Although the sight of Tom Marvolo Riddle slipping through darkened corridors in silent determination would not have been unusual for those who knew him, the sight of the school poltergeist floating gleefully beside him probably was. Countless other students had fallen foul of Peeves whilst roaming the corridors out-of-hours, but Tom had always prided himself on being far too clever to get caught. He certainly wasn't the type to start mixing with poltergeists socially, either. The whole thing was wrong.

"What shall we do with you then? Shall we take you to Pringle? See how he likes such a tender morsel this time of the night," Peeves said delightedly, spinning in mid air as he did so.

Without even bothering to question the ghost as to why he was talking about himself in the third person, Tom shot him a killing glare. If the truth were to be told, though it wasn't even Peeves he was furious with, but himself. How could he have been so stupid - there was no excuse, no excuse whatsoever not to have known that the poltergeist wouldn't simply be unaffected by the Aversion Spells he'd cast to clear his route to the Zalaras Wing, oh no. Being the contrary creature that he was, Peeves had been attracted by it. In more than one sense, Tom thought disgustedly, as he took in the exact state of Peeves' ... condition. That was beyond bizarre, that was simply foul.

And then he thought again.

It really wouldn't do to let Peeves take him to Pringle. No, despite his seemingly clean record, Riddle knew that the caretaker would take one look at him and march him straight off to Dumbledore's office. The twinkling hope of Gryffindor had probably had words with all the staff - all the ones who'd listen, anyway - and warned them to watch out for Tom Riddle. Since that business with the stupid moaning girl last year, Dumbledore had become almost unbearable. No, he couldn't risk seeing Pringle.

He paused, watching as Peeves spun slowly to a halt, and then forced himself to smile. "Peeves," he said softly, his voice a purr in the dark. "How would you like a tender morsel in the middle of the night?"

The poltergeist's eyes widened. Tom almost laughed as he watched the play of emotions across Peeves' face - shock, fascination, badly disguised lust. "The pretty prefect wants to play, then?"

Tom didn't bother answering, but let his eyes linger boldly upon Peeves' not-so-lifeless crotch that seemed to become more tangible with every passing second. Suppressing a grimace - it was distasteful, but necessary - he moved closer to the startled spirit and knelt down, waiting for Peeves to float to the appropriate level.

Five minutes later, wiping his mouth, a very sickened Tom Riddle stood up. Peeves lay back in mid air, a blissful smile on his face. "Well," Tom said, "I'll just be on my way, shall I?"

Peeves didn't appear to be listening, and so Tom started to move cautiously away. There was a fresh tube of toothpaste in his bedside table - he'd use the whole lot -

"Nope," Peeves said thoughtfully, his voice not nearly as childish as usual. "It was good, but certainly not good enough to justify knocking Binns into the afterlife. What else did you do?"

Tom froze. "What did you say?"

"Then again," the poltergeist continued, beginning to rotate gently, "I doubt Binns and I've had the same experiences. He's...never been what you might call experienced."

Tom was absolutely silent, his hands clenched and his mind reeling. Binns wouldn't have told Peeves. The shame of having died whilst receiving special services from a pupil would have been far too great. No. Peeves was just guessing. Guessing really accurately. Oh, Salazar's noble scrotum, what the hell am I going to do?

...And what did he mean; not good enough?

He'd always relied on his quick thinking, and it was quick thinking that saved him this time. "Peeves," he said silkily, "do you know what'll happen if you spread rumours like that?"

The poltergeist winked at him. Tom ignored that, and continued. "I don't think the Baron would like it if you upset one of his favourite students. You wouldn't want the Baron to be angry, would you?"

"The Baron likes me," Peeves said lazily, "nice try!"

"Oh," Tom said, smirking. Trying really hard not to think about what he'd have to do to get the Baron onside. "I'm sure I can persuade him to come round to my way of thinking."

End.