Chapter 5 (Tom's POV)

Harry's eyes widened, the shining emerald darkening with pain. It was his own fault for being so bloody evasive. There was only so much insolence he could stand. A girl. Red hair. Screaming. A dozen flashing images in his head. A female Weasley. Ginny? Was that the girl's name? He shifted his grip, aware that Harry could only take so much - he would collapse sooner or later. His face had paled, the normally tan skin seemed waxy and ashen in face of the mental attack. He felt no remorse. He had given fair warning. Harry knew where he stood. A moment later, the mind link fell - blackening like tar. He let the connection fade; watching Harry's face carefully. That might have been a bit harsh. Harry had something fragile about him, something innocent that both his memories and his power belied. The so-called Gryffindor golden boy was far from innocent, he knew that, but the feeling was there. He wasn't sure if he wanted to protect the purity, or destroy it until all that what left was mesmerising darkness. With an inaudible sigh, he let his fingers slip from their choke-hold on the familiar raven locks. He would wake up presently. The irritating twit never stayed down for long. He didn't even die properly. It was so soon though. He hadn't envision the conflict displayed in those memories for at least a weak. It seemed times had changed, he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that his counterpart was the cause of that. He didn't feel guilty. Rolling his eyes at the smaller boy's unconscious state, he crouched down.

The flames echoing from the fire gave the room an almost eerie effect. It was calming, soothing. The shady darkness of the make-shift common room was especially welcoming after spending the day in the sunshine of the upper halls. You could never relax, knowing an eye, a scavenger, was always there - waiting to feast on weakness like a vulture on a corpse. The floor gave the appearance of coldness, icy and delicious, but the stones were warm. He loved magic. Not that he had all that much experience of dealing with the heat of the floor. No, he smirked slightly, that was other people. Impatiently, he checked Harry's condition. When would he wake up? What was the point of patience when you had the power to make events go faster?

'Enervate.'

To his credit, Harry was alert instantly - a curse ready on his lips. His eyes were narrowed and angry. Unperturbed, he raised a brow.

'Ginny Weasley, hmmm?' he asked. 'You had no right to do that.' Harry's voice was tight and carefully controlled, his fury was restrained under layers of righteousness and goodliness. If he had a heart, it might have cracked a little. It was a pity, to see such talent hidden. He'd seen the boy, on the few occasions when the need for darker curses was present - it was beautiful to watch. The light side were ruining him. Dumbledore, the manipulative fool, was ruining him. He was a parseltongue for Salazar's sake! Was that not a sign? It was insulting that he be used so shamelessly. Everyone knew that he had first claim to everything - especially fellow parseltongue. Not to mention, he was the one with the connection. Not Dumbledore. Not the mudblood - and none of the Weasley cretins either. Him. Didn't that count for anything? Adding to the fact that, disregarding his complete lack of respect, Harry was admittedly excellent company…almost a, dare he admit it? Friend. He could actually find some intelligent conversation. Well, he used to find intelligent conversation. That god-damn mask! It seemed that in this time Harry was a light heart, and one of the worst of them. He acting like a Jock. His grades were mediocre, in short, he acted like light's savoir. That wasn't Harry. Any fool could tell.

'I had every right,' he replied. It was with some amusement, that he noticed Harry's rage at the comment. It was intriguing to watch him, the boy was truly a riddle. The emotions he held so clearly for the world to see were undeniably Gryffindor - but the way he expressed them was purely Slytherin. The defensive stance, the waspish voice, the hisses and the revenge - sweet and hot like chocolate fondue. Ah, he saw so much of himself in the boy. He had such potential. It was only a matter of time. He could work this, the arguments. If the light pushed Harry out, where could he go except the dark. Brilliant, but so simple. Of course, he had to be careful not to implicate himself in anyway. Harry was extremely loyal, but if you lost that loyalty, even once, it was gone forever. Sometimes, he couldn't decide if they were twins separated at birth (Harry obviously being the separated one, the idea of being a Potter was revolting) or polar opposites. It made for a fascinating study either way. He smirked.

'Are you really going to stand for her disrespect, her lies?' he asked. He was genuinely curious, but he didn't mind the potential knock-on effects either.

'What do you want, Tom?' Harry asked. He kept his features passive with expertise, choosing only to quirk his lips slightly.

'I want many things - some of which you are aware of.'

'Don't be coy. It doesn't suit you.'

'Teach me better then,' he retorted, knowing Harry would never take him up on the offer. He was too wary, too experienced to fall for such an enticing trap. No, with Harry, it was a different game entirely. It was a subtler, the moves required much more finesse, and much more ruthlessness. A paradox - but everything about them was a paradox, wasn't it? Still, he couldn't help but feel a slight disappointment when Harry shot him a look, before picking up his bags and walking away. The biggest thing about Harry? Neither of them ever had to pretend.