Death in the mask

      Nott peeked at Tom’s schedule, “Oh, you’ve got Runes now too? And you?” He craned over to see Zabini’s sheet.       “I’ve got a free period, so I’ll be relaxing while you losers work,” Blaise grinned cockily. “Taking so many classes, nerds…”       “Never hurts exercising the brain. If you have one,” Nott sniped back, rising from the bench. “C’mon Tom, we need to grab textbooks and get to class. I’ll show you where it is.”       “Besides the core classes, you’ve taken both Runes and Arithmancy,” Tom noted, following his roommate toward the exit. The other Slytherins still lazily finished breakfast, enjoying the window before lessons began. “What career are you thinking?”       “Want to work in the Department of Mysteries,” Theo admitted. “I’m drawn to all kinds of magical puzzles. It’d be cool to solve some mystery or invent something awesome… Like communicating with dead people, or a time turner that can move you years, imagine that!” he enthused.       Tom certainly didn’t have to imagine — such a time turner rested in his bag, protected for safety by unbreakable charms. Funny, would Nott be the one to invent it a couple decades from now?       “What about you? That crack at McGonagall was just a joke, right? Or are you really aiming for the Minister’s chair already?” his companion asked sarcastically. His own unexpected candour clearly discomfited him slightly. Tom wasn’t surprised — people around him always fell prey to his charm, taken in by the attention and apparent empathy with which he listened, and readily shared their inner thoughts.       “For now just the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he smiled modestly.       “Too many classes for a paper pusher,” Nott remarked.       “Never hurts exercising the brain,” Tom echoed his phrase. Theo laughed, appreciating the joke.       The castle already buzzed busily — students rushed to lessons, bewildered firsties wandered the winding corridors hunting their classrooms. Same as always. Chatting, the boys reached the Runes classroom and Tom halted, puzzled, in the doorway.       “You sure this is right, not say…Home Ec?” he cautiously asked Theodore. And for good reason — the room was full of girls, just two boys huddled shyly in the back row with blue-trimmed robes.       “Home Ec?” Theo snorted. “What century are you from? Relax, you’ll get the full experience. Think of it as a flower garden!” He winked. “Once they realise there’s not enough Black to go around, they’ll pay us attention too.”       “Devious plan,” Tom replied doubtfully, nervously glancing around. Some girls already watched him with interest. Avoiding undue notice would’ve been ideal. “And I thought you were seriously academic.”       “Why not both?” Nott declared proudly, taking out his textbook.       “Good morning class,” a voice came from the door. The girls rustled, turning eagerly. “Good morning, Professor Black!” they chorused discordantly.       Tom also looked over, watching the averagely tall, slender young man who couldn’t be over thirty proceed down the aisle. At the feast last night Tom had only briefly noted teacher faces, not examining them closely. Now it was evident why Runes were so popular with the females — despite a boyish physique, the professor looked youthful. Rather pretty-faced and, more importantly, exuded charm. His neatly combed straight black hair revealed delicate features, grey eyes surveyed the students with amusement glinting in them. The muted excited whispers followed Black to the front where he casually leaned a hip on the desk, facing the class.       “Sixth years,” he smiled, “Welcome back for another semester of Ancient Runes. I see you’re brimming as always with enthusiasm and thirst for knowledge.”       The girls eagerly nodded. Tom barely kept from rolling his eyes. Now the younger Weasley’s reaction on the train and sarcasm about the young professor made sense. What exactly these nymphets thirsted for needed no runic dictionaries.       “Looked through the textbook?” Black asked. “Who knows this term’s topic?”       The girls shuffled books, hastily flipping pages, but Hermione in the front row beat them as usual, bushy hair poking up over her back unpleasantly noticeable to Tom. “Crafting protective artefacts with runic symbols, sir,” she reported.       “Correct as always, Miss Granger,” Black nodded approvingly. Hermione’s seatmates shot her jealous looks. Ignoring them, the professor went on, “Ancient Germanic mages first imbued objects with magical properties using runes. The Elder Edda contains mentions of runes' mystical protective abilities against various dangers, deception, as healing symbols. One of the earliest surviving manuscripts referencing runes' magical meanings is the 1328 Computus Runicus.”       The professor lectured passionately, without notes, recalling dates from memory. Tom sighed in relief — despite the feminine domain, lessons would clearly prove useful. His own rune reading was decent, he devised combinations and even made minor enchanted trinkets for fifth year for housemates — luck, sports success, mental focus. Though he didn’t fully believe such things could actually work — the runic traps triggering curses seemed far more interesting.       Antonin Dolohov had pleaded endlessly for a love attraction chain, which Tom reluctantly created to maintain connections. But most amusing was his claim it worked. Tom suspected the real factor was Dolohov’s confidence in his irresistibility whenever he donned his “love amulet.”       “The Nazis also used magical symbols in SS regalia,” Black meanwhile continued. “Who can name those runes?”       “The SS symbol had two Sowilo runes,” Hermione instantly answered. “Signifying power, battle and death.”       “Correct, Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor,” Black nodded. “Any other Nazi symbols, class?”       Silence fell. Hermione cracked open her book halfway, leafing nervously.       “On Himmler’s order, fourteen Elder Futhark runes were used in SS symbols,” Tom spoke up in the quiet. “They denoted the main career stages and members' traits.”       “Right,” the professor sounded surprised. “Mr. Riddle? The Headmaster mentioned you, a new student. Interested in WWII?”       “Not by choice,” Tom vaguely answered. The front-row girls twisted to eye him curiously now. Tom grimaced internally — so much for avoiding undue attention.       “The Nazis did closely cooperate with mages. Could you describe the specific runes used?” Black pleasantly invited him to continue. Tom had little choice but to oblige:       “For instance, the senior command staff had silver rings called the Death’s Head. Of course Muggles didn’t know the amulets were genuinely magical, enchanted by Grindelwald’s people. They bore a skull and several runes — the swastika, as mentioned by Miss Granger, plus Nauthiz and Hagalaz. Reportedly Grindelwald himself enchanted Hitler’s ring, which helped him survive so many assassination attempts.”       “Superb, the textbook lacks such details. You’ve clearly studied beyond the curriculum. Ten points to Slytherin!” Black enthused, clapping. Hermione stared at Tom, irritated. He just shrugged — he’d always led in House points earned.       “Today we’ll try a simple sequence for enchanting an object. Not protective yet. Any theme suggestions?” Black asked the class.       “Mental focus,” Hermione immediately said.       “Prophetic abilities,” offered her Indian seatmate.       “For love attraction!” the curly blonde beside them proclaimed gleefully.       “Yes! For love!” the other girls echoed eagerly.       “Alright, by popular request, let’s do love,” Black laughed, eliciting dreamy sighs from his students. “We’ll go over mistakes and pick the best chain at lesson’s end. Confer with seatmates, discuss runes. Begin!”       Parchments shuffled as excited chatter filled the room. “Ingwaz for the fertility goddess!” someone exclaimed. “No, better Sol. Or Gebo?” girls suggested, paging through the reference. Hermione anxiously clutched her hair, already scribbling frantically.       “One of the best professors,” Nott snorted, opening his book. “Not even all the girls chasing the poor bloke ruins that. He’s accepted it, takes it with humour.”       “Knows how to engage us, even if unorthodox methods,” Tom conceded with a snort. He pulled parchment over and from memory jotted down the sequence he’d made for Dolohov. No way he’d waste time on such nonsense — better to read ahead in the textbook.       

***

      “How did you do this?!” Hermione demanded furiously. She stood frozen before the last row, extremely angry. “Cheated? Or somehow else?” She grabbed the textbook off the desk, stared intently at the cover then flipped through the pages. Tom exhaled, trying to stay calm, and took the book from her hands.       “You see, a regular textbook,” he said as evenly as possible, stowing it in his bag. “No cheat sheets, and how could I have known the lesson topic ahead of time?”       How he longed to reach out now, grasp those curly locks, bend the girl over and smack her head on the desk. What expression would appear on her face? Would she scream and resist or go limp with shock in his hands? Both options held a certain appeal. The smile tugging Tom’s lips was entirely sincere. His reaction seemed to outrage Hermione further — she pursed her lips, glaring daggers at him.       “Just accept that Slytherin earned those twenty points fair and square, and you’re not the best in this class anymore,” Nott snorted, gathering his notes. “Though you could scrawl Tom’s perfect rune chain on your bracelet, it might help so you don’t attack people, eh?” He cackled nastily.       Hermione anxiously tugged her bracelet and glowered, “As if!”       “Your girl classmates will though. All the boys will get snatched up, don’t be left wanting!” Nott called, heading for the exit. Tom shouldered his bag, following and leaving the incensed girl behind.       “Not that it would help her anyway,” Theodore murmured. “No runes can compensate for that personality.”       “Tell me about it,” Tom sighed.       He was trying to behave calmly and friendly with everyone, but had already clashed multiple times with Gryffindors. Where was he slipping up? Instead of getting closer to the Order of the Phoenix, he felt increasingly distant while the necessary people grew more wary, especially after he’d smoothly fit in with his Slytherin peers. But he also had to maintain those friendships — a knife in the back or frogspawn in bed weren’t needed. What could he try to somehow approach the Gryffindors while sitting on two chairs at once? Clearly his usual charm wouldn’t suffice here. Reality proved far more complex than initially perceived.       Lost in these heavy thoughts, they reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom where the rest of their roommates from breakfast waited by the doors.       “How were lessons, losers?” Blaise asked lazily.       Nott responded, “I’m almost ready to agree with you that he’s from the smart house. He earned a whole thirty points for Slytherin and the love of all the sixth-year girls at Hogwarts.” He winked slyly at Tom, who grimaced in response:       “It’s not as if I planned this…”       “Yes, I see how you infuriated the Gryffindor Bookworm, well done!” Malfoy sneered. Granger flew past them like an enraged lightning bolt and headed for the group of her friends waiting nearby. Her indignant voice carried:       ”…there’s clearly something wrong with this Riddle! Arrogant, pretentious…”       The door opened, and Snape appeared on the threshold. He glanced coldly over the students who had suddenly fallen silent. Curtly, he said:       “To class.”       He certainly created a stark contrast with the charming Professor Black. The students slowly filed into the room. Upon entering the classroom, Tom looked around with interest. It had clearly become much gloomier here than with Professor Wilkost — instead of diagrams of wand movements for various spells and cages for creatures, posters that could hardly be called appetising were now hung all around the classroom. They depicted dementors, inferi, people suffering from curses, and other unsavoury aspects of the Dark Arts. If the goal was to intimidate students and dissuade them from even thinking about studying forbidden knowledge, such teaching materials were quite conducive to that. The half-closed shutters shaded the sunlight, creating an even darker atmosphere.       Tom sat at a desk with Malfoy, with Nott and Zabini behind them. There were no other Slytherins — the girls had obviously found more cheerful subjects like Divination. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, had come almost in full force.       “Look, even Longbottom scraped together a passing grade,” Draco nodded in their direction. “And of the girls, only Granger and Patil.”       “Put away your books!” Snape commanded as he strode down the aisle toward the teacher’s desk.       The students immediately began rustling as they stashed their prepared books into their bags. Tom also put away his textbook and pricked up his ears, listening to the professor’s inspirational speech about Defense, or rather, about the Dark Arts themselves. This man was clearly passionately in love with them, and Tom could see the same fire burning in himself.       “So,” Snape said, finishing with the introductory part, “the topic of the first lesson is non-verbal spells. Let’s see if anything has made its way into your heads over the summer, or if, on the contrary, you’ve lost what little brains you had left. Who can tell me the advantages of non-verbal spells?”       Only Granger immediately shot her hand up into the air. Snape cast a sour glance in her direction, then surveyed the students again.       “Not impressive. It seems your knowledge has indeed entered a phase of negative growth. Maybe…Riddle? Let’s see what they taught you at Durmstrang.”       Hermione slowly lowered her hand, silently opening and closing her mouth in indignation. Tom shrugged.       “The opponent doesn’t know in advance what spell you’re going to cast or when,” he replied. “Which gives you an advantage in time.”       “You’ve practically quoted the textbook,” Snape grimaced. “But the answer is correct in essence. And why didn’t you raise your hand if you knew the answer?” He stared at Tom with an unblinking gaze.       “I wanted to give the others a chance to finally earn some points.”       The Slytherins stifled guffaws. Granger flushed. Snape glanced at her briefly.       “How generous of you. Five points to Slytherin.”       Malfoy, grinning contentedly, punched Tom on the shoulder. Tom nodded back in response. He probably shouldn’t have said that, so as not to exacerbate the budding conflict with the uncompromising overachiever, but he couldn’t resist.       “Those who do not shout out their spells for all to hear have an advantage in battle,” Snape continued. “Of course, non-verbal charms are not accessible to all wizards, as they require mental focus and self-discipline that many of you -” he stopped his meaningful gaze on Potter “- lack.”       Potter glared back indignantly and pursed his lips but said nothing. Tom wondered how long this cold confrontation had been going on.       “Now move to the open part of the classroom, break into pairs. Let’s start with the practice. One of you will try to cast a non-verbal curse, the other will try to deflect it. Use stinging spells and Protego.”       The students noisily discussing and preparing for battle moved to the spacious platform to the side of the desks. Tom paired up with Malfoy, with whom he was sitting, while Nott and Zabini stood next to them.       “You attack first,” he said with a slight bow toward Draco.       Non-verbal spells presented no problem for him, but he shouldn’t demonstrate from the start how easily they came to him. He would only resist a little for propriety’s sake, then let himself be hit. But Malfoy raised his wand, pressing his lips together tightly in an attempt to concentrate. Tom casually glanced around at the surrounding students — they were bugging their eyes out and biting their lips trying to cast curses without words. Snape moved between the pupils with his wand at the ready to block any stray curse that might fly their way.       “Concentrate,” he commented. “Focus your mind, there should be only one goal, one thought. Say the spell to yourself, putting all your determination into it. Pathetic, Weasley, watch how it’s done…”       “Protego!” Potter yelled at the top of his voice as a spell flew at him.       “You do remember that today we are practising non-verbal spells, don’t you, Potter?” the teacher objected.       “Yes,” the boy sullenly drawled.       “Yes, sir,” Snape mockingly corrected him.       “There’s really no need to call me 'sir, ' Professor,” Harry acidly replied, boring into him with his gaze.       “Detention, Potter! I won’t tolerate this from you, especially not in class. I’ll think of something worthy of your high person.” He moved on, leaving the indignantly huffing boy behind.       “No, no, Mr. Malfoy,” the professor sighed, approaching them. “At this rate, Riddle’s turn will never come. You need to direct all your thoughts…”       A curse flew at Tom, and he reflexively waved his wand, deflecting it with an automatic gesture. And then mentally swore at his blunder. Snape froze with his wand raised, studying him carefully.       “Could someone actually be getting it? Or was that just luck?”       He made a sharp, fluid slash with his wand through the air, and a barrage of curses immediately flew at Tom. There was no time to say “Protego” aloud, and he had no desire to find out what unpleasant spells the teacher had flung at him. He had to conjure a non-verbal shield again. One of the deflected curses knocked Longbottom off his feet, and now everyone froze and turned in their direction.       “This is getting interesting. And he looks like the picture of modesty,” Snape mused, then barked: “Everyone back ten paces, clear the space!”       The students retreated, giving room to manoeuvre. Snape and Tom were left alone in a tight ring.       “A standard duel. Sixty seconds, non-verbal curses only, and of course, within the school curriculum. Let’s see what you’re capable of. Mr. Malfoy, time it.”       “Sir, I don’t think this is a good idea…” Tom began, eyeing the full classroom of students uncertainly, but Snape wasn’t listening.       “Anyone who catches a ricochet will be practising shields with me from dinner to curfew!” he roared at the students, and they immediately raised their wands, clearly not eager to waste their time so poorly.       After a short bow, the professor raised his wand. Tom had no choice but to repeat the gesture. This duel was so out of place, especially against a teacher — he couldn’t show his real combat skills. He would only resist a little for propriety’s sake, then let himself be hit. But then a relentless torrent of curses poured down on him, the energy invested in them sending a gust of wind through the classroom.       Tom made a sharp wave of his wand, summoning not a standard shield but a reflective one, and some of the spells flew back at Snape, some at the surrounding students. Someone cried “Protego!” but there was no time to turn around and check if everything was alright. Taking advantage of the moment when Snape was forced to temporarily switch to defence, Tom stepped forward and unleashed a stream of water from his wand toward him, hoping to distract his opponent even for a second. But the fiery shield evaporated the water with a hiss, the flames rushing to meet it. Someone in the crowd screamed. Now it was Tom’s turn to defend himself.       “Time!” Draco yelled, glancing briefly at his wristwatch.       Tom froze, staring at Snape, who had also stopped. The professor was breathing heavily, his chest rapidly rising and falling beneath his black frock coat. With a sharp jerk of his head, he tossed the hair that had fallen into his face back, slowly lowering his wand as he pierced Tom with a wary gaze from his black eyes. Tom repeated the gesture. With his free hand, he combed his fingers through his hair to push back the strands that had fallen onto his damp forehead and curled from the moisture. Complete silence reigned in the classroom.       Snape exhaled and glanced around at the havoc they had wreaked — one window had been blasted out by an explosive spell. Sunlight now flooded into the shadowy classroom, slicing through the dense air heavy with stirred dust that swirled in the golden beams. Water sloshed underfoot, and a couple posters behind Tom’s back hung from the wall in tatters, as if shredded by a werewolf. From above, slowly spiralling down through the air, fluttered someone’s burning parchment. In the distance, a bell rang, signalling the end of class.       “It appears we have a draw. And you are a boy full of surprises,” Snape hissed, studying Tom with his gaze. “Let’s say twenty points to Slytherin for excellent non-verbal jinxes. And, Potter, I’ve thought of a punishment for you. Stay here and clean up the classroom.”       “But, sir, lunch is next…” the boy groaned, surveying the utter chaos around them.       “And I have a class after, and the room must be spotless by then!” Snape barked at him. He whirled around sharply, robe billowing, and headed for the classroom exit between the students who had nervously stepped aside.       “I told you — a battle!” Theodore happily clapped Tom on the shoulder. “You owe me a Galleon,” he said to Zabini.       “I haven’t given the right answer yet,” Tom objected.       “Blaise and I bet on whether you could hold your own in a duel against Snape. Ah, I should have placed a bigger wager,” Nott sighed and picked up his bag. “Shall we go to lunch?”       “You go on, I’ll catch up,” Tom waved his hand. “I need to catch my breath, such a fight isn’t easy.”       He leaned against a desk as everyone left the classroom. Soon it was just him and Potter, who was sadly looking at the broken window.       “Reparo,” the boy poked his wand at the glass sticking out of the frame in shards, but nothing happened.       “No, you first need to summon the pieces that fell to the ground,” Tom sighed and approached him from behind. “Accio shards.”       A few bits of glass flew into the window from outside, glinting in the sunlight, hovering in the air.       “Reparo,” Harry tried again, and this time the glass was restored, closing the empty space. “Thanks,” he nodded at Tom.       “Here, let me help, we’ll get it done faster together,” Tom raised his wand. “After all, I’m partly to blame for this mess too.”       “I shouldn’t have been rude to Snape,” the boy said sullenly. He was vanishing the scattered burnt parchments and spilled water while Tom mended the posters. “I’m just tired of seeing his snide face. I want to spend time with my mom but this git ruins all the fun. I have to run off to my godfather’s,” the boy awkwardly fell silent and glanced warily at Tom, clearly embarrassed by his candour with a Slytherin.       “It’s almost the same for me,” Tom made a sympathetic face, pleased that the conversation was gradually building. “I have a normal relationship with my father, but this new wife of his…” he snorted, mixing truth with lies in a whimsical combination. “Utterly deranged woman.”       “Yeah, it sucks,” Harry sighed as he straightened the chaotically scattered desks. He surveyed the classroom, which had taken on a more or less decent appearance. “Thanks for the help, I’d still be fussing with that window if I hadn’t figured out the shards. Shall we go to lunch?”       “Let’s go,” Tom picked up his bag and followed along. “So you live with your mom? What does she do?”       “Mostly brews potions to order, sometimes makes various magical jewellery,” Harry began. Seeing Tom’s politeness and interest, he gradually relaxed in his company. “The Weasley twins even sell them in their little shop in Diagon Alley. She worked at the Ministry for a while but didn’t like messing with paperwork, she’s more of a creative person.”       “It’s great that she found an occupation she enjoys,” Tom smiled.       In the previous universe he had killed this woman, yet here she was, making little trinkets that his classmates undoubtedly wore. She was alive because he had decided so. From his point of view, it was quite amusing. Potter stopped in front of the tall gilded doors of the Hall and turned to Tom, looking up at him a bit due to their height difference:       “You know…you seem like a perfectly decent bloke, even if you are a Slytherin.”       “Your friend doesn’t think so,” Tom glanced at the lush mane standing out at the Gryffindor table.       “Hermione’s a bit obsessed with studying,” Harry shrugged. “And she wants to be the best everywhere. She’ll get used to the competition, it’s even good for her. You don’t insult people for their background, you don’t flaunt your intellect and abilities, you’re willing to help. I hope your entourage doesn’t spoil you.”       Tom snorted doubtfully. He had big doubts about who would spoil whom. Potter took his tone to mean something else.       “I’m serious, they can. Watch out for Malfoy. Well, good luck, Riddle!”       “Tom,” he corrected with a smile.       “Alright,” Harry nodded, automatically ruffling his already messy hair. “Then I’m Harry. Good luck, Tom,” he waved and headed for the Gryffindor table.       “You too, Harry,” he watched the boy leave with a pensive gaze. “You too.”