Innocence of Youth

It was not long before Tom was able to confirm his earlier fears. There was certainly anti muggle prejudice and it was, as was his luck it seemed, particularly virulent in his own house of Slytherin. On the other hand he had already noticed that it was often interpreted in a fairly lazy fashion by the wealthy families of the house. Few of them had ever been forced to purchase their own furniture let alone deal much with the muggle world and they largely had more contempt than anger for those without magic. Tom was half startled, half smug, in fact, over how totally ignorant many of his housemates were of the muggle world. Tom was not yet completely certain of how to take advantage of that fact, but he knew that there would be some way to turn that self imposed lassitude over all things muggle against those who thought themselves his betters. Tom had known from the very moment Professor Dumbledore began lecturing him that whatever the deputy headmaster might have thought, muggles were in fact inferior and that that would be a significant hindrance to Tom as he attempted to remake himself.

But in the short time he had been at Hogwarts it was already clear that his quick grasp of new concepts and his ability to understand the underlying was proving him to be a very powerful young wizard. He took on extra work wherever possible, not, as his classmates might have assumed, to ingratiate himself, although one or two professors did seem worthy of getting to know more closely, but because his thirst for knowledge, his lust for the power he felt growing in his veins with each passing day, was the main sustenance on which Tom found himself feeding. It was as though every class, every revision session, every extra assignment brought him one day closer to revenge against his fellow orphans, perhaps even his family and he smirked, his thin lips twisting above his narrow chin. Who knew? Perhaps against the world itself for the fate it had tried to wrap around him like the constricting coiled muscles of some giant serpent.

He certainly knew that he needed to do something about his "station" as the Malfoy boy always referred to it. For right now, being at least somewhat beneath the contempt of the other students in Slytherin was fine as people tended to ignore him for the most part and he was able to sit in on any number of interesting conversations. Tom discovered that his capacity for remembering gossip and other ephemera of young wizarding life was nearly limitless. While he did not particularly care who was caught in a broom closet with whom or who's parents seemed to be sliding or climbing the social ladder of wizarding Britain, he did immediately recognize its value for understanding what interested and motivated others as well as for potential black mail should it come to that.

But even as Tom thought things would continue on as they had been going through the autumn: the wonderment, the fantastical learning, the journey toward power neatly balanced by his almost complete social non-entity, life began to change. Tom managed to slip one or two good ideas into conversations; he managed to display his rapidly growing knowledge in a way that did not appear bossy or overly studious, but rather helpful to whoever was listening. He also, much more significantly, had helped Cal Malfoy, more formally known as Gaius Caesar Germanicus Malfoy, escape the scene of the crime after the older Slytherin was nearly caught hexing a Gryffindor boy.

Of course, Tom had known who Gaius was from his first day at Hogwarts. Everyone greeted him with a wariness, an anxiety to please that seemed reserved for a very small elite. Aside from the obvious expensiveness of every article of clothing that draped itself perfectly from his broad shoulders, was his perfect, silver, Slytherin prefect's badge. It held a coiled serpent device and it gleamed dully under the slightest patina of tarnish as though a Malfoy need not bother himself with even a charm to evince polishing in a possession so prized by so many.

Later, when Tom knew him better and asked the older boy about the condition of the somewhat shabby badge, his prefect replied, "Why should I, a Malfoy, need anything new? This badge was my father's. I haven't the slightest idea where the one they sent me is, but perhaps some son of mine will find it some day."

But that first day, just after the sorting and the evening meal, Tom was first formally introduced to Gaius, as were all of the Slytherin first years, as though they were a little herd of sheep and Gaius their shepherd.

As the meal ended and the first years rushed to stand, following the lead of the older students, a boy stood farther down the table and announced, in a drawl somehow both lazy and imperial, "First years, to me." He continued, looking both bored and appraising as the new Slytherins hurried to gather around the tall, pale silvery haired boy, "My name is Gaius Caesar Germanicus Malfoy, but you may refer to me as Cal whilst we are amongst ourselves." Cal paused, as though at some stray thought and noticed the slightest curl to Tom's thin lips. Turning his eyes on the pale, black haired boy he asked, though it was obviously not a request, "Your name?"

"Tom Riddle, Sir." Cal nodded, his silver eyes narrowing to the barest rims around their coal centers and the reflection of the torches in each center.

"I'm not familiar with your family. Why are you smirking?" Cal's dull prefect badge seemed to absorb the light more than reflect it above his crossed, slender arms.

"You wouldn't know my family, Sir," and this time Tom shaded the word with a slight smirk, "of that I am quite certain. And I was smiling, not smirking, because of your nick name. Caligula, I presume? Does the name fit?" Tom was somewhat cautious, but he knew he was generally able to judge people very quickly and so he threw down a hand in this high stakes bet to be considered more sophisticated than his peers.

Cal Malfoy smiled, as much a sneer on his narrow, pale face as a smile and his eyes returned to their prior width, "Indeed. As for the character judgment, if you are lucky, you will impress me and learn more in the year to come, but do not ever presume to judge a Malfoy little first year. You may well regret it."

Tom settled his face back into a mask of concern and polite apology, "Very well Cal. Your point is well taken, thank you, Sir." Tom knew he would have future opportunities to play the game of befriending those who seemed powerful or important. For now he would withdraw his losing bid to learn more and approach Malfoy later, under hopefully better conditions.

Being suddenly somewhat under Cal's wing after the hexing incident certainly made life easier in many ways although it was as galling to endure in its own way as any of the other humiliations Tom suffered on occasion. Tom was quickly learning that being beholden to anyone, being beneath anyone was something he was unwilling to abide. He was able to shackle this impulse below the surface as much as his feelings about any of the more obvious torments or humiliations he had suffered but he had at first had some difficulty discerning the difference between flattery and condescension, between possessiveness and attraction. He didn't mind if some of the older boys found him attractive. Tom was slightly disgusted by their sticky fumblings and whinging excuses for poetry, but he instinctively sensed the usefulness of his admirers and, of course, of whatever it was about himself that attracted admirers.

For his part, Cal was thankful that he had avoided an owl home thanks to Tom as Nero Drusius Malfoy, his father, was as strict a disciplinarian as the praetorians that stood guard over his namesake. On the other hand, Tom, for all his finely handsome looks, his aristocratic baring and his growing skill with a wand was still just a lowly little half muggle first year. And no matter the stirring that Cal felt, licking his lips, silvery eyes narrowed, clouding to match beneath his silver-white hair as he watched the younger boy move languidly through the halls or the Slytherin common room, he was still beneath Cal, more or less a toy for a tiger's, as he styled himself, enjoyment.

Whilst Tom enjoyed the power that holding the attention of others afforded him, he was in no hurry to accept their advances any more than he had to. Cal's broad wing of course protected him from that somewhat, although that required Tom to provide flattering attention to the older boy. And so Tom found himself in Cal's bed, or wherever else might be convenient, more often as the weeks passed.

In the afterglow of one such encounter, Tom leaned forward, his oddly sinuous body tilted over the other boy's as the tip of his tongue slid out ever so slightly, as if testing the air. Seeing the rich, glossy dark crimson blot on Gaius Caesar Germanicus' wrist, Tom let his tongue flick again, tasting the rich iron-metallic stain and letting it run the length of his tongue. Tom straightened with a narrow eyed look at the older boy. Tom's thin lips crooked into a smirk as he thought of the Malfoys having so much and yet still feeling the pretentious need to name their boys after Roman emperors. Little Boots indeed, Tom's smile was really for himself alone.

"Thank you Cal," Tom whispered, then, sibilantly, "such sweetness, everyone says differently, but I appreciate your showing me your softer side."

Cal twisted a bit, admiring the fine lines, the sharp planes of Tom, all ending in a slightly flat nose and a subtly blunt triangle of a chin. "Tom, you flatter yourself if you think you see some secret side of me not let out for others to view. One should always know one's place and mine is clearly above that of everyone here. Do we understand one another my little half breed?"

Tom's smirk again was for himself as he let his midnight eyes widen innocently, "Really, Gaius, I didn't mean anything by it. You are, after all, a Malfoy whereas I, as you so eloquently pointed out, am but half a wizard. I have no doubt that your magic is as much a superior of mine as is your family's station." Tom let the last bit drip with honey as his eyes hooded themselves ever so slightly.

Cal's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly this time, almost as though he could smell the slightest touch of treachery. "Much better Tom. Perhaps if you really learn that lesson, your betters will continue to take the interest in you that I have and help you to improve yourself; help you to get somewhere worth being in the wizarding world." And here Cal lay back and guided Tom's narrow, pointy tongue back to his shoulder, his eyes closing in time to hide the silvery grey misting over with satisfaction.

And so Tom's first year passed as he made his way through the day to day. He ruthlessly subsumed his self mocking thoughts for the need to parley with those in the school who had surer footing in the wizarding world. He clamped down on any disgust or dissent within himself in his efforts to cultivate the right knowledge, contacts and, ultimately, power. His mantra was still in place as were his deep breaths and whenever his servility got the better of him, he put them both to good effect to get what he wanted.