Tom Riddle hated Albus Dumbledore. Everything from the way he talked, to the way he acted, so confidently above everyone else. As if he was invincible, not just the elderly man he truly was. He didn't understand the praise surrounding such a man— if push came to shove, he was quite sure that Albus Dumbledore would sit back and watch it all happen.

The man's speeches were entirely underwhelming. He talked of bringing them together, he talked of power, he talked of control.

This stupid lot had none of it. They had grown up too easily, nothing to make them more than children playing magic. Ignorant, stupid children, who could hardly cast a proper curse. It infuriated him to no end how they could act like they'd gone through hard times. They didn't know what hard times even were.

Pretentious. Reckless. Snobby. The only words that could describe his entire fucking school.

He was the only one who knew any better, who'd grown up in anything but perfect harmony. They didn't understand what it meant to work, to dream, to care. In this so-called "Golden Age" there was too much happiness, but too much happiness takes away the motivation, the need, the want. How could any of them try when trying seemed like it would get them nowhere? When they would still have these saccharine lives to go back to?

Dumbledore's words twirled onwards and onwards, and Tom couldn't help but let the entire room fade away. He didn't want to hear such a dull ramble. The man went in circles, how was he the only one who saw that? The room seemed to beam at Dumbledore, as if he was God.

There was no God.

"Eat," was the only word Tom really noticed, as food sprouted out of nowhere. The people around him dug in, but Tom couldn't help but wonder why. Didn't they always have an unbelievable amount of food? As far as he knew, none of them lived in a poor, shriveled orphanage in the middle of nowhere. That was him, not these people, devouring food like there was no tomorrow.

Tom wrinkled his nose, but he knew he couldn't leave yet. Not when they were all of one minute into eating, and his entire table seemed eager for another year. They all talked about such frivolous things. No one truly cared about the house cup, or the quidditch cup. They dwelled on such stupid points, especially when there was an entire world out there, just waiting for someone to take the reins. Just waiting for someone with true power, not gullible enough to fall under Dumbledore's spell.

"Tom. Tom? Tom!" He heard from his side, and looked at the girl standing there, Pansy Parkinson. He couldn't help but roll his eyes instinctively at the girl. She was everywhere, and he wanted her nowhere. The girl was like a parasite, trying to leech off of him.

Though he had tried so hard to not be associated with these dumb twats, he had found himself here anyways. Out of everyone in Slytherin, he literally shone above. And Parkinson just wanted better grades and a good looking boyfriend, and she would never get either.

"Tom, so, what did you do over your summer?" Her voice was overly sweet to the point that it sounded toxic, and he couldn't do anything but glare at her, hoping that she would stop talking to her. Didn't he understand when she wasn't wanted. "C'mon, Tom, it wouldn't hurt to talk to me, would it?"

Tom smirked. "It just might."

Parkinson looked taken aback, flinching, despite the fact that he had rejected her too many times at this point. She flung herself backwards, angrily, before storming to the other end of the table, to sit next to some of the other Slytherin girls. Tom rolled his eyes, but then he decided that this was a good time as any to go back to the Slytherin common room.

Slowly, he walked through the hallway, enjoying the peaceful silence, since practically everyone still sat in the dining hall. Just to get away from such a room full of the dumb lot was refreshing, and Tom dreaded having to share a dorm room, yet again. He couldn't wait until he was Head Boy, and he wouldn't ever have to worry about such things.

Closing his eyes, he took a breath, before being rudely interrupted by screaming further down the hallway. "Ron! What are you doing!" A girl shrieked, and Tom couldn't help but roll his eyes. Hermione Granger. Granger was a thorn at his side. The two were literally tied for the top of the class, but she was a bit too Gryffindor for the likes of him, deeply in admiration of Dumbledore.

"C'mon, Hermione, you have to relax once and awhile. The world isn't going to end if you come outside with us to the quidditch pitch." Foolish boy. Tom couldn't help but use this as the epitome of the time. Everyone thought like this— that just because they all fooled around meant that nothing bad would happen. That there was no darkness if they lived in their oblivious cloud, with rose tinted glasses. ""Mione, the Wizarding World is safe."

Tom rolled his eyes, as Hermione said, "Ron, you should know better. Grindelwald came out of nowhere, what's to say someone else isn't waiting for the world to let their guard down, and then to strike? Besides, you know I hate quidditch. I much prefer my books."

Shaking his head, not waiting to hear how the foolhardy Gryffindor responded, Tom turned the corner, heading down to the Slytherin dungeon. He sank back down on his bed, closing his eyes, dreading tomorrow. The damnable nature of these students would be their downfall, he knew that soon. He twisted the Slytherin locket around his neck, before turning over and trying to let the world around him disappear.

Tom woke up to the sun, narrowly peeking out of the corners of darkness. Sighing, he began getting dressed, slowly putting his robes on. Next to him, the rest of the boys were still asleep. They each seemed so vulnerable, Nott, Malfoy, and Zabini completely unaware as Tom left the dorm room. He wasn't quite sure what the point of going to the Great Hall was, but he grabbed a Daily Prophet, sinking down into his seat.

The headline was so flat and boring, something about one or another rule Fudge had proposed as minister. Truly no one cared, as Tom flipped open the newspaper, slowly sipping on his tea, resigning himself to the mundane headlines of the Wizarding World. Nothing was moving. Everything just seemed to stand still. Each and every storyline was pure and utter garbage— whether gossip, another uneventful day in the ministry, or quidditch, Tom didn't care. Not one bit.

Didn't know one understand? Magic was so undiscovered, still. The world deserved so much more, and yet even their precious Dumbledore shied away from it. Tom thought back to when he'd tried to teach the other Slytherins some more fatal spells in their third year. It had horribly failed.

Zabini could hardly point his wand properly, so how would he be able to use confringo? Honestly, he was concerned for the future of Hogwarts. The power was leaking out, drop by drop, and soon there would be nothing left. There were so many hopeless cases.

It was so frustrating. Was there seriously no one to compete against other than a frizzy haired muggle? The thought in itself was so blasphemous, Tom could hardly hide his anger. He still had three years more of this, unfortunately enough. Three more years of this school before he would finally leave the orphanage, finally be taken seriously, finally escape the past.

"Riddle!" He heard Draco shout, and Tom tried to give his best casual wave, as Draco and his two friends sat across from him.

He listened as the three of them chattered around, silently eating breakfast. He listened to pieces of his conversation, most of which he didn't care about, but he did gain a little more interest as Draco leaned in and whispered, "I hear the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is crazy."

Now that, was one of the very few things Tom was interested in. Tom knew very few things about Alastor Moody, their new Dark Arts teacher. Every year, it seemed like there was a new one, and this one was no different. But, from what Tom knew from the past, Alastor Moody was a well respected Auror, which had been more than Remus Lupin or Gilderoy Lockhart had ever been. Both, of course, had quit after a year for their own reasons, but it seemed this year might turn into something more interesting.

From next to him, Nott's eyes widened, as he asked, "Crazy how?"

Draco smirked. The boy craved attention, Tom had to admit. He could never finish a damn story without basking in the attention first, just because his family was well connected, he felt like he owned Hogwarts. But, Malfoy was nowhere near as snide as his facade. Truly, he was just another sniveling boy, just with a father who actually meant a damn.

"Apparently, Alastor Moody's gone quite crazy. Years ago, he suffered one too many cruciatus curses, and has been wrong in the head ever since. It's why he's teaching here. He got canned, and Dumbledore was the only one willing to let him in." Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Draco still acted like he owned the place, despite their fight last year, that had ended with Draco in the infirmary, in his proper place.

Any seasoned professional would be able to recover from a cruciatus, and Dumbledore wasn't an idiot, he would never hire a crazy man. Dumbledore was just arrogant, far too arrogant, but Tom did have to admit he was a calculating bastard.

"Well, I guess it's lucky that defense against the dark arts is our first class," Blaise smiled confidently, as Nott just swallowed. Out of them all, Nott had always been the most cautious, and Tom respected that. It seemed Nott, of all people, knew his boundaries. How far he could go without pushing it, without losing or failing. And that was certainly more than he could say about Blaise.

Defense against the dark arts began, and Tom had to admit, Alastor Moody was quite a character. He shouted and yelled, gesturing widely with his hands. The man also had a glass eye that went crazy at almost everything, and if he had been anyone else, he would have been intimidated. But it only served as a reminder that the man had lost a battle, and in doing so, his eye.

Tom never lost.

"Alright class," Moody began, surveying the crowd with his one functional eye. "We begin today with a little pre assessment, if you will. I'm going to pair you up, and we'll see how much your old professor taught you about dueling."

At that, Tom couldn't help but smirk. No matter who he was paired up against, Slytherin or Gryffindor, there was no one in the class who could beat him. Dueling was one of his strong suits, and Moody was basically giving him a free pass to remind his classmates that he was not to be trifled with. He was not to be forgotten.

Tom cracked his knuckles, taking his wand out of his pocket. After years at this school, he'd perfected the balance between an accident and a purposeful attack, enough to make it extremely convincing, and so that not even one teacher thought to think twice about it. After all, how could Tom have known? He had assumed they were dueling, and he might have anticipated a little more from his partner. It was a simple charm, after all.

Carefully, Moody paired people up. He watched as Draco sneered at Potter, Nott looked carefully at Longbottom, Blaise looked about ready to roll his eyes at Weasley. Finally, he paired Tom with Granger. And Tom couldn't help but narrow his eyes. Finally. A little practical revenge on her, who thought she was so much smarter than everyone else. This would show her.

"Wands up!" Moody screamed, and he watched as Granger delicately prepared herself. He grinned. This would be a piece of cake. Moody took a step back, his eye peering dangerously at each and everyone of them before yelling, "Ready, go!"

"Expelliarmus!" Tom watched as Granger deflected, her eyebrows crinkling.

Tom chuckled as Granger merely stood there, and he took complete advantage. "Reducto!" Green light shot out of his wand, crashing straight into Granger, but stopped short. It seemed Granger had muttered Protego just in time, without even the use of her wand. Tom was slightly impressed, but also annoyed that he hadn't yet brought her to her knees.

Choosing to ignore logic, he yelled, "Confringo!"

Widening her eyes, Granger exclaimed, "Protego Maximum!" Just in time, a thicker, more protective shield formed around her, narrowly protecting from the spell. Angrily, her eyes vicious, she yelled back, "Petrificus Totalus!"

"Subsisto!" He murmured, letting his shield easily wipe the attack away. He only taunted her, but if she was growing lethal, it seemed he would also. He could feel her magic swirling around her, growing, as she yelled at him, "Ventus!"

Swirling winds pressed him backwards. Tom was rather impressed, as that was a spell he hadn't recognized. More irritated than when he began, and wanting to end this rather painfully, Tom retorted, "Fiendfyre!"

It seemed Hermione recognized the curse as a wordless but strong, grayish shield appeared around her, but she still attempted to duck out of the angle that Tom had pointed at her, as she shouted, "Nebulus!"

The smoke caused Tom to flick his wand backwards, the Fiendfyre slowly taming itself. As the smoke cleared, and the room became visible once more, a curse played on Tom's lips. However, he paused just long enough to realize the entire room was staring at himself and Granger, Alastor Moody especially. Tom cursed his temper as Moody approached the two of them. "Speak to me after class," He said, his voice low and accusatory, before marching back to the front of class.

The classroom setting came back, and Tom took his seat, shooting a death glare at Granger. He couldn't believe she had pushed him far enough— Fiendfyre was too dangerous for them to associate with him. Throughout the entire class, as Moody rambled on and on about something or another, Tom just kept turning his mind back to the duel. He was sure, or at least he had been sure, that he was better than her. And Tom couldn't help but stare at her several times throughout the lesson, her shooting glares back at him.

By the end, Tom's mood was extremely foul. Draco patted him on the back as he left with Blaise and Nott, Tom left alone with Granger. He noticed as Granger's friends said pitiful goodbyes to her as well, but all she could do was shrug, aggressively returning her attention to Tom.

"Both of you!" Moody growled, his magical eye spinning out of control. "You endangered your entire class today, for what? A simple duel. Please, explain to me why you used or even knew such dangerous, irresponsible spells."

Granger shot up. "Professor, I'm extremely sorry. I didn't mean for it to get dangerous, but Riddle attacked me with Fiendfyre! I didn't know what to do, and I'm extremely apologetic for the disturbance I caused."

Tom resisted a snort at how frantic she was. Still, he knew he would have to make up some rubbish answer as well. "Professor Moody, I'm sorry if the dueling got a bit out of hand. I honestly did not mean for it to end up like that, please. I was just a bit caught up in the duel, and I hadn't realized how potent it was."

Moody quirked his eyebrow upwards, shaking his head. Clearly, their terrible excuses hadn't worked. Damn. "It seems, Ms. Granger and Mr. Riddle, that your spells are quite advanced for this class."

"Yes, professor." The two responded in near unison, both of them glancing angrily at the other.

Moody sighed. "I have to admit, of the many talented wizards and witches I've seen in my time, I am extremely impressed. Mr. Riddle, your Fiendfyre was precise, and it was a spell I've seen many people struggle with. Ms. Granger, your Ventus as well as protective shields were rather stronger than I've seen in my long lifetime." Tom let out a sigh of relief. At least Moody wasn't entirely angry, though he wasn't sure what to feel being talked as equal to Granger. Fury was among one of the things he felt, but also confusion. How could Granger, of all people, be considered his level? It was almost laughable.

"But," Moody continued, "You did endanger your entire class's life during that duel. If you had made a mistake, someone could have gotten seriously injured. So, as a repercussion, the two of you will serve detention with me Tuesday evenings until Christmas break."

"What? Please, professor, it was an accident." Granger protested.

Despite hating it, Tom agreed with her. "Please, professor, this was a mistake that will not happen again. I urge you to reconsider. We have both realized the error in our ways."

Moody shook his head. "Do you understand the severity of what you did? If I reported this to Dumbledore, do you understand how much worse the punishments could be? It could bring into question how you have learned the magic in the past, if you are a safety hazard, and that could be a lot more fatal than your duel, I'm quite afraid. Both of you have potential, but you'll never learn if you endanger your class. If you kill someone. And that's the purpose of your detention."

Tom sat back in his seat, deflated. It was clear that Moody was not going to bend on this, and Tom merely sat back in his seat, deflated. Next to him, Granger was scowling, but neither said a word.

"You may leave," Moody said, pausing as the two of them stood up. "But you should know, you were two of the most powerful fourteen year olds I've seen."

Frowning, Tom left the room, hatred burning through him. He was going to kill Hermione Granger.