The shrill sound of the bell awoke him from his reverie. Giving his head a tiny shake, Tom Riddle picked up his belongings and began to move out with the rest of the students thronging the corridor. Lessons for the week had finally ended and it could not have been clearer that everyone was eager to unwind for the weekend.
"Tom," a voice called out above the din, "a word, please."
Tom momentarily closed his eyes, trying to quell his annoyance. Plastering a polite smile on his face, he waved Avery and Nott off, and turned around to face Professor Dumbledore.
The tall, thin wizard with his sweeping auburn hair and half-moon spectacles was surely intimidating. Though everyone revered him, Tom found him slightly irksome. Maybe it was because he was the one person at Hogwarts that Tom had been unable to charm or impress. Indeed, Dumbledore always regarded him with the air of someone being unnecessarily cautious, as if he expected Tom to implode at any given moment.
"Yes, sir?" Tom asked quietly.
Professor Dumbledore took his time. With a wave of his wand, he levitated the tottering pile of essays on his desk, where they immediately began to reorganize themselves alphabetically in mid-air.
"I was wondering if I could have a word with you regarding your late Transfiguration homework." Dumbledore enquired, his voice placid but with an undercurrent of curtness.
He observed the young boy of sixteen before him with wary interest. Tom Morvolo Riddle had always been a mysterious, handsome boy, born and raised in an orphanage with exceptional magical skills and command. Indeed, many speculated how he might possibly be one of the greatest students to ever pass through Hogwarts, but that is not what fueled Dumbledore's curiosity.
In fact, it was the way this young man with the pale face, high cheekbones and dark hair conducted himself. He had an air of unquestionable power around him, and his ambition far exceeded that of others. Ever since Dumbledore had first informed him he was a wizard, he had kept a watchful eye on Riddle. For here was a boy who everyone doted over, everyone spoke so highly of. And yet, there always seemed to be something amiss.
"I apologize once again," Tom replied, his face expressionless.
Dumbledore sighed and moved behind his desk as the now organized essays landed with a thud in front of him.
"It has never happened before," Dumbledore remarked, his voice light, "I was wondering if everything is alright?"
Tom did not let his feeling of annoyance show on his face; he knew full well that Dumbledore was more suspicious than concerned. Careful flattery and a sharp mind alone could not convince this man.
"Nothing," Tom replied, "The workload proved to be too much, sir."
Dumbledore surveyed him for a few seconds, before his face broke into a small smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
"Very well, then. Off you go, Tom. Don't want you to be late for dinner. But if I must say so myself, the treacle tart is the real treat."
Tom let out a short laugh, bade him farewell, and turned around to leave.
As soon as he was out of the classroom, the smile slid off his face to be replaced with his usual, calculating expression. As he made his way down to the Great Hall, a group of girls paused and openly stared at him. Then one of them let out a loud giggle and they all hurried away, casting him furtive looks.
Tom ignored this. He entered the Great Hall, inwardly flinching at the loud sounds of students talking, laughing and eating. He would much rather have dinner when the Hall was emptier. He made his way to the Slytherin table and seated himself at the farthest end from the High Table.
The sky above was clear, cloudless and velvety. Immersed in his thoughts, he barely touched his food nor noticed when Nott seated himself opposite him and stared at him with awe.
"What?" Tom snapped, looking up. Nott hurriedly looked down and mumbled, "Just, wondering where you were."
Tom frowned and replied tartly, "What do you care? And if you paid more attention, Nott, you might've noticed that old man stopped me after class."
Nott nodded, and the suddenly burst out, "Did you ask him about Horcruxes?"
Tom observed Nott, his face expressionless, his mind racing. Despite his care and caution, despite his planning, Nott had still got to know that term and had somehow connected it to Tom.
Nott gulped and looked down again.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tom said coldly, "and, mind you, stop mentioning such Dark matter in the Great Hall. I expected you to have at least minimal sense."
He got up and left the table, making his way down to the common room.
His mind was whirling at the mere mention of that word, his insides contorting with savage excitement. But he must control his feelings, he must first construct and execute a plan…
He bumped into someone and looked up angrily.
"Watch where you're going," he said dismissively, moving past the individual.
"I could say the same!" A girl's voice retorted. Paying no heed, Tom resumed his rumination even as he entered the mostly-empty common room. As he sat by the fire, as he made his way through the mountain of homework they had been assigned, as the others finished dinner and the common room slowly began to fill up, he thought.
That night as he got into bed, with the single word stubbornly lodged in his mind, he allowed himself a smile.
If it all worked out his way, he could have more than he hoped for.