Mark of Accomplices

That touch and conversation in the night had been like a stone cast into a still lake, sending ripples through Tom Riddle's sealed-off heart that refused to settle. After that night, the atmosphere in the dormitory became somewhat different. Tom still immersed himself in the texts he had acquired from the Restricted Section, but Ares could sense that the sharp, icy turbulence of magic around him had receded somewhat, no longer as aggressively hostile as before. Occasionally, late at night, he would set down his book and gaze thoughtfully toward the curtains around the bed opposite.

Ares was not an emotionless doll. Dumbledore's compassion and Grindelwald's obsession flowed through him, granting him an innate insight into and empathy for emotions that surpassed ordinary people. He could clearly sense Tom's inner struggle—the yearning for absolute power and dependence on his sole bond were locked in fierce conflict. He knew he had to maintain that fragile balance with care.

The opportunity came soon enough. One weekend afternoon, following their plan, they were preparing to head to the Room of Requirement for more magical practice. However, as they passed through a secluded corridor on the seventh floor, they ran headlong into the caretaker, Mr. Pringle, and his gaunt, vicious-eyed cat—Mrs. Norris.

Mr. Pringle scrutinized them suspiciously with his cloudy eyes, especially when he spotted the forbidden book in Tom's hand, disguised beneath an ordinary cover. Despite the disguise, its ancient and dangerous aura seemed impossible to conceal entirely.

"You two! What are you doing skulking around here?" Mr. Pringle's voice sounded like a rusty hinge. "What's that in your hands? Let me see!"

Tom's body tensed at once, but his face swiftly arranged itself into that flawless expression of a model student, with just the right touch of alarm. "Mr. Pringle, we're on our way to the library. This book was recommended by Professor Slughorn as extracurricular reading." As he spoke, he seemingly obediently held out the book, but Ares noticed that his other hand, hanging at his side, had already quietly gripped the wand inside his robes.

The atmosphere instantly tightened. If Mr. Pringle insisted on inspecting it and saw through the disguise, the consequences would be unthinkable.

At that critical moment, Ares stepped half a pace forward, positioning himself between Tom and Mr. Pringle. He did not look at Mr. Pringle. Instead, he turned his gaze toward a still-life painting of a fruit basket on the corridor wall. A faint silver gleam flashed through his mismatched eyes. He drew upon the seductive qualities of the magic inherited from Grindelwald's line, combining it with the "misdirection" rune from Ancient Runes.

"Sir," Ares said, his voice carrying a strange, disorienting calm, "did you hear that odd noise coming from the armor corridor over there? I think we just saw Peeves slip inside." He casually pointed in a direction.

Mr. Pringle's attention was indeed drawn away for a moment. He suspiciously looked in the direction Ares had indicated, then back at Ares's mismatched eyes, which seemed capable of drawing in a person's soul. A flicker of confusion appeared in his gaze. Mrs. Norris, too, lashed her tail anxiously and bared her teeth in a low growl toward that direction.

Taking advantage of that brief opening, Ares lightly touched Tom's arm. Tom understood immediately and swiftly, unobtrusively tucked the forbidden book into the deepest recess of his dragonhide bag, which had been enchanted with an Extension Charm.

When Mr. Pringle came back to himself and turned his suspicious gaze upon Tom once more, Tom's hands were already empty, his face bearing innocence and a hint of wronged grievance.

"Hmph! You'd better not let me catch you breaking school rules!" Finding no evidence, Pringer could only shoot them a vicious glare before heading toward the armor corridor with Mrs. Norris.

The crisis was over.

The two of them quickly left in silence. Only after turning several corners and ensuring they were entirely out of Pringer's sight did they stop in the shadow of an unoccupied statue.

Tom leaned against the cold stone wall and let out a slight breath, not out of fear, but because of the intense concentration and near exposure just now. He raised his head and looked at Ares standing before him. An unprecedented light shone in his dark eyes—not mere gratitude, but something more like... a burning affirmation.

"What did you use just now?" Tom kept his voice low, filled with curiosity and a trace of barely restrained excitement. "It wasn't an ordinary Confundus Charm. I could feel it."

Ares did not answer directly. He merely looked at him calmly. "We're together, Tom. You take risks, and I cover you. That's our understanding."

Those words held more power than any explanation. They declared that they were not merely allies, but "accomplices" who shared secrets and shielded each other. Tom stared at Ares, at the brooch at his collar where light and darkness intertwined, at the powerful force hidden beneath his calm exterior—a power born of the same source as his own, yet utterly different. A strange sense of satisfaction and possessiveness rose within him.

Suddenly, he reached out. Not as he had last time, with testing intent and force, but with his fingertips, lightly touching the golden Blood Pact Mark beneath Ares's left eye. The movement was swift, gone as soon as it came, like a feather brushing past.

Ares froze slightly. He could feel the warmth of Tom's fingertips, distinct from magic, and the wordless recognition and... intimacy represented by that gesture.

"I know." Tom withdrew his hand, his tone returning to its usual calm. Yet deep in those dark eyes, something seemed to have been ignited, fixing firmly upon Ares. "We're accomplices."

From that day onward, the understanding between them reached a new height. In class, when they needed to display extraordinary magical talent, Tom took charge of drawing all the amazement and attention at the forefront, while Ares would, at the right moment, reinforce their image as a "genius duo" with his unique questions that cut to the essence of things or his precise supporting magic. In Slughorn's club, Tom navigated among pure-blood families and powerful figures, while Ares remained like a quiet observer, always able to provide a crucial piece of information or a perspective that broke a deadlock when Tom needed it.

Even in the Common Room, they formed an invisible field around themselves. Whenever another Slytherin student tried to get too close to Ares or pry into his affairs, a cold glance from Tom was enough to make them back away. And whenever someone showed contempt for Tom's Muggle background, Ares merely had to look at them calmly with his mismatched eyes, and they would feel an inexplicable pressure, as though their shallowness had been seen through completely.

They were each other's sharpest spear and strongest shield. In Slytherin, an environment that revered power and bloodline, this deep, exclusive bond inspired both wariness and envy.

One night in the dormitory, Tom was practicing a Silencing Charm, trying to make a Galleon spin through a specific number of consecutive flips in midair. He failed several times, and the familiar irritation began to gather between his brows.

Ares set down the Ancient Runes scroll in his hands, walked over to him without speaking, and simply reached out to grasp the wrist of Tom's wand hand.

Tom's body stiffened, but he did not pull away.

Ares guided his wrist, sensing the path of his magical flow, then used his own gentle yet steadfast magic to lead him through the complex gesture, like a stream guiding a slightly violent river.

"Will is not merely forceful pushing," Ares whispered by his ear, warm breath brushing over its rim. "It is also precise guidance. Like this..."

The wand traced a perfect arc. The Galleon lightly flipped seven times in succession through the air, then landed steadily.

Tom looked at the Galleon after it stopped spinning, then lowered his eyes to Ares's hand, which had yet to release him. He could feel the warmth of Ares's palm and the aura of magic utterly unlike his own, yet perfectly fused with it.

He clasped Ares's hand in return. This time, it was no longer a test or a warning, but a tight grip carrying the weight of confirmation.

"I understand." Tom's voice was somewhat hoarse. He raised his head and met Ares's eyes. In the darkness, their gazes intertwined, as though silent sparks were crackling through the air.

The mark of accomplices had long become more than secrets and danger. It was quietly seeping into their blood, winding around their souls, taking root and sprouting in this dormitory deep beneath the lake. At eleven years old, they were still too young to understand the full complexity of these emotions, but their pounding hearts and tightly clasped hands had already written an indelible footnote to this destiny of Symbiosis of Light and Dark.