Death in the mask

      The feeling of falling rudely and abruptly tore him out of his sleep — his back painfully met a hard surface, some kind of crash sounded next to his ear. His brain assumed that at the very least, a bombing was happening, and at most, Grindelwald’s army had entered the city. Tom reflexively yanked out his wand with his right hand, grabbed onto something warm under him with his left hand, which had now fallen on top of him. The warm thing let out an indignant squeak and struggled in his grip, but he only tightened his hold. Bushy chestnut curls appeared before his wide open eyes, and a small fist hit his ribs.       “Riddle, damn you, let me go!”       “Granger,” his sleep-fogged mind finally realised, and he pushed away the girl who had landed on top of him, who immediately squeaked and crawled to the side. For some reason he was lying on the floor, with an overturned chair next to him. He propped himself up on his elbow, nervously jabbed his wand forward, trying to find the supposed enemy, and looked around, but didn’t see anything new — the same empty classroom they had been in last night, with the desks carelessly pushed to the walls, only now flooded with the grey light of the gloomy autumn morning. They had been talking, talking… And at some point, they must have unintentionally fallen asleep on the sofa. He desperately hoped that she had slept not on him, and the physical contact had only happened during the fall.       “The transfiguration energy ran out,” Tom concluded, looking at the overturned chairs lying next to him, and slowly lowered his wand. He pushed off the floor with his hand and sat up. Granger was watching the wand clutched in his fingers warily.       “Yeah, it lasted quite a while. And the first thing you thought was what? That you were under attack? You pulled out a weapon before you were even fully awake?”       “Force of habit,” Tom shrugged, putting away his wand.       “And where did you get such… Nevermind, I don’t want to know,” she sighed and ran a hand through her dishevelled hair. “Damn… Did we really sleep here all night?”       “Yeah,” Tom confirmed, glancing at his wristwatch, and cracked his stiff neck, pulling his head to his shoulder with his hand. “It’s good that it’s Sunday today. We need to clean up and go to breakfast.”       He got to his feet, Hermione jumped up as well. When he started towards the exit, she suddenly grabbed his sleeve. He turned questioningly.       “Tom, listen…” she quickly released his arm, as if burned, and started nervously fiddling with the hem of her sweater, looking off to the side somewhere. “Thank you for staying with me yesterday. I was a little out of it, and you really helped me. But I’d appreciate it if we could forget about this and you wouldn’t tell anyone what happened.”       “What a pity, and I was going to notify the whole Hogwarts that I spent the night with Hermione Granger,” he couldn’t resist a sarcastic jab. The girl nervously glanced at him, but realising he was joking, flushed deeply.       “Don’t worry,” he smiled completely insincerely. “I know how to keep secrets. But you know…” he slowly leaned a bit closer to her and tucked the unruly strand that had escaped behind her ear again, “I wouldn’t want us to forget about this.”       While she blinked at him in shock, Tom turned and exited the classroom into the Sunday morning empty corridor. As if he needed her to tell him to “forget” it. He didn’t suffer through listening to her for half the night and trying to improve their relationship for nothing. For some reason he didn’t hear her footsteps following him. Mulling over this oddity for exactly one second, he immediately discarded any extraneous thoughts.       

***

      Tom walked out of the shower into the dorm room wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, using another towel to dry his dark wet hair, which was now scattered in many damp, springy strands. The room greeted him with the usual muted greenish light softly illuminating the stone slabs, emptiness, silence, and Theo’s questioning gaze over his book.       “Everything okay there?” Theo asked.       “Yeah,” Tom shrugged his bare shoulders. “What could be wrong?”       “Let me think…” Theo demonstratively frowned and propped his chin on his fist. “You had a fight with Malfoy yesterday, I still don’t understand what bug bit you two. Then you didn’t come to the dorm to sleep. And when you showed up in the morning — you locked yourself in the shower for half an hour. I didn’t try to barge in to ask if you had drowned or something, who knows what you were up to in there…” he smirked slyly. “But I almost regretted deciding to wait for you instead of going to breakfast with sulky Draco and hungover Blaise. And I’m still hoping they won’t be too offended.”       “Thanks for waiting,” Tom smiled. Although he didn’t understand why he needed any company, Theo had chosen him over his classmates, and such positive behaviour should be reinforced. “Do you have a headache yourself? I have a pain relieving potion.”       “I had a hangover cure…” Theo waved him off. “Bought it from the Weasley twins. Don’t tell the guys, there’s only a couple doses left in the vial.”       “Your secret is safe with me,” Tom nodded, pulling on his pants in one smooth motion. He had already lost count of how many secrets he was keeping."Well so…” Theo put aside his book and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m dying for details about this night.”       “Nothing interesting,” Tom shrugged, buttoning up his shirt. “I fell asleep in an abandoned classroom on a transfigured sofa. The awakening wasn’t very pleasant when the sofa disappears from under you and someone else’s body lands on top of you from above.”       Theo, who had been nodding sympathetically during the speech, froze for a couple seconds with wide eyes, then indignantly yelled:       “Whose body?! And you call that 'nothing interesting'? You weren’t alone? Wow! With a girl?! And how did you even manage it?! Just yesterday there was no one — and you’re already having fun at night on a transfigured sofa!”       “Theo, Theo, calm down,” Tom grimaced, cutting into the stream of questions. After glancing at himself in the mirror, he habitually parted his perfectly straight hair with a comb and dried it with a wave of his wand. He already regretted the words that had slipped out. On the other hand, he and Theo were sort of friends, especially after his choice today was made in Tom’s favour, and friends apparently usually discuss such matters, it brings them closer. “Who — I can’t say, I promised the lady to keep it secret. But thank Merlin, there was absolutely nothing that could interest you, just boring conversations.”       “Don’t decide for me what can interest me and what can’t,” Theo pouted enviously as they headed for the dorm exit. “Most of all I’m interested in how you manage it? And why you, not me?..”       “I’ve no idea. But I can introduce you to Romilda. Though after that you probably won’t consider me a good friend,” he smirked, remembering the clingy Gryffindor girl.       “I’ll take you up on that, introduce me to this Romilda of yours,” Theo said in resignation, waving his hand.       Tom smiled at his thoughts. Dumbledore definitely knew who to appoint when it came to organising inter-house relations.       The translucent shield flashed for a second, absorbing the energy, as Tom nimbly blocked the incoming curse with an automatic wave of his wand. And in one fluid motion of his wrist, he sent back a sequence of three spells. He grimaced at the answering loud shout of “Protego!”, but the timing was perfectly precise — the other’s shield absorbed the first two and dissipated, letting through the third spell. His opponent painfully winced but stayed on his feet.       “No, Theo,” Tom sighed. “You need a non-verbal shield, and you just saw why. You won’t have time to yell out a protective spell at the top of your lungs twice in a row if you’ve got a sequence coming at you.”       “Got it.”       Theo rubbed his left ribs where Tom’s quite safe but unpleasant stinging hex had hit. Stalling for time before attempting his own attack with non-verbal spells he still hadn’t mastered, he shuffled in place, choosing a more steady stance. Tom looked around boredly — the Defense classroom was filled with puffing students who had been suffering for nearly two months in Snape’s lessons from attempts at using combat magic without words. Here and there, spell flashes periodically sparked, occasionally the indignant cries of students stung by curses sounded when their non-verbal shields still evaded them.       Malfoy and Zabini were bulging their eyes, standing across from each other. Spells periodically flew from Draco’s wand, but more often it just spat red sparks. Malfoy met Tom’s gaze, and he couldn’t tell who that expression of disgust on his face was meant for — non-verbal spells or Tom himself.       Longbottom had now been paired with Ron Weasley, it was definitely safer for them both — no spells, no shields, no chances for injury that would arise with more experienced partners. Lately Granger had been standing across from Potter — her non-verbal spells were quite decent, his — a bit worse but still passable, especially after extra practice in the duelling club. She caught Tom’s eye and quickly looked away.       Since that nighttime incident after Quidditch she had been carefully avoiding him for a couple days now, pretending nothing unusual had happened. But at least she had stopped making caustic remarks about him out loud to her classmates, loud enough for him to hear, as she had initially. This was already progress, and Tom was quite content with the current polite-neutral state of affairs. If he and the upstart Mudblood weren’t in constant conflict but rather on respectful terms, it would positively influence his image in Dumbledore’s eyes.       Lost in thought, he nearly missed Theo’s spell once the latter finally concentrated. Throwing up a shield at the last moment, he sent back a sequence in response. This time Theo almost managed to maintain the shield, but the third spell broke through again at the end. Theo yelped and grabbed his ribs, now on the other side.       “Impressive sequences,” drawled a soft voice behind him, and Tom turned to see Snape who had crept up soundlessly. How did he manage that? Riddle had been monitoring his position from the corner of his eye, he had just been on the other side of the classroom.       “Thank you, sir,” he said, face impassive.       “How many spells can you cast in one motion?”       “Sometimes four worked,” Tom answered. Actually five, but no need for Snape to know his skill was at the level of the British duelling champion.       “You’re definitely giving Mister Nott the right incentive to learn non-verbal shields faster,” the professor commented.       Snape continued down the row, his robes billowing. Tom watched him go with slight surprise. Had he imagined it, or had Snape just…praised him?       The bell rang to signal the end of class, and students headed for the exit, tired and dishevelled. Tom grabbed his bag and swung the strap over his shoulder. Malfoy threw yet another unfriendly look at him and Theo as he gathered his things. It seemed Draco wasn’t pleased that Nott, unlike Zabini, hadn’t supported his quarrel with Tom and continued associating with him.       “You’re not working with Malfoy now. What, did your little snake pit fall apart?”       Tom turned and saw Potter smiling at him, even more tousled than usual.       “A rift in the viper’s nest, oh sorry, your cosy serpentarium?” he continued. Here was someone clearly happy about his and Malfoy’s quarrel, not even trying to hide it. Now Draco’s gaze held unconcealed hatred, unclear which of them it was aimed at more. Putting on a disgusted expression as if he’d unexpectedly stepped into a pile of dung, he haughtily lifted his nose and marched to the exit with Zabini in tow.       “Just a minor misunderstanding,” Tom shrugged. “Go to lunch, Theo, I’ll catch up.”       He threw an intrigued look at him and Potter before following after his classmates. Tom turned to his conversation partner and leaned back against a desk. They were left alone in the classroom.       “Listen,” Potter started awkwardly, running a hand through his hair and ruffling it even more. “I wanted to thank you for supporting Hermione. She was really upset that evening when, well…Ron started dating Lavender. Honestly I didn’t even know how we’d continue interacting, all three of us. But after just talking to you, she suddenly calmed down… And it seems she’s not trying to scratch Ron’s face again.”       “It seems she was planning on keeping our chance encounter that night secret,” Tom snorted. Harry just shrugged:       “She’s my friend. And, you get it, she’s a girl… They always need to discuss everything.”       “Alright, no problem. Anyone would’ve done the same in my place,” Tom smiled tightly. Of course, since that’s what he was trying to do — act like the average guy. Deciding the conversation was over, he made to leave, but Harry stopped him with a gesture, nearly touching his chest with his palm.       “Wait, there was something else I wanted to say. Remember the…” he lowered his voice and nervously glanced around to check they were alone, “Half-Blood Prince’s book? You asked me to show you if I found anything interesting in it.”       “Yes of course,” Tom raised a brow, feigning interest.       “There’s a bunch of spells in the margins. I tried one, and it turns out it hangs a person upside down. And Hermione really chewed me out for it. 'That could’ve been dangerous! ' she imitated with a grimace. “Of course she’s just being difficult, but I figured it would actually be safer if someone knowledgeable looked them over first. I made a list here, maybe you could take a look? I don’t understand any of this, Hermione refuses to even see the Prince’s book, I can’t exactly ask Snape…” He reached for his bag. Tom stopped him, laying a hand on his wrist.       “Yes of course, I’ll take a look. But we’ll need a secluded place somewhere to test them out…”       “Then tonight. I happen to have just the place,” Harry nodded in relief, putting the parchment back in his bag.       

***

      “What did you say this is called?”       “The Room of Requirement. You walk past this stretch of empty wall three times, concentrating on what you need, and it will transform into that.       Tom looked pensively at the door with wrought initials that had gradually emerged straight from the stones of the wall. And here he had naively thought he alone knew about this room on the eighth floor. Turns out not only was he not the only one, but the room was far from common knowledge. He had assumed it could only be a storage area. But here was ever-present Potter pulling open the door and leading him into a spacious chamber furnished like a duelling hall, continuing to irritatingly chatter:       “We found out the room can’t make food or potions, but otherwise it’s able to create all kinds of objects and expand to almost any size. This is where we trained with Dumbledore’s Army,” he gestured around the ample space with one mirrored wall, elegant hanging stone columns that were clearly held up by magic since they didn’t reach the floor, soft mats lined up along the walls, and several training dummies.       “What a pretentious name,” Tom snorted, looking around.       “Yeah, Ginny came up with that,” Potter said dreamily. “Come on, let’s sit,” he grinned mischievously, and two low beanbag chairs instantly appeared out of thin air right in front of him.       Tom hesitated a few seconds, contemplating whether to transfigure this shapeless thing into a normal comfortable armchair, but in the end just waved it off. It was probably better for an equal conversation to adapt to his companion rather than test his delicate psyche by destroying the fruits of his consciousness. He carefully lowered himself onto the huge cushion, immediately sinking into it almost to the floor, his knees ending up somewhere around ear-level. Potter was sprawled casually in his so-called chair, smiling as he watched Tom try to achieve some semblance of a vertical position.       “Here,” he held out the parchment once Tom was finally seated. Tom took the paper and scanned it with his eyes.       “The spells are in Latin, which is already good. Much easier to read than Ancient Sumerian, for example. The first — 'Levicorpus' — is clearly related to levitation. Corpus in Latin means body. I assume this is the one you used to hang someone upside down?”       “Ron,” Harry nodded.       Tom took out his diary from his bag and, placing the parchment on it as a stand, started writing. Next to the first spell he wrote: “levitation of the body”.       “Liberacorpus,” he continued. “Liberatus — to release, corpus — body. This is the counter-spell. I wonder if a simple Finite would work?”       “Let’s try it out,” Potter eagerly suggested, jumping to his feet. “Use it on me.”       “Levicorpus,” Tom waved his wand, and Harry was sharply jerked upwards, flipping upside down. Even though it was expected, Potter still let out an indignant grunt, then waved his wand, forcing out: “Finite.”       Absolutely nothing happened. Tom frowned pensively and pronounced the counter-spell:       “Liberacorpus!”       Potter crashed to the floor, nimbly catching himself with his hands, rolled in one smooth somersault and sprang to his feet in one fluid motion. Tom raised an impressed eyebrow:       “Not bad.”       “Not for nothing I fell off my broom so often on the Quidditch pitch,” he smiled embarrassedly. “Funny, the spell can only be removed with its own counter-spell. Considering it’s homemade, that’s useful — no one can break free.”       “No, there are ways to remove the spell otherwise,” Tom began reasoning. “For example, you can interrupt the magical feed by knocking out the caster. And also…”       He bit his lip pensively. He himself hadn’t practised in a long time, only watched the others in the duelling club, occasionally demonstrating the proper techniques. Even the DADA lessons couldn’t be considered training — his partner Draco, and then Theo, weren’t very good at non-verbal spells. To stay in shape, why not practise with Potter? He was clearly the best in the whole duelling club. Besides, Tom wanted to test other methods of removing such spells.       “Try it on me,” he finally suggested. “And I’ll try to free myself my way.”       Potter didn’t hesitate long, immediately flicking his wand and unexpectedly using the spell non-verbally. Tom was jerked up by the ankles, he didn’t even have time to inhale before the abrupt motion forced the air from his lungs, and the world tumbled head over heels. Blood rushed to his head, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. At least he had shed his robes ahead of time, remaining in his shirt and trousers, or they would’ve ended up covering his head now.       He took several deep breaths in and out, then closed his eyes, concentrating. The next moment, the outlines of his figure dissolved into black smoke, and weight left his body, leaving a pleasant lightness. As he had assumed, the spell’s hold immediately weakened. Twisting lightly and gracefully in the air, he landed on his feet, and the smoke was sucked back into his skin, making him solid again.       “Merlin’s pants! You’re unreal,” Potter examined him in awe. “I can’t even imagine how you did that!”       “Too soon for you to be imagining such things,” Tom smirked. If the boy knew who exactly he had just praised. Probably shouldn’t have shown off his skills like that, but he had missed this feeling of flight too much.       “I hope you teach me someday,” Harry sighed enviously. They returned to the beanbag chairs and went through the list again. Tom wrote down decryptions of the spells, just in case copying them into his diary as well.       “Muffliato. Muffl — to muffle. Most likely muffles sounds. Try it.”       “Muffliato!” Potter cast the spell then continued silently moving his lips, but Tom didn’t hear anything past the first words, only an annoying buzzing.       “Finite,” he lazily flicked his wand. “Side effect — buzzing in the ears,” he dictated to himself as he wrote. “And this is interesting,” his gaze stopped on the last line of spells written in a column.       “What’s there?” Potter craned his neck, peeking over Tom’s arm at the parchment.       “Sectumsempra. Sectus — to cut, semper — always. Some kind of modified cutting curse, but I don’t quite understand what it does. Possibly an attempt at an irreversible effect. Using this on a person is definitely dangerous,” he raised his eyes to meet Potter’s thoughtful gaze. They looked at each other warily for a few seconds, then Harry pulled the battered textbook out of his bag and started quickly flipping through it, the yellowed scribbled pages rustling.       “It says here 'Sectumsempra. For enemies',” he commented when he found the right place. “Looks like you’re right…”       “Let’s try it on a dummy,” Tom shrugged. They got up from the overly relaxing chairs again and approached the wooden mannequins. “Stand behind me so you don’t catch any ricochets just in case,” Tom commanded. Potter obediently hid behind his back, peeking out from over his shoulder.       “Sectumsempra!” A sharp wave of his wand sent the spell forward. The whistle sliced the air, and splinters flew from the dummy. Tom slowly lowered his wand, and Potter whistled by his ear.       “Wow! It’s like a hippogriff clawed it up. Yeah, I’m definitely never using this,” he said in disgust.       Tom tilted his head, examining with interest the many chaotic cuts inflicted on the wood. It seemed thanks to the Half-Blood Prince, his dark magic arsenal had just expanded. And he got a couple ideas for inventing his own spells, as well as a place to practise them.       “Cross it off,” he agreed aloud. “We’ve reached the end of the list. So, Harry, how about we get some practice in? With safer spells, of course?”       “I’m always up for that,” Potter smiled happily, immediately cheering up.       

***

      Draco sat at the desk in the dorm room and lazily looked around. He was alone, and the cosy darkness enveloping the room was dispelled only by the five-candle silver candelabra burning on the table. Although it was evening, and no light penetrated the murky waters outside the Slytherin dorm windows, curfew was still a decent amount of time away. Crabbe and Goyle had gone off to scrounge in the kitchens again, where those pathetic elves never refused their growing adolescent bodies food.       As usual, Riddle was off somewhere again. He really loved disappearing on his shady errands that he thought no one knew about. Draco maliciously hoped that someday he’d get caught being out after curfew (strange he hadn’t yet) and would be sent to scrub cauldrons. And somehow he’d become chummy with bloody Potter. What did he see in that idiot? Though maybe the Mudblood’s son, not noble Draco Malfoy, was precisely Riddle’s level with his dubious background.       Blaise and Theo were finishing their essays for the old cat in the common room. That traitor Nott. Draco’s fists clenched on their own, and he indignantly huffed. As soon as arrogant smart aleck Riddle showed up, Theo immediately defected to his side. Malfoy had always suspected that quiet boy couldn’t be trusted, and there it was — trying to straddle two camps, interacting with both Riddle and him, even though Draco had made his opinion of that pretentious type clear right to Theo’s face.       Draco had slipped away from the common room for a reason. He carefully pulled out the letter he had received that morning but didn’t open around the others. The envelope had an ornate calligraphic “D” in his father’s handwriting. Draco’s fingers lovingly traced the ink flourishes. His admiration for his father could not be put into words. He wanted so much to be like Lucius, that dignified aristocrat, with his self-confidence and manners. And how with just a couple words he could put someone like Weasley senior in his place made Draco’s heart blissfully stop. How strongly he wished to earn his father’s approval and respect!       He opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. A couple days ago, after that bloody day with the humiliating Quidditch loss and subsequent quarrel with that pompous idiot Riddle, he had written his father describing their new classmate in vivid detail, all his doubts about his background, and asked him to find out anything he could about Riddle senior, the mythical new Ministry employee, or if he didn’t exist (which Draco was almost certain of), Riddle junior’s real family ties.       But now, reading the reply, Draco was frowning more and more, a crease forming between his pale eyebrows. After finishing it, he nearly gave in to his emotions and crumpled up the letter, but stopping himself in time, set it on the table and smoothed out the paper with trembling, angry fingers.       Hello son! Your letter has caused me some concern, not because of what exactly you wrote, but how. You have always listened to me, but I ask you to follow this advice precisely and unconditionally.       Leave it be!       You know everything you need to know, and any information beyond that is dangerous for you. I ask you not to try to find out anything, and especially — under no circumstances quarrel with the new student. Tom R. did not appear at the school by chance, and the people behind him really do not like jokes, it is dangerous, including to your life. It is in your best interests not just to maintain polite relations with him, but maximally friendly ones. Follow T.N.'s example — he received certain instructions from his father regarding your newcomer and, as far as I see, is following them precisely. Be smarter!       This letter must not fall into the wrong hands. Destroy it immediately after reading.       

Father

      The letter infuriated Malfoy, and “Be smarter!” felt like a slap in the face. Draco reread the calligraphic lines again, barely believing his eyes. Now he noticed some subtle signs an outsider wouldn’t have seen: the words “not by chance” were written at a different slant, hinting at a not-so— chance occurrence. His father had signed not with his name and surname as usual, but briefly and unusually. Also, he hadn’t addressed Draco by name even once in the entire letter. Clearly so no one could connect it to them if intercepted, or at least not explicitly. And also…Draco was certain he hadn’t mentioned Riddle’s name in his letter, using only the surname. Yet his father had unerringly named him, which definitely showed…That he, at the very least, truly did know who Tom Riddle was, and at most — was personally acquainted with him. And it seemed Theo’s father was also in on it. That solved the mystery of Nott’s sudden change in behaviour.       Draco’s eyes ran over the lines “dangerous including to your life” and “destroy it immediately after reading” again. That Riddle was no simple man, he had noticed himself. His knowledge was far too extensive, especially compared to his classmates (and Draco did not consider himself stupid at all), he was too good at combat magic, and surely did not demonstrate ALL his abilities. And also — he had never seen even the slightest hint of fear from Riddle, which was very unusual. Even when Blaise somehow managed to explode his cauldron in Potions, Riddle’s face didn’t twitch, he only instantly cast shield charms while continuing to look with his dispassionate fishy gaze as the others shrieked and hid under their desks.       And in light of all this, the letter led him to certain conclusions. Could Riddle really be connected to…the Death Eaters? Draco shuddered at the very thought, he tried not to think about or even mentally say that terrible term for his father’s associates. Riddle was Draco’s age, just sixteen, and he was already one of them? Like those deranged siblings Amycus and Alecto Carrow, or the shiver-inducing werewolf Fenrir Greyback? Or could his father even… No, he couldn’t even entertain such a thought about his father. They did things that just the thought of made nausea rise in his throat. No, Riddle couldn’t possibly be like them.       Draco nervously giggled at his foolish deductions and leaned back in the chair, relaxing again. No, it was definitely something else. Riddle was most likely just the arrogant son of some high-placed man by a filthy whore, a connection so indecent it was improper to even mention out loud. And his father only feared their family name being dragged into the scandal when the truth came out. Riddle was a smart bastard of course, but Draco was no fool either, he bore a proud surname and pure blood in his veins. Naturally he wouldn’t cause a public scandal, but after this letter his curiosity was piqued even more.       He held the note to the burning candle in the candelabra, to destroy it as his father had instructed. Under Draco’s thoughtful gaze, his grey eyes glittering in the flickering light, the paper hovered, barely not touching the flame. After thinking for a few seconds, he set it back down on the table.       It said here Tom Riddle was at Hogwarts not by chance, and that he was connected to serious people. But it didn’t point to anything concrete about Draco or Lucius. He would keep this letter as insurance. He was now certain — sooner or later he would expose Riddle, dig up all his dirty laundry and little secrets. That cocky turkey had even dared to reproach Draco for something! He would pretend to generously forgive his biting words. And then make him regret it, maybe even find a way to humiliate him, if not publicly, then at least blackmail him. Smirking in satisfaction, Malfoy carefully folded his father’s letter and hid it for now deep among his personal belongings in his trunk where no one could see.