Death in the mask

      October came into its own, bringing piercing winds, yellowing leaves that floated down from the baring trees onto the withered grass, covering the ground with a bright yellow-orange carpet. Drafts wandered through the corridors and glazed galleries of the castle, chilling its stonework, and students bundled up in outer robes as they moved from classroom to classroom. It was impossible to warm up the entire monolithic structure, and heat lingered only where fireplaces crackled merrily — in the Great Hall, common rooms and dormitories, classrooms.       Tom had fully adapted to the rhythm. Now, in addition to the usual classes and library quiet, his time was taken up by Dueling Club on Mondays, which had replaced the usual Knights of Walpurgis meetings in the forties. But it was still easier for Tom than for Draco, who had Quidditch practices on top of Dueling Club. The match against Gryffindor was inexorably approaching, and while Malfoy spent a couple evenings a week on the pitch, Potter drove his team the rest of the days, then nodded off in the back row in early morning lessons.       Therefore, the students, who had gotten quite tired after a month, met the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend on Sunday with enthusiasm. Pansy and Daphne and her younger sister Astoria loudly discussed what they were going to buy at the witches' cosmetics shop, Theo dreamed of sugar quills from Honeydukes, and Draco grimaced at the thought of having to take Pansy on a romantic lunch date at Madam Puddifoot’s instead of drinking butterbeer with friends at the Three Broomsticks.       “Don’t be sad, Draco, we’ll drink for you too,” Blaise jokingly slapped him on the shoulder as the Slytherins headed for the exit from the castle. “It’s a man’s burden, but there’s nothing to be done…”       Malfoy glanced back at the slightly lagging girls to make sure Pansy hadn’t heard. Then he wrinkled his nose and looked at Tom.       “Surprised you’re coming with us instead of going to your library.”       “Actually, I was going to stop by the bookstore…” Tom remarked in passing. Draco just rolled his eyes.       “Oh, I’m with you!” Theo cheered up. “Usually I don’t have company there…”       The guys got to the village, bundled up in scarves to hide at least a little from the icy wind, and went in different directions. Pansy and the Greengrass sisters headed to the cosmetics store, while Malfoy and Zabini went to the sweets shop in the meantime so as not to wait in the cold for the girls, who could get stuck ogling the colourful fragrant bottles for a long time. At the end of the street Tom noticed Ginny Weasley with Potter’s classmate Dean Thomas, whom he already remembered from the Dueling Club, and was glad the group of Slytherins had missed them.       Theo and Tom headed to the bookstore. He even kind of enjoyed Nott’s company in a way. The other didn’t talk much, was quite well-read and knowledgeable, you could discuss rare Runes or Arithmancy topics with him that you wouldn’t be able to talk about with just anyone. Of course, Theo was slightly shy and insecure, but Tom was only glad about that, since Nott didn’t have the habit of imposing and preferred to withdraw if he saw his companion wasn’t in the mood.       Upon entering the bookstore, the guys immediately went in different directions, and Tom, making sure Theodore was engrossed in browsing the runes section, headed to the farther Defence Against the Dark Arts section. To his pleasure, as usual lower shelves contained nondescript books whose subject matter bordered on and pertained less to defence and more to the dark arts themselves. He crouched down and, pulling out one of the folios, began flipping through it for anything interesting and previously unknown to him. Collecting and curating rare knowledge was his little weakness.       He kept glancing around to make sure no one was nearby. The last thing he needed was to get caught at such activities by someone like Snape. The latter had only recently calmed his paranoia and almost stopped looking at the outstanding student with suspicion, no need to disturb this fledgling truce.       Soon, as usual, Tom lost track of time. A couple books had already gone into the “take with” pile, and he was sitting on a low windowsill, leafing through the last one, pulled from the far end of the shelf. Therefore, he flinched in surprise at the voice over his ear and suspiciously quickly slammed the book shut with a dull thud.       “My my, our star student and World War Two expert has quite specific tastes, I see…”       He looked up and met the mocking grey eyes in the handsome face, not even marred by the snide grin. Regulus Black, having revealed in his confusion to the fullest, continued:       “At least now I understand where you get all that rare knowledge from. Don’t worry, I like rummaging around in this shelf myself,” he reassured, waving his hand and sitting next to Tom on the windowsill. Taking one of the books Tom had set aside under his wary gaze, he casually flipped through it.       “Purely scholarly interest,” Riddle quickly replied, suppressing the urge to snatch his book from the professor’s hands. The latter, however, not very interested, set it back down.       “I don’t see anything shameful in that, in my opinion,” Black shrugged. “Compared to what’s kept in my family library, this is as pure and light as a unicorn grazing in a meadow… But if it concerns you, I won’t tell anyone.”       Tom silently nodded, not daring to somehow verbalise his response lest he accidentally confirm out loud that he was doing something improper.       “Tom, there you are!” Theo popped out from behind the shelf. Seeing Black, he perked up. “Oh, Professor, hello! And I just picked out a book on Runes,” he waved a thick reference book in an expensive brown cover with gold embossing.       “That reference repeats our textbook almost completely, just more filler, and the information in section five has been disproved by recent research,” Black casually replied. “Take ‘The Book of the Ancient Oracle’ by Ralph Blume instead. In the blue cover.”       “Thank you, sir,” Theo was embarrassed and disappeared behind the shelf again. Tom got to his feet and headed to the checkout. Regulus also emerged from behind the shelf and froze like a deer in headlights when he noticed a group of fifth-year girls whispering and giggling stupidly near the entrance. They immediately fell silent at his appearance.       “Mr. Riddle, would you mind if I temporarily join you and Mr. Nott?” Black asked quietly. “Otherwise I won’t get out of here in one piece.       “They’ll tear you to souvenir pieces,” Tom nodded understandingly. “Of course, Professor. We’re going to the Three Broomsticks, come with us if you’d like,” he offered, quickly realising it would be good to establish a more friendly relationship with Regulus Black for his own purposes. He is Sirius Black’s brother after all, and possibly also a member of the Order.       “Excellent,” Regulus sighed in relief. “I’ll join one of the professors there. Severus couldn’t keep me company today, he went to his lady friend, and it all went pear shaped… Usually he scares students away from me, they don’t dare approach when he’s around.”       “I understand perfectly well why,” Tom grinned. Theo emerged from behind the shelf with the blue book in hand and quickly assessed the situation. Glancing at the group of girls not daring to approach with mournful envy, he caught up to Tom and Regulus at the checkout.       Black’s manoeuvre almost worked, and the guys walked stony-faced through the store to the exit. However, literally a couple metres from the door the boldest of the girls cut across and as if by accident nearly collided with Riddle.       “Oh, To-o-om,” she drawled, batting her eyelashes and feigning surprise. “I didn’t notice you…”       “Hello, Romilda,” he nodded politely to the brunette, already familiar from the first Dueling Club lesson. Out of the corner of his eye he noted that her friends were slowly approaching. Now he was somewhat confused to realise he had also become an object of their interest. “Sorry, we’re… in a hurry,” he forced out and hurriedly slipped through the still unclosed gap between the girl and her friend, who were clearly adeptly trying to cut him off from the exit.       “Hurry,” Black whispered in panic through tightly pressed lips and sharply yanked the door handle.       “Tom! Maybe you could explain to me again…” Romilda began behind his back, but he, no longer trying to feign politeness, hastily slipped out the door after the teacher.       “That was close,” Black exhaled, nervously glancing over his shoulder when they moved a little away from the store. He laughed in relief: “Looks like I won’t be the only one soon having trouble getting around alone. But I’m even glad if some of these predators get distracted by you, sorry about that.”       “Maybe you could hook me up with someone?” Theo sighed. “At least one?”       “Take them all,” Black grinned. “They don’t understand that even if I were to seduce a girl half my age for some fantastical reason, I’d be kicked out of school right away. I’d have to make a living composing crossword puzzles for the Daily Prophet.”       Tom smirked, appreciating the humour about a man with the Black family vault in his possession having to work for a living. With the joking conversation, they imperceptibly made it to the Three Broomsticks and entered the noisy pub.       “It’s so warm in here,” Nott happily squinted. “Oh, Blaise is already here!”       He headed towards the waving mulatto who had taken a table in the middle of the hall. Tom started to follow him but noticed Black frozen at the entrance, looking around dejectedly. Tom immediately understood the reason for his confusion — there wasn’t a single professor in the hall, but a couple interested female gazes had already fixed on the young teacher.       “Would you like me to keep you company?” Tom offered, quickly orienting himself. “We’ll take a table for two in the corner, and no one will join us. I’m not Professor Snape, of course, but…”       He had a perfectly selfish interest. The dossier Gaunt had compiled on Sirius Black contained only fragments of information — too contradictory facts, frequent chaotic changes of location, constant trips abroad and disappearances even within Britain. It would be simply fortunate if he could get the professor talking and obtain some clarifying details.       “Thank you,” Black nodded in relief, and they headed to a far table. “Then I’m buying. Two butterbeers, Rosmerta!” he called out to the plump bartender.       They sat on crude wooden chairs, and Tom inadvertently levitated their cloak rack to partially shield their table from the hall. Rosmerta brought them butterbeer and slid an alluring glance over them, true to her professionalism, she didn’t force her company on them and quickly withdrew. With an imperceptible wave of his wand under the table, Tom transferred the alcohol from his own mug to Black’s. Meanwhile, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes.       “Do you mind, Mr. Riddle?” he asked.       “Not at all,” Tom shrugged. “You can just call me by my first name,” he added, absently boring into the pack with a thoughtful gaze. His fingers drummed on the table of their own accord, and his throat tightened slightly when his brain supplied a memory — the phantom bitter tobacco taste in his mouth. Watching him from under lowered dark lashes, Regulus flicked a silver lighter and unhurriedly lit a cigarette, the orange flame lighting up his face. Then he placed the pack on the table, nudging it slightly towards his student.       “You do smoke, right Tom?”       “Just dabble sometimes,” he admitted, not taking his eyes off the white pack on the dark tabletop.       “Of course, I’m your teacher… But we’re not at school, just a bar, and you’re nearly of age. So I don’t think any harm will come if I look away for a minute, while you sneak a cigarette from the pack I completely accidentally left on the table.”       Black did indeed turn away, bringing the cigarette to his lips, and began pensively examining the antlers on the wall. Tom didn’t struggle with himself for long, especially when the scent of expensive menthol tobacco wafted to his nose. With a light wave of his wand he cast distraction charms over their table so no one would stare, and pulled out a cigarette. The tip of his wand touched it, and the tightly packed tobacco ignited with a red dot, while the harsh smoke slammed his throat, burning and cooling at the same time. Tom contentedly leaned back in his chair and exhaled to the side, then relaxedly gazed at the cigarette pinched in his thin fingers, wispy semi-transparent smoke curling up from it.       Regulus turned back to him, examining his reaction with a smirk, and also took a drag. Tom nodded gratefully. The dose of nicotine pleasantly made his head spin. It seemed like a good moment to draw the professor into a frank conversation and possibly pull out some useful information.       “So what is the heir of the noble House of Black doing at school, in the modest role of a regular teacher?” he asked carefully. “Isn’t it cramped for you, with your knowledge and talents?” — a little flattery, to subtly soften the question.       Regulus looked at him closely for a few seconds, then put out the cigarette in the ashtray. Finally he replied:       “Of course, as the heir of an ancient house, I could be sitting on the Wizengamot. Or going to receptions and engaging in idle chatter. Or wheeling and dealing in the Ministry corridors. But is that interesting, in your opinion, Tom?”       “I don’t think so,” he nodded. “But you could be in business or academia.”       “And I am in academia,” Black shrugged. “You would even see my publications if you subscribed to a couple of scholarly journals known only to small circles. But just sitting with ancient scrolls is boring. However, instilling knowledge into the empty heads of teenagers — that’s entertainment for me. Always hustle and bustle around, always something happening, meeting new people,” Regulus smiled slyly and nodded towards Tom, who politely bowed his head in response. Then the professor suddenly asked:       “So what are you doing in school?”       Tom raised his eyebrows quizzically and answered in surprise after a short pause:       “Studying. I’m not quite sure what you mean.”       And why is everyone so interested in this question? Did Snape share his suspicions with Black, or worse, send him? Could their meeting at the bookstore not have been a coincidence at all? And while he thought he was bringing Regulus to candour, was the other actually doing the same with him? Tom gripped his beer mug a little harder than necessary, then lifted it and slowly took a sip to put a period on his phrase and force Black to expand on his thought. Nodding, the latter continued:       “Really? I’ve already heard a lot about you this past month, and seen your talents myself in my classes. I got the impression that you could take your N.E.W.T.s right now. So what’s the point of wasting two more years?”       “I don’t have all the knowledge to take the exams, just some of it,” Tom shrugged. “And I’m underage. Besides, maybe I like people and hustle and bustle too?”       “You don’t,” Black shook his head. “I can see that about you. And I also see that you are no ordinary young man. Most likely from some ancient family, but for some reason hiding your origins for some reason.”       “Why did you decide that?” Tom asked quietly, trying to mask his suddenly hoarse voice.       “If I didn’t know my family tree to the fifth degree by heart, I would have guessed there were Blacks somewhere in your lineage. You carry yourself too characteristically, your speech is too proper, even your posture gives away your upbringing. Not to mention the rest,” he concluded vaguely, nodding somewhere towards Tom.       “The rest?” he repeated.       “I have a good eye for certain things,” Black smirked mysteriously and turned his full attention to the extremely interesting mug of butterbeer. Regulus thoroughly examined the foam that had suddenly intrigued him, then took a sip, fully demonstrating that he had no intention of elaborating further. Tom pursed his lips in displeasure, inadvertently allowing the polite mask to slip for a second, but immediately regained control of himself. Where had he slipped up? Had anyone else noticed this besides Black?       “But I think you must have important reasons to hide your origins,” Regulus finally continued, setting down the mug and raising his eyes to Tom again. “And I’m not going to pry if you don’t want to tell me yourself. Who knows more about family troubles than me?” he smiled gently.       “Really?” Tom took the opportunity to broach the topic that interested him. “Are there difficulties in relationships even in seemingly perfect families on the outside?”       Black laughed at that line.       “Oh, Tom, you’re still so young and naive. It’s usually behind the perfect facade that such unsightly things are hidden, which are unfit to mention in polite company…”       “But now, I heard, it’s just you and your brother left? It must be easier, since you understand each other,” Tom asked carefully.       “My brother and I are too different,” Regulus grimaced, taking out another cigarette. “And it took us three decades to realise that it’s not bad. It just is, and we have to live with it somehow. I’ve always been an obedient boy, and Sirius a rebel. Oh, how he angered our mother…” Black took a drag and slowly exhaled the smoke upwards, sinking into memories. Tom listened attentively, trying not to scare off his candour.       “You’re surprised that I became a teacher. But I started teaching only after my parents died, when I was freed from their eternally critical gaze and their opinion on how one should live. But Sirius never cared about criticism, you could say he took pleasure from it. And if you’re surprised that I have an unfitting job for a Black, you’ll be completely shocked when you find out what my older brother does…”       Black smiled intriguingly and leaned back in his chair, revelling in the effect of his words. Tom did indeed lean so far forward in interest that he was now perched tense on the very edge of his seat.       “Which is?” he couldn’t resist asking.       Regulus twirled the cigarette in his fingers.       “He’s a private detective. A mercenary who does dirty work for others for money. As if he needs it… He especially likes taking on dangerous jobs involving tracking, chases, captures, magical fights. That’s Sirius in a nutshell — impulsive, unable to sit still, greedy for thrills.”       “I see,” Tom raised an eyebrow and also leaned back in his chair. Now all the disjointed pieces of information from Sirius Black’s dossier were making sense. “Harry said his godfather returned from Africa in August. He must have gone somewhere again?”       “Oh, so you and Harry are friends,” Regulus smiled approvingly. “He’s a sweet boy, thankfully took after Lily more than James. No, Sirius is still in Britain for now, which is not like him. He wouldn’t have stayed here this long, but we, his relatives, got lucky — his current investigation is conveniently located here territorially.”       “And what’s he investigating now?” Tom asked. “Or is that a secret?”       “It is, of course, a secret,” Black shrugged and sipped some butterbeer. “But I suppose I could reveal some non-detailed information. Harry will tell you sooner or later anyway, especially since the case could potentially be scandalous…” Regulus hesitated for a moment. Tom quickly added to assuage any doubts in his favour:       “My lips are sealed!”       “I trust you,” the professor sighed, making up his mind. “Have you seen the newspaper articles about the attacks?”       Tom’s heart beat unusually loudly, and his mouth went dry. He nodded and quickly drank some beer, which barely made it down his painfully clenched throat. Could Black be investigating the activities of his Death Eaters? Of course, it was unlikely to pose much of a threat… Gaunt had already dealt with Potter, and no matter how talented Sirius Black was, he was unlikely to be able to do anything against the Dark Lord. Although if Black found some evidence and made it public, the heir of an ancient house might be believed.       “What makes it to the papers is just the tip of the iceberg,” Black smirked. “In fact there are more cases, but not all are printed in the Prophet, and the link was only recently established. And that’s because in addition to wizarding families, Muggle families are also being attacked,” he went on faster and suddenly more ardently. “And they’re not just being robbed and beaten up like ours, there are only corpses left. But who cares what’s going on with Muggles? No one cared until a family connected to a wizard was affected. A very high-ranking and wealthy wizard who, it turned out, had an almost adult illegitimate Squib daughter living with her Muggle mother in a lovely suburban cottage. Recalling the photos of what was done to her still gives me chills,” Regulus shuddered.       “And the father wants revenge?” Tom concluded. How foolish. No one cared about those insignificant Muggles or such a stupid blunder.       “Her father doesn’t care about the attacks, but he wants to strangle with his own hands the bastard who did that to his beloved, albeit concealed from society, daughter. So Sirius got hired and started digging. Aside from all the other traces,” Regulus painfully grimaced, “there was magic used on the girl too, although she was ultimately killed the Muggle way. Hence the link between the attacks on wizard and Muggle families emerged. Although with wizards this creature doesn’t allow himself such things.”       “'Creature'?” Tom frowned. “You mean…”       “Yes, one of them, a specific someone, the pattern is clear. Picks one victim, a girl, you understand why, and has his fun with her while his colleagues more crudely deal with the others, handing out the usual Cruciatus curses. So among the company of deranged wizards behind all this there is someone completely mental,” Black tapped his temple demonstratively. “And that’s who my brother is looking for.”       “Your brother doesn’t pick easy jobs,” Tom mused. “And he’s not afraid at all?”       “You don’t know Sirius,” Black snorted. “He has absolutely no self-preservation instinct, I don’t know how he lived this long. But you understand you shouldn’t tell anyone about this, right?”       “Of course,” Tom nodded, finishing his butterbeer. The conversation with the teacher had been extremely fruitful. He had to warn Gaunt. He wondered who of his new acquaintances was having fun with such methods? Even among the small portion of Death Eaters he knew there were too many candidates.