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Part 42

"So, parseltongue." The two assassins said at the same time after appearing in the near empty common room.

"How do you know parseltongue, Five." The brunet shrugged at Tom's question, placing his black gun down and carefully pushing it underneath one of the large velvety couches with the tip of his shoe.

"Must have, picked it up somewhere." He replied casually.

"Parseltongue isn't a language you can just pick up, you have to be a descendant of Salazar to be able to speak it." The dark haired boy said, putting his wand inside his pocket.

"Actually... now that I think about it, his portrait did tell me that I had a rare gift.
Plus, It's impossible for me to be related to him anyway, my mother was a muggle - and as you know from the book you read, I don't have a biological father."

Five mused, undoing the ebony tie he had used to murder Thomas not too long ago - retying it perfectly as he spoke with a sigh.

"You know, the world's probably ending and I thought you may have wanted to know this - but I wasn't sold away until I was seven years old, it took a little manipulation from my father and Allison to make my siblings believe that I was with them from the very start." Tom raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I was raised in an orphanage because my mother refused to take care of me.

During one year, the year before the next when Reginald finally tracked me down - I met a boy.

He barely ever came out of his room, nor did he ever show any signs of wanting to interact with anyone - always reading a book that he had already read at least twenty times, he never noticed me much.

It wasn't until the second last year I was adopted that we talked, exchanged reading material a couple of times and sat together by this large tree when we could go outside - or in each other's room.

Never got a chance to talk to him after I was adopted - he is never one to openly express emotions, and neither was I. But I remember the faint look of devastation that both our faces held as I was taken away.

It's been a long time, but I finally remember. "

Five finished with the garment, giving a coy dimpled grin.

He spoke once more, before retreating to the library soundlessly.

"His name was Tom Riddle."

—

On Tuesday after classes had concluded, students spilled out the doors and into the halls - having just finished a surprise mock test for practice, cheering happily at the completion of the three inch long essay they had to write on the history of the great wizard war.

All scattering and relaxing after a week's worth of quizzes and essays, enjoying themselves either alone or with their friend groups.

For the two murderers the rest of the evening consisted of Tom hiding away with a large stack of books about spells outside in the cool breeze, spending his possible final day in solitary.

Five was on the opposite side of the school to him, inside the large library - reading through a frail book (that looked as though it had been thrown around inside a class full of thirteen year olds) about the physics and properties of the time turner - in the hopes of finding anything useful about the practice of time travel, only finding the phrase 'Start small, seconds, not decades.'

He sighed heavily and placed it down beside him, picking up another large old book after deeming the other useless.

There, in that aged mass of bound papers, wedged in between the little gap the spine failed to cover, was a yellowing page with a questionable red stain - and a hand written spell research of some sort that certainly didn't belong there.