"So how do you know of the Imperius Curse?" Riddle asked curiously.
Harry took a breath of cold November air into his lungs to give himself time to think of a lie, while trying to calm his heart that pounded with either nerves or anger – Harry wouldn't tell which anymore. It was all the same. Every day he had to endure these endless questions, replying with delicate lies as quickly as he could, but never without thinking… He always had to be careful.
"I read about the curse." Harry replied simply. When Riddle seemed surprised at this short answer, Harry added, "I leant quite a lot about it."
"Still, to complete this spell so quickly is impressive. You seem better at it than you are with even the Cruciatus Curse…"
Harry himself wasn't surprised that he had succeeded with the Imperius Curse, for he had managed to cast it successfully on the day when he had broken into Gringotts, in search of the Hufflepuff Cup. It wasn't as terrible to cast for him as the Cruciatus Curse was – it wasn't even close. The calming blissfulness that one feels when under the Imperius Curse can often be a relief, as dangerous as it is.
"… Unless, of course, this wasn't your first attempt at the curse?" Riddle suggested, in a tone that told Harry he was trying to fit this into some mistaken theory.
"No, it was the first time I used the spell." Harry lied quickly.
"And resisting it?"
"I've never done that either." He lied again. He threw in a fake laugh. "Why would I need to?"
Riddle did not answer his last question. Harry looked at the taller boy swiftly to be sure that he wasn't thinking over anything too important, but he then remembered that Riddle never seemed to show any emotion at all. He decided to continue speaking.
"So where is it that you learnt the Unforgivable Curses?"
"Like you, through reading." Riddle replied. "Though my friends and I didn't begin to use them until my sixth year."
From this comment, Harry guessed that Riddle had refrained from teaching his follows these illegal curses until they were all practiced enough in other sinister pieces of magic. It would have doubtlessly taken years to prepare them to accept it all… or at least Harry hoped so. He wondered vaguely how much longer before the others it was that Riddle learnt these curses, but he didn't really care to dwell upon the thought for long. He wanted to keep talking.
"But the others aren't bad at what you teach them." Harry said. "They're much more interested in this than school work, anyway."
Riddle smiled faintly. "School work is something quite distant from what my friends and I learn – as each and every one of them know from all that I've displayed and taught. Even those who are entirely useless in class appear to have some talents here and there… I think of it as private tutoring, bringing out the best in all of my friends and letting them take pride in selective fields of the Dark Arts, the fields in which they show the greatest talents and skills, even if that merely ends up being all that they know fully."
Riddle often talked on like this, explaining things in great detail with slight pride. Harry wondered whether it made him feel important to have this chance to explain the feature of all that he had accomplished in his efforts to build up his own personal army. Harry also wondered, on reflection, whether this is why Riddle had been talking to him so persistently for the last few weeks – even past the extent Harry expected with joining the formation of the Death Eaters. Almost every day Riddle would talk to him for over an hour, whether the other Death Eaters were around or not. He had allowed his paranoid mind to assume that Riddle wanted more information at first, but then he began to realise that Riddle spoke of himself and the Death Eaters often.
"What are you trying to gain from this though?" Harry asked carefully, forcing his tone to be more innocently curious and interested than eager for answers. "I mean, because by the time everyone leaves the school they will probably know more about the Dark Arts than anyone else they'll meet."
Riddle pondered this question for a second, and Harry wondered why he had even asked this at all. He knew what would really happen… Maybe he just wanted to hear the words said by Riddle, to bring himself back to seeing reality. Sometimes he felt as though the Death Eaters were more innocent than he would assume when thinking about what they were to become in the future. "I don't suppose that I will make much use of their skills," Riddle lied, perhaps, "Yet I can at least feel satisfied with knowing that I have passed on my own knowledge of the Dark Arts, to make the world slowly but surely more powerful."
"What do you suppose the others will do with their knowledge?"
"They might teach more people their skills, or write books on their professions, or look more into the magic – who knows." But Harry knew that Riddle for one knew perfectly well what uses he was planning to put all of his friends to in the near future, and even how his enemies, like Hagrid, would be helpful. After a short pause, Riddle asked, "What is it that you wish to do, Jonathan?"
"Er, I dunno." Harry said truthfully. He hadn't given this question a lot of thought before, hadn't found of a mask to shield his real intentions. He couldn't wish to be a full time Death Eater yet, he knew. Yet it sickened him to merely think about that, so perhaps talking of it might have been impossible so soon… As he thought about Death Eaters, he became inspired. "The Dark Arts are quite interesting… maybe I'll continue on with them, even after school…"
Riddle appeared mildly surprised at this, and as Harry looked up at the taller boy he thought he saw something like triumph in his eyes, but a second later he looked at the view ahead of them again, and Harry wouldn't see his second of expression anymore.
"I believe that would be a worthy choice for you," Riddle said delicately, "You seem to have potential in measures of both power and skill…"
Harry didn't reply to this, for he was lost for a moment whilst comprehend why it was that the Dark Arts seemed so easy for him. He silently pushed that thought away, loathing this idea the moment it came to his head. He wasn't 'good' at the Dark Arts; he had merely learnt what Riddle was teaching beforehand… He realised then that Riddle was looking at him, examining his expression. He tried to be more impassive, not meeting the other boy's eyes.
"Yet I feel as though there is something you dislike about the subject." Riddle stated quietly.
"No," said Harry quickly, having no idea how he was going to dismiss such a direct address to his true feelings. "I'm, er, just surprised that there are so many people here who are learning it – underground… you would think that the school would teach it…"
Riddle smiled at Harry's last words, and the later dearly hoped that this meant Riddle was buying into his hate being relating only to the 'lack of the Dark Arts'. In truth, Harry thought there was far, far too much of it at Hogwarts at the moment.
"I believe that Hogwarts will one day teach the Dark Arts to its students." Riddle stated quietly. "There are many Wizarding schools – Durmstrang, most knowingly – who are already accustomed to passing on the ancient skills of the Dark Arts, which is, naturally, the most powerful field of magic the world will ever know… Hogwarts is merely too proud in it's current state, too determined to continue on the idea of morals to mask their fear of such power."
"I agree." Harry said lamely, wishing for Riddle to talk himself away from suspicion. Harry wondered whether Riddle was planning on becoming a teacher at Hogwarts yet…
"The weak have had a long history of fearing the Dark Arts, fearing the powerful becoming acquainted with the truly magnificent fields of magic. Those lacking in strong willpower subside to banning all that is worth researching, hoping in vain that making a subject labelled 'evil' will stop those of us with intelligence and ambition from progressing… Yet I believe that the Wizarding world will give in to acknowledging true power one day soon."
"Yeah," Harry said carefully, having no idea what he was supposed to reply to this. "I don't think it will be very long at all before everyone sees the Dark Arts are a better choice…" It didn't feel like his own voice as he spoke, but Harry was almost used to this sensation by this time.
Riddle appeared unaffected by this worthless reply. He was doubtlessly used to people misunderstanding or having no opinions of real value in contrast to the things that he talked about. The Death Eaters were good at the Dark Arts, Harry knew, but they probably didn't know what Riddle was talking about a lot of the time. Harry himself was merely cautious and bewildered whilst he comprehended how each of Riddle's words would link into the future…
In the silence that followed these next words Riddle reached into his pocket to withdraw something. At first Harry thought he was taking out his wand, and he was milliseconds away from defending himself, when he saw that The Heir of Slytherin was merely extracting a packet of cigarettes. Harry recognised the neat packaging of the wizarding company who made these non-lethal but doubtlessly addictive bad habits. He stared for a second, trying to calm his heart that was beating fast from paranoia.
Riddle withdrew single cigarette and then held the rest of the pack out to Harry, in offering. "Want one?"
"Erm…" Harry hesitated. "I don't normally–"
"There's barely a student in this school over fifteen who doesn't smoke," Riddle interrupted with a shadow of a smile, "And I don't agree with the ban placed upon them. Take one."
Harry looked up at Riddle and decided that it would probably be abnormal if he didn't accept the offer now. Though cigarettes were forbidden for younger people in the Muggle world because of their harmful contents, the wizarding world cared very little about them. They were looked up with rather sceptical eyes in the year that Harry had come from, but he was sure that Riddle was right in claiming that there was scarcely a student over fifteen at this time who didn't allow their self to become addicted.
"Thanks…" He took one.
Harry placed the cigarette in his mouth as Riddle had and they lit them in silence. Harry watched as Riddle appeared suddenly relaxed at the taste of smoke, his eyes closing for a second as he inhaled and exhaled slowly. In his years at Hogwarts Harry had tried smoking a few times, but he hadn't made a habit of it. Hermione for one had disapproved of it greatly, perhaps because of what her parents had taught her, being dentists, yet Harry couldn't resist taking just one cigarette from a pack hidden in his trunk when yet another unbearably stressful event occurred. He liked the taste, and the smell, despite the fact that it reminded him vaguely of bad times. It was calming, almost a solution to the many problems he had been force to face so continuously…
Riddle was examining Harry's expression again, and the later glanced at him for only a second before staring fixedly to the view ahead of them. He hated looking at Riddle a lot of the time. He couldn't bear to take the memories that flooded back to him whenever he thought of what he had seen previously of him. If ever he had nightmares, which was often, Riddle would be there, somewhere. Harry tried to block most of it out, reminding himself that this Riddle was different to one he had met at twelve years old… He was glad, suddenly, that he hadn't refused this chance to smoke a cigarette.
After a pause, Harry decided to continue on their conversation. "So tell me, Riddle–"
"Call me Tom." Riddle corrected him.
"Right…" This wasn't the first time that Riddle asked to be called Tom, but Harry kept forgetting to use his chosen name. In his mind, he wasn't close enough to Riddle to call him Tom… "What is it that you wish to do when you leave Hogwarts?"
Tom pondered this question, occupied with his cigarette for a moment. "I suppose that I will go into research, as so many other wizards seem to do. I shall continue gaining knowledge until I find a job interesting enough to take. Then there is the idea of teaching, which has always interested me."
Harry was surprised with Tom's last words. He wouldn't expect Riddle to speak so lightly of his wish to pass on ancient skills, to poison the minds of young witches and wizards, in Harry's opinion. Yet perhaps Riddle trusted that Harry wouldn't care about the idea. It seemed like an innocent enough dream when one didn't take into consideration that the boy standing besides Harry was going to become the greatest Dark Wizard in all of history…
"You mean to teach at a school like Hogwarts?" Harry asked.
"If I am qualified enough, then potentially."
Harry took another drag of his cigarette, willing Riddle to elaborate. He knew perfectly well that Riddle would fail at obtaining the Defence Against the Dark Arts post when Merrythought would retire. Then he would move onto working at Borgin and Burkes, killing Hepzibah Smith and framing the house elf for it all… It scared Harry, suddenly, that Riddle was literally going to go on living a life Harry knew each step to. He had a perfect overview on Riddle's entire future…
"But paths change. I will perhaps teach as soon as I leave school, or only in much later years. Something as such can never truly be planned, for there are endless possibilities of setbacks and so on."
"Yeah, no one can ever really know…"
Just then the bell rang, signalling the end of Tom and Harry's free period. Both boys took one last drag on their cigarettes and put them out in unison.
"We shouldn't stall," Riddle said, "for I've never yet been late for Dumbledore's class, and though I know he isn't one for handing out punishments, he never does seem to give up excuses to lecture his students on something or another."
Harry hesitated for only a second, adjusting his rucksack as he felt a stab of annoyance. Riddle had only walked on about five paces on, before Harry followed. "Transfiguration…" He mumbled, stating the obvious as he became lost in though.
Whilst they walked, Riddle must have been examining Harry's expression again, for after some time he asked, "You dislike Transfiguration? I didn't think you were particularly bad at it. You keep up with the class rather well…"
"No, I don't mind the class…"
There was another pause where Tom seemed to see something in Harry's expression. "Do you dislike Dumbledore?" He asked carefully.
"Er, no… no I just…"
Riddle seemed to take this as a 'yes'. He looked away from Harry to think as they walked, his expression pensive. "A lot of people seem to like Dumbledore, yet I myself am of a rather reserved opinion of him…"
Harry already knew why that was. Dumbledore could see clearly through Tom like no one else could, excluding Harry. The Transfiguration Professor was the one and only threat that Riddle knew of, the only person he would ever fear. Harry hoped, as silence fell, that in exchange for asking no questions, Riddle would let Harry keep his own opinions on the matter reserved too.
"Dumbledore is a secretive person…" Said Harry quietly.
"What makes you say that?" Tom asked.
Harry wasn't sure if it was really smart to answer this, but thought of Dumbledore had left a burning sensation of hate in his stomach, and he couldn't help but say something, anything, to express his anger. "He has a rather hidden past, and never seems to tell anyone the full story of anything he talks about… I just think he's a fraud."
They had arrived in a corridor flooding with students now, and were close to the Transfiguration classroom. Tom either didn't have any questions or didn't want to ask anything with all the students around, so both boys were silent as they made their way into the next class of the day. Harry didn't look up to see Riddle's expression.
Harry took a table, and wasn't surprised when Riddle chose to sit next to him. They saw some of the Death Eaters enter the class, and Tom talked to them for a minute while Harry was silent. He hated Transfiguration more than any other class he took. He was tempted, at times, to ask the headmaster of the school if he could change this subject for another one, yet he knew that this was perhaps a suspicious request. He didn't seem to be that bad at the subject, so asking to quit now was unusual.
Dumbledore called the class to order, and Harry was distracted for a long while after this, trying hard not to glare at the Professor as memories played like film in his mind. The only time he looked away from Dumbledore was when he had to take notes, and when the class was giving the assignment of the day to work on. He barely seemed to be paying attention to what he was doing, but didn't care.
The class wore on and on, until suddenly Harry saw that everyone seemed to be finished with their work. He had succeeded in transfiguring the chameleon in front of him into a pair of boots, and he was mildly surprised to see he had done a basically good job. Dumbledore was making his way along each table, complementing and suggesting things on everybody's work. Harry felt his anger become stronger with every step the Professor took, until, finally, Dumbledore was standing over Tom and Harry's table.
"Ah, I'm very glad to see that the both of you have done rather well in your work today." Dumbledore said, smiling down at the two impassive boys. Then Riddle managed a false smile, Harry saw. Dumbledore went on to complement Riddle greatly, talking about some finer details in the transformation, but Harry was barely listening. It wasn't until he heard his false name that he looked up.
"Though I must say that you often seem a little distracted, Jonathan." Dumbledore said. "As well as you may be getting along with using magic, it appears to me as if you become distracted when it comes to remembering facts and figures… Is there something you wish to speak of? If so, my office is always open."
"No, I'm fine, Professor." Harry replied.
Dumbledore surveyed Harry for a second longer, the later feeling his fists clench. Harry was concentrating hard on getting rid of the anger from his expression, to remain impassive, but he wasn't any less annoyed even as the Professor nodded slightly and moved onto the next table.
"Very well…"
Harry was surprised that he could still be so angry with his old headmaster, even when the Professor was away from his sight. His heart seemed poisoned with loathing, allowing the anger to pulse through his veins as he continued to feign composure.
Suddenly Riddle's voice broke Harry's trail of thought. "'I must not tell lies', what's that about?"
Harry turned to look at Riddle, stunned that he had quoted the line he knew so well. Yet before Harry could work out how on earth Riddle knew about that collection of words, Tom had grabbed Harry's fist to have a closer look at the white scars etched deeply into the skin in the back of his right hand.
Suddenly, time seemed to stand still. Harry felt as though he was made of water, while waves appeared all around where Riddle's hand met his own. They started at a close range and slowly moved up his arm, the ripples upon his skin becoming stronger with time. If Harry had imagined anything to come from Riddle's hand touching his own, he would have expected burning pain to sear in his scar, blinding him as he had known it to do so often over the years. He would have expected the power of Voldemort to affect him even in this place in time, had there been an unexpected outcome from this one touch…
Harry pulled his hand away, staring at Riddle in shock. Tom appeared to be just as confused as he was to understand what on earth had just happened. It was odd, Harry thought, to actually see emotion upon Tom's face. They stared at each other for a long moment. Harry realised then that barely a second could have passed, for no one in the room around them appeared to be at all changed. Not one person had noticed anything unusual even as Harry's mind raced to try and work this out.
The bell rang barely seconds after this, and Harry stood up, glad for a reason to avoid Riddle's gaze. He picked up his school bag and headed for the exit to the classroom before even the Death Eaters could wonder where he was going, leaving Tom to stay frozen at his table, just as lost as the Boy Who Lived.