Death in the mask

      Greetings Tom! Thank you for the story, I had a good laugh remembering my own school days. I’d already forgotten them as the years went by, and I don’t like trusting memories to the Pensieve.       I think Dumbledore’s initiative with the Dueling Club will play into your hands — it’s a chance to distinguish yourself and build new connections. Of course, you shouldn’t demonstrate all your talents, but even a fraction will be enough to charm representatives of all the houses. Proving yourself a good fighter and competent organiser is in your own interests.       I also assure you there will be no problems with the elder Malfoys and Notts. The Gryffindors will certainly still surprise you, but I won’t spoil it for you — youth must bump its own head to toughen up and gain experience.       Don’t worry about the wand — I have a spare that fully obeys me, if you understand what I mean. Though with them it’s always true that the older the better. I hope someday I’ll find something even more powerful than yew…       Write if you need advice or help, you can always count on me no matter what happens.       

T.M.R.

      The wand tip touched the paper, and it shrivelled, blackened, consumed by flame. Large flakes of grey ash scattered through the air. Tom watched this, scratching his owl Knight’s black tufts behind the ear. Having digested the mouse he was fed, the owl was drowsily blinking on the backrest where Tom had settled to read the letter in solitude, far from prying eyes. The cold crept under his cloak despite the warming charms, greedily devouring the chill of the stone. The September sun, especially in the evening, looked deceptively bright and gentle, but was giving off almost no warmth, and biting winds came down from the mountains.       In his letter, as was his habit, Gaunt had answered a couple of questions but raised new ones. What surprises and bumps on the head awaited him? Tom didn’t like surprises. But the advice about the Dueling Club finally dispelled the oppressive fog of uncertainty and doubt that had plagued him these past days. What did it matter if a couple dozen children got a ghost of a chance to defend themselves (and the Death Eaters were a trained lot too) when at stake was the opportunity to stand out, using his combat skills to portray a tasty morsel for the Order. And when Dumbledore saw how enthusiastically he carried out the task and conscientiously taught his beloved Gryffs, he would finally start trusting him.       Getting to his feet, Tom automatically brushed off his new trousers. He released the owl to hunt and headed for Snape’s office to discuss the details of the upcoming lessons. According to Dumbledore’s plan, they were supposed to start on Monday already, but for the rest of that week they had pointedly ignored each other. The DADA professor only occasionally threw long grim glances at Tom’s way when they met in the corridors or Great Hall, as if hinting, “I’m watching you.” It was time to move from unfriendly staring matches to negotiations.       Two hours later, a little before curfew, he left the professor’s office. He was dying for a cigarette, something fierce, something he hadn’t done in probably a year. Like all the orphanage kids, Tom had gotten acquainted with fags at a fairly young age, but had no intention of turning an occasional indulgence into a nasty habit — he found dependencies distasteful. So he hadn’t brought any cigarettes to school. He headed for the dungeons, nervously tapping his thigh with his fingers. He made a mental note that he needed to make acquaintances with the house elves in the kitchen so he could at least get some strong professorial coffee. It would help him focus in this state, after Snape had frayed all his nerves. The common room boiler with self-heating tea might help a little, but not enough right now.       

***

      The next morning the Slytherin common room was buzzing excitedly as students crowded around the noticeboard, discussing the news.       “And why are we hearing about this from Draco instead of you?” Theodore complained, eyeing the huddled underclassmen at the board.       “Because Draco’s a prefect, and he was putting up the notice?” Tom shrugged indifferently.       “An absolutely accurate and absolutely useless answer,” Nott snorted. “You and Snape… How’s this even going to look?”       “You’ll see,” Tom smiled faintly, “if you show up, that is.”       Not only Theo showed up. Surveying the Great Hall prepared for the lesson on Monday evening, Tom concluded that nearly all the students were gathered here. The upper years for sure, and even some first years were present. Snape, having finally agreed to his suggested training scheme after long arguments, gleefully left hall setup to him. So after dinner Tom had spent a whole hour levitating and casting other charms. He pushed the tables and benches aside, piling them up to clear most of the space. Chalk lines crisscrossed the floor. Several dummies he had gathered from abandoned classrooms stood in a row. The windows were covered with magic-absorbing protective charms, the walls with cushioning ones.       Now the hall was filled with people and noise. Tom noticed the Gryffindors, among whom stood out two redheaded Weasleys, and a group of his Slytherin classmates. The girls gathered in clusters, giggling and whispering quietly about something. Looking at their loose hair and short skirts, he could only sigh. And who had he specified proper attire for in the announcement?       Tom himself wore some of his identical new trousers and a black wetsuit top, less constricting than a shirt for movement. He had bought the clothes before school in Diagon Alley, from a mid-range store, simple ones so as not to stand out or flaunt unlimited finances, but at last brand new. But he couldn’t resist splurging on fancy footwear — classic strict oxfords for school and casual desert boots of soft enchanted leather that now fit his feet snugly and almost imperceptibly. He just hadn’t thought about getting sportswear.       “Riddle!” bony fingers grabbed his shoulder.       He first looked at the yellowish hand on the black fabric of his top, then raised a brow and shifted his gaze to its owner — Snape, who had noiselessly come up behind him. He too was in all black, without his customary robes, only a form-fitting frock coat. Tom extremely disliked others touching him. Apparently something flashed in his eyes because the professor removed his hand from his shoulder and asked indifferently:       “I see everything’s ready? Can we start?”       “Yes, Professor, ready to begin,” Tom replied.       Snape didn’t hesitate — three loud forceful claps quieted the students and made them move to the walls with an impatient wave of his hand. Tom remained by his side.       “As you already know from the notices posted in your house common rooms, Headmaster Dumbledore has decided to restart the Dueling Club, so ignominiously closed four years ago.”       Uncertain laughter came from the older students who had witnessed said events. Snape swept the pupils with his cold black-eyed gaze and continued:       “I don’t think I need to introduce myself, you’ve all been studying under me for years. Assisting me this time will be one of the students, Mr. Tom Riddle. Though he’s only been with us a week, I’m sure many have already heard about his talents.” Snape smiled unpleasantly. “But look at me, I’ll let him introduce himself,” he made an sardonic beckoning gesture.       This was rather unexpected, Tom hadn’t prepared any speech. He stepped forward, using the second’s pause to gather his thoughts.       “As Professor Snape said, due to my family’s move from the continent to Britain this year, I’ve joined the sixth year Slytherin house,” he began. “Previously I studied at Durmstrang, House Radegast[Radegast — the god of war among the Western Slavs], which has produced many famous battle mages,” a couple sighs in the crowd revealed people at least somewhat familiar with Durmstrang’s mystique-shrouded history. “Headmaster Dumbledore deemed my competence sufficient to share some knowledge with Hogwarts students.”       “Maybe you could show us what you can do?” a voice called out from the crowd — an unfamiliar Hufflepuff. “Some advanced magic?”       “Thank you for the question, Mister…”       “Ernie Macmillan.”       “Mr. Macmillan. I believe the headmaster and Professor Snape possess adequate qualifications for you to trust their judgement regarding me in this matter.”       Laughter rippled through the crowd. Tom noticed a sardonic smile on Potter’s face who clearly recalled the notorious fight in DADA class and smiled back. News of the incident had spread through the school, gradually accumulating unexpected new details, and now he constantly heard excited whispers behind his back. No wonder everyone was curious to see the scandalously notorious newcomer in action. But he had no intention of pandering, instead launching into an impromptu speech.       “There is a drive for conflict inherent in human nature. We contend with each other for resources, for territory…”       He caught himself using the same open postures and confidential gestures as Thomas Gaunt, but decided not to do anything about it. He paced along the line of students, continuing to speak. Though he had never addressed such a large crowd before, he felt scarcely any anxiety now, instead gaining confidence as his speech flowed smoothly amid total silence. It differed little from his talks with the Knights. All eyes were turned his way, the students gawking at the new boy, given official permission to do so unabashedly. Tom spoke gently and evenly, not raising his voice much, forcing people to listen closely to his words.       “This struggle began with the emergence of the first living forms, it is the law of evolution, the law all on this planet obey. The strongest survive. One can stick their head in the sand and hide behind the humanization of society, denying the superiority of physical force. But the war quite recently in historical terms showed that such pacifism is but an illusion. This applies not only to the Muggle world, no…” He lowered his voice, satisfiedly surveying the attentively listening students. “Grindelwald demonstrated it fully when no wizard felt safe. And only your own powers and skills determined what would happen upon meeting his Apostles — whether you could stand up for yourself and family or at least flee, or else fall ingloriously as one of countless victims…”       Tom paused for a second to gauge the effect of his words and how utterly he held the crowd’s attention, then continued:       “Professor Snape and I are here precisely for that. We will give you skills that allow not just showing off to your peers or getting into a bar fight. They will help you save your life and your loved ones' when necessary, buy time and protect what is most precious to you.”       “Thank you for the… hmm… heartfelt speech, Mr. Riddle,” Snape said dryly once Tom finished. “We appreciate your lofty aspirations, but shall start nonetheless with the fundamentals that, as you put it, allow showing off in fights with peers.”       The Slytherins guffawed in satisfaction, exchanging glances and elbowing each other. The Gryffindors smirked.       “From simple to complex, Professor,” Tom nodded. “First we’ll learn to hold our wand properly and hit the target, because no complex spell will be effective if you simply miss your opponent. So now we’ll proceed as follows — all students line up in front of these training dummies in a queue. Here, in front of this line.”       He indicated the chalk line on the floor a few metres from the wooden dummies. The hall immediately filled with footsteps and chatter as the pupils jostled and pushed to get a spot nearer the start of the line.       “As you can see, the dummies have a target painted on them in the form of three concentric circles. Hitting the bullseye, this fist-sized area in the centre, is five points; the next circle four points; and the largest, covering the whole chest, three points,” he explained, indicating with his wand tip. “Upper years use Stupefy, lower years can get by with Rictusempra. When you rack up at least eleven points over three shots — that’s two fours and a three, with no complete misses — move to the second half of the hall where more experienced students will work in pairs. I’ve charmed the dummies so that upon reaching the required points they make a sound signal. If you don’t manage it, keep practising your aim.”       Snape coolly nodded, surveying the students. It had taken considerable effort on Tom’s part during their Friday argument to persuade him to split up the pupils by level. The professor preferred starting pair work right off the bat, making no allowances for lack of basic skills. He believed if so, the student had only himself to blame and, having accumulated a decent number of bruises, would be forced to learn. But as the group Harry had trained last year showed, that was nowhere near enough — many just kept treading water, unable to accomplish what was required and move to the next level. Though Tom liked the approach of survival of the fittest, it shouldn’t be demonstrated.       The first cries of “Stupefy!” rang out, and bright red lines crisscrossed the space, some missing the targets and hitting the wall. Pleased with his own forethought, Tom walked along the hall’s edge while Snape took the opposite end, gloomily observing the proceedings. After three attempts, the students returned to the back of the queue, yielding their spot to the next. And only the upper years' dummies rang a little bell. Potter was first to go to the other half of the hall with thirteen points; gradually others followed — Longbottom, both Weasleys and Granger, Theodore Nott, a couple seventh-years from Ravenclaw, and surprisingly several second and third-year students. After his first try, Draco Malfoy grimaced in disgust and went back to the end of the line; Crabbe and Goyle managed eleven points only by combining their efforts and joined him.       “Alright,” Tom approached the students selected after the first round. “Now pair up, each pair takes a square,” he indicated the chalk lines on the floor. “You’ll stand in two rows, cast spells from the centre outward so as not to hit anyone. Three times one attacks with Stupefy, the other puts up the absorbing Protego shield, then switches places and attacks again from the centre outward,” he briefly glanced at Snape who had approached and was clearly bored watching the students' hopeless attempts to hit the targets. “First through fourth years, use Tickling Charms, Rictusempra; opponent dodges, that’s a valuable skill too. Sixth and seventh years can try nonverbal spells, and vary them. If something goes wrong, someone gets badly hurt or loses consciousness — call me or Professor Snape immediately.”       “And at the end we’ll select a few top students to attempt proper duels,” Snape added. The pupils perked up with interest. “Watch those ham-fisted ones, I’ll handle these,” he told Tom as the kids chose positions on the hall’s second half. As usual, Potter paired with his redheaded friend while Granger stood with the younger Weasley girl. Tom nodded curtly and headed back to the dummies.       “No no, don’t swing so widely,” he gestured for a stop to a girl with long tangled white hair. “What’s your name?”       “Luna Lovegood.”       “Luna,” he repeated. “You lack stabilisation, your wand drops below attack level and the spell goes wide. Start slowing your arm before reaching the target direction, then follow through the last centimetres with a precise wrist flick,” he placed his hand over hers, standing beside her, demonstrating the needed motion.       “Thank you, that makes more sense,” the Ravenclaw replied in a strangely pensive voice, and her next spell already hit the dummy’s chest. Tom nodded and moved on.       “Will you help me too, Tom?” a curly dark-haired Gryffindor girl in a short skirt fluttered her lashes. She gave his lean figure clad in black an appraising once-over. “I’m Romilda, by the way.”       “Certainly, Romilda,” Tom smiled amiably, though he didn’t take a step toward her. “Lead top to bottom, slow a bit, follow through with the wrist. Try it.”       He went further. The mannequins jingled — Malfoy, Zabini and a couple of Hufflepuffs headed to the other half of the hall. Tom repeated the briefing for them. Those who remained at the mannequins were tacitly recognized as hopeless, and he, watching them out of the corner of his eye, moved between the rows of students who worked in pairs.       “Draco, start casting the spell a little earlier than the swing. Good shield, Theo. More confidence in your voice, Neville, and everything will work out. Ernie, Stupefy is not bad, move on to Petrificus Totalus and Incarcerous. Harry, leave Expelliarmus to the underclassmen, try Verdimillious, I know you can do it. Just make sure Ron has time to put up a shield, or he’ll be upset…”       On the next step, someone fell at Tom’s feet, whisking with a red tail. He recognized Ginny Weasley, knocked back by the reflected spell. He stopped and held out his left hand to the girl sitting on the floor.       “Okay? Can you get up, didn’t hurt yourself too badly?”       For a couple of seconds she looked at his palm distrustfully from bottom to top, then still grabbed it and got to her feet. Tom held her by the elbow so she wouldn’t crash into him with gusto.       “Yes, it’s crap,” the girl waved it off.       “Nice to see that at least one of the girls took the indicated dress code seriously,” he nodded at her pants and tied up hair. “You’re not in vain on this half of the hall.”       He went on, feeling the puzzled gaze drilling into his back.       “Depulso!” a thin voice cried out nearby, and a paired underclassman who had somehow gotten into pair work whistled past Tom, waving his cloak. He would have crashed into the stone wall at this speed if it weren’t for the cushioning charms that slowed him down a few centimetres before a hard collision. The boy stuck to them and immediately panicked, hanging in the air like a fly in syrup.       “Stop, don’t move, I’ll get you out. Finite,” Tom came closer and carefully lowered the guy to the floor. “Don’t use Depulso without shield charms,” he raised his voice, addressing the underclassmen who had immediately rushed to their friend. “Too wide a stream of energy, you can’t dodge it.”       He took a step forward and almost collided with Snape, who had also approached to monitor the situation.       “Not a bad preparation of the hall, Riddle,” the professor muttered through his teeth. “Time to move on to the next stage.”       Three energetic loud claps made the students instantly fall silent, and Snape drove them to the wall.       “We have twenty minutes left, and now we’ll move on to the most fun part. Mr. Riddle and I will choose four pairs to try their hand at full duels, and then analyse the mistakes. Your suggestions?” he turned to Tom, raising an eyebrow. If he hoped that Tom hadn’t memorised the names yet, he was mistaken.       “Potter — Granger,” Tom caught Harry’s satisfied gaze and Hermione’s slightly surprised one. “Longbottom — Weasley, Ginevra. Macmillan — Corner. Malfoy — Nott.”       “Well, although you named mostly your classmates, I agree to start with the older ones first,” Snape nodded, but an unpleasant smirk began to play on his lips, which Tom didn’t like at all. “But I’ll make some minor rearrangements, so the pairs aren’t too familiar and… hmm… friendly. Let it rather be Weasley — Nott, Granger — Corner, Longbottom — Macmillan, Potter — Malfoy. In that order.”       “As you wish, Professor,” Tom nodded. He spread his arms at Nott’s hurt look, as if to show: “What can I do?”       Snape, abruptly jabbing his thumb behind him, told Ginny and Theodore to go first and moved aside into the crowd of students. Tom stood on the side and waved his wand intensely, setting up a protective barrier in front of the students. He himself remained on the other side — he wasn’t afraid of random ricochets. The chalk lines on the floor changed to a fourteen-metre duelling strip.       “You have a minute,” Snape commented as the first pair stepped to the centre of the hall. “Although Riddle is holding the shields, I advise not to throw too many spells towards people, so our overly talented boy doesn’t burn out from overloading. Start the timer.”       “Thank you for your concern, Professor, but I think I can handle it,” Tom nodded, switching his wristwatch to stopwatch mode.       In fact, he was already starting to get tired after the long preparation of the hall, and then another hour spent monitoring the students who were trying to kill themselves in various ways. But he had no intention of showing weakness in front of such a crowd.       “I’ll reiterate the classic rules just in case. Stepping outside the strip or disarmament are equated with defeat. After the “get set” command we make the traditional bow. At the “start” signal we begin. The signal to end is “stop”. The use of spells aimed at causing pain and suffering is prohibited. Is everything clear? Get set!”       The Gryffindor and the Slytherin barely bowed to each other, not taking their tense gazes off each other, and raised their wands, froze in combat stances at opposite ends of the strip. Snape grimaced — either he didn’t like the classic rules, or he was expressing his attitude to Tom’s team voice. But since he had no intention of taking on the responsibility of guiding the process himself, Tom didn’t really care.       “Start!” Tom clicked the stopwatch button.       Theo, who remembered Ginny’s trademark bat-bogey hex well, as well as its effects on Goyle’s face, immediately tried to distract her with a crippling curse. The Stupefy that flew back was nimbly blocked on the shield. He slowly moved towards the redhead, while she remained in place. She vigorously fended off spells, enthusiastically throwing back responses. Her fiery hair, gathered in a ponytail, briskly flung from side to side as the girl spun in place, trying to get Theo, who confidently shielded himself.       “Colloshoo!” she shouted.       The spell slid from below, passed under the shield. At that moment Theo took a step. He waved his arms comically when his legs got glued to the floor, jerked sharply trying to keep his balance. He didn’t hold on and fell back, flopping onto the floor. The wand flew out of his hand and bounced across the grey stone slabs of the Great Hall.       “Stop!” Tom cried out and clicked the stopwatch off. “Victory by disarmament to Miss Weasley.”       “Thank you, Mr. Riddle, we noticed,” Snape snorted, while Theo dejectedly picked up his wand, and Ginny happily hugged the dark-skinned Gryffindor boy under her brother’s gloomy gaze. “A childish spell…”       “But unexpected and useful in combat,” Tom objected, eliciting only a doubtful snort from the professor. “Next, Granger and Corner.”       Michael Corner tried to break through Hermione’s defence with powerful freezing charms, but she distracted the Ravenclaw with a swarm of miniature birds and nimbly threw a binding spell on him. He fell to the floor like a bound caterpillar, began to writhe, trying to get his wand to the ropes.       “Stop, time! Victory to Miss Granger,” Tom concluded. “A successful feint followed by deliberate impromptu action.”       “Distracting the opponent is a standard move,” Snape nodded indifferently, hardly as a sign of praise, rather of contempt.       Neville Longbottom and Ernie Macmillan spent the allotted minute exchanging spells. Tom involuntarily wondered where the soft-bodied Gryffindor suddenly got such perseverance and will to win. But the guys eventually got a draw and conceded the duelling strip to the last pair. Looking at the brazenly smiling Malfoy and Potter, who was tapping his thigh with his wand thoughtfully, Tom immediately realised that nothing good would happen in the next minute.       Malfoy lazily threw a couple of Stupefies, Potter easily took them on the shield. His retaliatory Expelliarmus was also easily shielded by Draco.       “Petrificus Tot-…” he began to stretch out the vowels as usual, but Harry was faster, fluently but clearly spitting out:       “Verdimillious!”       The green lightning tore from his wand and struck Malfoy in the chest. The latter didn’t even have time to squeak, let alone say “Protego”; he was thrown back, and Tom sharply waved his wand, softening the uncontrolled fall. Malfoy hovered ten centimetres above the surface, then flopped onto his back on the stone floor and moaned, making no attempt to get up.       “Stop!” Tom cried and quickly moved towards his classmate.       “I think this is a disqualification,” Snape said quietly in the ensuing tomblike silence. Potter awkwardly shuffled in place, frightenedly glancing at the fallen opponent.       “Knockout victory,” Tom shook his head and crouched next to Draco. “Verdimillious is a duel-approved spell, no stronger than Stupefy. It is given in the first year textbook “The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection” by Quentin Trimble. Accio!”       The pain relief and restorative potion vials he had hidden behind the fireplace tile, which the foresighted Tom had taken from Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing beforehand, flew to him. He poured them into Malfoy in turn, supporting the blond head. The latter went limp on the floor and stopped moaning.       “You showed us this spell in the first year, sir,” Granger intervened, confirming Tom’s words. She looked at the professor warily.       “But I very much doubt it was a spell to launch green sparks,” Snape said venomously, pointing at the weakened Draco. “Potter cheated.”       “The effect depends on the energy invested, Professor,” Tom said irritably. He knew more about the unconventional use of spells than anyone, and an attempt to question his knowledge caused only outrage. “Vince, Greg, help Draco get to the common room, he’ll come around soon,” he waved to the two thugs and turned to Snape. “A first year will indeed only have green sparks, while a sixth year in the heat of emotion will have an energy stream, as we just observed. You didn’t know that?”       “I don’t think…” Snape began, but Tom was already tired of this pointless argument. He turned to the nearest mannequin and, putting all the rising anger into it, sharply flicked his wand and barked:       “Verdimillious!”       The green lightning struck the wooden dummy’s chest, threw it against the wall with such force that the body tumbled in flight, and the thin stick-arms fluttered up and tore off. The separate parts got stuck in the cushioning charms, awkwardly hovering near the wall and exposing the large dark spot on the chest, from which a faint wisp of smoke rose. Someone in the crowd gasped in fright.       “Finite, Reparo,” Tom waved his wand and while the mannequin reluctantly reassembled, he turned to Snape. After such an emotional outburst, he had completely calmed down. The students, who had fallen silent for a while, started chatting animatedly again, clearly discussing him, so he had to raise his voice: “As you can see, Draco was still lucky. A clean victory for Mr. Potter. I think all the winners deserve points, but that’s for you to decide, Professor.”       “Five points each to Granger, Ginevra Weasley and Potter,” Snape forced out of himself with disgust and grimaced. “Class dismissed, everyone back to your common rooms! And you, Riddle, will clean up here,” he triumphantly declared, still coming up with a way to hurt Tom. The students headed for the exit, noisily discussing what had happened.       “Only five points each?!” Hermione’s outraged voice carried over. “He would have given the Slytherins at least twenty!”       Tom waited for everyone to leave the Hall. When he was left alone, he wearily surveyed the resulting mess. The last burst of magic had completely drained him, and those one and a half hours of tension during the lesson had worn him out emotionally.       “Scourgify,” he waved his wand, cleaning the floor of chalk lines. He tiredly looked over the tables stacked along the walls and sighed, sitting right on the cold stones. Bowing his head, he buried his hand in his thick hair, ruining his hairstyle. He hadn’t expected this whole thing to take so much strength.       “Are you okay?” someone’s hand suddenly landed on his shoulder. He shuddered and, instantly focusing, looked at Potter who had come up from behind. “You look pale. Paler than usual.”       “Fine, just tired.”       He thoughtfully twirled the empty restorative potion vial he had poured into Malfoy in his left hand fingers. He should have taken more, he could use it himself.       “I understand,” Potter smiled weakly and sat down next. “Last year I led additional DADA classes. Unofficially, just practised with classmates before OWLs…       “I’ve heard,” Tom nodded. “From Dumbledore,” he explained at the surprised look.       “Although the Room of Requirement prepared the space for me, it was still exhausting to keep track of everyone,” Potter continued. “So I know how you feel. Want me to help clean up?”       “I’d appreciate it,” Tom agreed after a couple seconds of deliberation. “What is this Room of Requirement?”       “I’ll show you sometime.”       Harry also fell silent for a bit before continuing:       “Thanks… For suggesting the spell, I’ve been wanting to hit Malfoy harder for a while. And for standing up to Snape. He probably would have sent me to detention for the son of his buddy…”       “No problem, I couldn’t stay silent, I had to speak up,” the lie easily slipped off his tongue. Tom was used to seeming better than he really was, and had long learned what and when to say in certain moments. “Snape is friends with Malfoy Sr.?” he raised his eyebrows in surprise. This was more interesting information.       “Yes, they hang out. But lately it seems like less often. Snape’s school buddies were jerks. My mom didn’t like them much, and gave him an ultimatum when they first started dating,” Potter thoughtfully poked his boot with his wand. “Not very nice of course, but they really are disgusting, like Mulciber for example… So now Snape only occasionally hangs out with Lucius Malfoy, and is friends with Regulus Black. But Reg, Sirius' brother, is a decent guy, even though he was in Slytherin. No offence,” he grinned, elbowing Tom in the side. Tom wearily shrugged.       “I enjoyed your lesson,” Potter beamed and bashfully ruffled his already messy hair. “You explain well, pay attention to everyone. It went much better than with Lockhart, when in the end everyone switched to hand-to-hand combat. Even Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were pulling each other’s hair…”       “Trying to imagine that picture,” Tom replied with a smile.       He turned his head and for the first time during the conversation met the green eyes, in which imps of merriment danced behind the round glasses. After a couple seconds the guys were already laughing heartily, sitting together on the floor, two fragile figures in the middle of the huge empty Hall.