If it was one thing that being an orphan had taught Tom, it was that nothing was forever. Possessions, people and emotions were all fleeting phenomena that came and went with alarming frequency. Any rational mind would infer that the best one could do was enjoy the moment and resign themselves to the idea of the world as a temporary and fickle place.

Tom was not above admitting that he was not entirely rational. He'd taken an entirely fictitious name to consolidate a growing cabal of loving followers and fully intended to have the world at his feet by the time he was forty. There were various flow charts, rubrics and blue prints that laid out the exact progression of this plan with excruciating attention to detail.

He could hardly wait for the last year of school to end so he could set tumbling into action all the many dominos he'd spent the last seven years lining up in perfect precision.

And what of after forty? Could he simply allow his own life to be another transient mark on the world? Even if he accomplished all he planned, cleansing the wizarding world and ascending to his rightful place as ruler, mere years would eventually be his undoing, rendering him hopelessly senile and eventually killing him.

That was why he was out far after curfew, experimenting with the youth potion he'd discovered in one of his many illegally smuggled books. Theoretically he could have mixed it in his own private room with no one the wiser, but he was admittedly not aces with potions and the last thing he needed was the blasted thing exploding and raising all sorts of interesting questions.

So instead here he was adding the last ingredients with a few of his own improvisations which should not only compound the outside physical characteristics, but be tweaked enough to make the organs and brain younger, faster and better as well. Just as he added the last pinch of rosemary and watched the cauldron turn a satisfying purple, he heard footsteps in the hall. Cursing his ill luck, he rapidly decanted the potion into five waiting vials and scrambled for the closet door, managing to close it only as two men entered.

"You need to get some sleep." The light giddy tones of that nitwit Potions Professor filled Tom with irritation. Sometimes he was sure she couldn't be as stupid as she pretended to be, others he became convinced that she was.

"I do not have time to sleep, Vista though I thank you for your concern."

"Well, at least have some of this nice relaxation potion I brewed just this morning."

Dumbledore. Tom gritted his teeth and counted backwards from one hundred beating down the flush of rage and challenge that always rose to the fore when the Transfiguration teacher appeared on the scene. His only worthy adversary in this whole miserable school and he was too busy fighting some distant enemy to pay him the slightest bit of attention.

There was a sound of clinking glass and slightly lower mutterings from both teachers. While they gossiped, Tom searched his pocket for the mouse he had found in his room earlier in the morning. He'd already keyed it for experimentation, ensuring that anything in consumed would cycle through the full effects in a matter of hours rather then days or years. It was a neat trick that unfortunately didn't work on humans. Which Evegline Gritta had found out for him when he'd tested it on her three weeks ago. Loyal servants were so useful.

His fingers closed around one of the vials and he carefully dosed the stupid thing as his teachers prattled, oblivious to the illicit experimenting going on only meters away. The mouse fell into a deep sleep almost immediately. Satisfied, Tom returned the vial to his pocket, securely tucking it away with the other three. Three.

"Here it is! Now drink that all down, Albus..."

Cursed, rotten luck. Bugger all. Had anyone ever been given worse luck just when they were on the verge of success? If his experiments came to light they could easily tie him into all the other odd incidents that had been going on in the school for years and there could be some very real and bothersome consequences. Not that they could link him to the youth potion, but it would start up a serious investigation that could unearth some things best laid safely buried.

As soon as the teachers had gone again, Tom burst out of the closet and back to his room, though not before rechecking his work surface for any incriminating evidence. He did rapid calculations in his head. The mouse had fallen asleep instantly, but Dumbledore was human, not dosed with an accelerator and was a particularly strong wizard. He might be able to fight off the fatigue long enough to get back to his rooms and actually get into bed. Given that the mouse was still sleeping that gave Tom at least an hour to get in and somehow fix the whole cock up.

Back in his room, he tested the mouse and found it still snoozing. Two hours then or more. He turned to his books and started to laboriously go over everything he knew about the potion, including what his alterations should have effected. And how he was going to make the proper antidote, get Dumbledore to swallow it and all within the next hour or so. The mouse started to twitch awake just as he closed the last book. It looked good, it's coat sleeker and its eyes very bright. It run around it's cage with verve, stopping only briefly to nibble at a seed. Success! Tom allowed himself a contented smirk before he returned to his notes and attempted to do some calculations on paper.

Only the cessation of the near constant noises from the cage forced his head up. The mouse had fallen back to sleep. Confused, he moved closer and nearly cried out in frustration. Where the fur had been sleek, it was once more molting. The effects he'd captured were only temporary. On the one hand, it was very good news because it didn't look like he was going to manage an anecdote any time soon.

But this was his sole work for two weeks now! He had labored over every calculation, consulted reams of parchments and scrolls. And this was only one of a series of failed experiments. He resisted the urge to give into the rage boiling just under his skin. Throwing a fit would be a waste of time and right now there was none to spare. He had to be in the room when his de-aged professor awoke and find a way to keep him in his rooms until the potion had worn off. Luckily, it was Friday night. He had to bank on the fact that even Dumbledore took Saturdays off though a nagging voice suggested that the war effort didn't encourage cozy weekends in.

Had any watched him as he schemed, there would be little to suggest he was even alive, let along moving the great turbines of his mind. Like his snake like ancestor, he had a tendency towards deceptive stillness that was almost a movement in and of itself. Sometimes, he would adopt it in class or at a meal table out of habit and only discover he had done so when those around him fell silent one by one and regarded him the way a mouse does the swooping owl.

Now he moved into action, deciding that he would be undecided. He would do what it took to keep Dumbledore from spilling his secret. By sending a lackey, he would have to admit his own massive blunder which could undermine the still fragile loyalty of his people. It would be easy enough to slip into Dumbledore's rooms and from there perhaps dose him with Dreamless Sleep that he kept on his person or even dabble in a little Legimancy. Who knew what interesting things lay fallow in the recesses of the professor's admittedly sharp mind?

Moving with silent of grace, he made his way up through the castle. Here and there he nodded gravely at a portrait that was awake unusually late. Most of them ignored him entirely, some even looked at him disapprovingly, but one or two smiled at him. It had been one of the fifth years idea to become friendly with the paintings to allow easier passage through the halls. For Tom it had a convenient side benefit which he could now use to his advantage.

No door painting worth it's frame would ever give up a password, but wall portraits were far less circumspect. With a lot of flattery and some faintly embarrassing acts that no one would ever be privy to, Tom had won over a sweet looking young girl that sat on the outskirts of Gryffindor territory. For him she had elicited many choice tidbits of information, not the least of which was passwords to nearly every warded room in the school. Apparently Gryffindor portraits were just as given to impulse as their living brethren.

He approached said portrait and kindly touched her painted cheek so that she stirred a little in her sleep and woke to see him.

"Hello, Tom." She smiled at him sleepily. "What are you doing here so late?"

"I came to see you my sweet." He told her gravely, stomach roiling in distaste.

"Oh, you're so good to me, but I am awfully tired."

"Then I shall let you rest. Only tell me, are all the passwords still the same as last week?"

She nodded faintly as she lay back down and Tom took the stairs two at a time, all too aware that time might be running low. The portrait that lay outside Dumbledore's door was typically both simple, quaint and loaded with meaning. The man was of no particular distinction, but was quite obviously a solider, who stood on a hillside over looking a flock of sheep. Even in sleep he stood, leaning against a tree. The slightest sound of Tom's step in the hall roused him to full awareness, hand going to his sword.

"Who goes there?" He hissed.

"Gardenias."

"But..." The portrait leaned forward. "I do not know you..."

"I have given you the password, now open."

Reluctantly, the man leaned back against his tree and a pedestrian wooden door papered to swing open invitingly. Mentally preparing himself to enter the lion's den, Tom clenched on hand around his wand and the other around a pouch of disarming powder.

The living area was done in oak and dark maroon. There was no doubt that between the book lined walls, the overstuffed chairs and the delightful fire that burned merrily in its place that this is where Dumbledore would tend to his precious cubs, sitting them down for a hot cup of tea and a gentle parable to clarify the difficult situations of teenage life. Tom wanted to raze it to the ground. There was a short hall with three closed doors. He approached the first, still clutching his wand, opening it slowly.

If the living room was exactly what Tom had expected of Dumbledore, then the office was exactly the opposite. In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have been surprised. After all, the very thing that made Dumbledore formidable was his nearly Slytherin like ability to manipulate and prove adaptable. The office was utilitarian. The bookcase was just as crammed, but these were not books that were being lazily perused at will. Instead they lay in piles as well, filled with markers, spines broken and pages stained. Long parchments decorated the walls with what looked to be complicated Arithmancy problems coupled with transfiguration processes. Tempted to study them further, Tom shook himself and glanced over the desk. Even more complex formulations covered the sheets there. These Tom could not even hope to recognize for they were obviously very heavily coded. Most likely messages to the front.

Curiosity would have to wait. He closed the door and crossed the hall, repeating his slow entry. The bathing rooms. Generous, but not overly so. A large enough bathtub with some bizarre fixtures was the primacy focus. The stone floor was covered with a warm carpet and the one window overlooked the Quidditch Fields. He left that room behind and moved steadily to the last door.

With great care, he eased the door open.

The bed was slightly to the right of the door, flanked by two floor to ceiling windows overlooking the vast landscape. For someone used to the unnatural light of the dungeon dorm it was actually overwhelming. Tom had an acute sense of vertigo for a moment, before he turned to the bed. The professor was a thick lump in the middle of the large four poster bed. The light spilled on the dark blue of the coverlet, falling short of the man's face. A huge armoire dominated the far side of the room and a small overstuffed couch took over the other.

Cautiously, Tom approached the bed. He barely had time to register the glitter of opened eyes before he was pinned to the floor with the heat of another body pounding through him. A wand was poised at his pulse.

"Who are you?"

"Tom Riddle, sir." He kept his voice even.

"Sir? Polite assassin."

"I'm a student." Tom said softly.

"Lumos!"

A soft light diffused over the room. The man currently levered above him was worlds away from the professor Tom had known through his entire Hogwarts career. The bone structure was the same of course, but the skin was smooth and the color of cream rather than wrinkled and flushed with worry and age. Hair that had been a coarse auburn pulsed with thick vibrant red. Not the repulsive orange that the Weasleys sported, but a dark blood red. The shade was naggingly familiar. Blue eyes that should have twinkled and winked were chips of ice that were already trying to gain contact with his own. The only thing tempering the threatening picture were the baby blue flannel pajamas with smiling moons and passing clouds moving sluggishly in circles.

"You are a young assassin."

"I am no assassin."

Tom tried to go as limp as possible, trying to make himself appear vulnerable and frightened without making eye contact. Of course, he probably should have been scared and would have been if he wasn't so intrigued. Could it be that Dumbledore's memory had receded with his age? The original potion wouldn't have done that, but his additions might have made it possible.

He tried to remember what Dumbledore had done before he became a teacher and came up blank. He'd never thought to investigate any of his teachers. He had certainly never imagined that they would have spent their youths in any type of situation that would keep them on alert for assassination attempts.

"That remains to be seen." The older boy, for he looked no more then 20, leaned back and seemed to take in his surroundings. "Where am I? Where have you brought me?"

"I can explain." His mind raced trying to find something that would be close enough to the truth that it wouldn't jar with what Dumbledore's fledgling Legimancy could pick up. "You were accidentally given a potion that made you young again. It seems to have taken your memories with it. The effects should be temporary."

He allowed eye contact, trying to ignore the slimy feel of invasion that only another legilimens could feel.

"If that is so then why was I not left to sleep off the effects?"

"There was some concern that you would leave your quarters and disturb some of the stu..."

"No. I don't want to know. It's like peeking into the future, tempting, but generally a bad idea. So you are to be my guard?" The older boy had not yet gotten up and the pressure was starting to build uncomfortably. "But you seem...young."

"Not that much younger then you." He shot back, starting to get irritated.

"Yes, but I have proven myself."

"What makes you think that I haven't?"

"You wouldn't still be wearing student robes." One long spindly finger tapped on the student badge. Frowning slightly. "Head Boy? I thought Everetts...of course. This is no longer my time. Very distressing."

But the other boy didn't look particularly disoriented or upset. Instead, he had the same impenetrable, smug look that made him so irritating as an adult. But this smugness was undercut with a darkness that Tom never thought possible in the cheery professor. Even under the strains of war, he remained upbeat and warm, except when pressed to his limits. Were those flashes of cold that Dumbledore was capable of a very real reflection of what roiled beneath the surface?

"What do you do?" Tom finally asked.

"Surely you know?"

"I only know you as an adult." He reminded and the older boy smiled, showing a row of straight pearly white teeth.

"I am the youngest full fledged Auror in the past millennia."

An Auror. Of course, it made perfect sense...it was too stressful a position to maintain for more then a few decades. A comfortable teaching position would be a nice change and still allow to keep an eye out for burgeoning dark wizards. It even cleared up the whole question of why Dumbledore was so heavily involved in the war. If he was that good, he would probably be one of the deadliest weapons at England's disposal. A potent foe indeed.

"Would it be possible that you remove yourself from my person?" He finally asked and was relieved when he was immediately released and a hand offered to pick him from the floor. He regarded it warily to Dumbledore's obvious amusement. Sneering, he got off the floor himself and ruffled his robes back into order.

"So I am not to leave these rooms which are presumably mine. For how long?"

"The potion should wear off in a day."

"And they sent you to keep me company." A lascivious grin curled at his lips. "That was most kind of them or were they not aware of the nature of our relationship?'

Tom stepped back, mind already skipping and scheming.

"I do not know what you mean." He said evenly enough that one could read the exact opposite of the meaning if they so desired.

"Well, I am obviously still highly regarded enough to raise concern over a simple potion error. You are about the type that I am usually attracted to, though I would prefer you a little older especially considering that in the present I am obviously not twenty-three. But in all other respects you fit a trend of dark haired, beautiful boys with a tendency toward quick passions and a calculating mind. I must conclude that either you were assigned to me at random or you are my current lover keeping me company."

The error was so huge that Tom almost laughed in relief. That would show him to start over estimating this man in any incarnation! Presumptuous silly Gryffindors with their self-centered assumptions. Of course, now he had a choice of how to proceed. He could claim to be randomly assigned and they would spend the next several hours in uncomfortable silence or....

He wasn't usually an or person. Or was sticky, irritating and most of the time, a down right stupid activity that led to nothing productive. He had gotten enough of or by the middle of sixth year and had planned to stay a long way away from or and concentrate on the more important things in life.

But this was a relatively string free or. There was little chance that the potion would allow Dumbledore to keep his memories of this night.

"My...age has prevented anything untoward from happening between us. But it is not from a lack of interest on either of our parts."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he regretted them. He hated losing control and this was an experiment that was sure to spin well out of his hands. His sudden feeling of unease wasn't aided with the predatory grin that alighted on the red head's lips.

"Prof...Dum.." He skidded to a halt, searching for the professor's first name. "Albus, I.."

"Wolf." The other boy cut in, his smile widening. "My friends call me Wolf from Wulfric."

Tom point blank refused to call anyone by any nickname, especially one like Wolf. It was just ridiculous and he didn't have to stand for it.

"And I am friend?" He inquired.

"That would depend, Tom." His name sounded foreign and exotic pressed between those white teeth and smirking lips. Only the silly animated pajamas cut his imposing figure into something human. "Come here."

Tom snorted, standing his ground. He obeyed no one's orders.

"Come. Here." Wolf said again and this time, Tom found his feet moving of his volition. It took every ounce of his strength to keep from pressing forward.

"Imperius is an Unforgivable." He ground out, trying to maintain an even tone as he worked against the compulsion.

"But I cast no Imperius." That smile was predatory and Tom worked to suppress a shiver. "I did not even have my wand in hand."

The compelling force stopped suddenly and Tom nearly pitched forward at it's swift departure.

"I am not so foolish as to believe that one needs a wand to perform subtle magic."

"Has something been discovered since my time?"

"I look farther then most." He must make no admission just in case. "Imperius or not, that is a powerful compulsion and I doubt friends allow that sort of thing between them."

"It was a test. One few can past and I would have no less in my bed." Wolf took one confident stride forward, closing the remaining distance between them and Tom was ashamed to find he advanced farther then he thought before he could fight off the compulsion. "Strength to strength."

"I will not be toyed with." Tom shot back, taking an equal stride backwards.

"And I would not have so." Wolf took a step forward. "If you say age is really all that stopped us from indulging than what should stop you from this one day?"

"Perhaps there are some trunks best left locked." He took a step back.

"Where is your sense of adventure?" Another step forward for Wolf.

"I am not a foolish Gryffindor." He bit off before he could stop himself as he slid backwards.

"I saw by your robes. A cunning Slytherin. A good match." Forward.

"And if I don't wish to bed an arrogant impetuous Gryffindor?" He winced as he stepped back into the window.

Wolf eased the last step forward, trapping him against the glass, insinuating one muscled thigh between his legs.

"I would say you are far too late to run."

Then that mouth was on his and thoughts ran together in a blur of sensation. Wolf didn't even smell like his elder self. Dumbledore reeked of sugar and ink while Wolf had a faint spice about him. The heat pulsed over him in waves even through his ridiculous bed clothes. Possessive hands circled his back and pulled him from the window and pressed him closer. It had been a year since he had been this close to another human being. Usually it gave him a brief jar of nausea, that feel of another brain thinking merely inches away from his own, but he was to overwhelmed to think.

He felt both pleasure and a horrible sense of powerlessness. Wolf's kiss must hold some compulsion because it compelled him to follow its lead, allowing his mouth to be invaded, his body roughly caressed. Deliberately, Wolf pulled away with a low breathless chuckle.

"You have dabbled in Dark Magic "

"What?" His eyes flew open and all pleasure fled.

"I can taste it like citrus." He licked his lips and leaned forward again. "Delicious."

"Wait...it doesn't bother you?"

"Bother me?" A nip caught Tom's pulse point, sending a shiver through his whole body. "You have no idea what I am capable of."

The kiss this time was more intense, but didn't send Tom spiraling. Instead he sought and found that citrus taste and it burst across his tongue, calling to the part of him that stored his real power.

Gingerly, he let it out to play and found it met equal for equal in a tussle of wills. So involved was he in this metaphysical battle that he failed to notice that his school robes were being undone, only noticing as he felt a chill. Underneath he wore only a pair of slacks and a thin undershirt.

"You are a strong." He said softly as Wolf freed his mouth. "But so I am. Undress."

The compulsion was clumsy, copied from the sensations Wolf's had produced.

"Good. But not good enough." Calloused finger tips ran down his ribs, plucked at his undershirt and drew it over his head. "Try again."

"Undress." He spoke again, but was too distracted by the hands that roved over his torso, prickling his skin into awareness.

"Not quite." Fingers strayed to his pants, his belt was undone and tossed aside.

"Undress..."

"No." And his slacks joined his school robes, leaving him only his underwear. Alternate waves of heat from the man in front of him and the cold of the window finally rendered a real shiver from him.

"Un...dress." He commanded.

"You are missing the point." And he was left bare to the eyes of this predator. "You cannot simply order. You have to make the other person want to do what you wish."

"How do you do that?"

"It is all in the tone." The dangerous voice dropped an octave, silky enough that Tom could swear he felt it on his skin. "Get on the bed."

Lying down on the duvet he wished for the strength to curse his adversary and fell well short. With little fanfare, Wolf shed the ridiculous pajamas. Naked he was beautiful, all firm and sparsely haired. The deep red of his pubic hair should have made his erection ridiculous, instead it framed it in bloody arrogance. Gracefully, he dipped over the bed, crawling over Tom's prone body.

"I will make it very good for you. Nox." The light went out, leaving only the cold predawn light.

"You cannot expect me to simply roll over and ah!" He cut off into incoherence as Wolf devoured his own straining cock with all the expertise of a Knockturn Alley whore.

The man sucked him with single mindedness, wrapping his hands under his buttocks for a better angle, kneading the flesh beneath his fingers until Tom's eyes rolled back into his head and his body shook like a rag dog. He let out a strangled cry and collapsed bonelessly on the duvet. Wolf's low triumphant laugh surged under his skin.

The other man traveled back up Tom's body to smile down at him.

"I told you."

"It was...all right." It almost sounded convincing.

Wolf dipped down as if to kiss him again.

"That is disgusting."

"You don't want to taste yourself?" Strong, invisible hands immobilized his head and a rough tongue plundered his mouth. The taste was abysmal, but a perverse pleasure filled him anyway. The hot brand of Wolf's erection on his thigh adding to the illicitness of the act.

"Unclean." He muttered when Wolf pulled back and the invisible hands fled.

"We are both too far gone to worry about things like that. Or do you think that dark magic cleanses you?"

"Darkness is not dirt."

"Nor is it soap. Roll over."

"No."

"Please." The silken plead rolled over him, pricking up his nipples and sensitizing his skin as surely as the earlier caresses had.

He was on his stomach in an instant. Never had he submitted so thoroughly to someone else. He did not like it, no matter what his treacherous body suggested. It filled him with loathing as one slick finger lingered over his puckered entrance.

"I am going to fuck you from your skin to your muscle to your bone through to your very soul." It should have sounded cheesy and ridiculous, but Wolf made it sound like a very real promise. As his spoke his fingertip slid inside, a slow aching burn. He wanted to be tense and pained, but he felt more relaxed then he had in the presence of another in years. The finger slid all the way in and crooked. Bright light seared across his vision, leaving it spotty and pleasure clouded.

"What..."

"Good, isn't it?" There was a slow burn as the finger left again, returning again and pulling out again, caressing that spot in him repeatedly. "Another?"

"Yessss..."

A second finger burned so much worse and gave twice the pleasure. He panted into the pillow, refusing to heed the instinct to rant and rave like a fever victim. The third nearly undid him completely, but he maintained his composure. When they were removed completely, he felt emptied and panicked as he felt the blunt nose of the substantial cock he had only caught a glance of before. Warm hands caressed his shoulders and arms as Wolf mounted him and thrust forward.

The cry that rested from Tom's throat was so primal that he barely recognized it as his own. He felt filled, on fire. The feeling should have been localized to the rather large cock lodged in his arse, but it spread to his whole body, his skin crawling with the burn. Every part of him that Wolf touched flared with previously unimagined life.

And then he began to move.

Tom had purposely had Crucio cast on himself over and over until he could fight it off without the caster ending it. He could endure pain of unimaginable levels. As Wolf bore him up to his knees, pressing their two bodies completely together, he knew he was begging him to stop in a senseless series of gasps and moans. It was too intense and if it did not kill him now, the shame of his pleasure surely would when he came to his senses.

His orgasm actually blacked him out and when he came to his thighs were sticky with Wolf's cum dripping from his aching hole. At some point the other boy had sunk his teeth at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, leaving another bright pulse of pleasure-pain.

"You should have told me you were a virgin."

He slit his eyes open, leaning his head back on one strong shoulder.

"Would it have stopped you?"

"No, but I might have been a little less punishing." He pulled away from Tom's body, his softened cock creating unwelcome friction. As soon as he had retreated, Tom collapsed onto the duvet, trying to ignore the very twinges that pervaded his body.

"Really?"

"We'll never know now. Accio cloth." Something wet smacked into Wolf's waiting hand.

A nubby washcloth was swept between Tom's thighs and up his crack, creating all sorts of unpleasent/pleasent sensations. It had to be purposely demeaning as Wolf performed some type of perfunctory cleaning spell on himself instead of using the cloth. Satisfied with his handiwork and wearing an unbearably smug smile, Wolf curled into Tom, pulling him close.

"Did you enjoy me?"

"You were wonderfully tight." He received a playful kiss. "Sleep."

The compulsion was strong and Tom closed his eyes, floating into darkness. He counted to a hundred and back down again before reemerging into awareness. Sure enough, confident of his own magic Wolf slept beside him.

"Foolish, sentimental Gryffindors." He leaned down and whispered into Wolf's ear. "Forget."

He rose and grimaced at his bodies protests. Somehow, he made it to his clothes and dressed quickly. As an after thought, he reached down again to the bed and with his wand spelled off a single lock of hair. He went to the door and risked a look back. Many lessons he had been taught this one morning and he planned to remember everyone.

No one noticed his discomfort at meals that day despite how hard sitting was, nor did they seem to care that Dumbledore had come out of his rooms. Certainly no one connected the two facts and had no reason to when the Transfigurations professor swept into breakfast the next morning looking the same as always. Covertly, Tom looked for any trace of the young man who had so thoroughly conquered him. It was gone.

His first Transfiguration class was interesting as his willful mind suffered flashbacks, but Dumbledore treated him his cool usual suspicion. A delicious advantage had been gained then. It was almost enough to make him forget about his failure with the youth potion. Almost.

The year passed quickly enough. He sat for his exams and excelled as was only to be expected. The rest of his life beckoned. A very ordinary looking job that would serve as cover for his more covert nightly activities. Already his followers were converting those around them, positiong themselvies in all the right places for power. He packed with a near smile on his face and almost made it to the train station without being stopped by one teacher unlike many of his classmates, who got caught in last minute advice and affections.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him just before he reached the platform.

"Please remove yourself from my person." He hissed, before turning to find Professor Dumbledore regarding him warily. "We have nothing to say to each other, sir."

"Oh, but I think we do." Blue eyes twinkled in merriment. "A few parting words."

"You no longer compel me, sir. My time here is over."

"Your time at school is over, that is true. But my compulsion over you will never end, Tom. You never will learn the trick of it." A fatherly hand patted him on the shoulder. "You are playing with forces you do not understand. If ever you should get in over your head, you know where to find me."

"I will never turn myself over to your power again." He spoke quietly, firmly, refusing to be ruffled by this revelation. "By any name, you are a perfumed flower that hides a rotting odor. It is the stink of the old, of the decrepit, of the failing. And one day, you will kneel before me, powerless as I was."

"You were not powerless, Tom. I used no compulsion in that bed." The words seemed wrong coming from the older, sadder face.

Tom pulled a lock of blood red hair from his pocket, just long enough for Dumbledore to identify it.

"It is the color of leaves in autumn. You may have been born into the warmth of a Gryffindor summer, professor, but you faded quickly to fall and even now head precariously into the chill of winter. But I was born in the snow and the sleet. My spring has only just begun and my glorious summer will blind you.

"Good bye, Professor." Without another word, he retreated to the safety of the train and found his awaiting, adoring crowd.

As the train pulled out, he glanced out the window to see Dumbledore watching the train pull out, a meditative look on his face. If he had strained he might have hear the muttered words,

"...what a thin line we tread between pleasure and pain, hatred and desire..."

But he did not and he probably only would have snorted if he had. A rational man might have worried about what he had just done, about the powerful enemy he had made. Tom Riddle had never claimed to be a rational man. Things, people, life were transient and he was not going to waste another moment in melancholy contemplation of what might have been.

End.