"Professor Slughorn, with all due respect-"
"Tom, this is a great opportunity for you. You have a talent unmatched in this year. And think how good it would look for your promotion to Head Boy," the rotund professor blabbered on, but the young man standing in front had tuned him out. Even though his back was ramrod straight, his dark head held high, he managed to look down on the professor that stood a hefty few inches above him. His thoughts had already drifted away to ways that he could slither out of the new 'responsibility' placed before him. Internally he sneered as the professor kept pontificating, enjoying the sound of his own voice much as he did during class. "So Tom, you understand. You are the best person for the job. I believe, my boy, that you will exceed at this. Now your first session will take place the night after tomorrow. You will have access to the potions lab. His list of potions are here." Sliding over a piece of scribbled down parchment the young man looks disdainfully at the list, a list consisting of potions that were far below his own proficiency. There are potions going back to first year. This student must be a troll.
Nodding, if only to placate his Head of House, "Of course professor. We shall begin right after dinner hour because in all honesty, sir, I think it would take that long until his O. just to get him proficient."
Patting the young man on the shoulder, and with a curt farewell, he was dismissed to plan for his newest, and probably most difficult, task.
When the allotted time came, it found the young man pacing the laboratory impatiently. The buffoon was late. Of course, it was just his luck. He is taking time from his own precise schedule to tutor this near troll-like humanoid, and he is late. If he doesn't show up, not only will Professor Slughorn hear but also the Headmaster.
Impatiently, he waits for the buffoon. He refuses to call the half-breed a wizard. None of his kind should be so esteemed. No, he is a troll pretending to be a wizard, a disgrace to their school. He should never have been allowed admittance, and most certainly not allowed to be taught the magical arts.
He finally hears the thudding of footsteps that can only foretell the arrival of the one whom he waits. He puts on a passive face, a face that has got him through many a day in this place and the orphanage where he grew. His face tells nothing of the ire that lies below the surface. It tells nothing of the hate that festers in his soul. It tells nothing of the man he will be, nor the man he is. It is the face that all see. It is the face of the true heir of Salazar Slytherin.
The door nearly blasts off its hinges as the half giant Rubeus Hagrid comes through. "Sorry Tom. Me pet got away from me an' I 'ad to catch it before it ran off into the woods."
Internally the young man cringes. Very few people call him by his given name, that blasted thing that he inherited from his Muggle father. Following that up was the complete lack of grammar and articulation that leaves him guessing at what this being in front of him actually was saying, if anything important.
"You shall not call me Tom ever again. I am Mister Riddle for now, and if we ever are to be on casual terms - which I doubt - you will just call me Riddle. Only the professors call me Tom, and very few of them." He takes a deep breath to try and calm his inflamed anger, "Now, I need to see where we stand so I chose a potion to test your skills. It isn't all that challenging, but it will give me a good idea of where to begin." He waves his hand toward the blackboard at the front of the classroom, showing ingredients, steps, and procedure to be followed. "You will see your instructions at the front. I have already prepared a cauldron for you. Please begin by retrieving the necessary ingredients and preparing them."
His student, as he sees this being to be, lumbers off to the supply cupboard and after a large crashing sound, returns with hands full of ingredients.
The chopping and slicing are crude at best. The mashing and crushing seem to be his forte. He silences the student when he tries to ask a question. He just watches his student, taking mental notes all the time as to what areas need to be taught and if it was even possible.
Potions is an exact study, everything needs to be precise and focused. Something this beast is not capable of from what he sees.
Poised at the teacher's desk in the front of the room, head bowed to the parchment before him, he is ready to report back to Professor Slughorn that this student should be written off, in more ways than just in Potions, when a loud explosion is heard and a small shock wave racks the room. He looks up to see an abnormal cloud hover over the student, one of a pale iridescent pink color with tendrils of smoke enveloping him like an octopus.
"OUT!" he bellows to the being before him. "Get out! I will clean up this mess you have made. And be aware, that this will be in my report to Professor Slughorn."
Little is he aware that the person before him has already succumbed to the effects of the potion, and as the student turns to face the irate voice, it engages.
By the next morning all is not well for Tom Riddle. At breakfast, he sends a missive to his Head of House explaining the results of the tutelage from the previous night, including an apology for the state of the Potions supply cabinet as much of the ingredients were destroyed due to Hagrid's clumsiness.
Alas, that isn't the worst part of his breakfast. He silently laments over the disaster that the previous night brought when a large bird, something akin to a white-tailed eagle, drops a large plant in front of him, spilling his porridge over his perfectly pressed robes. He looks disgusted at the thing before him, sharp teeth sprouting from its flower. Yet it is not in a pot, rather the dirt encrusted roots are sprawled across the meal before him. He doesn't notice the laughter that flew in at the same time as the plant. He just glares at the item before him with the utmost distaste.
Pulling the short note that is attached to the 'gift', he reads, 'Many thanks fer yer 'elp yesterday. 'orry about the potion an the 'splosion, Lub Rubeus.'
"Who's your admirer, Riddle?" One of his fellow housemates asks from down the table. "Cause I never saw someone dig up something so ugly before."
"Never mind who the gift came from," he sneers. "Just remove it please from my presence."
By lunch, most of the Slytherin house knew of Tom Riddle's special admirer. He blew it off as a thank you gift, but that the student did not know the proper way to thank for such assistance. When the second gift, a large cake that was the consistency of concrete was dropped before him, he knew this was much more of a problem. This time he didn't read the enclosed note, he knew immediately whom it was from and did not want to lower himself by attempting to translate what this note said.
After lunch, he recalled, was his meeting to go over the previous night's tutelage with Professor Slughorn. He would bring up this folly at that time.
The meeting went well in his opinion, he explained the errors and deficiencies that the student had, the fact that the destruction of the Potions supply cabinet was due to his sheer lack of grace, and that there was an explosion of the simplistic potion that he used to judge the student's capabilities.
"Tom, what potion did you have Mister Hagrid make, if I may ask. Just so I can judge for myself the complexity of the potion, of course," the professor prodded.
"It is something that would carry over past O.W.L. level, Professor," he said in a sickly sweet voice that was reserved strictly for the man before him, yet still dodging the question entirely.
"Good, good. I wouldn't expect anything less. Push the lad to see how he would perform at an O.W.L. exam." With an absent-minded look in his eyes and a piece of candied pineapple halfway to his mouth, "What was the potion, Tom?"
"Amortentia, sir," he said with a nonchalance that befits his attitude to the whole exchange.
"Amortentia. Good show Tom, my boy. Good show." With that, Tom Riddle knew he was dismissed without a second glance.
By the time dinner had begun, Tom was over the constant and incessant gossip over who his secret admirer was. Tom had numerous admirers, of both sexes, over the years, and all of them were ignored with the same nonchalance that this one would be. When the package arrived by an oversized carrion, he barely took notice. He ignored the squeaks that the box emitted. He ignored the practical bouncing that the box did up and down the table. He ignored the note attached to the squeaking, bouncing box, one of undying love and devotion from a half-giant with the brain of a Neanderthal and the grammar of a two-year-old. He ignored the sniggers of his housemates as they guessed what resided inside the box, if it was safe or dangerous, or if it was something that would get Tom Riddle in trouble or not. He ignored the drooling looks and goo-goo eyes that were sent his way from across the Great Hall from the student that towered above all others.
But the rest of the Great Hall did not ignore such things. They did not ignore that the lumbering fool, as Tom Riddle would point out on all occasions, pined after the one Slytherin that would never give him the time of day. They did not ignore that this student would spend his free time, instead of studying or just enjoying his friends, but finding ways to woo the Slytherin.
The box let out a loud chirp, causing the members of the Slytherin House to silence themselves. "Fine, I can only assume that you all want me to see what lies within this package?" The arrogance and scorn for his housemate's actions were like venom off his tongue. He quickly reached across the table, snatching it up, and tearing open the wrappings with no due grace. The card was discarded amongst the trash, to land in the hands of one of the girls a year below him. As she read the card, or at least deciphered the contents of chicken scratch, he saw the contents of the package - a Golden Snidget. Not only was this a creature that was classified by the Ministry of Magic as XXXX, but it is also endangered and a crime to have possession of one.
Now, this was too far. This had gone to the point that he could get in trouble from doing what his Head of House told him to do. He would have to bring this up to the Headmaster as soon as dinner concluded.
"Rubeus?" he heard from down the way. "As in Rubeus Hagrid? Hagrid lubs you? Oh Tom, if I had known you prefer the big hairy types, I would have stopped trying to get with you long ago."
This truly has gone too far. Rubeus Hagrid will feel his wrath. One day. Maybe not in the near future, but one day Rubeus Hagrid would pay for the humiliation caused to him.
Author's Notes
House: Slytherin
Year: Head
Word Count: 2000
Prompt: [Couple] Rubeus Hagrid and Tom Riddle (not Voldemort)