As Johnny and Pansy hurriedly made their way to Johnny's dorm room, their steps filled with a mix of urgency and concern. Johnny's mind raced with thoughts of the appropriate medical spells he had learned, determined to heal Pansy's cut as best he could.

Upon reaching the room, Johnny gently guided Pansy to sit on the edge of his bed. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast a soothing glow as he rummaged through his belongings, searching for his medical book. Finally, he found it tucked away on a cluttered shelf.

With the book in hand, Johnny opened it to the section on treating wounds. His eyes scanned the pages, absorbing the knowledge and techniques outlined on healing cuts. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Johnny positioned himself in front of Pansy, his expression a mix of concentration and determination.

He began to recite the spell, his voice firm yet gentle. The room filled with a soft, ethereal energy as Johnny carefully directed his magic towards Pansy's injured forehead. His hands moved with precision, tracing intricate patterns in the air as he channeled his healing powers.

As the spells took effect, a warm sensation enveloped Pansy's forehead. She could feel the magic working, soothing the pain and sealing her wound. Pansy's grip on Johnny's right hand loosened slightly as a sense of relief washed over her.

Time seemed to slow as Johnny continued his focused efforts. The room was filled with an air of tranquility, a stark contrast to the chaos they had left behind in the classroom. Johnny's unwavering determination and skillful execution of the spells instilled a sense of trust and comfort in Pansy.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Johnny completed the final incantation. He stepped back, his gaze fixed on Pansy's forehead. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he witnessed the cut fading away, leaving behind only a faint scarlet mark.

Pansy's eyes widened in amazement and gratitude as she inspected the healed wound. She reached up to touch her forehead, feeling the smooth skin where the cut had once been. "Thank you, J," she whispered, her voice filled with genuine appreciation.

Johnny's expression softened as he met Pansy's gaze. "You're welcome, P," he sat beside her, leaning back on his elbows as Pansy sat straight.

She bit her lip as she looked up from the floor leaned back beside Johnny, a comfortable silence settling between them. Their shoulders brushed against each other, and the anticipation in the air was palpable. Pansy's heart beat a little faster as she mustered up the courage to lean closer to Johnny, her eyes fixed on his lips.

Just as Pansy's face inched closer to Johnny's, the sound of laughter and voices filled the hallway outside his dorm room. The voices grew louder and more distinct, causing Pansy to pause, her lips mere inches away from Johnny's.

Their intimate moment was abruptly interrupted as the door swung open, revealing Blaise, Theo, and Daphne with mischievous grins on their faces. They froze in the doorway, their eyes widening in surprise.

Blaise was the first to recover, his eyebrows raising as he took in the scene before him. "Well, well, well, what have we stumbled upon here?" he teased, a playful smirk forming on his lips.

Pansy's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she quickly straightened up, creating a bit of distance between her and Johnny. She shot Blaise a glare, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Theo nudged Daphne, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Looks like we interrupted something," he said with a knowing grin.

Daphne giggled and raised her Polaroid camera, pointing it at Pansy and Johnny. "Don't mind us, just capturing memories," she teased, her finger hovering above the shutter button.

Johnny's face turned a shade of pink, but he couldn't help but chuckle at the situation.

It was a few days later when Johnny sat in the Slytherin Common Room by himself, dressed in his Quidditch uniform with his Nimbus by his side. Flint was adamant that the whole team try out again, and Johnny was thinking of trying out for Seeker this time around.

"Alright, Johnny?" Draco asked, standing in front of Johnny, a parcel behind his back.

"Fine, you?" Johnny asked, not noticing that Draco was in the same robes as him.

"Brilliant," said Draco. "Here, this is yours."

Draco pulled out the new Nimbus 2001, handing it to Johnny who held it suspiciously.

"I'm trying out for Chaser," Draco started explaining. "And my father has decided to invest in the team so he bought us all new brooms, now hurry up, we've got practice."

"Quidditch robes suit you," said Daphne when Johnny made it to the field, inspecting Johnny and Blaise as they stood on the pitch, awaiting tryouts. Johnny stood, leaning his chin on the new broom. "Don't they, Pans?"

"Shut it, Daph," Pansy whispered with a glare, but turned to Johnny with a smile. "You look good."

"What about me then?" Blaise asked sarcastically.

"You look horrible, Zabini, as always," Pansy quickly quipped, earning a laugh from her friends. At that moment, Marcus Flint blew his whistle and gathered everyone around him. He was making the entirety of last years team tryout among with some new faces.

"As you know, we have some new faces," said Marcus, his eyes drifting over Blaise and Draco in particular. "With Mosley and Shelby having left last year there are two spaces available for Chaser. However, like always, everyone is starting fresh. So split yourselves into groups. Keepers and Chasers by the goalposts, Beaters by the other, and Seekers stay here in the middle."

"Good luck," Draco whispered to Johnny as he walked past him. Johnny gave him a kind smile, staying where he was in the centre of the pitch. His only competition seemed to be Gregory Higgs, last year's Seeker, and Mallory McReary, a fifth year girl perhaps even smaller than Pansy. McReary was sporting a brand new broom too.

"On my whistle, I'll release the Snitch," said Flint, standing above the chest. "Let it go for ten seconds before shooting off, whoever catches it the most times gets the position," he blew the whistle once more. Johnny counted from ten, mounting the broom, his lip between his teeth. Flint blew his whistle again and Johnny shot off into the air, circling the goalposts nearest the Chasers.

Johnny's eyes scanned around, seeing Higgs and McReary doing the same. Johnny thought he had seen the Snitch at one point, but it was just a gleam off of someone's watch, but then he saw it down by entrance to the locker rooms. Johnny made a spectacular dive, McReary and Higgs hot on his heels. McReary, having the same broom, caught up to Johnny easily, bashing into Johnny's side to try and throw him off course.

The pair sped their way around the ground, their hands outstretched. Suddenly the Snitch jolted high into the air and both followed, McReary taking the lead. Then as her hand was about to clamp around the Snitch, it dived downwards, causing McReary to swear loudly as she and Johnny went into a dive. McReary grew nervous as they headed straight for the hard ground, but Johnny held firm.

"Gotcha!" Johnny cheered, holding the Golden Snitch with his left hand. From the stands he could see Theo, Daphne and Pansy cheering, and Blaise and Draco cheering from where they stood with the other Chasers. The trial went on for another ten minutes. Johnny caught the Snitch another four times, bringing his total to five, whereas McReary caught it three times and Higgs only once.

"He cheated!" McReary fumed as she stood in front of Flint, throwing her broom to the ground. "There's no way a twelve year old on a broom could out-speed me on a Nimbus!"

"Well, clearly he did," Flint rolled his eyes. "You've got no talent, McReary, I told you that last year and Saunders told you that the year before that."

"Bye, bye," said Johnny, wiggling his fingers in a wave. McReary went to say something, but huffed and decided against it when Theo, Daphne and Pansy reached him.

"I didn't know you could fly like that?!" Daphne cheered, shoving Johnny playfully. Pansy was hugging him tightly. "That was miles better than last year!"

"You were awesome!" Pansy said excitedly, jumping up and down.

The next morning, Flint had called an emergency practice to help Blaise, Draco and Johnny gel into their new positions. As they made it to the Common Room, the team were already their murmuring their thanks to Draco for the new brooms. As they made it to the field though, they already saw the Gryffindor's there.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as Wood replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Flint."

Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team this year, the rest stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

"You see, we've got a signed note," said Johnny, bringing the attention to him as he pulled a note out of his pocket and held it up with two fingers.

"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Beater, Chasers and Seeker'."

"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted, not caring about the Beater and Chasers. "Where?"

"That would be me," Johnny waved, leaning on his broom beside Blaise and Draco. "I fancied a change, and may I introduce Max, Draco and Blaise? The new Chasers and Beater of course."

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Johnny as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors'noses in the early morning sun.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Johnny carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps" - he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives -" sweeps the board with them."

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Draco was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

"Oh, it's such a shame when only one of your team members can afford new brooms," Blaise sighed dramatically, earning a nasty glare from Harry.

"Oh, look," said Flint. "A field invasion."

Lyons, Weasley and Granger were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

"What's happening?" Lyons asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And what're they doing here?"

He was looking at Draco, Blaise and Johnny, taking in their Slytherin Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Lyons," said Johnny, smugly. "And they're the new Chasers and Beater. Everyone's just been admiring the brooms Draco's father's bought our team."

The youngest Weasley brother gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

"Good, aren't they?" said Draco smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Granger sharply. "They got in on pure talent."

"Oh, shut it, you know-it-all!" Johnny had snapped. His eyes widened in disbelief. Although the words had come from his mouth, the voice didn't sound like his at all. It sounded almost demonic.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," Draco spat.

Draco had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Draco to stop the Weasley twins and
Lyons jumping on him, Spinnet shrieked, "How dare you!" and the youngest Weasley plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Draco's face.

Johnny stood off to the side, his face void of emotion. A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Weasley's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Granger. Weasley opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team were paralysed with laughter, minus Johnny who stood off to the side beside Blaise. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Draco was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Weasley, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Lyons to Granger and Harry, who nodded bravely, and the three of them pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.

"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?"

"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily. He, Lyons and Granger supported Weasley out of the stadium and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest.

That afternoon, after Quidditch practice had ended, Johnny laid in his bed. He wasn't hungry enough for lunch, and sent his friends down without him. He was flicking aimlessly through the diary the Malfoy's gifted him. He winced and looked down at his pointer finger, seeing a small cut from the page and a thin drop of blood hit the page.

The blood disappeared and the diary gave an excited sort of shudder, in Johnny's lap, before words formed on the page.

Hello.

Johnny stared at the words blankly for a moment, before he sat at a desk in between his's and Theo's beds and grabbed a quill and bottle of ink.

Hello.

Johnny wrote back.

My name is Tom Riddle.

I'm Johnathan Grindelwald.

Johnny watched eagerly as the words sunk into the page. It took a while for the book to reply back.

Are you sure?

Positive.

The book didn't reply, and Johnny watched the book intently.

I don't know a Tom Riddle. Who are you?

It would be easier if I showed you.

Johnny stared at the pages blankly for a moment, before writing 'Ok' on the page on front of him. The pages of the book began fluttering until it reached the beginning, where Johnny was sucked in.

He landed on his feet in what he knew to be one of the teachers quarters at Hogwarts. The Professor had thick, shiny, straw-colored hair and a gingery-blond mustache, sitting in a comfortable winged armchair in his office, his feet resting upon a velvet pouffe, a small glass of wine in one hand, the other rummaging in a box of crystallised pineapple. And there were the half dozen teenage boys sitting around him with who Johnny guessed was Tom Riddle in the midst of them, a gold-and-black ring gleaming on his finger.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" Tom Riddle asked his Professor

"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said the Professor, wagging his finger reprovingly at Riddle, though winking at the same time. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."

Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.

"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter--thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite --"

Several of the boys tittered again.

"-- I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple, I have excellent contacts at the Ministry."

Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. Johnny noticed that he was by no means the eldest of the group of boys, but that they all seemed to look to him as their leader.

"I don't know that politics would suit me, sir," he said when the laughter had died away. "I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing."

A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other. Johnny was sure they were enjoying a private joke, undoubtedly about what they knew, or suspected, regarding their leader.

"Nonsense," said the Professor briskly, "couldn't be plainer you come from decent wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you'll go far, Tom, I've never been wrong about a student yet."

The small golden clock standing upon the Professor's desk chimed eleven o'clock behind him and he looked around.

"Good gracious, is it that time already? You'd better get going boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by in morrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery."

One by one, the boys filed out of the room. The Professor heaved himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk. A movement behind him made him look around; Riddle was still standing there.

"Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you, a prefect..."

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away..."

"Sir, I wondered what you know about... about Horcruxes?"

The Professor stared at him, his thick fingers absentmindedly clawing the stem of his wine glass.

"Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?"

But Johnny could tell that the Professor knew perfectly well that this was not schoolwork.

"Not exactly, sir," said Riddle. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."

"No... well... you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed," said the Professor.

"But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you--sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously--I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could--so I just thought I'd ask--"

It was very well done, thought Johnny, the hesitancy, the casual tone, the careful flattery, none of it overdone. He, Johnny, had experience of trying to wheedle information out of reluctant people not to recognise a master at work. He could tell that Riddle wanted the information very, very much; perhaps had been working toward this moment for weeks.

"Well," said the Professor, not looking at Riddle, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallised pineapple, "well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."

"I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," said Riddle. His voice was carefully controlled, but Johnny could sense his excitement.

"Well, you split your soul, you see," said the Professor, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form... few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."

But Riddle's hunger was now apparent; his expression was greedy, he could no longer hide his longing.

"How do you split your soul?"

"Well," said the Professor uncomfortably, "you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."

"But how do you do it?"

"By an act of evil--the supreme act of evil. By commiting murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: he would encase the torn portion --"

"Encase? But how--?"

"There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!" said the Professor shaking his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitoes. "Do I look as though I have tried it--do I look like a killer?"

"No, sir, of course not," said Riddle quickly. "I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to offend..."

"Not at all, not at all, not offended," said the Professor gruffly, "It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things... wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to that aspect of magic..."

"Yes, sir," said Riddle. "What I don't understand, though--just out of curiosity. I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven--?"

"Merlin's beard, Tom!" yelped the Professor. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case... bad enough to divide the soul... but to rip it into seven pieces..."

The Professor looked deeply troubled now: he was gazing at Riddle as though he had never seen him plainly before, and Johnny could tell that he was regretting entering into the conversation at all.

"Of course," he muttered, "this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic..."

"Yes, sir, of course," said Riddle quickly.

"But all the same, Tom... keep it quiet, what I've told--that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know... Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it..."

"I won't say a word, sir," said Riddle, and he left, but not before Johnny had glimpsed his face, which was full of wild happiness, the sort of happiness that did not enhance his handsome features, but made them, somehow, less human...

Johnny landed on his bed, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He looked from the diary, to his hands that had an unearthly glow that mirrored his eyes. He shoved the diary in the drawer of his desk and laid in his bed, staring up at the ceiling.