They say that 'time heals all wounds'. They have obviously never lived with the kind of scars I carry. Time doesn't heal, Tom. It hides, it tucks away in the dark corners of the mind, but it does not make them disappear. I've spent years trying to forget, but the memories always find me. Your face, your voice, the way you looked at me when I thought I understood you. They always found me, no matter how much time has passed.

________

The low hum of the Hogwarts Express was almost hypnotic, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the tracks providing a strange kind of comfort. Tom Riddle sat at the back of the train, in a private compartment with his closest friends. The polished table was covered with an issue of the Daily Prophet, its bold headline screaming:

Grindelwald's Followers Attack Gray Estate!

A shadow from the sun swept across the compartment, Tom's dark eyes flicked to the newspaper, but his expression betrayed nothing. He leaned back in his seat, every inch of him composed, controlled.

Meanwhile Abraxas Malfoy, on the opposite side, grabbed the paper with a faint grimace "A masterful piece of fiction, truly, the Ministry believe anything to further their story," he said and flung the paper on the table again.

"People see what they want to see," Tom replied coolly, his voice devoid of emotion. He reached for the paper and folded it neatly, as though tidying away the mess of lies he had created.

The truth was simpler and far more incriminating for him. This boy's death and Keira's injuries had been no act of Grindelwald's followers. They had been his doing. The spell he had tested that day in the forest had proven fatal, and though Keira had fought back with fury and despite being a very powerful witch, she had not been a match for him. She was at St Mungo's now, her absence a void he refused to acknowledge.

"How is Keira?" Avery asked cautiously, his pale eyes darting to Tom.

Tom's gaze hardened. "She is recovering," he said curtly. "And that is all that need be said."

The tension in the compartment grew; the grimaces were made by Rosier and Dolohov who had exchanged anxious glances, but knew they should not ask any more questions.

Her absence was a shadow that none of them dared to acknowledge openly. They all knew, to varying degrees, what had happened: Tom's experiment with an untested spell, Owen's death, and Keira's subsequent collapse after confronting Tom in the woods. The details were murky, Tom never shared more than necessary, but they understood enough to know it wasn't wise to push for answers.

There was a strange tension in the air of the compartment. It was their final year at Hogwarts and they all understood this was crucial. For Tom, it wasn't just a conclusion, it was a beginning.

"Seventh year," Abraxas drawled, breaking the silence. "The grand finale, our last opportunity available to cause havoc."

Rosier grinned, his voice tinged with mischief. "Speak for yourself, Malfoy. I've still got plenty of havoc left in me."

"You've been coasting on charm and second-rate hexes for six years," Dolohov muttered, his tone dry. Dolohov muttered, his voice flat. "Don't start acting like a visionary now."

"Visionary?" Rosier shot back, smirking. "No, no. That title belongs to Tom, doesn't it? The rest of us are just... accessories."

Tom's lips curved into a faint smile, though his gaze remained fixed on the window. "An accessory can be useful, too," he said flatly. "Though I wouldn't suggest testing its limits."

The compartment dropped to an unnatural silence for one moment, as Tom's words fell with the weight of a good smack. Then Avery, ever the cautious one, spoke up. "And what purpose are we serving this year?"

Finally Tom turned around to face them, with predatory dark eyes glittering. "This year is about consolidation. Tying up loose ends. Strengthening alliances. Finding those who are... valuable and discarding the rest."

"Discarding?" Rosier echoed, his grin widening. "I like the sound of that."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with mockery. "And what grand treasures are we supposed to unearth while you're busy discarding the weak? More heirlooms? Ancient secrets? Or are we recruiting another pet snake?"

"I wouldn't object to a basilisk," Rosier said with a chuckle. "Very... efficient."

Tom's gaze flicked to Rosier, sharp as a blade. "Efficiency is meaningless without control. This year we will be focusing on: Power that lasts beyond Hogwarts. Connections. Influence. Legacy."

"And Dumbledore?" Avery asked hesitantly.

Tom's jaw tightened, though his voice remained composed. "Dumbledore is predictable. He meddles, he watches, but he doesn't act unless provoked. He'll be too preoccupied with Grindelwald and his Ministry duties to interfere."

Malfoy let out a low laugh. "If you say so. Though he's got a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"That's because Dumbledore likes to play hero," Rosier interjected sarcastically and rolled his eyes. "Always swooping in at the last moment with that sanctimonious smile. Makes you wonder if he rehearses it."

Dolohov's lips quirked. "Maybe he does. How else would you explain the dramatic speeches?"

Tom's eyes narrowed, cutting through their amusement. "Dumbledore is not to be underestimated. He can be a fool, but he is seeing more than he chooses to admit. We stay away, and do not cause him anything to work up a frenzy over."

Avery shifted in his seat, his brow furrowing. "And Keira? Will she-"

"She'll be back when she's ready," Tom cut in, his tone flat but firm. "Her absence changes nothing."

Rosier twitched an eyebrow, but kept silent, only the unspoken menace between them remaining. Tom's group of admirers had learned not to push anything too far, particularly if it involved Keira.

Malfoy leaned back with a smirk. "Well, then. It seems we've got our orders: recruit, scheme, and uncover. A nice, simple year."

"Simple?" Dolohov snorted. "Nothing about this is simple. One wrong move, and it all falls apart."

Tom inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Then don't make the wrong move."

With a slight jerk the train went around a bend, and the sun left the horizon. The incandescent light cast the compartment in shades of amber and deep shadow and it became the ideal setting for the words left unsaid.

This was their last year and the pressure was the highest it could ever be. For Tom it was not only a matter of the projects he had designed, of the power he claimed, but a matter of the world of his making. But for his followers it was about survival, a testimony of loyalty, and the excitement of an unknown danger of walking behind a man whose life could change anything.

-

The Great Hall was a riot of colour and sound, the enchanted ceiling above reflecting a dusky September evening. Tom entered the hall with his usual measured step, his head boy badge sparkling on his chest, he felt the weight of countless eyes on him, some admiring, others envying or frightened, it didn't matter, he thrived on their attention, on the unspoken recognition of his superiority.

At the Slytherin table, Tom Riddle sat with a silent authority, feeding his followers a sense of confidence, which held them in check without ever uttering a word. Abraxas Malfoy sat beside him, his aristocratic composure intact, while Avery, Rosier, Lestrange and Dolohov whispered among themselves across the table. All around them, the Great Hall hummed with the energy of returning students, upbeat conversation echoing and breaking up in waves.

Tom's attention, however, was elsewhere. His eyes followed the staff table constantly, looking towards Dumbledore. The professor's normally serene expression seemed unusually tense as he exchanged hushed words with Headmaster Dippet.

"What's he up to now?" Dolohov muttered, following Tom's gaze to Dumbledore.

Tom didn't reply immediately. He leaned back in his chair, his long fingers tapping idly against the polished wood of the table."Something tedious, no doubt," Tom replied, his voice low.

Suddenly, Dumbledore stood up from his chair, and the chatter and laughs in the Great Hall stopped, students turning to the towering figure of the professor. Raising a hand to stop the lingering murmur, his ice blue gaze swept over the hall with serene control.

"Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts," he announced, his voice echoing plainly down the corridor. "Before we get started with our feast, I have something I want to share with you."

Tom's lips curved into a faint smile, though his expression remained unreadable. He glanced briefly at Abraxas, who raised a curious brow. Even Dolohov and Avery also silenced their soft murmuring to listen. Dumbledore did not talk much to the whole school, outside of a momentous occasion.

"This year, we are three new students this year joining," Dumbledore went on, his voice steady but firm, saying. "They come to us under extraordinary circumstances. The current ongoing war in Europe has led them to be displaced from their school."

A ripple of whispers passed through the room, but Dumbledore's gaze silenced them once more.

"They will finish their studies here at Hogwarts and I hope that you will all greet them kindly. Two of our new students will be joining Gryffindor, and one will be joining Slytherin."

Dumbledore turned toward the entrance, and all eyes followed.

The silence was broken by the entrance of the three students; one, a girl with a head of brown unruly hair, her steps measured as she approached the Gryffindor table; the other, a boy with dark hair, wearing glasses, his expression guarded, but his green eyes observing the room with silent intensity; the third student, the white-blonde, seemed the most singular, with his sharp features and almost silver-white hair, his movements were smooth but stiff, as if he were consciously forcing himself to appear composed.

Dolohov raised an eyebrow. "War transfers? That's a new one."

"Convenient," Abraxas added, his tone skeptical.

"Well, they do look like they've seen a war," Lestrange muttered, his tone laced with dark humour.

"They look as if they're past their wit's end," Avery said, his keen eyes blinking toward the three. "The girl's hiding it better than the others, though."

Abraxas scoffed softly. "The blond one looks like he's about to faint. You'd think they'd teach composure wherever they're from."

"Interesting," Tom murmured, his gaze lingering on the blond boy as he sat down a few places down the table. The boy's rigid posture and tightly clasped hands were obvious signs of discomfort. The situation was fascinating, Tom was not sure whether it was fear or just excitement. Either way, it was worth noting.

Avery asked, leaning in. "It's odd, isn't it? Dumbledore, making the announcement instead of Dippet?"

Tom's eyes flicked back to the staff table. Dumbledore's sharp gaze was unmistakably focused on the new students, his watchful eyes following their movements with a precision that only Tom seemed to notice.

"Odd, indeed" Tom replied, his tone thoughtful. "Dumbledore doesn't meddle without a reason. Whatever brought them here, he's invested in it."

Dumbledore's piercing gaze passed briefly over the Slytherin table, lingering for a fraction of a second on Tom. It wasn't the first time, but tonight it felt different, pointed. Tom locked eyes with unflinching resolve, refusing to recoil.

When the hall quieted and settled into its usual pace, Tom's thoughts raced, reconstructing bits of data. Dumbledore's unusual attention to the trio, their visibly strained composure, and the fact that seventh-year transfers were practically unheard of; it all pointed to something more. He didn't believe in coincidences, and he certainly didn't believe that these three were ordinary students.

-

The halls of Hogwarts were quieter now, the last echoes of dinner-table talk had faded into flickering torches and murky shadows. The Slytherins walked in their habitual file as if they owned the floor under their feet. Just ahead of Tom, the Slytherin transfer student walked, his bearing stiff but composed, his hands tucked into his robes as if he were guarding something.

Tom looked at him.

He had been watching all evening, observing the way the new student said very little, that his icy gray eyes were directed at Dumbledore more often than was customary, and that he seemed to be walking with an air of both aristocracy and discomfort.

Without breaking his stride, without any lag, he extended himself, not physically but mentally, with a whisper of his mind through the air. Legilimency was his craft, his weapon. It had been sculpted to the point it was automatic, intuitive, like breathing.

The boy wouldn't even realize he was doing it.

Invisible magic was already in motion, seeking the first crack in the boy's mind, the first stray thought, the unconscious flickering of a memory that would show him everything.

But instead, he hit a wall.

Tom's steps slowed just a little, his mind pressed harder, expecting the resistance to crumble as always.

But it did not.

The boy's mind was closed. Not just closed, fortified.

Tom looked at him speculatively, but his face was inscrutable. There was an impassiveness in his eyes that belied the impetuousness of his attitude; It wasn't the sloppy, frantic resistance of someone instinctively trying to fight him off. No, this was different. This was deliberate.

It was as if something or someone had locked his mind into iron-clad defenses.

Tom tried to push the harder to sneak through the crack of the door. There always was something, a memory, a thought on the surface. But here, it was absolute.

He was just about to retire when he caught sight of a glimmer of silver.

A necklace.

Glinting in the dark. Guarding. Protecting.

A charm of some sort, emanating something unnatural.

And then, it was gone.

Tom pulled back abruptly, his pulse steady, but something inside him burned hot and sharp.

The boy twisted his head slightly, and his grey eyes flashed at Tom with quiet suspicion. He knew. It may have not been the scale of what had just occurred, but he had sensed something.

Tom met his gaze, letting a polite smile flit across his expression, which was unreadable.

He said nothing.

They were approaching the doorway to the hall, in which the greenish, flickering light of the underground corridors cast an unearthly shadow. Tom did not notice.

His mind was already spinning.

You... Who are you?

The boy's name, Milfoy, lingered at the back of his mind. Too close to something familiar, yet not quite right.

And that necklace, as well.

His fingers tingled with the desire to pull it from the boy's neck, and examine it carefully. Not yet, patience was the key.

-

As they settled into their usual seats by the fire in the Slytherin common room, the dancing flames produced long, undulating shadows along the stone walls. The warmth was comforting, but Tom barely noticed. His thinking, sharp and ever restless, drifted briefly to Keira Gray; uninvited, piercing, and unwelcome.

Nevertheless, the image of her lying helpless, with not a sound, haunted him even when he wouldn't admit to it. Keira was more than a person to him; she was a piece on the chessboard, one he had always been able to rely on to move in alignment with his plans. She had been an intellectual equal, a confidante, a mystery. However, she was now a liability, and liabilities could be risky.

He just put aside the trace of nervousness with practiced indifference and turned his attention to the far more pressing question that had invaded his life tonight. 

His eyes moved to the pale-haired boy in the corner of the room, sitting rigid and unnatural as if he were consciously trying not to stand out yet unable to hide. A Slytherin transfer in his seventh year. It was a strange occurrence so unusual that, it was practically unheard of, and Tom's quick mind was already rolling out the scenarios.

The boy's movements were awkward, his gaze darting nervously toward the others in the room. He was trying his hardest to look unflappable, but to Tom each movement screamed disquiet. The veneer of confidence was so thin as to barely cover the seams of stress underneath.

"Milfoy," Dolohov drawled, a sneer creeping into his voice as he sampled the name. "What do you think of him, Tom?"

Tom tilted his head, studying the boy with a predatory cool. "A strange new thing," he remarked in a low voice, curiously amused. "Highly unusual. And highly interesting."

"He's not like the other transfers," Abraxas murmured. "The other two; they look like they've been through hell. This one? He doesn't fit."

Tom's lip curved into a barely there smile, the way that never quite made it to his eyes. "Precisely."

While the fire gently hissed, and warmed the room with a golden illumination, Tom's mind flew through the space with accuracy. He didn't believe in coincidences. The three transfers weren't random, and Dumbledore's rather conspicuous gaze on them during dinner had only steamed his suspicions. The way the Gryffindor girl had glanced toward Dumbledore, as if seeking his approval, and the guarded intensity in the boy with glasses; those weren't the actions of ordinary students. They were hiding something.

And Milfoy... Milfoy intrigued him in a different way. The boy was certainly anxious, yes, but there was another emotion. A hesitation that went beyond mere shyness. He was holding something back, and Tom could feel it, like a whisper in the air just beyond his reach.

The room went still, Tom sunk back in his chair, and the firelight made the shadows of his features sharp. His mind was already calculating the next move, each piece sliding into place in his mental game board. The arrival of the slants had upset the equilibrium, but Tom was nothing if not adaptable.

He felt this year wouldn't be like any other, and he intended to uncover every secret they were hiding. After all, secrets were power, and no one wielded power better than Tom Riddle.

Alright, so there you have it: the first two chapters of my story. I hope you're enjoying it so far because, well, there's no going back now.

Now, about those 10 chapters I swore I had ready? I do have them. Kind of. *start breathing heavily* But I keep editing them over and over because I'm apparently incapable of leaving anything alone? Sooo, at this point, I'm just like, "I should probably just post them before I drive myself completely insane." So, I'll be publishing them pretty quickly ... (Seriously, send help.)

I hit a bit of a writer's block after Chapter 10, which was fun! (so fun i could barely sleep at nigth) But anyway don't you worry! I'm back on track now, and the upcoming plot twists are so unhinged even I didn't anticipate them. It's going to be real REAL fun, by which I mean utterly chaotic and mildly traumatic.

Oh, and another thing I forgot to mention earlier: before each chapter, there's a little reflection from Keira in the future. I got this idea from the anime Nana, which by the way absolutely destroyed my soul in the best way possible. If you've seen it, you know what I mean. The way the characters talk to each other from the future at the beginning of each episode? Yeah, I wanted that same gut-punch of nostalgia and