Chapter 1
There is a loud crack as two boys land on the Quidditch pitch. Having been working nearby, loathe as he feels to be sharing space with the same grass that those idiots fly over with their brooms, Tom Riddle freezes at the sound.
Apparition onto Hogwarts grounds is supposed to be impossible.
His steps are as steady and silent as sin as he moves to investigate.
“I can’t believe you touched it!” One of them hisses, hitting the other. They both seem to be about sixth year, one with blond hair and one black. The blond haired one bears a striking resemblance to Abraxas, so much so that when Tom sees his face he has to bite his lip to hold in a small gasp.
Fascinating.
He steps closer.
“This is why Granger never allows you to decorate with glass ornaments at Christmas.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’d break all of them.”
“And how was I supposed to know touching it would set it off, you great big bloody git?”
Blond Hair mutters something under his breath which earns him an eye roll from his companion.
“Shut up, like you weren’t about to do the same. And for the record, No, don’t touch that and stop poking things you dolt are not clear bloody warnings that an object is dangerous.”
Blond Hair raises an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
“Be more specific next time, arse.”
Tom steps closer again.
His curiosity is indeed peaked.
“My apologies. Next time I’ll just say” and here Blond Hair’s voice goes high and breathy, “ “Oh, please don’t touch that highly classified artifact I’m not allowed to mention under sworn government oath, I’m afraid it might be a bit tetchy,” shall I?
Never mind peaked. It is starving, now.
“Yes!” Black Hair shouts, running a frantic hand through his hair.
“Merlin, it’s like you’re a toddler,” mutters Blond Hair.
At that, Black hair crosses his arms and huffs.
“Toddler, meet Ferret.”
“Scarhead!”
“Bastard!”
“Oh, is that the best you can do?”
“Liar.”
“Traitor.”
“Coward.”
“Blood purist.”
“That was years ago, for Merlin’s sake—!”
“Fine then. Blood traitor!”
“Like your one to talk!”
Tom’s lips twitch and he watches with faint amusement as Black Hair blushes, scowling and cursing up a storm under his breath.
His companion raises his other eyebrow now.
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
Black Hair stares back at him.
“My mother’s dead,” he deadpans. “Prick.”
“Oh, honestly,” Blond Hair rolls his eyes. “You can’t use that line every time, Harry—“
That’s enough of that.
Amusing as the two are, Tom has rather more important things to get to today. He clears his throat.
“If I may interrupt?” He says.
Both boys stop in their tracks. Tom smiles at them, pleasant, as if they aren’t an impossibility wrapped in a mystery wrapped he thirsts to pull apart. As if he is not burning with hunger for knowledge about their origins.
They are interesting, and it has been a long time since someone has been interesting to him— let alone two someones.
“I’m afraid we’ve not met before. I’m Tom Riddle, and you are—?”
In unsettling unison, they both turn to look at him.
“Fuck,” Black Hair says.
“Fuck,” Blonde Hair echos.
Just barely loud enough for Tom to make out, Black Hair mutters,
“Hermione owes me fifteen quid.”
Interesting indeed.