's a symptom of a deeper inferiority complex."

"Sorry," Tom apologised, trying not to grin. Connie gave him an amused glance, and continued the previous subject.

"It's flying next lesson, isn't it?"

"Yes," Louis nodded, "And I can honestly say that the greater likelihood is that I will fall and break my neck. And give everyone a good laugh, into the bargain, I'm afraid."

"You'll do fine!" Connie laughed.

"She's right," agreed Abbey, somehow managing not to sound scornful, keeping up with her constantly sincere tone,

"No need to be scared. I mean, hardly anyone dies flying, unless they do something really stupid, like driving themselves into a wall."

"They might not mean to," pointed out Tom, "If they didn't manage to steer right, I mean--"

"Well, that's still pretty stupid, isn't it?" persisted the Gryffindor girl, one eyebrow raised high.

"Not if you don't know how to steer right."

"That's stupid in itself. It's a broom; how can you not be able to steer a broom? It's a simple matter of up, down, left, or right!"

"Look, I don't know, I've never flown one."

"Hah, then don't pretend you know what you're talking about." She gave Tom a superior glance, looking extraordinarily pleased at having scored points off him.

"Well, anyway," Connie interrupted desperately, seeing the look on Tom's face, "I'm sure it takes a bit of learning, right?"

"It's easy," announced Abbey, "I've been flying since I was three. I've won awards, you know."

"Brilliant! I've never flown."

"I have, a bit. But I'm no good," Louis admitted, biting his lip, "I think my older sister got the better part of broomstick talent. She's Keeper for Ravenclaw, you know. I don't have a very good sense of... of... of whatever you need to be good at flying."

"Coordination?" Connie suggested.

"Probably."

"Ah." Abbey gave Louis a critical look. "There's a mental condition for that, you know." She studied him with intense eyes, "Shouldn't think you've got it, though."

"Oh, well, that's a relief then." Louis didn't look as though he had even the faintest idea what she was talking about. Tom sighed. This newcomer was giving him a headache. And she was strange.

It is said that there are two types of people in the world; those who can say 'this is a fact', and those who can say 'Why didn't you know that this is a fact, stupid?' Tom suspected Abbey of belonging to the latter group. It occurred to him, however that this saying was wrong. Others, such as Connie, might say 'Who cares? So long as it's a fact, does it matter if we know it? 'Sides, it's probably just indoctrination or somethin'.' Louis probably didn't fit in either; his group would be the ones who just blinked and looked confused. Tom wasn't sure which group he belonged to. He wasn't sure he cared.

They continued talking aimlessly, forgetting completely about the exploration, until the bell went to signal the end of their free time, and the return to lessons.

They trudged down to the nearby Quidditch pitch, trailing their brooms behind them. Tom noticed that Abbey's broom was highly polished and very definitely unscratched, even though it was not brand new.

They were met on the pitch by their new teacher; a muscularly solid man, with a handsome face and that usual, horribly brisk manner that Tom always associated with P.E Teachers. It was terribly apparent that he was one of those men who believed that students should frequently play good, competitive games in healthy, outdoor sleet.

"Come along, come along, chop-chop!" he hailed them, as they wandered through the entrance to the Quidditch pitch, and were directed to their various changing rooms, "You there! No lally-gagging!"

Louis gave the professor a harassed look, and quickened his page by approximately 0.26 miles per hour.

After changing, the first years met on the Quidditch pitch, hanging around in dribs and drabs of friendship groups, all dressed in their Quidditch robes, which came in two obvious sizes; too big or too small, except for Abbey's, which, Tom noticed irritably, fitted perfectly. Tom also noticed that, despite her apparent confidence when speaking, she held herself rather awkwardly, as if she wasn't sure what to do with all her limbs.

"Right! Come along, line up! Get a move on, young chappy; it'll be Saturday by the time you get into place!" The teacher considered the class in front of him critically with his sharp blue eyes, presumably just to make absolutely sure that there were no other nitpicks he could make. "Very well; you'll do for the moment. My name is Professor Broadbeck, and I am going to be teaching you to fly, one hour, once a week for the rest of this year." He paused, as if to make sure that no one had moved out of line without his permission, and proceeded to demonstrate exactly how the students would go about mounting and flying the brooms.

After awhile, the students who did not know already what to do began to get the hang of it, and those who were a little rusty regained confidence.

Tom circled slowly, not daring to go more then a few feet above the ground, whilst Louis clung to his Shooting Star, gripping the handle with his hands, arms and knees, eyes screwed almost shut, as if he expected to plummet to the ground any moment.

Connie did not seem to be having such difficulties, flying confidently over head, grinning happily, and Abbey was doing likewise. The two shouted to each other in exultation.

Malfoy, Tom noticed, had flown the highest, and was perched upon his broom like a bird on a branch, watching the whole proceedings with obvious boredom. It was evident that he was extremely used to flying, and considered this to be a waste of time. Tom couldn't help but feel like a bit of a fool under the blonde boy's stony gaze.

"Now that most of you seem to have got the hang of that," barked Professor Broadbeck, giving Louis and another boy, a sandy child with a square jaw, who was doing his best to look suave and failing miserably, a haughty look. "I think we shall attempt some games and exercises. Don't worry, very few people have broken any bones doing these; it's when we get on to Quidditch that it becomes more dangerous."

Tom decided that he definitely didn't want to know anything about Quidditch, thank you very much. His idea of a good sport was cricket or tennis, both of which he was fairly good at. Or, failing that, chess.

Although far from the worst at flying, he did not like the feeling of being so far from the ground, and was convinced that it was only a matter of time before he would fall off and break every bone in his body.

The teacher split the students in House teams, with the order to play each other at various skills; scoring with the 'Quaffle'-- Tom took a moment to realise was the red ball-- then racing up and down the pitch, and finally, to get from one side of the pitch to the other whilst defending yourself against a large, heavy, dense black ball that Tom made a mental note to call a 'Bludger'.

The first two tasks, Tom completed successfully, but the final one was the one he was dreading. Louis had already been rendered unconscious after falling off his broom whilst trying to score during the first game and a number of other students had, for one reason or another, failed their tasks and had been sent to sit on the sidelines.

Abbey had been gotten out during the previous game, and she was now sulking on the sidelines, muttering under her breath.

Tom's remaining housemates were, much to his annoyance, Malfoy, a shadowy girl with bullet-hole eyes and long, dull, charcoal-black hair called Margaret Moon, and a spidery red haired boy, who Tom remembered as the boy who had 'coughed' in Potions; Francis Whipstaff.

Connie remained still in the game on the Hufflepuff team, along with a boy called Lupin. Tom wasn't looking forwards to having to hit the Bludger at her, or vice versa.

"It's us up next."

"Huh?" Tom jumped. It was Malfoy, hovering just behind his ear like a giant moth.

"I said it's us up next. Me and you against those stupid Hufflepuffs, you know. Should be a laugh-one of them's a girl, for a start. Easy. They're practically asking for a defeat."

"She seems quite good, actually." Tom said, faintly.

"What at, needle work?" Malfoy sniggered.

"No-- Quidditch. Don't think she's the sewing type, actually."

"Probably just beginner's luck. Besides which, she's a girl, so people will have gone easy on her, let's face it. I honestly don't know why they let girls play Quidditch. They're hopeless."

"It's dangerous, too. Everyone knows that boys are better at this stuff." Tom nodded.

"Exactly. Anyway, isn't she that girl you hang around with? Along with that wussy Gilbert boy? I saw you in a train compartment with them yesterday, and then just a little while ago, by the lake."

"ER, yes." Tom admitted, reluctantly.

"Honestly, Tom, I don't know what you see in her."

Tom squirmed slightly. "She's a friend."

"Naturally-- Oh for goodness sake!" Malfoy howled suddenly, as Margaret fell from her broom, having been hit in the face with a Bludger aimed her way by a sturdy-looking Ravenclaw boy. Blood was gushing from her nose. "You see what I mean?! Useless!" He rolled his eyes and threw up his arms to punctuate.

Francis, returning from the game against the remaining Ravenclaws, handed the two boys a bat each. Tom was slightly more at home with this. It was like having a rounders bat at his disposal.

"Your turn. Beat them; we're Slytherins, we're the best, and we can win this. We're the best at everything. Margaret will be all right in a minute." Francis informed them, frowning determinedly.

"Thanks." Tom smiled, queasy, wondering why the others were taking this so seriously. It was only a game, and not even an important one, either. He supposed that was what Slytherin was all about : winning.

"Right." Malfoy and Tom turned to face the opposite side of the pitch, where the last two Hufflepuffs hung in the air; both the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor teams had been defeated.

Connie and the tiny, fair boy called Lupin didn't look as though they'd be much of a match for such a large ball and two boys with hefty bats.

"Ready!" The teacher's voice rang across the silent field.

Tom could feel his one hand gripping the broom handle, the other clutching the bat as if it were a lifeline. He really, really did not want to end up like Louis, or even Margaret.

"Steady!" Tom exchanged supportive grins with Malfoy, and focused upon the other side of the pitch. "...Go!"

The whistle blew, and the two Bludgers shot from their restraints into the air. One pelted itself straight at Malfoy, and the other towards Connie. Their bats both cracked against the balls, which ricocheted off, and then came spinning back, one narrowly missing Tom's left ear.

He bent his head down, and tried to focus once again on the opposite side of the pitch, but one of the Bludgers was coming right at him again. He swung at it heavily with his bat, almost missing. It spun off to be met by Lupin's own bat.

Tom's breath caught in his throat, and he bent lower, speeding ahead, determined to make good ground while he had the chance.

Malfoy was slightly ahead of him. They were beating the two Hufflepuffs back. Tom swooped past Lupin, almost knocking him from his broom.

Tom heard someone swear an oath. Connie had swung at a Bludger so that it bounced towards Malfoy. It caught him on the thigh, but did not unseat him. He spun towards the girl, so that it seemed as though he was going to fly right into her, forcing her to dive.

Lupin stared for a second, but a blow from a Bludger sent towards him by Tom bought him back to his senses. He tried to get past the Slytherin boy, but Tom blocked his way, sending another Bludger cracking towards him.

Malfoy was still blocking Connie, doing it in such a way that she was forced nearer and nearer the ground, making it hard for her to concentrate on the Bludgers as well as the looming ground. He swooped at her again, pressing her ever downwards in a steep fall.

Tom, sensing his help was needed, smacked the next Bludger to come his way towards the girl. It caught her heavy on the chest, winding her enough to give Malfoy a chance to force her even further downwards, until she hit the ground with a thud and a groan.

Lupin forgot the game, aware that there was no hope of his winning, and swept down to help his team mate. Slytherin had won.

Malfoy let out a yell of exultation. Tom found himself joining in, forgetting Connie's misfortune, and swooped down to join the rest of his team.

"Good job, boys," Margaret, holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to her face, which contrasted with her ghostly white skin, greeted them quietly. The bleeding seemed to be subsiding, although she was developing two black eyes.

"Fantastic, you two!"

"Thanks!" Tom beamed, pushing his fringe out of his eyes, pride welling inside him. It was the first time any of the Slytherins had ever paid him any interest, never mind a compliment.

"Did you see the way that little Mudblood fell?" Malfoy laughed, his eyes shining. "Smack!"

The others joined in his laughter, although Tom suddenly felt guilt for what he had done. He should have left Connie to Malfoy and got rid of Lupin instead. He didn't dare voice his sympathies before his House mates, though-not when they were treating him, for the first time, like one of them.

Professor Broadbeck jogged over from where he had been tending to Connie and various other assorted injuries.

"Yes, yes, well done, chaps," he greeted them breezily. "Ten points to Slytherin. Although," he glanced back, frowning, at the other students on the sidelines. "I don't this you needed to use quite that much force."

"Sorry, Sir." Tom apologised. Luckily, perhaps, the other Slytherins took this as sarcasm, and joined in, in mock-earnest tones.

"Gosh, yes, Sir!"

"Won't let it happen again, Sir."

"Absolutely not, Sir."

"Well, then," he smiled happily, "Well done all. You won, and a valuable lesson learned in the process, I daresay."

"Definitely, Sir." Tom wondered if Connie and Louis were all right, but daren't ask in front of the other Slytherins.

"Right." Professor Broadbeck summoned the class together. "A very well done to all of you, and better luck next week to everyone who didn't do so well. You will have noticed by now that I expect your very best efforts, yes?"

"Yes, Sir!" chorused the class.

"Excellent. Now, it is time for you to go and get changed. I expect you all to be ready to get to lunch within five minutes. Off you go."

~*~

Tom met Abbey, Connie and Louis-both now quite recovered from their misadventures-by the lake. He grinned at them uneasily.

"What did I miss?" Louis asked. He had been unconscious for most of the game, following his fall.

"Slytherin won." Tom said.

"Thanks to the cheating of that Malfoy boy. And you." Abbey turned on Tom. "What did you do that for, you idiot?"

"I didn't mean to!" Tom protested. "Anyway, I'm sorry." He turned to the other girl, who gave him a thin smile.

"I'm sorry, Connie."

"'S okay, mate. Just a game, eh?" she replied.

"Thanks." Tom smiled at her, thankful that she hadn't taken it personally.

"What happened?" Louis asked again.

"That stupid Slytherin attacked Connie for no good reason."

"What? Tom?" Louis looked astonished.

"Yes, me. And I didn't mean to," Tom half-lied. "I hit her accidentally."

"Didn't look like it to me! Who were you aiming for, then? Lupin was halfway 'cross the field, Tom. You hit her on purpose-- just so as you could win," scoffed Abbey. It was weird, Tom thought, the way she always kept her voice steady, as if pressing a logical point. "Honestly, the stupidity of some people."

"You like winning." Tom pointed out, almost accusingly. "You didn't exactly take being gotten out lightly."

"Yes, but I didn't cheat! You shouldn't have to cheat. That's just... that's just not on."

"I didn't cheat; Malfoy did. Go and have a go at him, not me."

"Fine. Fine." Abbey screwed up her face. "I'm just saying--"

"Can you stop arguing?" Connie interrupted. "I'm fine, it was an accident, and it's just a game. Who cares, eh? Anyone'ud think I was brown bread to hear you lot talk."

Tom thought about this. Possibly, if he tried to translate Connie's strange dialect, this had a meaning beside the fact that she was something for sale in a baker's shop. He suspected that he'd missed out on some interesting slang by failing to live in London. Louis, however, queried for him.

"You're what?"

"Brown bread- and I ain't."

"Elaborate?"

"Copped it; gone for a Burton; Pushing up daisies." Sensing continuing incomprehension, Connie sighed. "Dead!"

"Ah." Louis turned to Tom and Abbey. "She's right, you know. You two could at least try and get along?" He gave them a nervous smile.

"All right, pax," Tom nodded, "I'm sorry." He wasn't really-at least, not to Abbey, anyway, but it was, he decided, a good plan not to admit it. "Friends?" He held out a hand, which Abbey regarded with suspicion.

"Oh, gosh that's cheesy, Tom Riddle. My little sister does that, and she's six years old-- but all right," she added hastily, seeing the look on the others' faces. She gripped Tom's hand. "Friends."

"Great!" Louis smiled happily, relieved at the end of hostility.

"Great?" an unpleasant sneer sounded behind Tom. "Great? What's so great about being 'friends' with a snotty, oh-so-high-and-mighty Gryffindor? Also, might I add that a certain inflection on the 'high' should be noted." Malfoy stood behind Tom, with Francis on his right side. Margaret, Tom noticed, didn't stand beside Malfoy, but rather a few steps behind him, looking much like his shadow, rather than a girl. Her eyes were black and blue from where she'd been hit with the Bludger, but with her shadowy appearance, it looked almost eerily natural.

"Hello, Mudblood," Malfoy leered at Connie. "D'you see this?" He tossed his head behind him to indicate Margaret.

"This is what girls should be like: quiet and obedient to their betters. She knows better than to try to win a man's game."

Abbey gave a derisive snort. "You fancy yourself a man? You're barely even a little boy- a certain infliction upon 'little', should be noted, incidentally, Malfoy. Actually, you're more of a weasel than even a little boy, never mind a man."

"Oh, so are you taking note of this, too, you weedy Gryffindor? What do you think you're doing, flying broomsticks? Did you actually think you could beat us Slytherin boys?" He turned his head, locking his gaze on Tom. "Just as I thought, Riddle, you Mudblood lover. Can't believe you got into Slytherin House. But, because I'm in a rather forgiving mood, I might give you one more chance. Come with me now, and we can forget that this little rendezvous ever happened. No one else needs know about it, Tom. Come back with us now, we'll be the heroes of the First Year Slytherins. You helped crush the Hufflepuff House, the house for Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers. You'll be welcomed into Slytherin with open arms." Malfoy grinned, an oddly thin-lipped grin that reminded Tom of a poisonous viper he had seen once, in a zoo.

There was an awful pause. Tom looked at his friends. Louis looked like a rabbit in a boa constrictor's den, eyes as wide as platters, Connie appeared incensed, and Abbey looked as if she were ready to throttle Malfoy.

After a long silence, Tom cleared his throat. "I'd rather keep my real friends, thanks." He tried to keep the reluctant edge out of it, but he wasn't sure he succeeded.

Malfoy threw him a disgusted glance, wheeled himself around, and stalked off towards the castle. Francis immediately followed.

Margaret, however, darted up to Tom, making him jump, and whispered something that was inaudible to the rest of the group, before turning her ghostly, downcast face away from the four other students and slowly following her housemates.

"I don't blame you, Riddle. But just do as they say. They'll make your life miserable."

Tom turned around to face his friend. Louis looked to be recovering from his shock, Connie was smiling vaguely, but Abbey was looking at him oddly.

"What did that revolting ghoul girl say to you, Tom? Abbey inquired her voice as maddeningly steady as ever, her composure regained.

"What?"

"The question wasn't that complex, Riddle! What...Did...She...Say?"

"Nothing!"

"Right, that's terribly believable. She leaned in and-- golly me! - she forgot what to say! So she just held her face up against your ear for a few seconds."

"Yes, that's exactly what happened. Well done, you." Tom couldn't be bothered to argue. He'd barely known the girl half a day, and already the sight of her was irritating him.

"You wanted to go with them, didn't you? Don't lie, I know you did!"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. The point is, however, that I didn't! I stayed here with you, which I'm starting to see as a mistake."

"A mistake? Really? Well, then I'm sure you won't mind that I'm leaving now. I'm going back to my Housemates." She turned to face the other two. "Sorry Connie, sorry Louis. I really am, but I just can't stand here another minute with him." She pointed accusingly at Tom. "Filthy Slytherin article."

Trailing her broom behind her, she marched up the hill towards a large group of gold-and-red clad students.

~*~

Now there are four. There's no escaping that. But fours don't work. Two to keep an eye on the other, and one left over... it's as old as the stars. Threes are what work...

The Holy Trinity; the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone; the Hogwarts Trio; it all works. No escaping it. Things are starting to happen, and everything that happens has a purpose.

There were the Hogwarts Four, but one left. Again, there were three. Slytherin alone. Kind to kind; like to like, that's the way it has always been. Threes have power. And so, of course...

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