Tres Tria

Dinner was not a happy affair. Tom sat and stared into his bread pudding until it turned cold, with the other Slytherins jabbering away to each other snidely. He was, once again, ignored.

He could have been one of them, but he had turned them down that day by the lake, almost a week ago now. Stupidly.

Malfoy had since paid him no heed, and Margaret did whatever Malfoy did, although Tom could sense the degree of coldness coming off Margaret was lesser than from the others, whist Francis watched him out of the corner of his beady eyes in a way that made him distinctly uneasy.

Everything, which had seemed so good for such a short time, seemed to be going wrong again.

Connie had tried to be friendly to Tom since Abbey had enforced herself into their clique, as Tom saw it, but seemed drawn between the two. She evidently could not help but feel that the whole thing was Tom's fault. Although she seemed to have requested that Abbey do her best not to attack Tom on sight, and so, Abbey maintained a civilness to Tom which could have made mid-winter seem warm by comparison.

Louis was obviously less than happy with this state of affairs, but bore with it with dogged determination, never quite daring to complain; never one to voice an opinion unless it was absolutely necessary, he seemed to become even more edgy then normal, and obviously just wanted everyone to start getting along. This, Tom already knew, was probably not going to happen.

Tom realised that he had been watching his bread pudding for five minutes. It continued to look completely unappetising; cold and soggy. Food had barely improved since the war had ended a year ago, and this, Tom considered, was proof. He prodded it, half expecting it to prod him back. It didn't.

At least they weren't still trying to force people to eat powdered egg any more, or 'dig for victory' as if it were some kind of vegetable.

He pushed the dish away moodily, and mooched across the Hall, acutely aware of all the happy faces around him, carefree, no one caring to notice the dejected boy dragging his toes along the ground.

He noticed Louis, Abbey and Connie standing on the other side of the Hall, laughing together. They seemed just so friendly and happy-when Tom wasn't around. It was so bloody unfair. Why were they any better then he was?! What made them deserve friends?! It wasn't like he'd done anything really wrong--Quidditch was just a game! And he could have gone with his Housemates, but he hadn't. Did that count for anything? They didn't understand--didn't want to understand.

People, he decided, were not all they were cracked up to be.

Louis was quiet and nervous and so hopeless at social skills that Tom was amazed that he'd ever even made a friend, whilst Connie was too damn happy, with too few brains, and as for Abbey... she was just contemptible! She was obnoxious, an insufferable know-it-all, and, in short, Satan's daughter. He, Tom, was perfectly normal. If all this was true, then why was he the one who was singled out and friend-less?

He pulled himself to his feet, food untouched, and stalked out of the room, furious with himself and the rest of the world. No one stopped him from leaving.

No one even noticed.

Tom wondered what to do. He had no one to talk to, and nowhere to go. The Slytherin Common Room was not an option, unless he wanted to spend the evening being some older thug's victim.

He set off, wandering with no destination in mind, scuffing his toes along the stone floor, trying to get their cheap rubber soles to leave marks until he came to a dead end--or not exactly a dead end. It had a door in it, wooden and ornate, with the words 'In here bides the knowledge of the world' engraved upon it in twiddley, official-looking writing. Tom realised that the carvings were of books; this had to be the library.

Library... maybe they'd have records of previous students there? His mum! Tom's face cracked into a smile, but he was interrupted by the sound of laughter and voices drifting his way.

His expression returned to one of sullen annoyance as Connie, Abbey and Louis turned the corner.

"Oh, er, hi, Tom," Connie ventured, flicking her eyes over to look at Abbey, who was glaring at Tom, her arms crossed over her chest. Tom returned her fierce gaze; she met his eye, not blinking. It was a challenge. Tom continued the death-stare for a moment, but then blinked, and looked away, eyes watering. A tiny smirk appeared on Abbey's face.

"We were just going to the library. Did you do you want to come with us?" Louis offered, glancing nervously over at Abbey, who was now staring obstinately at the ceiling. Her arms were still crossed tightly across her chest, as if to keep them from wringing Tom's neck. She did, however, wrench her gaze away long enough to glare irately at Louis.

"Don't force yourself, though," she muttered.

She obviously did not want him within a ten-mile radius of her, so he did what any self-respecting eleven-year-old boy would do; he accepted the invitation.

Abbey scowled unpleasantly before wordlessly entering the library.

"Ah, well, right then," Connie faltered before following her friend. "What have you been up to?" But she added under her breath "Don't mind Abbey, she's just... opinionated. Gryffindor spirit, I think."

"Nothing much. Lessons, homework, watching paint dry... And don't worry, I won't."

Connie smiled breezily. "Good, good!"

But even Tom was shaken out of his dark mood when he entered the library.

He'd never bothered to go in before--partly because he had been unable to find it-- and was now fervently wishing he had. It was magnificent; tall cathedral ceilings loomed above him, and the musty old shelves were filled with books, the sizes of which ranged from tiny editions, which Tom could have balanced on his little finger, to huge monstrosities, which would have taken three people to carry.

The air seemed to tingle with some sort of power. Condensed education!

The four students stared around in awe, mouths agape.

Louis apparently had already been a visitor, because upon his entry, the librarian pounced from behind her desk, shaking a finger at him. "Louis Gilbert! For shame, leaving your books lying around like that! You're lucky I'm allowing you back in, young man! When you're done with them, kindly put them back on the shelves, where you found them! It's enough work for me, without little hooligans like you leaving precious, one-of-a-kind books on a table where it could be lost, or damaged, or stolen, or--" At this point, she about seemed ready to swoon. She was a middle-aged witch, and sturdy built, but it seemed as if Louis' crime was about to put her over the edge. She puffed heavily, trying to catch her breath after the rant.

"Madame! There's someone who needs help over in the Astronomy section!" A young witch emerged from behind the counter, a stack of books in her hands.

"Oh, dear me! Coming!" The librarian, caught up in the moment, forgot completely about Louis and his High Crimes against the library. She hastened off to a far corner of the large room.

Louis flashed a grateful smile. "Thanks, Madam Washbourne. I really appreciate it."

The woman grinned, her pale blue eyes sparkling. "No worries, Louis, it's not a problem. Madame O'Kieran can be rather overbearing at times, can't she? Last year one of my mates from Slytherin left a book in the dungeons. Couldn't find it for weeks. I thought Madame O'Kieran would fall into convulsions when he confessed." She laughed, and set down the pile of books on the table beside her.

"Anyhow-- Louis, dear, I don't believe you've introduced me to your friends?"

"Oh!" Louis jumped slightly. "This is Ab-Abbey Warlock."

"'Lo, Miss Washbourne. Nice to meet you." Abbey grinned, and extended a hand. They shook. Toady! Tom thought.

"And this is C-Connie Johnson."

"Halloo, Miss Washbourne," Connie waved.

"And this--" Louis swivelled around, looking for Tom. "--This is Tom Riddle. They're my friends. All of them." He gave Tom a strained grin. Tom raised his eyebrows in reply. At least he was trying to be nice.

"Hi," he muttered sheepishly.

"Ah, Slytherin House, I see, Tom? A few of my best mates were from that House. I was a Ravenclaw myself, though; hence the librarian-ship, no doubt. Between us, we came up with some rather good, er, plans." She grinned mischievously down at Tom. Tom smiled back. He couldn't help it. He liked her. She was instantly easy to get along with, and compliments never hurt, either.

"Well, what are you in need of, you four? Antigone Washbourne, assistant Librarian, is at your service." She bowed ceremoniously, whipping a large quill around with a flourish.

Connie glanced over at Tom. "Well, we were coming to look for some extra Charm texts, so we don't need any help, but, um, I think Tom might like some help searching for something." She'd guessed what he wanted most. Something he wouldn't have expected from someone as scatter-brained as Connie.

Tom remembered what she had said on the platform earlier that week; "This is your mum's graduation picture. We can find out her name and stuff when we get to Hogwarts." Did they have records of ex-students?

Madam Washbourne smiled congenially. "What do you need? I can probably find it for you."

"Well, uh," Tom swallowed, and felt his pocket for the tattered old photo. "I was hoping you could help me find my mum in the old school records..?"

"Oh, all right! That's easy enough. We keep records of all the Seventh Year photos. Mostly the professional, studio ones, but there are always some candid ones, as well. What's her name?" She smiled and began walking to the right of the desk.

Tom followed her, almost tripping himself to in order to keep up with her long-legged strides.

"Well, er, I don't really know, Madam Washbourne."

Madame Washbourne stopped abruptly, almost causing Tom to crash into her.

"You don't know? Sorry? I think I misheard you." She seemed a bit confused.

Tom wanted to slap her. He'd said it quite clear enough, hadn't he? His mother was dead! He never knew her; he didn't even know her name! Was it all that uncommon? The war had just ended; plenty of people didn't have parents. The ever-increasing number of residents at the Home was testament to that, plus unclaimed evacuees and street children! Why did he have to keep explaining it?

"You didn't mishear me, Madam Washbourne. I don't know her name. She died a very long time ago." He said firmly, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"I'm sorry, ducky..." she trailed off awkwardly. She considered a moment, and then began walking again. "Well, then, do you have any idea what year she graduated? What house she was in? Maybe what she looked like? We need something to go by, I'm afraid. Without something, we might as well be throwing darts at the pictures and assuming the one it lands on is your mother."

"Oh! Right," Tom extracted the photo from his pocket and handed it over, hesitating only slightly as the picture left his hands. He never went anywhere without it, and handing it over to an almost stranger felt odd, no matter how much he wanted what Madam Washbourne could help him find.

"A picture! Wonderful! Let's see... I'd say she was Slytherin from the robes. Like you." She glanced up at Tom, double-checking her assumption. After Tom gave a curt nod, she returned her attention to the picture, which was straightening her robes and smoothing her hair.

"Hmm, I think we should start looking about twelve years back; she wouldn't have been in school when she had you, but she might have a year or so after she left school. A lot of girls used to do that," Madam Washbourne mused, handing the cherished photo back to Tom, who tucked it safely back into his pocket. "Fewer children born after the war started, you see. No-one wanted to risk it. Dangerous times, even for our kind."

Reaching a long row of bookshelves, Madam Washbourne stopped. The books upon that sat on the shelves, Tom noticed, were all almost identical, with royal purple covers and--of all colours-- brilliant pink binding. The only difference between them was the silver numbers on the spine, labelling the year of graduation. There must have been at least a thousand-- if not more-- of the pink-and-purple books.

Hogwarts certainly has been open for a very long time, Tom thought, if these school records are anything to go by. I wonder why they keep them.

Running her finger along the first row of the books, Madam Washbourne muttered a small "Ah-hah!" and pulled out a book from the shelf.

Flipping open the cover on the book, she turned to the first and second page, where Tom, who was peeking at the book over her elbow, saw a layout of about twenty-five to thirty older teenagers, in alphabetical order.

"Er..." Madam Washbourne murmured as she scanned the page. "...no. Not this one. Perhaps back a bit further." She pushed a few of the books into Tom's hands.

"Why don't you look through these? They always have a table of contents on the first page, and that has the pictures on it, so you don't have to flip through."

"All right," Tom agreed. He felt apprehensive and excited, as though he was inside his own private bubble. Setting down the books at a nearby table, he took a seat and began to look through them.

Seven books later, there was no luck. Tom snapped the final book in his pile shut, and slouched forwards on the table, trying not to cry.

"Well, this is getting a bit ridiculous!" Madam Washbourne proclaimed, straightening her horn-rimmed glasses. "Maybe we've gone back too far. Maybe your mum had you right after she left, or left earlier than I predicted. Might as well give it a look... Cheer up, she's got to be somewhere around, eh?"

She pulled out three books; ones filed a little more recently the ones they had been through. "Well, unless your mum is a lot older than we thought-- which I don't think because that picture looks relatively recent-- she should be in one of these. Here," she handed Tom the one off the top of the stack. "Take a peek in there, and I'll look through these ones, and if we don't find her, by God, we'll go find Madam O'Kieran. She's been here for a fairly long time; she ought to recognise your mum. She was very pretty, and you don't forget a face like hers."

"Thank you," Tom mumbled, embarrassed. His mum had been very beautiful; he wondered if he'd ever look even half as good as her. If he did, no one had ever mentioned it.

Tom scrutinised the rows of pictures, some of pretty, smiling witches and handsome wizards winking roguishly out at Madam Washbourne, (She isn't bad looking at all, really, Tom considered. She just graduated last year, too, I'd guess. She's very young. I wonder why she didn't get married) and some of scowling, thin-lipped, miserable-looking witches and scrawny, staring, vacant-faced wizards.

"Ooh! Look, Tom, look! I think I've found her!"

"What? Where?!" Tom jumped up, hardly daring to breathe.

"Olivia Elena Marvolo... the picture's the same as your'n!" she cried excitedly, her upper-class accent betraying a tinge of Irish in her excitement.

"My middle name's Marvolo... the woman at the home told me that she named me Marvolo after her father. Must've meant her dad's family name!" He dashed over to peer at the book in the librarian's hands.

"It says here page 248," she flipped excitedly to the page, fumbling pages in her hurry to reach the page.

Tom was reminded of a puppy that one of the girls had found wandering the streets alone, a little while after a raid. She'd kept it for a while, and it had loved fetching sticks, and finding anything that was thrown out for it to catch. Madam Washbourne reminded him of that dog; she seemed almost as excited as Tom felt.

"Ooh, here it is! Here's your mum's page! Goodness, look! That's picture that you have!"

And sure enough, it was. The same exact picture that Tom carried in his pocket everywhere he went sat at the top of the page, under the caption:

Olivia Elena Marvolo, Slytherin, left Hogwarts 1937

But he'd seen that already. Looked at it every day since he could remember. What else was there? A name. That was a start... but still...

Skimming his eyes further down on the page, Tom saw another, more interesting, photo. Not just of his mother, but of her and two other girls; her friends! Tom thought. Maybe they're still around, maybe I could find them, and find out about her!

There was another girl with gleaming chestnut hair, and a blonde with rabbit-y front teeth, smiling and laughing together. The background was a bit out of focus, but they were outdoors; blurred spots of green and blue, added to the fact that the three girls wore scarves (Green and silver on all of them, Tom noticed, and for once a twinge of pride for his house swelled in him) and heavy woollen cloaks was evidence of that.

The photo was a bit older than the professional one, and his mother was younger, perhaps in fourth or fifth year. Tom felt hot tears behind his eyes. Scrawled underneath the photo in thin, spidery, hastily written script was the proclamation:

Slytherin Princesses Forever!

~Livvy, Mariah, and Adrianna, 1935~

All of a sudden, the book was snatched from his hands, and Tom heard a tutting noise. Madame O'Kieran stood behind him, book in hands.

"Ah, Ms. Vida, I see that your love of defacing school property did not end after that unfortunate incident with 'Transfiguration Tools for Twits'!" She murmured, not really to anyone, but Tom caught it anyway.

"Beg your pardon?" Tom asked, hoping to find out whom she was talking about.

"Her," Madame O'Kieran pointed to the other chestnut haired girl in the photo. "Mariah Vida. Slytherin House; a real little troublemaker, if I recall correctly. She had a penchant for destroying and vandalising property that didn't belong to her. I'd recognise that handwriting and purple ink anywhere. Mark of a vandal, I tell you! She never had respect for public property, the little hussy," she muttered, shoving the book back at Tom and wandering off in the direction of the main desk. "At least Adrianna Feverfew had some respect... and I never knew what to make of that Olivia Marvolo child..."

Tom stared after the librarian, still aware of the prickling feeling behind his eyes. He tried not to blink, as he searched for a quill pen to make a note of the names... Mariah Vida... and Adrianna Feverfew... it was a long shot--she was most likely married since then, assuming she'd survived the war--but maybe, just maybe, she could at least tell him something about his mother...

"You all right, mate?"

"Wha'?" Connie's voice made him jump. She was accompanied by Louis, and Abbey was, for once, nowhere to be seen.

"Didja find anything?" Connie settled herself comfortably no the table, hanging over the book.

"Yes."

"What were you looking for?" Louis asked, head on one side.

"Stuff about my mum. They have records of all the students that attended here going back years..."

"Gosh." Louis blinked. "Can I see?"

"If you want." Tom wasn't in the mood to be overly friendly to either of them after their recent treatment of him, but, he felt, there was no need to be anything other then civil. Not yet, anyway. "My mum, Mariah Vida, and Adrianna Feverfew."

"Mariah Vida... I think she's got a relative in the seventh year. My sister's spooney over him; he's called Luke, or Lance, or something. She never shuts up about him..." Louis rolled his eyes. "That's basically yuk, if you ask me. But anyway, which one is your mother?"

"Olivia Elena Marvolo. The one with the black hair." The fuzzy feeling inside, which he knew always came with the sharpness of the tears, was coming back. Tom lowered his face towards the page, in the hope that his companions wouldn't notice. A couple of tears fell hot from his eyes, mingling the old ink slightly.

"Cheer up, Tom, you'll see her again soon," Louis patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. Of course, Tom thought, I never told him.

"You think that, do you?"

"Well, it's not like you won't be going home."

"Don't remind me." Tom put his head in his hands, and stiffened slightly as Connie put an arm round him.

"What's so awful, anyway?" Louis asked, obviously confused. "I'm sure she misses you as much as you miss her, and she wouldn't like you to--"

"Louis, you utter prat--his mum's dead and he don't have a dad. Show some tact, will you?"

"I didn't know that!"

"Well, you do now."

"I'm sorry..." he attempted a slight joke, "My psychic abilities must not be up to scratch today." This was not the right thing to say. Tom glared at him with red-rimmed eyes.

"What, you expected me to introduce myself with a 'Hello, I'm Tom Riddle, I live in a Home where everyone hates me, my mum's dead and my dad disappeared off the face of the earth before I was even born, but don't worry, that doesn't bother me at all!'?"

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"You really know how to put your foot in it, don't you?" Connie sighed. "Cheer up, Tom; we care about you, even if they don't."

"I don't see why you give a damn!"

"We're your friends!" Connie objected. "Of course we care!"

"Only when Abbey's not around, I notice!" Tom felt a wall of anger hit him. "I thought you Hufflepuffs were supposed to be loyal!"

"All right, so Abbey doesn't like you; she doesn't like a lot of people! You really shouldn't take it like that. You'll be waiting a long time for universal popularity, and she's just Abbey! It's not the end of the world. Calm down!"

"We wouldn't be talking to you now if we didn't care--" Louis began, lagging behind a little in the conversation.

"You could at least be honest about it! You just like sticking your noses in! If you care, why have you been ignoring me all week?! You hate me, just like everyone at the Home did, just like everyone in Slytherin--" he pulled away from Connie's grip.

"Tom, stop it, you're being daft!"

"Please, Tom--"

"You both have parents and families and friends, and, and, and safe homes to get back to... but I don't. You wouldn't understand!"

"Oh, wouldn't I?!" Connie's eyes flashed. "I don't know about Louis, but let me tell you, you weren't living in London during the war, with bombs dropping every bloody night! Your dad didn't leave you because he had to go off and fight one day! Mine's not even a muggle, but he's fighting their war for them! He didn't have to go! At least you know you're never going to see yours again, there's no maybe in that, it's a fact, but I don't know what's happened to mine, so don't you tell me I don't know what it's flipping like!"

Both boys hesitated slightly. It had never occurred to Tom that Connie could be anything other then a slightly daft, overly cheerful Hufflepuff who never cared or worried about anything. Her sudden outburst knocked his confidence, but it soon returned with a vengeance.

"Er," said Louis.

"No, my dad left because he hated me before I was even born. He hated me, and hated my mum, God knows why! At least people care about you. At least you still have a mother. At least you have somewhere to go home to. I've got a fat lot of nothing," Tom muttered, choosing to completely ignore common decency in the face of anger.

"God, Tom Riddle, you're a selfish git! You won't even see the obvious..."

Tom didn't answer. His teeth were clenched together too tightly. In the Home, you had to be a selfish git... You can't look out for anyone other then yourself in places like that...If I hadn't looked out for myself, no one would. But they're not going to understand that. They don't understand anything.

"Er," said Louis again, "Er, I think Abbey's coming. Er."

He was right. Tom pushed back his chair roughly, and stalked towards the library door in silence, half hoping that one of the others would come after him. They didn't. It was just bloody typical! Abbey over him. Abbey over everyone else. All bow down to Omnipotent Abbey Warlock, taker of friends and giver of insults!

It was only when the door was shut behind him that he let his feelings truly show. He leant against the wall and sobbed. His hot tears scorched his face, and cruel sobs burned in his throat.

This place was Hell in disguise, and people... they were all callous, hateful demons. All of them... the door opened again behind him.

"Tom?" He ignored the voice. It was Louis. "Tom? Look, I'm sorry. Come back, won't you, old chap?"

"No."

"I expect Connie's sorry too really, except she's in a mood; she says you're stuck up, uncaring and ungrateful, but I came after you anyway--"

"Thanks."

"It's no problem." Louis missed the sarcastic note in Tom's voice.

"Just leave me alone, all right?"

He could hear Louis hesitating. "I just wanted to check that you were all right?"

"Never better."

"I don't believe that even for a second."

"No, you wouldn't, would you."

"Can't you stop being like this? I don't like it."

"I don't like life, but there's nothing I can do about it."

"Don't say that!" Louis sounded frightened. "Life gets better! There are worse things then not having parents, after all. Madame Washbourne, back in there, her parents were killed by Grindelwald a few years back. They were friends with my parents, an Auror and a Ministry witch...And she's turned out perfectly fine! There are really much worse things, Tom."

Tom, who had no clue what half the terms in the previous sentence had meant, pushed, "Like not having friends, you mean?"

"Yes! -- I mean, no--I mean... you have friends. I am your friend. Connie, too, when she's not in a bad temper. Which she currently is, yes, but by tomorrow she'll be back to normal. Well, normal-ish, anyway. Abbey could be a chum too, if you gave her another chance..."

Tom maintained a meaningful silence.

"Yes, well, I suspected that you might feel that way."

"Please leave me alone. I just need to calm down, and I don't want to end up taking it all out on you. I've picked up some very effective hexes in the Slytherin Common Room, you know."

Louis sighed, and gave Tom a thin smile, choosing to ignore the threat. "All right then. Try and keep happy, or, er, something. See you tomorrow!" He turned and left. Tom watched him leave, his jaw clenched, and made his way, slowly and thoughtfully, towards the Slytherin Common Room.

He had never liked the Slytherin Common Room. It was cold, stony and shadowy, rather like the vast majority of its occupants. There was nothing comforting about it at all. Once upon a time, it had most likely been a dungeon, and although that particular use for it was in the past, there was still something of the dark fear and loneliness lurking in the corners, almost as if its previous occupants were still present in mentality and spirit if nothing else. It made Tom feel as though someone was always watching him, that he was never completely alone.

He found a vacant chair-- which wasn't difficult, as the room was empty, save for a few older girls pouring over textbooks. The older girls had never bothered with him, and so Tom sat, curled up in the chair, head on his arms. He didn't allow himself to cry; that was stupid. He didn't want to cry over two stupid girls and another stuttering little boy. They were just people, and people... well... some of them, quite frankly, weren't to be trusted...

Tom sensed someone lowering himself or herself into the chair next to him, and ignored them sleepily. He didn't want to have to socialise right now, and they probably had no intention of speaking to him anyway--

"Tom Riddle?"

Or not.

"What?" He glanced up, groggily. It was Margaret. Well, she wasn't so bad, he supposed, in an unusual kind of way.

"You all right?"

"Do I look all right to you?" Tom snapped, and immediately regretted it. Margaret drew back, her stone-like black eyes completely unreadable. Her eyes had always worried him... even when her thin face was happy or sad, her eyes stayed exactly the same; like a pebble in hot or cold weather.

"Sorry," Tom apologised. "I've just had a bad day."

"More like a bad week, really, isn't it?" she prodded, looking for more of a response.

"How would you know?" Tom hissed, trying to keep the angry edge out of his voice.

"I listen, Tom, and I watch. I have an enviable position to be in if you want to know the happenings of the school."

"What do you mean?" Tom spat, angry. She seemed to be implying that he was like some sort of animal in a zoo; there to be watched; studied; commented on; laughed at.

"I mean that I can go practically anywhere without being seen or caught. People know better than to bother me. I think..." she paused, "After awhile, they just stop seeing me at all."

"Know better then to bother you? What is that all about?"

"It's about Lycius' family. Everyone knows he likes to keep me around, and they're too afraid of him and his family to go around pestering me. In our year, at least, all the students know to stay out of his way...and anyone else who is close to him is extended that same courtesy."

"Really?" Tom asked, considering. If only he had taken up Malfoy's offer! "Well, why does Malfoy like you so much?" he asked. Maybe by asking Margaret, he could find some way to get himself on Malfoy's good side again.

Margaret looked taken aback. "Well, I...I think his parents might've said something..." she trailed off, looking desperate to change the subject.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here!" a voice to Margaret's right crowed in a malicious whisper. "It's Lycius' little pet, talking to the Mudblood lover!"

Margaret steeled her face, not even looking at the speaker. "Hello, Eris. How are you this evening?" she said, perfectly disguising any anger or annoyance in a shroud of politeness.

"Much better than you'll be doing when Lycius finds out you've been speaking to this traitor, Margaret Moon," Eris replied, an ugly grin on her face as she swung her glance between Margaret and Tom.

Tom was having a hard time believing that he had ever thought her pretty. Now her face was twisted and unpleasant... or maybe... beautiful, but in a cruel, cold way, which made you doubt yourself, and feel almost powerless. As if you were nothing.

Margaret faced Eris, her plain, angular face and her dully charcoal black hair opposite Eris' smooth face and golden curls. Eris seemed to think that she had the upper hand, but the younger girl sat in her gothic wooden chair like a queen, assured and unafraid.

"Eris," Margaret began calmly, "Lycius trusts me. Slytherins should be loyal to each other. And, Eris, who do you think Lycius would truly believe? He has known me since we were very small children, and he has known you for little more than a week, and he also knows that you don't get along with me, and have reason to lie to him if it would better your own cause."

Eris glared at Margaret, making it very clear that if she ever had the chance to retaliate against her, she would take it without a moment's hesitation. Margaret met her gaze with a tranquillity and degree of control that was completely uncharacteristic of an eleven-year-old girl.

"You'll be sorry one day, Moon," Eris hissed, sneering venomously at both of them. "And you too, Tom Riddle. You both will be."

"Eris, I know you're smarter than that. You won't try anything stupid. So don't try bluffing to me. I can see through all that, so don't you think I can't." Margaret said, the polite mask only thinly veiling her steel resolve, her voice still steady.

With another spiteful glance, Eris turned on her heel and stalked off, her robes fluttering out behind her, making her look like a bird... a magpie, though Tom; what with her black robes and her near-white hair curling round her shoulders.

Tom looked at Margaret, who sat quietly, calmly watching Eris glide indignantly through the door, in amazement. This is the girl who walks behind Malfoy? She doesn't seem to type to stand up for me...or for herself, even.

"Margaret?"

"Yes, Tom?" Margaret answered. She was watching her skinny hands, which lay folded primly on her lap.

"Why don't you--why don't you stand up to Malfoy like this? He treats you like some doll... less than human... you know?"

Margaret glanced up, for once looking Tom straight in the eye. "Tom, you need to learn how to pick your battles. It's very important when you're in this House, around people who believe themselves better than you. You have to plan. Lycius can take care of me, so I treat him respectfully, just like he expects. Eris isn't so wise; she will pick any fight that comes close enough. I don't need her, and she doesn't need me."

"Why doesn't she like you?"

Margaret grinned. Unlike most girls, Tom noticed, the expression didn't complement her features. It looked unnatural and forced, even through she was thoroughly sincere. Margaret's face was simply not made to smile broadly. Her features were suited to small, thoughtful smiles or grim straight lines. And, of course, her eyes didn't smile with the rest of her face. It gave him the creeps...

"She doesn't like me because Lycius does. She's obviously after him herself, and she doesn't like the fact that he keeps me around, and that he barely pays her any attention."

"Why does she care now? We're all a bit young for dating, aren't we?" Tom questioned, for the first time since he got here having an interesting conversation with another student.

Margaret shook her head soberly. "No, it's not about dating him. She wants to marry him."

Tom gaped at her. "We're eleven years old!" he gasped, the only semi-intelligent thing he could think to say. "Well, all right, she's technically twelve or thirteen, but still--!"

"It's never too early to start trying. Not with wizarding families wanting money and other purebloods to marry into... Like I said before, the Malfoy family is very prominent and wealthy. It's the dearest ambition of many families to marry into it. The Echelons have been trying for generations to weasel their way into that family, Mother says, but they've never succeeded. And I think they can say goodbye to this generation's chance, if she's the best they can do. Got looks, yes, but... she's not much of a person, is she? Hardly subtle."

Tom was sniggering at her comment when something struck him. "Margaret? Why have you been so nice to me? You tried to give me advice before, you're talking to me now, and you stood up for me in front of Eris. Why?"

"You looked like you needed help," Margaret said simply. "And you're a Slytherin, and it has always been my belief that people should be forgiving. You made a mistake; everyone does at some point or another. You deserve a second chance to fix things the way you want them."

"Do you mean...that you'll help me make friends with Malfoy? You'll talk to him for me. Make him see that I can be a good Slytherin?"

"Hmmm? Oh, no, I can't make him do or see anything. He's very stubborn." Tom's heart sank. "But I can find some opportunity for you to prove yourself to him. But you have to give up on the other three, Tom. I'm sorry you have to choose like this, but you'll never make it around with a Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. You might have stayed friends with the Ravenclaw if it had been anyone else but that Gilbert boy."

"Why Ravenclaw?" Tom asked curiously.

"Slytherin and Ravenclaw have had a history of very successful partnerships. Hufflepuff is much too intertwined with Gryffindor, and Gryffindor, if you haven't yet caught on, is our biggest rival. The two houses have never gotten along, since Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor themselves."

"Really? Not once?"

"Well, there have been Slytherin and Gryffindor marriages and whatnot, but I think the thing is that the people picked for each house are so very different from each other, because the standards for each house are about as opposite as you can get."

"I see." Tom nodded. Would he really miss his 'friends'? Right at the moment? No.

"It's worth remembering, though," Margaret said, watching his face carefully, "That you keep your friends close and enemies closer." She stood up. "Good night, Tom. I'll see you in the morning."

She left him to stare thoughtfully after her, wondering when his chance would come.

~*~

Things look as though they just happen, don't they? 'One of those things', people say, 'an accident waiting to happen'... because something seems that way doesn't mean that it is. The suspect isn't always the villain. The hero isn't always the bravest. Minds can be twisted by friend or by foe.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Tom Riddle... one day, you might just need them.

And so, things continue, purposeful and ordered, just as I intended.

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