Chapter Two: There Are So Many Douchebags in the World

Tom had never eaten so well in his life. He might have eaten a little too well, as now that the feast was over, he felt bloated and sick. Quirrell had eaten significantly less, which would explain how he still had enough energy to run around the Slytherin common room and dormitories, dragging Tom up and down staircases, loudly pointing out things that Tom already saw.

Tom could only remain the quiet one who was dragged around for a little while. When he started noticing things Quirrell had missed and it was clearly okay to get excited about magical things right now, Tom found himself pointing and shouting and dragging Quirrell over to see things that amazed him. When he did, Quirrell never turned up his nose or said talking paintings and winding staircases were old news for wizards. Instead, Quirrell squealed in delight, reveling with Tom in these new wonders.

"We'd better get to the boys' dormitory to choose our beds before we're stuck with the worst ones," said Tom as he poked the canvas of a painting of a general on a horse.

"Oh yes!" replied Quirrell. "If I'm put by the window, I'll freeze!"

Trying not to trip on their robes on the winding staircase up from the Slytherin common room, the two boys scampered into the boys' dormitory.

The door to the dormitory was so small Tom and Quirrell had to duck to get inside. From the look of some of the Slytherin boys, they would have had to full-on crawl to get in.

Besides the few students who were sitting by the fire in the common room, most of the students in this branch of the dorm had already chosen their beds and were unpacking. They went around to the separate rooms, each with five beds. Only one of the rooms had two empty beds and those beds were by windows.

"Oh no," groaned Quirrell.

"'Oh no' is right," agreed Tom.

"I can't sleep by the window all year!" complained Quirrell.

"Oh, boo hoo!" came a nasally voice from the bed in the corner by the radiator.

Sensing the tension, the crowd parted to let through a boy with the longest, blondest hair Tom had ever seen. Lucius Malfoy had a smug expression on his face that made Tom instantly despise and admire him, for Tom could tell Lucius came from a highbrow wizarding family and that he looked down on everyone.

Lucius crossed his arms. "Well someone must be sacrificed to the dementors that roam the school grounds, and we decided it might as well be you two. The squirrell and the riddle."

"I-it's Quirrell, actually." It was apparent that Quirrell wasn't accustomed to being bullied. Tom was. He could pick out a bully at fifty paces. "A-and I'm not afraid, I just get cold."

"It's just as well," continued Lucius. "I hear half-bloods freeze well." He turned his steely eyes to Tom and sneered. "So do mudbloods."

Quirrell gasped. Tom didn't know what either of those terms meant, but they were clearly insults.

Tom lunged at Lucius and punched him squarely in the face. Lucius fell back, stunned, holding his nose. He carefully opened his hands and put a finger to his nostril.

"I'm bleeding!" Lucius cried in rage. "You filthy little—"

"Bugger off, Malfoy, or I'll hit you again," Tom growled, fists clenched. He meant it, too. Tom would have happily beaten the snot out of that prick.

"I'll tell Dumbledore and you'll be expelled," said Lucius.

Quirrell stepped forward. "Then I'll tell him you called Tom a—er—a-a mudblood."

Lucius stumbled clumsily to his feet, his long hair mussed, blood dripping from his crooked nose. "We'll see who he listens to when he gets a load of what you did to my face!"

With that, Lucius stormed out of the dormitory, followed by a few of the boys.

"Good job, Tom," said one of the students. "I had been meaning to pop him one ever since the feast."

"Thanks," said Tom.

"I agree," chimed in another student, one with silky black hair. "Not the most effective way to silence him, but the most gratifying, surely."

Now here was a kindred spirit. Tom smiled and held out his hand. "Tom Riddle," he said.

The solemn boy shook his hand. "Severus Snape."

"Come on," said Tom as he walked briskly to one of the beds where Lucius had dumped Quirrell's things. "Where is Lucius Malfoy's bed?"

"Right here," said Severus.

"Help me with this, Quirrell."

Quirrell obeyed and together they moved Quirrell's things to Lucius' bed and moved Lucius' things to the bed by the window.

When they finished, Quirrell was glowing with admiration. "Thank you, Tom. This means a lot."

"Lucius had it coming," Tom explained, still in a huff about the whole thing. "And if he gives you any grief about switching beds, I'll hit him again."

"Thanks," said Quirrell. "But what about you? You're still by the window."

"Oh, I don't mind. I kind of like it, actually."

Through the small entryway came a young man with remarkably bad teeth and behind him came Lucius, holding a hand towel to his nose.

"The headmaster would like a word with you, Master Riddle," said the man. All eyes watched Tom in shock. "This way please."

"You haven't been here seven hours and already you're in my office over a broken nose."

"He deserved it."

"Tom! It doesn't matter whether he deserved it or not. Fighting is not acceptable at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore sighed and sat behind his desk, which was strewn with magical trinkets and papers. "You are here, as are all the students, to learn how to become good wizards and witches. And a good wizard or witch does not solve their problems by punching people in the face! That method is reserved for muggles."

Tom scowled into his lap, clenching fistfuls of his robe. "He called Quirrell a half-blood and me a mudblood."

"Is that so?" mused Dumbledore, slowly taking out a piece of paper and scribbling down a few notes with a quill. "He conveniently left that out. I'll have a talk with Master Malfoy later, then. Though strictly speaking, Tom, neither of those terms should be an insult. 'Half-blood' just means the son or daughter of a muggle and a witch or wizard, which Master Quirrell is. And 'mudblood,' well, that is a very rude way of saying a wizard or witch born of two muggle parents. There is no shame in either of those categories. Why, some of the best witches and wizards I've known are muggle-born."

"But I'm not muggle-born!" protested Tom. "I'm not a mudblood!"

"You don't know that, neither does Lucius, neither do I, for that matter. Even if you were, it doesn't mean you're any less of a wizard."

"But I can't be a muggle."

"You aren't. You're a wizard. It doesn't matter where you came from. Even if your parents were muggles, you are still Tom Riddle, a wizard. Did you know that some people from two wizarding parents are born without a talent for magic? Would you rather be in that situation?"

"Well, no," Tom replied quietly. "I just, I always imagined I came from a long line of great wizards and witches."

"You very well might have," said Dumbledore. "And even if you didn't, well, that long line of prestigious wizards and witches will start with you."

Tom smiled. "I guess so."

"Good," Dumbledore smiled, too. "I love you, Tom. Don't let students like Malfoy get you down."

There came a soft rapping at Dumbedore's office door.

"Come in," called Dumbledore.

The door creaked open. It was Quirrell.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Quirrell said, voice shaking. "I-I just wanted to tell you, sir, that Lucius called Tom a...a-a-a 'mudblood' and that's why Tom punched him. Lucius was being a jerk, sir."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Very good. Yes, I have heard that already from Tom, thank you Quirinus. It was brave of you to come forward."

Quirrell smiled sheepishly.

Dumbledore turned back to Tom. "Go on back to the dorm, you two. Classes start promptly at eight."

Tom got up from the chair and walked to meet Quirrell.

"And Tom." Tom turned around. "No more fighting, if you please."

A/N: Poor little Quirrell, having to use such foul language. I just picture him in Dumbledore's office reporting Lucius and then, in the middle of it, Quirrell realizes he's going to have to repeat what Lucius said, and then his ears go as red as steamed beets.