note: again, changes to canon are intentional.

Chapter Four – Tom Riddle and Higher Learning

Tom had verified that he still had nearly two hours before his scheduled lesson, but it was a long and complex journey to get to this, the one class that mattered more than all others.

The hour made him consider Disillusionment, but he didn't dare while Dumbledore was on the grounds. This way, he could easily explain his wanderings as a night walk by the lake; if he chose to break curfew, nobody would say otherwise. Whereas if Dumbledore saw that he was clearly hiding himself, the old man would figure something was up. These excursions are the last thing the old man needs to be aware of.

Instead, Tom constantly let his magic flow outwards - around corners and into rooms - to check for any resonances that would indicate a human, elf or ghost. With his path clear the entire way to the front doors, he exited the school and made his way across the dark grounds.

It was in his second year that his attention had settled on the anomaly of the Shrieking Shack.

The stories he heard and read about simply made no sense. The type of "ghost" who simply wanted to break things, make noise, and scare people wouldn't stay in an abandoned shack.

Besides, if it was locked up, how would anyone even know?

Perhaps once there was a ghost, but it should have moved on when people stopped living there. As a matter of fact, the building itself should have been demolished if the haunting was truly that dangerous. And if it wasn't that dangerous, if it was an appropriate "tourist attraction," why was it completely locked up?

As far as Tom could discern, maybe one out of fifty people who visited Hogsmeade took a look at the Shack, and when nothing at all happened, they decided not to waste time there again, and occasionally spread the word of the fraud. There were a few "lucky" ones that were scared away by some simple banging and laughter from inside on occasion. But Tom had heard a seventh-year Gryffindor known for being a founding member of the "Prank Squad," boasting about scaring off tourists more than once. The group could certainly be a sufficient explanation for the odd, infrequent "ghostly" encounters.

It had to have another purpose. Tom realized that the remote location in the village and the positioning of it in relation to Hogwarts could be relevant, if it contained an exit to one of the many secret tunnels from the school grounds.

Unfortunately, not a single one of the passages he could find were long enough to reach the Shack, and after a few weeks of exploring, he was ready to write off this theory.

But then, something else caught his curiosity. Walking past the Whomping Willow, he realized what an odd feature it was. A tree that knocked any student who came near into the hospital wing, what idiotic headmaster had thought that was a good idea?

Unless it was guarding something.

It was easy enough to find the privacy to cast at it, since no student was so foolhardy as to come near it, but none of his spells seemed to have any effect. Until he cast an orange bolt that struck a large knot near the bottom, making the tree freeze, and some of the roots retracted to reveal a small hole. Tom returned to investigate it after dark, and ended up exactly where he thought he might. That was his first time truly breaking out of school and into the wizarding world. He discovered many amazing things afterhours, but it took a year for his most valuable discovery.

One night spent creeping around Hogsmeade, Tom happened across two wizards arguing heatedly in an alley, words about to turn to wands. Curious to see a real duel, Tom took cover, and watched from under his "borrowed" invisibility cloak.

When the wands did come out, Tom was rather disappointed. He hoped to see some high-level curses flying, perhaps even some blood. Instead, the large, bald man drew his wand faster than the eye could catch, slamming the other man into a wall so hard it would have shattered, if the buildings here weren't warded against stray curses from frequent midnight duels.

His opponent down, the man slowly turned towards where Tom had ducked behind a similarly warded waste bin.

"I see you there!" The man said harshly, "Just throw off the cloak, and try to do what you mean to do. I'll re-holster my wand to give you a fair shot then."

Tom was caught; this man was clearly powerful enough that Tom couldn't overtake him with his best efforts. He had an idea, though, and he threw down his cloak and stood up. "I mean to try and convince you to teach me to fight."

Upon seeing Tom, the man laughed, "Go back to bed, boy," and turned to walk away. Tom was intent, now; he drew his wand, pulled down hard, and an inky black jet started sizzling towards the man. It winked out on an invisible shield a foot away from the man. The large man stopped in his tracks, and turned to Tom.

"You tickled me," he said in an awed tone. He studied Tom for a few moments: his stance, the way he held his wand, the magic radiating off of him, probably a number of other things as well. He nodded his head, apparently in approval.

"I'll tell you what, boy." (Tom really hated that word.) "Keep coming around. I don't hide myself under any invisibility cloak, Tobo Mott's easy to find." The large man left it at that.

Tom was unsure of the implication. "And once I find you again?"

He snorted. "How about, you try to get the drop on me. If you can't do that, I can't expect you to be worth my time. I'll give you three, no four, tries to impress me." His voice seemed to indicate that he expected failure. "I know you're one of Dippet's, so I won't truly hurt you. You'll see just how little you know, boy."

The man turned and walked away without another word. Odd, but he was certainly a powerful fighter, and Tom intensely desired to be taught by a powerful fighter. At least these four attempts will be fun.

The first two tries had ended with sufficient disaster to convince Tom that this man was indeed somebody he wanted to learn from.

The first time, Tom had tried ambushing him with an all-out attack high up on broomstick. Tobo had simply kept walking straight towards the rainbow jet as it rushed towards him. Just before Tom thought he would succeed, Tobo had yelled something incomprehensible, and his spell rushed back at him, thrice as strong as before. Without the power or time to avoid it, Tom was knocked him off his broom, rushing twenty feet sideways, before he began his exceedingly painful fall.

The second time, Tom had invited Bellatrix to Hogsmeade, hoping that she would bring Tobo's guard down.

And the consequences for that, I still pay for.

But on his third attempt, he was able to take the man unaware.

It was in the same alley they had first met. Tom Riddle approached the man with open hands and said "Good evening."

The large man smiled, and replied, "Hello, whoever you are." Tom didn't even see him pull his wand before the man spat, "Polyfluis Reverso!" The spell transformed Tom Riddle back into a confused old man who was just starting to realize he wasn't Tom Riddle.

Which was just as he had planned.

From inside his Conjured waste bin, Tom muttered an incantation, and the sound of rapid footsteps seemed to approach the man from behind.

He then immediately Banished the bin and stepped forward, mere feet from the man, just as he turned his back.

Tom bellowed the incantation to one of the strongest shield breakers he had read about. A bluff: that spell was out of his league at the time. But the man bought it, dropping his initial shields to put up a much stronger one, to withstand the breaker.

Instead, what came was a long wooden shaft Tom had Transfigured. Physical objects would pass through that particular shield, while magic couldn't. The shaft struck the man clean in the ribs, and Tom was surprised to see him actually recoil slightly.

"Technically, that could have just as easily been a sword, and I would have nearly cut you in half," Tom said smugly. The man was staring at the pole in disbelief. Tom cancelled the Transfiguration and threw the branch aside. "I think I've proven my competence to survive your training."

After casting a Healing Charm, he looked Tom over. "Aye, you're certainly sneaky enough to dodge death itself, I would imagine." He put out his hand and they shook, quite firmly. "Call me Tobo Mott."

"First lesson…" The punch came at the same time the sentence did. Tom knew how to fight - he had been bullied enough back in London to learn - but the man had him in his grasp. The fist connected with Tom's head and sent him sprawling, dazed, and angry. He rolled as he fell and managed to land on his knees; he sprung up in a rage and drew his wand up, spitting the nastiest Hex he knew.

Nothing happened. A quick glance at his hand showed it empty; a quick glance at Tobo showed him holding it.

"Still not sneaky enough, but you might do for now." Smiling, Tobo tossed Tom his wand back. "If you plan to fly off the handle and try to murder me every time I best you, boy, this isn't going to work. There are lessons in loss, which you miss completely by getting angry."

"The lesson I missed was that you aren't trustworthy," Tom hissed.

"Most people would say that, aye. I especially won't be when it comes to your lessons. Fights aren't fair, and I won't be either."

Despite himself, Tom couldn't help smiling. Fairness never seemed natural to me anyway.

"In exchange for personal lessons, I will ask you to do a small job for me once and a while." Tobo studied Tom, waiting for a reaction, but Tom didn't give him one. "Nothing truly dangerous, just a little help here and there with a plot."

Still controlling his anger, he replied, "Fine, then." As long as this man understands that I expect absolutely everything he can give me, and I expect he can give me quite a lot. Tom normally had others do his bidding; it was not pleasant to be on the other end.

"You're clever, and sneaky. I have a feeling you don't have a particular sense of duty to uphold the law either. That, I can use, more than any type of gold payment for my time and effort." Tobo's face was now blank.

And so it had been for the last several years. Tom would steal an artifact from somebody, act as a spy, or even send a message to somebody who had wronged Tobo in one of his many business ventures.

Tom didn't use violence to send the messages; Tobo wanted him to be clever about it, and subtle enough to not send either of them to Azkaban.

Tom always made sure to perform as expected, or better. In exchange, he received extensive training from the powerful, dangerous and mysterious man, Tobo Mott. He was even taught powerful spells he wasn't likely to find in the Hogwarts library, or learn in class.

Tobo's training over the years had helped make Tom powerful. In fifth year, certainly, he outclassed everybody. Only two other students in Hogwarts made Tom wary these days, Bellatrix Black and Thomas Chang.

It had been a long walk through the tunnel and out of the shack, past the Hogwarts wards where he could apparate to Tobo's well-warded quarters. As he swiped his wand just to the edge of the ward, it glowed, meaning it was safe to pass through. He entered the small entrance room, but could go no further until Tobo came to unlock the wards. As usual, he came at the appointed time, and the barrier dissolved as he approached. Tom walked into the living room to discuss today's lesson.

Tobo looked particularly grave, making Tom feel uneasy. "Listen, Tom".

He normally doesn't call me by my name, this can't be good...

"There's no lesson tonight, a shame you wasted your night by walking out here, but I couldn't send an owl without heavy code to explain. "

Because the code itself would have revealed there was some plot afoot... "Why is there no lesson tonight, Tobo? You aren't telling me something." He briefly tried to bypass the man's Occlumency shield, but it was yet too powerful. So he waited for an answer.

"I've got troubles, kid." Tobo looked the most sincere he'd ever seen him.

Now this I may be able to exploit. "You will need to elaborate if you expect me to solve your problem for you."

Tobo laughed at that, a legitimate belly-laugh, something else Tom had never seen before.

"Kid, if I can't solve this, you can't either. You're out of your league, these are adult games."

Tom had considered himself an adult for years. He stood up straighter and looked Tobo in the eyes. "Please, could you explain all the relevant details to me? If I succeed where you have failed, give me a blank cheque to ask of you anything."

Tobo rolled his eyes at the request, but he sighed and started to explain how a certain man, a competitor, had acquired documents and other unknown evidence of one of Tobo's main operations. This man had agreed to keep this evidence sealed as long as Tobo went out of business and shared his most valued trade secrets.

"Now, I can't dare enchant another device for somebody, and I'd rather die before being blackmailed… Even if I could trust that he won't have me sent to Azkaban anyways." Tobo was looking very tired. "I don't think you realize the kind of money there is in that type of specialty work, Kid."

And here I thought it was your main source of income, Tom thought dryly.

Tobo went on; the man was apparently well protected, armed with an ancient device unknown to Tobo but apparently held great shielding power.

"He neither raises shields of his own nor tries to dodge attacks; I couldn't understand it during our brief encounter. Even comparing some of the most arcane magic I know, which has a similar effect to his hidden device, did nothing to reveal its true nature to me. He fled when I once cast the Killing Curse, but that seems to be his only weakness."

Unless it's a bluff... but I doubt any device or spell could resist the green death. "Is he otherwise powerful?" Tom wondered if this could be an even match for him.

"Not particularly, but more than you are. Not a third the fighter you are though…" The man seemed to be picturing Tom facing off against the opponent for a moment before he shook his head.

Tom kept pressing for information. "Where does he reside?" Normally, Tobo was powerful enough to simply assault nearly any compound and destroy everything.

"That's the thing; it's some very special magic…" Tobo frowned in confusion. "His home is small, deep in the forest, and it moves."

Confused himself, Tom repeated, "It moves? What do you mean it moves?"

"I mean, if a person approaches it, it will vanish as if you were a Muggle looking on a highly warded building. From all I can tell it literally changes location rather than anything else. It does the same if any powerful magic approaches."

Tom considered this. A plan was beginning to take shape. "How else is it warded?"

"Sufficiently, I would expect. But then, with this unfindable home, I doubt he would go through the same amount of troubles that I do."

"So it's probably not warded very well because of the high magic being used to 'relocate' it when it's triggered, correct? Do you think he would even bother to have an anti-Apparition ward on it? Since nobody could actually Apparate in without knowing where it is…"

"I don't know, and it doesn't matter. As you said, no way to know where it is."

Tom wasn't so sure about that. "Can we lure him out of his home, just for a brief encounter even? We do not have to do anything aside from meet him in person."

Tobo shook his head. "I'm not stupid boy, of course I tried to track where he Apparated from, but there were no tells from all I could sense. And trust me when I say, I can sense a great deal more than you."

They discussed for a while the particulars of this man and what he was known for.

Finally Tom thought he had a workable plan. He asked, "Suppose I get to him, what would you have me do?"

Tobo smiled at the question, as if a child asked why water was wet. "Try not to get killed."

"I don't intend to die, ever." Tom replied, it was a bold statement but he knew his justifications.

Tobo looked Tom over with pity. "Hmm, I don't think any of us intend to, life just likes to kill us, is all."

"If I find a way to get to him, what would you have me do?" he repeated.

Tobo sighed, "In an ideal world, you would destroy any evidence he has on me, and kill him, hopefully without making the front page of the newspaper again."

Note to self, do not involve Bellatrix.

Well. Tom had no problems with the idea of killing this man. The first person to die at my hand, but somebody has to be first. It seemed highly unlikely that Tom would never have a good reason to kill someone, so it only seemed logical to start practicing early.

However… He felt certain that he could go above and beyond to truly impress his mentor.

They discussed the situation for a while longer, in particular the specifics of the powerful device the man had at his disposal. Tobo had no recollection of any lore about such a device; however, Tom felt an itch in the back of his mind, when Tobo had said that the device seemed to absorb magic, rather than actually block it.

But there's no need for Tobo to ever know what the device is if I end up with it.

Tom decided it was time to wrap up this discussion; he needed to get back to the castle. And I must make another stop.

"What type of time frame am I looking at here, Tobo?"

"The sooner the better Kid, I'm losing money and customers." Tobo perked up with an idea, "Tell you what, if you do pull this off, I'll give you the entire profits from my first order back in business."

Tom waved the offer off. "I can acquire my own gold if I need it. What I need from you is… Magic."

Tobo nodded gravely, unhappy with an open request. "If you ask for something too advanced, you know I can't teach you, even if you can help me. Some seals can only be opened by one's own self."

Tom was frustrated; from what he understood of the Interdict of Merlin, Tobo could teach him anything he knew if he truly willed it. It's a matter of him wanting to teach, not a matter of being able to. "The spell I seek is hardly uncommon. In fact, I think it's a perfectly suitable spell to teach somebody to see if they are capable of wielding powerful forces."

As realization dawned, Tobo looked almost. "Kid, you don't just test powerful magic, either you control it, or it consumes you. And possibly many others."

"I have no fear of being consumed, and the only people who need fear being consumed by me are those I have decided to destroy." Tom realized that sounded too arrogant. He had to try to convince Tobo he understood the implications here, so he toned it down. "I've read about Magical Italy, I've heard rumors of the fall of Atlantis, I am aware of the Wind Weavers of legend. I have no intention of playing with magic out of my league."

Tobo had a blank face. "Aye, you do deserve a little credit, I suppose." He looked at Tom for a lingering moment, and then sighed. "I agree to your terms, Tom Riddle. Rid me of this problem, and I will grant you the knowledge."

Tom smiled; he could almost smell the unholy burning of Fiendfyre already.

With such a short time before sunrise, Tom decided to use his old fallback, "I was reading and lost track of time," to explain his absence from breakfast.

He reached the odd shop at the end of the twisting road, where, if you had the gold, the owner sold Muggle antiques, knick-knacks and curios - and whatever else you could find in the basement. Their lacks of regular hours were another benefit Tom often took advantage of.

Old wrinkled Groleo answered the door, looking for all the world like a harmless elderly fellow. His shop wasn't warded in any way, and he never had a shield up - or a care in the world.

Who needs wards when you have all the lore from those scrolls? Tom wished he could take the whole shop for his own.

But needs must; Tom struggled with a heavy bag of gold from his robes, handed it to the old man without a word, and was ushered in. Groleo led Tom to a random side shelf full of what Tom thought resembled Muggle "snow globes". Slowly, Groleo lifted his trembling, claw-like hand. A smear of black now stood where the shelf had been, and into this abyss Tom strode.

He now stood in the large dusty basement, with no sign of the rest of the shop. At least, I've always assumed it was a basement, but who knows, with Groleo? A shame he won't actually tell anyone his secrets, of all people he'd know something about the magic required to move a house…

There were shelves lining the walls, full of large tomes, ancient scrolls and Pensieves. There were no candles, yet the room was visible, barely lit enough to read in. The overall effect makes this room seem extra-secretive and foreboding.

Thanks to the Interdict, a lot of the information here was useless, incomprehensible gibberish until one had learned the seeds of those spells and rituals. More valuable to him were the texts that went into detail on very interesting things, devices of power being one of the many intriguing subjects.

Tom never had as much time or money to spend in this place as he would have liked, so he had some trouble finding the book he remembered referencing the Amulet of Asshia. Fortunately - ha! - it had not been sold, and he found the passage:

"The Amulet has been known to exist for at least 700 years. Although its actual origins are obscured by legend and fantasy, it is reasonable to assume that, due to its properties and approximate age, the crafter was Ronell Manailur himself."

I've seen that name before. If he were an artificer, that would explain why Manailur's name pops up around so many magical mysteries.

"The Amulet appears as two parts: a golden chain, with links that extend and retract to fit around the user. The chain itself has also been known to retract to the point that it strangles the life from the user. There is no extant evidence why it has betrayed owners, but it is worth noting that the one confirmed death via strangulation was none other than 'Percius Makier', a distant relation of one of Manailur's enemies while he lived."

Tom decided to very carefully research his heritage before trying to use this device himself.

"Secondly, the chain suspends a large blue gem of magical creation. This gem is noted for seemingly drawing the magic out of nearly any attack, rather than trying to deflect or block the incoming magic. Once the Amulet is securely around the wearer's throat, the gem binds itself to the person's body and makes them almost impervious to attack. The exact limitations of its power are unknown, except that it has been seen to stop even the power of ghphbjhhjqpxr.

"It should be noted that the device has a trade-off: in exchange for utter protection, a wizard's own power will be fettered and slower under the influence of the amulet."

And that was that; the Amulet didn't do anything else. But that was enough. That would be a fine thing to own indeed.

As always, the shop tempted Tom to stay here the rest of the day, soaking up any knowledge he could, and simply come up with an explanation for his absence at school.

Sighing, Tom closed the book and reverently set it down on the table. The book gently floated up and back into its position on the shelf.

That's definitely something to steal for my own Dark lair's bookshelves.

Finally, Tom stood up and walked straight towards the exit: a space between two shelves. He found himself stepping out the front door of the shop. All that magic for books, yet a customer has to actually shut the front door. Groleo is insane.

On his way back, he wondered if he shouldn't ask Bellatrix a few questions. I can't tell her anything, but her store of facts about obscure dark magic from the past has surprised me before.

Aside from that, he could easily move on to phase one of his plan. He would need to find three true-forged rings, and more importantly, quit hesitating and get on with practicing the extremely advanced technique he had been mentally building for the last year.