As the months melted by, the Hogwarts grounds became progressively cooler, while the thick trees of the Forbidden Forest slowly melded from green to brilliant shades of orange and red. October brought an onslaught of frigid wind, every day howling through the castle courtyards, forcing us to don our heavy winter cloaks a bit earlier than usual.
Tom and I had become quite close over the previous months. Nothing romantic, really, just a strong closeness, like friends who had known each other for a very long time. My fellow Gryffindors had become less than friendly toward me for having made such acquaintance with a Slytherin, but I was unfazed. Tom and I sat together in classes, took turns about the grounds during breaks, went to Hogsmeade together on weekends - everything except eat together. For some reason, Tom refused to join me at the Gryffindor table, and would not hear of me approaching the Slytherin table, either.
His companions were no keener on the idea of our friendship than mine. Abraxas Malfoy, in particular, took every opportunity he got to shoot me dirty looks and make snide remarks about my nationality. "Hey, Frenchy, how do you say 'you smell' where you come from?" I would simply ignore his comments and continue about my business.
More and more, however, I began to notice that Tom was keeping to himself quite a bit. While his Slytherin toadies were busy sticking out their feet to trip first years in the corridors, Tom was constantly in the Library, his nose buried in countless books about the history of Hogwarts.
"What on earth are you studying?" I asked him one day, upon finding him at a table in an obscure corner of the Library. He jumped, sending several heavy books toppling to the floor, and looked angrily up at me.
"For Merlin's sake, Amelie, don't sneak up on me like that!" he growled, bending to retrieve the fallen books. I shrugged and sat down across from him.
"Sorry. Anyway, what is it you're reading? I never see you anymore," I said. He looked at me for a few moments, the anger in his eyes slowly subsiding, before he answered.
"A biography on Salazar Slytherin," he said, and suddenly he looked excited. He leaned over the table, lowering his voice to a whisper. "He was an excellent wizard, don't you think?"
"I suppose…" I said. "Wasn't he a bit harsh on admissions, though?"
"Well he had to be, didn't he?" said Tom. "If it weren't for him, Hogwarts would have gone to the dogs ages ago."
"Whatever you say… How long do you plan on staying down here?" I asked, hoping to have his company that evening to study for our upcoming Potions exam.
"Long as it takes," answered Tom vaguely, his eyes dropping to the pages of the book, scanning lovingly over the words. When I opened my mouth to speak again, Tom held up a hand without looking at me. "I need peace and quiet, please," he said curtly. Taking the hint, I gathered my things and left.
The next day, Tom was in an excellent mood - the best I'd seen him in for weeks. He completed his Potions and Charms assignments with a cheerfully exuberant air, and would not stop jabbering pleasantly during our break in the courtyard. When I asked him what had put him in such a good humor, he simply shrugged his broad shoulders and grinned boyishly. He turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Life is good, Amelie, and it's only getting better!" he said with a giddy smile, and took me quite by surprise when he planted a kiss on my forehead before bounding off to class.
Later that day, as I sat busily taking notes in History of Magic, Professor Binns' droning lecture was interrupted when a frantic Professor McGonagall came rushing into the room, her square glasses slightly askew, and stray hairs falling from her usually neat bun. She murmured something urgently to Professor Binns, then sprinted from the room again. Professor Binns looked around at us, his heavily lined face etched with horror. "There's been an accident. You are dismissed to go STRAIGHT to your dormitories, on Headmaster Dippet's orders." With that, he rushed after McGonagall. We were so astonished at having heard Professor Binns speak to us in a voice other than the monotone we were used to that for a moment, no one moved. Then several of the Prefects sprang into action and began to shuffle everyone out of the classroom and toward our dormitories.
Up in the Gryffindor Common Room, the warm air was alive with whispers and rumors. Finally, Professor McGonagall, our Head of House, clambered through the portrait hole and the room fell silent. She gazed around at us with solemn eyes and cleared her throat.
"There has been an attack," she said seriously, to which several first years uttered strangled whimpers. "John Malcomson, a Hufflepuff fourth year, was found petrified in the Entrance Hall this afternoon. He has been taken to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey assures us that he will be fully restored as soon as Professor Sprout can cultivate a batch of Mandrakes. I must ask you to remain in Gryffindor Tower for the remainder of the evening. Supper will be served here." Without another word, she left the Common Room, and a fresh wave of murmurs arose like a swarm of bees.
"Did you hear the news?" Tom pulled me aside in the corridor next morning on my way to breakfast. He looked strained, as though he hadn't slept all night. I nodded. "I heard the teachers talking last night while I was on Prefect duties," he said, "and they said it was a monster that attacked that Mudblood yesterday-"
"What did you say?" I cut him off sharply.
"I say it was a monster!" repeated Tom urgently, his dark eyes ablaze with thrill.
"No," I said, feeling my face growing hot. "I meant the part about that boy being a 'Mudblood'."
"That's right," said Tom, his eyebrows knitting in mild confusion. "Everyone knows he's a Mudblood, poor chap." Only judging by his tone, Tom didn't feel the slightest pity for the Hufflepuff boy. My hands balled up into fists and I glared at Tom, willing myself not to cry. Noting the anger in my face, Tom put his hand on my upper arm. "Amelie, what's-?"
"Don't touch me!" I shouted at him, wrenching my arm away from his hand. Leaving him alone in the corridor, I stormed off to breakfast and didn't speak to him the rest of the day. The school was abuzz all day with rumors and musings about the attack. Many students were afraid, as there was a widespread rumor that the attack was due to something called the "Chamber of Secrets" being opened, whatever that meant, while many others shrugged it off as a mere prank, perhaps performed by the poltergeist, Peeves, whom John Malcomson had been known to torment. The whole of Slytherin House were smug, and the filthy word 'Mudblood' could be heard wafting from their direction all over the castle.
That night, Tom sought me out in the Library, where I was absorbed in my Arithmancy homework. "Amelie?" he said, sitting down next to me but facing the opposite direction, so that he could look me in the face. I didn't answer him, but kept my eyes cast determinedly down at my parchment. "Amelie, please, talk to me."
I turned the iciest glare I could muster on him. "There is nothing to talk about," I said coldly, but he shot me a withering glare.
"Obviously something I said earlier offended you," Tom said patiently. "I just want to know what it was."
"How can you be so oblivious?" I spat. "You called that poor Hufflepuff boy a Mudblood."
"So?" said Tom incredulously. "That's what he is, isn't he?" Again, I felt the heat creeping into my face. Slowly, painfully, understanding began to seep into Tom's expression. His black eyes widened. "Wait a minute," he murmured, "you're not…?"
"Not what?" I demanded angrily. "Not a Mudblood? That would be awful, wouldn't it? You, such a perfect Slytherin, fraternizing with a common Muggle-born? I expected it of your Housemates, Tom, but never of you!"
"So… you are, then?" Tom asked again, his voice low, his expression serious. I took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.
"My parents are Muggles," I said evenly, my tone daring him to make something of it. There was a long, painful silence between us while I waited on tenterhooks for him to throw some terrible insult at me and he just stared at me as if he'd never seen me before.
"You never told me before that you were… Muggle-born," Tom said finally, whispering the last word as though someone might be spying on us.
"You never asked," I said. "Anyway, I never thought it important. I don't generally associate with bigots, after all."
"Look," said Tom, "let's just take a step backward, here. What I said earlier was… well, I was just caught up in the excitement. True, I have never gone out of my way to befriend Mud - I mean Muggle-borns, but you're different, Amelie. I… I care about you." At this last statement, Tom's eyes widened slightly again, almost as though he were surprised at himself for having uttered it.
He leaned slowly forward, as though to kiss me, but I slid resolutely away from him on the bench, folding my arms across my chest. "That still doesn't change the fact that you are prejudiced against people like me," I said. "How do I know you're not going to make fun of me behind my back? If I were to be attacked, like Malcomson, how do I know you wouldn't snicker about that, too?"
Tom allowed a small, sad smile to cross his thin lips. "You won't be attacked, Amelie," he said. I raised an eyebrow. Tom leaned close to me again, casting his eyes around as though making sure no one was around. "You won't be attacked, because I'm the one who controls the monster… I am Slytherin's heir."
A/N: Special thanks to the "Brilliance of Tom Riddle" website, whose historical timeline of Tom's life has been indispensable in writing this fanfic. The website, which contains tons of interesting tidbits in tribute of Tom Riddle, can be found at