10.

"WHAT'S this?" A voice in an otherwise quiet corridor captures Tom's attention, stopping him on his walk to Divination. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees two taller boys surrounding a face that is all too familiar to Tom. It's only because it's Dillion — and because the two boys are Ravenclaws — that Tom stops to watch the scene unfold.

"Lay off it, Bly." Dillion snaps, attempting to push past the first boy. This does nothing as the second boy blocks his path. Bly plucks the brunet's hand off him, holding it up by the wrist.

"Is perfect Mr. Light too good to be touching us common folk?" Bly continues, waving the hand around. Dillion pulls his arm back but the boy's grip appears to be too strong. Looking at it, it seems to be his unmarked hand, but Tom is no less concerned he might be exposed during the course of this. "You're nothing, Lux. Your father won't even say your name. You might as well not exist."

"If you don't–"

"If I don't what? What're you going to do about it? Can't go crying to Daddy this time." The boy beside Bly guffaws in support of his friend. Dillion, on the other hand, is barely simmering in his rage. Tom can tell it's only a few choice words before they set him off. Bly takes Dillion's silence as a sign that more antagonism is required, pulling at the fingers of his glove. It's a slow reveal of an unmarked hand, much to Tom's relief. "I think it's time we show Lux that he's just the same as all of us. There is absolutely nothing special about you, Lux. Even your father could tell."

"Thought a parent's love was supposed to be unconditional." The other boy comments, a malicious glint in his eye. "You must be pretty awful then."

"You two talk too much." Dillion looks slowly between the two boys, then pulls his hand away with one hard yank. Before either can react properly, his wand is already drawn and the first spell is thrown. As he curses Bly, Tom feels his own magic suddenly flare inside him. It feels as if it is being dragged from him — or is trying to escape him. Desperate to contain his magic to himself, Tom tries to pull it back to him.

As Bly cries incoherently, the same curse is thrown at the other boy, leaving him unable to talk properly. Tom feels his magic surge again, barely in control. Dillion himself looks slightly confused, as if waiting for something that didn't happen. Tom's entire body is buzzing with magic he didn't even use and he's certain the culprit is the boy nearby. Fortunately Dillion decides not to throw any more spells, instead punching the boy straight in the stomach.

As he holds the tall Ravenclaw up by his shoulder, Dillion mutters, "You're wrong, by the way. I have absolutely no problem touching you." He then promptly pushes him to the ground. His friend has enough sense to run off while the brunet is preoccupied.

"Dillion!" comes the exasperated cry of his late arriving friend, Solas. She's ignored in favour of crouching down to Bly's level. Dillion presses his wand against the boy's neck threateningly, but Tom feels no change in his magic. Thank God for small mercies.

"You're a disgrace to your name just by existing. At least there was a point in time when my father was proud of me. Your father will go to his grave knowing his only heir is the greatest disappointment known to man." For once, Tom is grateful to be an orphan. At least, without parents, he's detached from all these concerns. There's no adults he has to try to please in order to gain an inheritance. He got that disappointment out of the way the moment he was born.

Dillion's other friends catch up to the Ravenclaw girl, despite not normally coming this route. The blond boy, upon noticing Dillion, is quick to grab his friend and pull him away.

"He's not worth it." The prefect comments and then, more quietly, says, "What's got into you, Dill?"

"He started it." Dillion responds, gesturing at the boy rising to his feet. Bly still hasn't gained control of his tongue, but at least he can walk properly. Or, at least, he manages to for a few steps. Tom knows what's coming before it even occurs, as he feels his magic suddenly pour up again. In the next second, Bly's legs have locked together and he goes crashing to the floor. The other Ravenclaw — Clay — has enough sense to take Dillion's wand from him.

Dillion's nose has started bleeding, telling Tom everything he needs to know.

"Mr. Dillion Lux!" Dippet cries as he reaches them, his voice a mix of anger and disappointment. "My office, now."

"I have class!" Dillion retorts, gesturing towards where he should have been walking. Dippet barely even acknowledges this, preoccupied with trying to undo whatever the brunet has done.

"Now, Mr. Lux." Dillion detaches himself from his friend's grip, making a great fuss over walking off in the opposite direction. In the meantime, the headmaster manages to free Bly from his curses. Before anyone can say anything, Dippet follows after Dillion, leaving Clay with the brunet's wand. The Ravenclaw seems just as aware of this as Tom is, staring at the wand in his hand. As the dark haired boy looks around, he spots Tom watching him and waves his hand.

"Hey, give this to Dillion, won't you?" He calls out, before approaching the Slytherin boy.

"Are you sure you won't see him before me?" Tom asks as the wand is placed in his hand. Dillion's wand is rather long, of dark wood, with an attached glass hilt that only exaggerates its length. It is immaculately polished, as if it was fresh from the shop, and Tom feels nervous just holding it.

Clay shakes his head, "Dippet was clever making him go now. Dillion loves Mancio and the class — he's going to try and get out as soon as possible."

"I'll get it to him."

"Thanks. I'll see you around." Tom isn't sure he has any reason to interact with this boy again but, given they both share Dillion in common, he doesn't doubt their paths might cross again.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt when Professor Dumbledore said you'd attacked your classmates and were caught wandering the corridors after hours, but cursing people, Dillion?" Dippet has the tone of an exasperated parent, someone not angry, just disappointed. Dillion can't help but squirm in his chair, desperate for this lecture to be over. "What's happening? You weren't like this last year. Is it the family situation? Are people treating you poorly because of it?"

"No. Maybe. Sometimes." The headmaster raises an eyebrow as Dillion lists almost all possible responses to that question. Despite this, the brunet stands by his answer. "Bly started it."

"I will be talking to Bly, once he's recovered. And Aves." Dippet gives Dillion a pointed look. "Taking matters into your own hands makes it difficult for me to punish you all equally, regardless of who started it." Dillion just nods his head. Sometimes matters need to be taken into his own hands, but Dippet doesn't need or want to hear that. It's a matter of pride. "I have to give you detention. I want you helping Professor Mancio with his cleaning, for as long as it takes for him to be satisfied with the work. Perhaps if you're kept busy, you'll find yourself in less trouble."

By all accounts, Dillion is being let off easy and he knows it. He's certainly not going to complain. Especially not when complaining would only keep him stuck here for longer.

"Make sure you tell Professor Mancio you'll be helping him when you go to class. I'll know if you don't."

"Of course, sir." After Dillion is dismissed, the boy rises to his feet quickly and rushes out of the office. He all but runs to class; the only thing that slows his pace is the desire to avoid further reprimand.

By the time he arrives, he is late. But he's not as late as he'd been concerned he might be. Mancio is still doing his introductory discussion, listening to some of the students' dreams, as Dillion sneaks in. The professor acknowledges him with a wave but doesn't interrupt the student speaking. As Dillion takes a seat across from Tom, the older boy rolls his wand across the table.

"You left that behind." Tom whispers, before settling back in his seat. Dillion hadn't even realised. He quickly stuffs that in the pocket of his robes so he doesn't forget it again. "Are you still able to make it tonight?"

"Should be, though it depends on Mancio."

"Why Mancio?"

"Dippet gave my detention to him." Tom nods in understanding, turning his attention towards the professor pacing the front of the classroom as he discusses the dangers of trances. "I didn't faint earlier."

"Congratulations." Tom responds dryly as his gaze returns to the brunet. "Do you want an award?"

"Did anything happen to you?" Dillion decides not to grace Tom's retort with any sort of acknowledgement.

"You tried to steal my magic. I really don't care what trouble you get yourself into it, but I'd prefer if you didn't waste mine doing so." The casual manner in which Tom responds almost causes Dillion to miss the importance in what he's saying. Their magic is shared. One mystery to their bond has been accidentally solved, even if it does raise further questions. Tom tilts his head back, peering down his nose at Dillion as he comments, "People don't seem to like you."

"They used to." Dillion says as he thinks back on the days before he was disowned. He wasn't as beloved as Michael, who had a knack for people, but at least they were polite with him. "Or, at least, they pretended to."

"Was it something you did, or just your personality?"

"I assume it's because I got disowned." That isn't quite true. Tom likely knows it. "Though people tend to be intimidated by me being smarter than them."

"I'm sure that's what drives them away." Tom seems to be in a good mood, if his dryly joking manner is anything to go by. The Slytherin's lips even curl into what seems to be an amused smirk — at his own comment, of course. The expression does wonders for his appearance. He almost looks human, rather than a porcelain recreation of a human. Before he seemed unattainable, now he seems almost normal.

"How are we going, boys?" Mancio asks as he approaches their table, making Dillion realise he has no idea what he's missed. While he flounders for a response, Tom seems to watch and relish in his failure.

"We were just discussing Dillion's experiences with trances." Tom eventually answers, putting the younger out of his misery. Momentarily, at least. Instead, Dillion has to think of a story he can recount regarding trances. "Living with muggles hasn't given me much exposure to them, personally."

"Did you know there are some muggles who are able to put themselves in trances?" Mancio responds, receiving different reactions from each boy. Tom seems aware of it, as he nods his head, whereas Dillion has only recently been learning about the muggle community. Prior to his delving into the Dark Arts, they'd always been lesser. Muggles just don't understand the importance of the Light; they lack the refinement to truly appreciate or wield it. Muggles and muggleborns don't honour the traditions, respect the boundaries, and that makes them lesser. "Some would even work themselves up into a state where they were effectively invincible. They'd use it for battles."

"The people I've seen were nothing that impressive. Just people on drugs or possessed." Dillion raises his eyebrows at that last remark. The Slytherin waves an uncaring hand as he explains, "That's how the Father described them — the Devil had possessed them. I'm not sure if he was telling the truth, though."

"Muggles are strange." Dillion comments. He's never heard of a stranger group of individuals.

"They'd say the same about you." As the pair's topic deviates from the set discussion, Mancio leaves the pair to check in on a different table. Tom watches the professor go before his gaze slides back to Dillion. Leaning forward, he rests his chin on his hand and stares intently at Dillion. "They'd think you're possessed by the Devil."

"What about you?"

Tom's lips curls into a cold smile, "They think I'm the antichrist. I've had all sorts of insults thrown at me, before they got too scared to talk to me."

"Sound like a lovely bunch." Tom shrugs his shoulders. From his current seating, he's essentially looking down his nose at Dillion. The Ravenclaw feels like an insignificant bug in his eyes.

"They have their uses."

*

"So, what's with the gloves?" Clay asks over dinner, before Dillion can even broach leaving early. The question takes him off guard, causing him to hesitate. He'd like to pretend it was because he'd forgot he was even wearing gloves, but it's not; these gloves have been causing him discomfort all day. Suddenly, as Dillion looks between his hands and Clay, realising all his friends are watching him curiously, he has to lie to his friends twice. Dillion avoids even lying once, when he can help it, to his friends. "You never wear your gloves."

"I was feeling homesick." Dillion pulls at the first explanation he can think of, though even he knows it's a poor one. His friend raises an eyebrow and similar stages of scepticism are painted on his other friends' faces. "Wearing them reminded me of all the times Father forced me to wear them."

"And that made you want to wear them?" Jude asks. The brunet shrugs his shoulders, floundering.

"Yeah, I mean, it's weird but... that was normal."

"Let Dillion have his thing." Solas comes to his defence, giving the other two boys a look. A look that tells them to leave him alone, that this comes under their topics of sensitivity. Dillion has noticed her use of this look has become a lot more frequent around him this term. While he hates the idea he might be considered sensitive, especially when his father is involved, just this once he's grateful for it. It keeps the other two boys at bay for the moment, as they drop the questions. Dillion isn't so safe from Solas, however, as she asks, "What happened with Dippet?"

"He gave me detention. For an undetermined amount of time." Dillion responds truthfully. Keep the lies close to the truth — that should make it easier. It doesn't ease the guilt, though. Trust is easily lost. Should his friends discover he's lied to them, they might never believe a word he says ever again. This might be one small lie, but it's intrinsically linked to a far greater truth he's been holding from them. If they find out this one, it wouldn't take much prodding to find the reason why. Then he might lose his only friends. "It starts tonight. Soon, actually."

No one bats an eye. Clay even gives him a wide, amuses grin, Jude shakes his head exasperatedly, and Solas seems to settle somewhere between the two. The detention isn't an abnormality. He's passed that hurdle without any issue.

When Dillion leaves the table, his food rests heavily within his stomach. It feels as if he has entered the next chapter in his descent. He betrayed his father, now his friends. Those he actually, genuinely cares about aren't safe from his corruption. Sooner or later, that voice in the back of his head whispers, it's all going to come crashing down on him. Properly, this time. Then, he'll be completely alone.

Tom is waiting outside the Great Hall, as promised. He's leaning against the wall with casually confident manner as if the entire world rests within his palm, ready to be crushed whenever he feels. Like a bored god entertaining himself with the mortal realm. When he notices Dillion's emergence, he pushes himself off the wall in a fluid motion and begins walking without any warning. He doesn't even spare a second glance for the younger, not until he's caught up and matching his pace.

"What did you tell your friends?" Tom's voice is blank, coloured only by the hint of curiosity. The older boy confuses Dillion. Sometimes, all the emotions run across his face and he's as easy to read as a book; other times, it's like there's a wall between them and all Dillion is seeing is Tom's shell, an empty husk of a boy. And then, when around those that matter, Tom is an entirely different person, exuding charm and friendliness. Dillion knows they're not close, not friends by any stretch of the imagination, but he wonders how close the side he sees of Tom is to the truth.

"I said I had detention, because of earlier." Tom doesn't respond, silence falling over the two. Dillion suffers within it for a few seconds, counting the echoing tap of their shoes until he can't stand it any longer. "Where are we going? The Chamber?"

Tom lets out a scoff, the first sign of emotion this evening, and answers, "Don't be ridiculous. As if I would let your presence taint Salazar Slytherin's chamber."

"I could just sneak in. I did hear the secret password." Dillion has no intention of attempting this, not when he's uncertain what traps Salazar might have set against intruders. Regardless, he attempts to mimic Tom's strange hissing. The older boy looks pleasantly alarmed, telling Dillion he must have been close.

"If I ever find you there, I'll set the chamber's horrors on you myself."

"You're so quick to threaten my life, but I haven't seen you back that up yet." Tom comes to a sudden halt, forcing Dillion to turn around to face him. There's only cool loathing on the Slytherin's face as he looks at Dillion.

"You seem to have mistaken this temporary alliance for something more friendly, or that I might tolerate you more because of it." Tom takes one step closer, then another, slowly. He moves like the snake his ancestor loved, fluid and careful, a viper preparing to strike. "I haven't 'backed it up yet' because, unlike you, I'm not rash. I can be patient. I'll wait until your guard is down, until you've completely forgotten my promise, and then I'll strike and you won't even be able to pin it on me. So don't test what little patience I do have for you."

With his words still hanging in the empty corridor's air, Tom begins walking off again. His robes billow behind him with the ferocity of his step. Dillion has enough sense to follow without a word.

"We're going to the dungeons." Tom answers after a few more moments of silence. His mood has shifted considerably from before, almost friendly. Dillion once again wonders if there is any legitimacy to his conversational tone, or if it is merely to tempt him to lower his guard. "Disappearing would just raise suspicions. At least there we can read and talk without worrying about being caught or questioned."

"What about the other Slytherins?"

"They won't say anything." Tom spares Dillion a glance. His lip curls into the semblance of a grin, though there isn't any warmth to it. "Unlike you, my housemates like me. They'd go so far as to even protect me."

"That's only because they don't know you. If they did..."

"If they did, it wouldn't deter them. After all," Tom pauses at the top of some stairs, halting Dillion. As the younger looks up at him, an amused glimmer finally warms his face. Waving a hand at Dillion, he continues, "You're still here."

"Not by choice." Dillion waves his own hand, purposefully taking a step away from Tom. The Slytherin follows. Step by step, punctuating their words, they make slow progress of the stairs. "Maybe you're the one sticking to me."

"You are the thorn in my side. I do no sticking."

Tom and Dillion choose a secluded set of chairs near the large windows that look out at the murky depths of the lake, made near impenetrable in the dark night — only shifting shadows that suggest life hidden amongst the water. While Tom goes to collect his books, Dillion is made to wait. An eagle alone in a nest full of snakes. It does, at least, leave him with plenty of time to examine the Slytherin common room: where the Ravenclaw's is clearly designed with practicality in mind, the perfect place to study or relax, this one seems to be place a heavy focus on flaunting their superiority. It's lavishly decorated with green banners, engraved pillars hold the ceiling up, one wall depicts a rather intricate painting of a unicorn found by several individuals.

Dillion doesn't get much opportunity to do further analysis before Tom returns to place a pile of books on the coffee table between the chairs. His hand still resting on the top of the pile, he warns, "If a single page is damaged or missing, I will know."

"I have no intention on damaging a book, Tom." Dillion assures him. Even the idea of dog-earring a page is absolutely abhorrent to him. There's a special place in hell reserved for that sort of person. But this clearly doesn't reassure Tom, who doesn't move. "Or steal one."

Tom reluctantly removes his hand. He takes the first book on the pile and sits in the empty chair. Dillion looks at the next book in the pile — An Advanced Guide to Dark Curses — before he lifts that and takes the second instead. Tom definitely notices this and raises a questioning eyebrow.

"I don't think this is a curse. That book would be a last resort." He explains, gesturing at the book on curses.

"Being connected to you in any way is a curse."

"To you. The Dark did it when we were both lost. It's trying to help us." Dillion disagrees. He flicks open to the table of contents of a book about Dark rituals and skims over the names. Nothing stands out as an immediate possibility, so he starts at the start. He doesn't realise until he's starting to read the prelude that Tom is staring at him. "What?"

"You're uncharacteristically insightful when you want to be. You should try that more often." Tom comments as a cool smirk washes over his lips. There's an amused glimmer in his eye but Dillion can tell it's directed at him, not with him. His expressions are more lively now, as if aware the other Slytherins might be watching them; they're not quite as diplomatic as the front others might be graced with, but he lacks his usual sharpness that seems to be reserved for Dillion and Dillion alone. "How much do you know about the Dark Arts?"

"By my standards, very little. By general standards, more. I know theory — some biased by Light — and I've read some books, but I've only ever practiced two rituals. I don't know anything about this — blessings, commands, whatever it is." Tom nods slowly, his eyes never straying from Dillion's face. "You?"

"Likely less than you." For once, Tom makes this confession with little bitterness or pride, a simple statement of fact. Any humility is lost in his form as he shifts so he can better face Dillion, resting against the side of the chair with one leg crossed over his knee. An invincibility radiates from his carelessness, as if he's untouchable and he knows it. Dillion doesn't doubt for a second he might be the proclaimed Dark Lord, even if he knows less than Dillion. One day, likely soon, he will surpass him. Dillion wonders what he'll do when that day comes. "It's hard to read on something so heavily restricted. Even in the restricted section, very little is written with the intent on educating how to use the Dark Arts."

"Now you've likely got a library full of the best." The corner of Tom's lip quirks up in a slight smile. This one seems less malicious. If it weren't so arrogant, it might have softened his face into something more tolerable. Instead, it's just a face you could punch... if you weren't trapped in a common room with his friends and housemates who are known for getting revenge in the most calculated, painful way possible.

"Indeed." Tom shifts and the end of his pants gets caught on his knee, exposing his ankle. The sock is faded, shorter than it should be, clearly old and perhaps even secondhand. Dillion is reminded, despite his brilliant performance, Tom is still the poor orphan boy. "Anyway, let's get reading. I can only cover for you for so long."

With a nod, Dillion reopens his book. The prelude is just a short note about a man talking about the importance of rituals and purity. According to him, rituals should be saved for special occasions and only by purebloods. Dillion is sick of this book already.

While reading, their quiet study seems to attract the attention of others. It's one other student first — a brunet Dillion has seen around pulls one of the nearby chairs over. But he seems to be the indicator to others that it's okay to join them, as others soon follow. All of them seem to be Tom's friends, who Dillion only recognises vaguely. He recognises Eric Nott because of his father — the two of them visited while Mr. Nott was creating the Pureblood directory. The rest are just faces Dillion likely would have been warned to stay away from. The wrong sort.

And yet, they all settle in quietly, barely even disturbing the two boys. Not one asks a single question or comments on the books they're reading, or even Dillion's presence in the common room. Dillion watches them all briefly as they join them, but he's quickly drawn back to his book when he realises nothing more is occurring. As he flicks through page after page of prejudice nonsense, with the occasional piece of useful information hidden amongst it, Dillion almost wishes something would distract him.

When he puts that book in the new 'read' pile, he shakes his head to Tom and picks up the next. He hopes this one on communicating with the Dark might be better.

It isn't.

"Did you know muggles can use the Dark Arts?" Dillion pipes up, forgetting his company. Suddenly, he has several pairs of incredulous eyes on him, all he's now all too aware are quite probably prejudiced themselves.

"What?" Eric asks, more as a statement of disbelief than anything else. And it is quite evident he doesn't believe Dillion.

"Dark Arts are based on intent rather than magic. All the focus on rituals means they don't often use magic. It just relies on the Dark granting you the ability." Dillion explains, relishing in the fact that he knows something the house stereotypically associated with the Dark Arts doesn't. "I'm not even sure the Dark cares about blood."

"Even if a muggle could, they'd still be weaker. They're not raised in magic, or even have a magical core. The Dark Arts are still a type of magic." Eric insists. Dillion can tell he's got two of them interested — a darker haired one he thinks is younger than him and the curly haired blond. Even Tom seems curious. But this boy is going to be the tough one. Dillion would expect as much from the son of the man who wrote a biased list of purebloods. The Lux family barely made the cut. They only got in because their stout beliefs towards purity aligned so closely with the Nott's, even when their hatred towards the Dark Arts drew a wedge between them.

"I think it could be like losing a sense. They might even be better than us because they have to work harder." Dillion shrugs his shoulders. It's very clear Eric doesn't like this, but the younger doesn't give him a chance to speak. "I have a book that talks about it, if you want. Next break, I'll get it for you. Or I could just give you the title and name."

"Sure. I'll... borrow it, please. We wouldn't have something like that in our library." Despite his argumentative state, Eric is surprisingly open to reading the book. Dillion had been half-expecting him to brush it off as inaccurate. It's with great pleasure that he nods his head, making a mental note to find that book. "How do you know so much?"

"My family is adamantly Light. It's important to know about the Dark and my rebellion was in learning the more redeeming things about it." Dillion answers, thinking it just enough of the truth to satisfy the older boy without betraying all his secrets to a stranger. Or several strangers, as all the silent boys are still watching him.

"That's not what I heard." The curly haired boy comments far too casually. Dillion is barely able to contain his alarm as he turns his attention to him. "I heard you got a muggle pregnant. That's why your family disowned you."

"Are people saying that about me?" Dillion almost laughs, both confused and concerned. The blond shrugs his shoulders. "I don't even know any muggles."

"I didn't say it was true. It's just what I've heard."

"I heard you were practicing necromancy and that's why your parents were so secretive about it." The younger, dark haired boy says.

"I thought it was refusing to marry someone — probably that Ravenclaw girl."

"So everyone thinks I was either romantically involved, or uninvolved, with someone or practising really dark magic." This is disappointing. Dillion's legacy has been reduced to the run of the mill disownments. They could have at least spiced it up a little. He supposes necromancy isn't so bad. At least that's exciting.

"Why were you disowned then?" Eric asks. Dillion casts a glance at Tom, hoping to discern whether everything occurring here is okay. The older boy is no help as he simply shrugs. As Dillion looks between them all, he decides he might as well test the waters here. He assumes he's predominantly surrounded by those who support the Dark Arts, making it one of the safer groups to confess to. The guilt that he would even consider telling a group of Slytherins he barely knows over his closest friends starts to rear its ugly head, reminding him of how horrible a friend he is.

"I was caught practicing the Dark Arts." Dillion admits, stumbling over the words. It feels wrong to tell someone, let alone a group of people. His hidden shame, exposed to the world. Despite his feelings, none of the boys react poorly. In fact, their interest in him seems to grow. He gets two sympathetic glances, another clearly brimming with questions.

"I thought your family was against that." The curly haired boy comments.

"That's why he got disowned, you dimwit." Eric scolds him, earning an eye roll from the other boy. "Ignore, Mort. His brother got all the brain cells."

"Are you a Dark wizard?" The dark haired boy asks. In any other situation, Dillion would deny it. But he feels compelled to say yes. That feeling doesn't belong to him.

"I've only done two rituals but... the Dark seems to think I am. It's nothing official." The younger's expression shifts as an idea clearly comes to him, his gaze slowly drifting from Dillion to Tom. Suspense seems to fill the air, all waiting to hear whatever it is he has to say.

"What do you mean the Dark thinks so?" Eric asks, watching Dillion so intently it's almost scary. Dillion now realises his choice in wording was a mistake, something he'd thought might be more common. Once again, he looks to Tom, but the boy has left him fending for himself again.

"I don't know. It was just very persistent. Sometimes it calls me 'Mine'." As soon as the words spill past Dillion's lips, he regrets being so open. He's made another mistake in telling the truth, betraying a secret he isn't even aware of. Eric is quick to steel his expression but, for a brief moment, Dillion sees the surprise paint his face. Surprise and intrigue.

Fortunately — or unfortunately — Tom stops the conversation before it continue as he taps at his book and says, "Dillion is here to study. We should have these discussions when time isn't so valuable."

With great reluctance, Eric returns to his book. Dillion returns to his own and remembers immediately why he'd been so glad to stop reading. Nonetheless, he persists.

Once again, it's useless.

The group stays up far later than intended, way past curfew. Tom almost feels guilty as he directs Dillion towards one of the hidden passages that will get him closer to the Ravenclaws dormitory without any trouble. Almost. To make matters worse, neither of them found anything that might fix their problem. All in all, it was almost a complete waste of time.

When Tom returns to the group, Eric has already started up. The brunet returns just in time to hear him announce, "Lux is the Dark Lord."

Tom can't help but scoff, "Don't be ridiculous."

"He could beat any of us in a fight and he's not even trained. The Dark speaks to him. It called him Its. That's as clear a sign as I've ever seen."

"You've heard how he feels about Dark Lords. The Dark wouldn't pick someone like him." Cessair argues.

"He's a Lux — he was brainwashed to feel that way."

"I thought the Dark spoke to everyone." Tom comments as casually as he can. He's realised from Dillion's earlier conversation that the ability must be something of interest, but he's not sure what kind of interest that is.

"Not at his level. Even a fully trained Dark wizard might never actually hear the Dark." Eric's eyes then narrow into a frown as he examines Tom carefully. He sees straight through Tom's feigned casualness. "Has the Dark spoken to you?"

"Only once. In a dream." There's no point denying it now. He'd planned on testing Eric, anyway. With the books proving fruitless in explaining the markings, Tom is beginning to suspect they are going to need help. If Eric can keep this secret, maybe he can be trusted to keep others.

"I hope this is going to become a more regular thing." Eric says in response, rather than betraying what he knows. He waves vaguely at the exit, where Dillion recently left. "Two untrained Dark wizards running around with an affinity for the Dark... That's a disaster waiting to happen."

"It's not every day you get complete outsiders." Cessair pipes up, voice ringing with barely bridled excitement.

"Maybe that's what the Dark wants." Dominic comments idly as he turns the ring around his finger. "Fresh ideas, untainted by tradition and history. A challenger to Grindelwald."

"What does Lux think about Grindelwald?" Eric asks Tom, receiving a shrug.

"I don't know. We're not friends — we don't discuss things." Tom doesn't like the way Eric's eyes light up in amusement. There's nothing he said that could be considered remotely funny.

"Right," is all Eric says. He lets out a loud yawn, announcing, "I'm going to bed."

He gets a murmur of agreement from the group, most rising to their feet to follow his lead. Tom chooses to stay up just a little longer, taking a recently emptied spot by the fire. With the common room essentially empty, he carefully unwraps his hand. The markings haven't changed, still staining his pale skin with their smokey hue. He clenches and unclenches his hand, watching as the veins shift. He shares at it intently and nothing changes.

He hopes Dillion isn't the Dark Lord. Or, if he is, he hopes that breaks him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE
I have discovered the headcanon of Tom having a cockney accent and I'm upset it took me this long to discover it. Maybe fate hid it from me for so long because it knew it'd kill me