Hello,

Before reading the story, please allow me a few words. This story is incredibly difficult for me to write and will be developed slowly - also, next chapter might not be published quickly (like, maybe next month if I manage it). Still, I loved this idea of a life where Tom Riddle became a teacher at Hogwarts. I figured that his perfectionism would cause great changes at Hogwarts and, even if I used what could be call clichés, I hope that you will like this story just as much as I do.

This is only a prologue, though, to ease you into the world I created from Rowling's masterpiece. Evidently, I don't own Harry Potter.

In the meantime, enjoy!

10:39 PM, May 15th, 1991, Hogwarts, Tom Riddle's rooms,

Liquid amber glinted his in crystal glass, catching the fire's dying lights as it slowly turned to charcoal. The fireplace would have grown cold if not for the golden ball of energy suddenly thrown inside, causing the fire to roar back to life.

Tom Marvolo Riddle glared at the devouring fire, the quill in his long-fingered hand snapping as he suddenly clenched his fists – the energy ball had not been enough to quell his frustration. He had been grading essays, something that usually only took him a few hours, but he had been charged with one of his colleagues' load since said colleague had gone and got himself killed.

Quirinus Quirrell, while hardly the smartest wizard out there, had been someone Tom had considered introspective and, if not happy, tolerant of his life – having been a Ravenclaw during his formative years, there had never been any desire for adventures beside the occasional trip in the Restricted Section while Irma was busy with something else. That the man had impulsively decided to take a stroll in the Forbidden Forest alone, without telling anyone and during a full moon, had struck Tom as strange and unlikely for the usually cautious man. Tom still remembered how, as a student, Quirinus had shown every sign of being a coward : never protesting against the treatment of the Marauders (whom Tom had had in detention more often that he would have liked), crying in silence when mocked about his muggle mother, and all-in-all being the sort of guy to run away from a scene of violence and never tell anyone about it lest he got in trouble for it.

The fact that his body was found in the Forest, wrapped in Acromantula silk and glued to one of their webs was not all that pertinent. What was interesting was that Hagrid had seen him enter the woods, but that Quirrell had not answered Hagrid's call, simply walking and never wavering. Quirinus' wand had been found in his pocket, his last spell being a locking spell. Dumbledore, the annoying fool, had called the authorities saying that poor Professor Quirrell had had an accident in the Forest. Of course, since he was the Great Albus Dumbledore, nobody had contested his statement and Quirinus' body had been sent to his mother without further investigation.

And Tom had been left with the Muggle Studies' test grading, because the teachers relying one another for the class were less familiar than him on the subject and, surely, Tom wouldn't want the poor little students' tests to suffer from their ignorance?

Tom didn't believed it for one second. Dumbledore had always been suspicious of him and that had not changed because they had become colleagues. If anything, Dumbledore had always made sure to keep Tom busy and within the school. Something that, with the schedule he had, was almost a given – if you did not count on him possessing a Time-Turner, that was, and Tom certainly did have one.

Being the Deputy Headmaster and Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was enough to bury him in work for most of the year, so he had used his contacts in the Ministry to appropriate one, discreetly. With the added responsibilities of Muggle Studies, Tom would have to get some Pepper-Up potions (never mind using his Time-Turner, something he did not liked using, even less for school work, since it had the side-effect of unsettling his magic for the time where he was doubled) only to finish grading whatever stupid project Quirinus had given his students (and beware if he found one more 'eckeltricity' or its variants in the damned papers. They were Sixth Years, for Morgana's sake! They had had three Merlin-damned years to learn the proper term!), never mind the end of year exams.

Tom also suspected that Dumbledore had hoped to reduce his base of influence by exposing his familiarity with muggles (not mentioning cutting in his free time, to make sure he had no opportunities to plot evil schemes or whatever). The old coot knew that Tom's allies were primarily purebloods of traditional families – or, as Dumbledore's little followers said it, the prejudiced families – and had acted on the belief that they wanted nothing to do with those of 'less than pure' background.

Unfortunately for him, Tom's allies already knew of his half-blood status even if they did their very best to forget it. They didn't take it well when they were forcedly reminded that a halfblood had more magical power and smarts than three generations in a pureblood family put together – and since they couldn't take care of their irritation on Tom, they turned on the person who shoved this fact under their nose : Dumbledore himself.

Tom gave his glass a longing look, before slowly turning his attention back to the essays, his eyes gleaming contemplatively. He could probably convince Severus to grade some of them for him, since, as long as he did not asked the younger man to teach anyone, he had very little to do at Hogwarts. He honestly did not know what had gone through Dumbledore's head when he had asked of Severus that he worked as Hogwarts' Potion Professor – well, demanded was more like it, since the old man had the absurd notion that Severus was his spy in Tom's business, and thus thought that Severus was his to rule and control. Dumbledore had had almost convinced Horace to take an early retirement when Tom had intruded, suggesting that Horace kept the younger years since Severus 'was such a perfectionist, surely you remember? He would sooner loose his patience with the youngsters rather than explain their mistakes to them, not mentioning that his best friend was recently murdered. You wouldn't want to overload him, so soon after this tragedy, would you Horace?'

Dumbledore had not appreciated his input, but had been forced to accept Tom's idea when Horace had taken Tom's side. It seemed that Tom's charm always won out despite the many years of friendship the two older wizards shared. That, or mentioning Lily Evans-turned-Potter had been the decisive argument, but Tom had not particularly cared about the finer details.

And, with the way Severus had looked when Dumbledore had hinted at taking over all of the years instead of only the few outstanding students, Tom was sure it wouldn't be an issue again. Severus was a passionate genius, after all, and did not want to be anywhere near any potions ruined by amateurs – it was an insult to his sensibilities, apparently, but Dumbledore did not seemed to want to understand and could usually be found making 'comments' about the issue at least five times a year.

In Tom's mind, these things would not have been issues at all had Headmaster Dippet not retired. Armando had been a fool, but one who had had his students' best interests at heart, and not only the Gryffindors'. The way Tom had to fight to keep some of the classes available at Hogwarts – like Enchanting, Magical Societies and Healing – was simply irksome, because Dumbledore, as soon as he became Headmaster, had tried to cancel any class his Gryffindors did not excelled at (at least, that's what Tom had concluded from his observations). He, then a normal teacher, had to ask Abraxas, whose father was on the Board of Governors, to talk to his colleagues about reinstating Alchemy (which Dumbledore had managed to cancel completely before Tom got wind of it) and creating an International Affairs class, simply because he had discovered that his information about Americans and Australians were out of date. Dumbledore had refused to hear him out about additional classes, so of course Tom had needed to go over his head.

But it was important shortcomings in education that he was trying to resolve, damned suspicious old man! The Australians had discovered a cave full of crystallised magic, and he had not learnt of it before two years had passed! It had been his French contact who had told him about it, in passing, as if he had expected him to know of it already. It had taken Tom two days to buy a two-way Portkey to Australia and acquire the last editions of the local professional papers, but it had only been the beginning of his ignorance and it had taken three years to get up to date with everything that happened in the magical international world.

It had been humiliating. And he had decided, since England's relations with their neighbouring countries were harming his information gathering network's efficacy, that he was going to change the British wizards' views about the world around them and make them aware of the discoveries made by other countries.

Also, the International Affairs professor, the overly joyous Miss Louise Allard, a French halfblood, was always more than willing to speak with him about her subject, or anything else he wanted, really. It saved him the time of going through his contacts for information he didn't know existed, even if he had to deal with Louise's more-than-obvious infatuation.

Anyway. Hogwarts' budget was more than enough to pay ten more teachers and buy the new brooms Rolanda had been asking for since 1974 – he should know, he was the one compiling Hogwarts' expenses – but, for some reason, the money disappeared from Hogwarts' coffers whenever he went to Dumbledore's office with financial requests. Tom would have asked what exactly he was doing with the leftover money, but he doubted that he would have received a truthful answer. The Board of Governors certainly did not.

He suddenly banished the remaining essays to his briefcase (one with a Expansion Charm inside, where he stored his teaching-related papers – away from the administrative ones in his desk) and stretched his arms over his head, moaning softly as his joints popped. He had spent too much time without moving and, he thought as he rolled his shoulders, it wasn't as if anyone was there to witness his lapse in character. Tom Riddle was as perfect as humanly possible, after all – nobody had ever seen him yawn or wince since his early muggle years.

He stood and walked to the table next to the fireplace, swiftly picking up his glass and downing its content. The burn in his throat was familiar, making the tension in his shoulders lessen to a certain degree, and he made an appreciative sound when pleasurable shivers ran up his spine. He poured himself another glass, before sinking into the silky cushions of his favourite armchair – managing to look graceful even when slouching, something he shamelessly took advantage of during parties and other unofficial social gatherings.

"Master... Master..." Nagini's voice came from the door leading to outside of his chambers and he wondered when she had left. He certainly had not heard her. "Where are you, Master?"

"Near the fireplace, my dear." He answered in Parseltongue, briefly closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth of the fire on his face. He always seemed to be cold, much like a snake, and he wondered if that too was caused by his Horcruxes or if he had always been like that. Not that it was that important, but he was curious by nature and had always been fascinated by knowledge (no matter how gruesome or amoral). "How was your promenade?"

He felt Nagini's thick and scaly body brush against his bare feet as she slithered in front of him, enjoying the warmth as much as he was.

"The giant saw me in the grass, so I came back quickly." Nagini replied, hissing lazily as she laid her head on her tail. "Then the light-footed female gave me a rat, and it ran, and I caught it, Master! It was fat, but fit nicely in my jaws. And I came back here."

"Louise did?" Tom wondered, slightly surprised – though he probably shouldn't be. The witch was enamoured with him, of course she would want to be on his familiar's good side. "I see. Is there anyone else awake at this hour?"

"No, Master." The answer came after a pause, the snake already drowsy from the fire's warmth. "The young ones learnt of your habit rather quickly this year. I rarely find any of them outside anymore."

Tom smiled at the petulant tone. Nagini had always enjoyed scaring people, and her long and thick body was enough to make people scream in fright whenever she appeared somewhere, despite the widely-known fact that she was not allowed to attack, so she always could find some entertainment.

Also, thanks to their wizard-familiar connection, she was able to contact him whenever she caught students out after curfew. First Years were warned about Nagini on their first night at Hogwarts, but, of course, sometimes it took more than a warning for some children (a.k.a. Gryffindors who had something to prove, because defying a Professor who owned a lethal, patrolling snake appeared to be the greatest thing to brag about) to understand. They usually calmed down after being caught a few times, not mentioning the heavy points loss and detentions that came with being found by Tom. Peer pressure was a great motivation, after all.

"I will find you preys to chase in the corridors." Tom said to mollify her. "I know you like rabbits."

"You better, Master." Nagini hissed softly. "I am bored of your no-maiming and no-killing policy concerning the little humans. I am a huntress, a great predator... not some weak, fangless... non-venomous... loud..."

He waited a moment, then chuckled when all he heard was Nagini's hiss-like snores. His beautiful, wonderful, fierce and loyal Nagini... She was such a precious thing. Nobody but him knew that she was a cross between a Basilisk and a Speedy Python – a rare magical snake from Brazil – that he had rescued from her breeder. The man had died by his hand only a few minutes after he had tried to subdue Tom with his illegal pets, though the animals had been in poor conditions and had made poorer threats. Killing the tortured animals had been an act of mercy in Tom's books.

It had then been a simple thing to make the authorities believe that the breeder's ill-constructed Alchemical Chimera had killed him along with the rest of his menagerie. The only survivor, not that anyone knew about there being a survivor, was Nagini herself. She had been the only creature in there who had not turned insane from the experiments and mistreatment and Tom had been feeling a bit lonely at the time, so he had taken her as his familiar.

She did not have the Basilisk's deadly gaze – or he would never have brought her to Hogwarts, a school – but she had its thick, magic-resistant hide, its longevity and a potent venom he had yet to discover the antidote of (if there even was one). She was also just as fast and smart as the Speedy Python and would probably never grow beyond the species' adult size. Not that he couldn't use a ritual or two to change that, but he hardly had the time to craft one, and he could not be bothered to get Dumbledore on his case by doing something 'suspicious' in the old man's eyes.

Though, really, not eating sausages last Monday morning like he usually did had caused Dumbledore to watch him like an hawk for a week, probably thinking that he was preparing some dark ritual that asked of him not to consume meat beforehand (such rituals actually existed, so Tom couldn't be completely exasperated with the old man, but it was a close thing). It was probably one of the most annoying things in the world : being under Albus Dumbledore's scrutiny, especially if one had been there since they were eleven.

The paranoid Headmaster really needed a new hobby. One that did not included Tom. One that took Dumbledore off his case so he could take care of his personal affairs without the worry of being watched.

Tom sipped his drink, wondering if his second – and official – occupation was taking too much of his time, and if it was worth it. Being a teacher was something he excelled at, something he took pride in and that filled him with the strange feeling of accomplishment. His first duty, however, was to the Magical World and his fight against its deterioration because of the muggle contamination.

Part of him wanted nothing more than to go out to destroy a few muggle villages, but the more rational part said that it was unlikely that he would get away with it lest he found a way to develop an immunity to Veritaserum – Dumbledore would be the first one to throw his name as a potential villain and the old man had too much influence for Tom to get away without a single interrogation. And if, by some miracle, he managed to escape the Aurors' suspicions, he would have to deal with Dumbledore's little vigilante group. Not that he had any proof that the man had a vigilante group; he had only overheard, multiple times, a few members talking about it. The Order of the Phoenix, they called it – Tom called it the Association of Self-Righteous Smoking Turkeys, or They Who Run In Circles Like Headless Chickens (it mostly depended on his mood).

But, just like Tom had no proof of Dumbledore's little band of sheep, the Headmaster had no proof of the existence of Tom's Knights, even if Tom had no illusion about the man's knowledge about them. He doubted that the man knew what exactly their goals were, though he suspected that the old coot thought that he and his Knights plotted world domination, muggle holocausts and enslavement of muggleborns – or whatever ridiculous evils the man believed were necessary for his idea of Tom's utopian Magical World. The only reason Tom was more informed about Dumbledore's group, however, was that any follower of Tom's knew better than to blabber in public about what they did in meetings, not mentioning that all of his followers knew not to look in Dumbledore's eyes lest they were Occlumency Masters – the old Headmaster wasn't one to shy away from breaching one's privacy if he believed it was for the Greater Good.

Tom swallowed the last drop of his brandy (the bottle was a birthday gift from Rabastan Lestranges, from the Lestranges Family's own production, and Tom had to admit that it was a fine brand) before throwing a disgusted look at his briefcase and its content – how he hated the additional workload, usually he would have been done with the grading hours ago. An almost inaudible sigh escaped his lips as he stood and stretched, waving his wand at Nagini's form to levitate her after him. The fireplace in his study extinguished as the one in his bedroom flared to life and he lowered Nagini in front of it, though it wasn't exactly necessary. She would slither in his bed later that night, anyway.

His bedroom was charmed to stay at the same temperature no matter the weather and Tom couldn't help but appreciate the warmth as he saw the condensation in his window. He quickly took off his clothes, dropping them into the clothes hamper next to his wardrobe, and slid under the Slytherin green covers on his bed – why, of course he supported his House.

He might love Hogwarts in her wholesome, cold Scottish weather and irritating Headmaster aside, but he would always have a soft spot in his blackened heart for his ancestor's House.

Ah, yes – it was worth it. It was home.