She stared at him.
He ate some soup.
She stared at him some more.
He opened the paper.
She continued staring, so he held the paper up slowly to block her from view.
"Tom."
"What?"
"We're going to the Halloween party together."
"Are we?"
"Yes."
"Alright."
Well, that was easy. Now Slughorn could stop pestering him about it.
Satisfied with his answer, Ilania sat down beside him (which he knew she was going to do, but he was still annoyed by it) and pulled a sandwich from the plate in the middle of the table. For someone who had seemed infatuated with him at the beginning of the year, she sounded rather indifferent about the whole date thing.
"Good," she said. "I didn't want to have to go alone. I normally avoid Slughorn's ridiculous parties, since they always end horribly, but Norman Bekele is going to be there, if you can believe it."
"Who?"
"Astronomer. He's got some brilliant ideas about... well, nothing that would interest you."
"Cheers. Wait, what do you mean 'end horribly?'"
She shrugged. "Slughorn likes to employ a 'no glass left empty' policy at those things when it comes to his adult guests. Trust me, at least one person will leave with a black eye, or a cursed limb, or a lawsuit."
He rather hoped he would have managed to convince Cornelia to go with him, as a party was the perfect setting for subtle interrogation. But Ilania would do, he supposed. Other than a mysteriously classified stretch of time working in America on some unknown project, he didn't find much in his investigation into her that would have been of interest to him. But a date was a date. Maybe he could finally figure out why her mind read like a physics textbook.
Curious, he made a cursory glance into her current thoughts and-
BABIES.
"Merlin," he swore out loud.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She gave him a suspicious look. "You're acting odd today. Anyway," - here came the gossip - "did you know Peggy's pregnant?"
That made sense. "I did not know that."
"Everyone's talking about it. I guess she's due in the spring. She and her husband are very excited."
"Wonderful." He didn't even know Peggy was married. She wasn't exactly on the top of his investigation list.
"Also, did you hear about poor Ozy?"
"Who?"
"Ozy. Ozymandius."
He shrugged.
"Fogg."
What the hell kind of name... "Oh, right. What about him?"
She shook her head grimly. "Apparently he's having trouble with his wand. All he can seem to do right now is conjure flowers. He almost accidentally impaled a student yesterday with a beautiful bouquet of red roses. And it won't stop, no matter what he does. He thinks he'll have to get a new one. I can't imagine."
"How unfortunate."
He waited for her at the end of the corridor, praying that the night would go quickly and that there would be no bloody dancing.
She arrived a few minutes later, wearing a dress of deep blue that was quite flattering. She also had a thick book in her arms.
She looked him up and down and smiled. "Hello."
"Hello. What is the book for?"
"Oh, I want Bekele to sign it. It's the text he wrote on extra-solar astronomy."
She took him by the arm and they headed down the corridor, which was draped in black fabric and lined with tall, metal candelabras. The candles they held gave off an eerie orange glow that did not brighten the space at all.
When they arrived at the entrance the curtains parted on their own, revealing a spacious room packed with people. Ilania scanned the crowd the moment they entered and gasped. "There he is!" she whispered, pointing to the far corner near the windows.
She disappeared into the sea of people.
It was much grander than any of the parties he remembered, though he did not remember them much, most likely because he would stay only for the minimum acceptable amount of time in order to be seen, then vanish. That was not an option this time, but it was still highly tempting.
The room was draped in the same black fabric as the corridor. From the ceiling hung a massive, spider web-shaped chandelier that held hundreds of those odd orange candles and was rotating slowly. Live spiders dangled from the bottom.
One end of the room was taken up by a fully functioning bar. There was another wall lined with drinks, and several waiters flitted through the crowd, offering even more beverage options. Ilania was not incorrect about Slughorn's determination to cause mass inebriation.
"Drink, sir?" asked one of the waiters, who looked like he would not have cared if the entire castle blew up at that moment and killed them all.
Tom took one of the tall, thin glasses and sniffed at it. He was adept at drinking socially, or at least appearing to do so. He'd always avoided outright intoxication at all costs, however. He did not care for anything that impaired his ability to monitor and control everything around him.
Then again, he hadn't been in control of anything around him for a while now.
He tasted whatever was in his glass. Some extremely strong variation of chardonnay. It seemed tolerable.
Ilania was deep in conversation with her newfound infatuation, an elderly, slightly hunched man that looked like something between a university professor and a desiccated corpse. He did not want to intrude, mostly because he had no interest in learning anything about extra-solar astronomy.
There was always the option of joining Slughorn in his carefully crafted circle of potential long-term benefits, otherwise known as celebrities, but that would most likely necessitate talking to them, and he had less desire to meet the whoever of whatever Quidditch team than he did learning about extra-solar astronomy.
He drank a bit of chardonnay and watched the other guests carefully.
-Drink 1:
Most of the students from the Slug Club had made it, and he noticed that the Slytherins were expertly navigating the crowd and doing the thing properly, while the other members stayed huddled together, looking nervous. Thankfully, there was no sign of Hex Boy.
And evidently, the feuding Slytherin and Hufflepuff members had made up at some point, because they were snogging in the dark corner behind the bar. How nice.
He made his way slowly across the room, wondering if it was acceptable to completely abandon the date that had completely abandoned him the moment they arrived, then deciding not to care.
He caught sight of Cornelia. She was drifting from person to person, almost as if she had a predetermined list, and the more important they were, the longer she stayed. Some people seemed to recognize her and greeted her like an old friend, and others appeared mildly uncomfortable in her presence.
He decided not to waste any more time on her, hoping instead that Lestrange would uncover something actionable. Besides, there were plenty of other people-
"Professor?"
The Slytherin girl that had accused him of impropriety during the Slug Club meeting was suddenly in front of him, demanding attention.
"What do you want?"
She looked down at the ground. "I just wanted to apologize for the other day. I was wrong - you're obviously not dating Hester Hopkirk."
"Brilliant. Thank you for apologizing after you'd spread that rumor everywhere."
"It was such a silly idea. I mean, she's obviously not good enough for you."
"It is a ridiculous idea. I would never- wait, what?"
"So," she purred, "if you're not dating Hester..."
"If you do not leave my presence right this second I will remove your head and send it to your parents through the post," he threatened quietly.
The girl shot him a nasty look and stormed off.
He took another large drink and cursed the fact that the entire female student body was determined to embroil him in some horrific underage scandal.
-Drink 2 (a.k.a. "Drink 1"):
Music had started to play from somewhere - eerie, foreboding music that seemed to fill the room with suspense and violins. The crowd quieted down as the already dim lights dimmed even more. Near the back of the room, a stage appeared with a blue spotlight above it, and Slughorn stepped onto it and opened his arms wide.
"Welcome! It's so lovely to see you all again. Now, tonight's special guest needs no introduction. Allow him to take you away on a wonderful, sonorous journey."
What the hell did that mean?
Slughorn hurried off the stage and a tall, thin man appeared. He was dressed like he couldn't decide what to wear and had just thrown everything on at once in order to avoid the decision altogether. After a few seconds he started to sing in a loud, operatic voice.
Loud.
It sounded as if he were in the process of attempting to scream while also rolling down a hill.
But the audience was captivated. Hypnotized. Seduced.
Apparently, all Tom needed to do to gain a loyal following was learn how to sing loudly.
He took a drink and wondered when the party was supposed to end. He had a significant amount of homework to grade over the weekend and... was... starting to worry that grading homework was not necessarily conducive to taking over wizarding Britain.
Dear god. The last time he was at a Slughorn party, he'd left at the earliest possible moment to continue planning for his next Horcrux. This time he was hoping to leave at the earliest possible moment in order to go back to work. He took another drink.
-Drink 3 (a.k.a. "Drink 1"):
There was a smattering of familiar pureblood sympathizers colluding near the bar, and he wandered over to them. They'd been a part of his circle of associates at school, and had been considerably loyal and enthusiastic at the time (at least after some gentle persuasion), though none of them had made much effort to keep in touch with him after he'd left.
The bastards.
What a perfect time to remind them that he was still around.
"Hello, friends," he said smoothly. "Lovely to see you here."
Orion Black's eyes bulged at the sight of him, and Henry Mulciber nearly dropped his drink. Bill Macnair eyed the exit.
He noted with satisfaction that no one Cornelia had talked to had shown an overwhelming desire to run for their lives.
"Hello er- sir," Macnair stuttered, obviously unsure of what to call him and settling on something respectful-sounding.
Tom smiled. "Macnair. Can't remember the last time we talked."
"It was just after my graduation. You- er- you threatened to kill my entire extended family."
"Oh, yes. That's right. How are they, by the way?"
"Fine, fine." He looked like he wanted to jump out a window.
"And Black, how are the Blacks?"
Black rubbed his neck and looked around nervously. "Same as ever," he mumbled. "I mean, I know you don't… you don't particularly like the family-"
"Nonsense! What gave you that idea?"
"You called them a useless, pretentious plague of greedy nepotists."
Why was he not remembering all of these enjoyable conversations he'd had?
Macnair interjected. "Are you still living in London?" he asked Tom.
"No, I work here, actually. I'm a professor."
They looked at each other in confusion.
"Professor?" Black questioned nervously. "Of… children?"
Why was it always so difficult for anyone outside Hogwarts to understand what "Hogwarts professor" meant? "Yes," he stated rather forcefully.
"Do you find it enjoyable?"
"Yes," he lied. "Very rewarding."
Black nodded. "That must be… So… Henry and his wife are having a baby," he said quickly, literally pointing at Mulciber in an attempt to take the attention off of himself.
"Is that so?"
Mulciber threw Black a subtle look of loathing. "Er- yes. In the spring. A boy."
"Wonderful. Perhaps I will have the honor of teaching him someday."
Mulciber looked as if there was nothing in the world more terrifying.
Macnair glanced around the room and then leaned in close. "So, what name do you go by now? I mean, should I be calling you-"
"I have to be careful, obviously. I've built a persona around my old name, one that my colleagues here have come to respect and-"
"Tom!" called Ilania from one of the tables. "Get over here, you prat."
"Excuse me," he muttered, downing the rest of his drink in frustration and walking away.
-Drink 4 (a.k.a. "technically Drink 2, but we'll call it 1"):
Ilania was standing with Peggy at one of the many tall tables scattered throughout the place. Both of them had their eyes narrowed and were looking at him like they were deciding how best to carry out his execution.
"Is there a reason you are shouting insults across the room at me?" he inquired.
"Peggy told me what you said to Minerva."
"Did she?" he asked loudly, glaring at Peggy. Why was this still an issue?
"What were you thinking?"
He didn't bother responding because he felt he shouldn't have had to tell one more person that it was a bloody misunderstanding.
"Well?"
He shrugged.
She made a "tsk" noise. "Unbelievable."
He wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. "I am not sure what you want me to say."
"Did you at least try to apologize?" Peggy demanded.
"Several times. Almost got the whole way through once, too." He remembered suddenly that he had planned to curse Beery at some point. Missing limb, perhaps? Removal of the mouth? That would shut him up.
"Well, I suppose, as long as you made an attempt," Ilania reasoned.
Maybe he could replace the man's entire head with a bowl of hydrangeas.
"Anyway," Peggy said to Ilania, "how awful do you think the inspections are going to be this year?"
Make him forget everything he knew about plants? That would be downright cruel. Could work.
"Not sure," said Ilania. "I'm willing to bet they're still not happy about the Quidditch pitch catching fire last year."
Replace a limb with a plant. Wait, why were all his workplace curses flora-themed?
"I suppose the length of the inspection will depend on when they arrive," Peggy said.
Blood curse. Every full moon, he'd be forced to turn into a rosebush. It was perfect. Tom took a celebratory drink.
-Drink 5 (a.k.a. "Drink 1"):
There was suddenly a large amount of shouting coming from the couple at the table beside them. They watched as the man yelled something about "being unreasonable" and the woman slapped him across the face. She then turned to leave and he followed her, shouting the entire way through the crowd and out the door.
Tom laughed.
Ilania and Peggy glared at him.
"What?"
"Anyway," said Peggy, "they'll probably arrive in mid-November. That only gives us about two weeks to prepare."
"Prepare for what?" he asked.
"For the inspection."
"What inspection?"
"What- were you not paying attention ten seconds ago?"
"No."
She rolled her eyes. "The one the Ministry does every year that we always somehow just manage to fail. They get more and more intrusive every time they visit."
Oh, yes. He remembered now - the Ministry inspections that were completely, one hundred percent his fault. "Right. How exactly do those work?"
"Well," said Ilania, "first they'll inspect the castle to record any safety issues-"
He snorted.
They stared at him in confusion.
"Sorry," he said, taking another drink, "it's just that I don't see the point of a safety inspection at a school where the students carry around lethal weapons and are regularly trying to kill each other while the castle arbitrarily decides to change its layout so frequently that the teachers can't even keep up with it."
"-and... then... they review the classes," Ilania finished, looking at him with concern.
"How much have you had to drink?" Peggy asked him.
What a stupid, baseless, utterly offensive question. "This is my first glass. Though I appreciate your completely unwarranted concern." He hoped the sarcasm was evident.
It was. They both shot him looks of disgust and walked away.
-Drink 6 (a.k.a. "Drink 1"):
Thank Merlin he had been careful enough not to succumb to inebriation. The other party guests were starting to show their lack of inhibitions: quite a few couples had joined the Slytherin and Hufflepuff in finding dark corners in which to do things they would probably regret later, and a significant number of people had begun to dance.
Fools.
He wandered over to Slughorn, figuring he might as well get the Slughorn part of Slughorn's Evening of Slughorn over with.
"Professor!" said Slughorn, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and guiding him into the circle of unknown faces. "I see you did not bring a date," he whispered covertly.
"I did. She disappeared. Twice."
He frowned. "Eh, close enough. Anyway... Everyone, this is the newest addition to our staff at Hogwarts, Professor Riddle."
He started to introduce Tom to people who he assumed were important in one way or another, though he was not paying enough attention to assess them properly. It was a shame, really, because he probably could have made some useful contacts.
Eventually, Slughorn wandered away and people started introducing themselves.
"The name's Tobias Misslethorpe," said a man dressed like a Muggle banker. "Editor of Witch Weekly." He took Tom's hand and shook it. "Charming to meet you, Professor. So. I hear you're new? How long have you been at Hogwarts?"
What a dumb question. "Seventy-three years."
"Er- right. Say, do you think you would be interested in doing a profile piece for our Young Bachelors feature?"
"I definitely think that I would not be interested in doing that."
"Oh... Well, we're doing a large spread on academia in our spring issue, if you're interested in providing a few quotes...?"
"I am even less interested in doing that."
Tobias blinked stupidly at him and then walked away.
The next one was just as annoying.
"Quentin Constantinides," he said with obnoxious enthusiasm. "Chaser, team owner, philanthropist, et cetera. But you probably already knew that."
"Sure."
"And you are...?"
"Tom Riddle. Professor. Et cetera."
"Brilliant! Smashing. What's your team, Professor?"
"I don't have one."
"Oh, I see. Not a Quidditch fan then?"
"No. I spend most of my time comfortably pretending Quidditch does not exist. I find that preferable to actually having to think about it at all."
"I'm sorry?"
Slughorn had appeared again. "Sorry, Quentin, old chap. I need to borrow the Professor here." He pulled Tom away and Tom went willingly.
"There's someone I want you to meet," Slughorn said excitedly.
"Brilliant."
"This is Maria," he announced, pushing Tom in front of a short, well-dressed woman. "She works in the Office of the Minister for Magic. Thought you two might get along."
Then he disappeared again, the bastard.
"Nice to meet you," the woman said, holding out a hand, which he took and kissed politely. Or awkwardly. One of the two.
She seemed to like it either way.
The Ministry was always a fine career option. Why did he never go into the Ministry? He had so many questions.
"What do you do?" he asked.
"Oh, well, I mostly help the Minister with scheduling and organizing..."
He was bored already.
"...and record daily briefings and such."
"Does your position hold any sort of power?"
"Not really..."
"Are you in a role that could offer positions of power to other people?"
"I can't hire people, no."
"Do you, at some point, imagine yourself being in a position of significant power?"
"No, I really like what I do now..."
He looked at her for a moment. "Well, Maria," he said, "it's been... something."
He walked away.
He'd finally finished his glass of chardonnay, or what he thought must be a full glass, since the thing was constantly full, and placed it on the tray of a passing waiter. Better safe than sorry.
Then he nearly collided with Ilania, who had appeared out of nowhere.
"Where have you been?" she demanded.
"I was looking for you," he lied.
"Does looking for me entail standing around idly and drinking enough to kill a small herd of Thestrals?"
As if he would be so foolish. "I've barely had anything. I don't even have a drink right now. Clearly you are confused."
"Clearly." She looked at him pointedly.
Before he could shoot back a witty retort there was a large crash near the bar. Two men had apparently begun to fight, and they were throwing slurred insults at each other while the intoxicated crowd watched them like it was a spectator sport.
"See?" she whispered. "Like I said, every one of these parties ends horribly." She handed him her glass. "I'm going to bed. Hopefully I won't be able to hear this; my quarters are on the floor above."
She disappeared for a third time.
He wondered vaguely why no one was stepping in to stop the fight that was now the focus of everyone's attention. He could have stepped in and stopped the fight, but what would be the point? It wasn't his business.
-Drink 7 (a.k.a. "where the hell did this come from?"):
He took a drink from the glass in his hand that he did not remember having before and watched as the men started to duel, their wands slicing violently through the air. But in their drunkenness all they were able to really do was send their spells in random directions all over the room.
The bar went first. Bottles and broken glass exploded everywhere, and the counter caught fire.
The tables were next. Blown away by a poorly cast propelling spell.
Then one of them managed to hit the chandelier on the ceiling. The chain that was holding it started to slip, bringing it closer and closer to the ground, until it stopped. It swung back and forth, creaking loudly as the single link that held it to the ceiling started to give way, and everyone retreated to the edges of the room and stared at it with bated breath.
Well, if it was going to go anyway, Tom thought he might as well speed things along. He had homework to grade. He flicked his wand and the entire thing came crashing down.
People screamed as metal and candles and spiders went flying everywhere. It was a bit of an overdramatic response, really, since they all knew it was going to fall. What were they expecting?
After the chaos died down, he realized he could have just as easily cast a spell to secure it to the ceiling. Though, if they didn't want it to fall, they should have used magic to secure it in the first place.
Oh, well. It wasn't like he'd killed anyone. He took a drink and started to plan his escape. Three hours was long enough for this sort of torture.
-Drink 8 (a.k.a. "well, shit"):
He made his way through the throng of people and out into the poorly lit hallway, where he experienced a sudden and unpleasant bout of dizziness.
He realized, as he looked back at the mess he'd left, that there was a small, minuscule, infinitesimal chance that he might have had a bit more to drink than he'd thought.
Unacceptable. What was that spell to remove alcohol from the bloodstream? He couldn't remember, because he'd never had to use it before. Bloody Slughorn.
He'd made it about halfway to his quarters when he saw the shadow of someone moving in the hallway ahead of him. He inched forward quietly along the wall until he was close enough to identify them, while also using the wall to keep himself upright. A bit more of the latter than the former, possibly.
It was Dumbledore. He was walking extremely slowly down the corridor, looking like he had no idea where he was going.
Normally, Tom would have been very keen to throw him some snide remark, but snide remarks were beyond his abilities at the moment.
"Sir, what are you doing?"
Dumbledore turned and looked at him, smiling benignly. "Walking, I believe."
Was he intoxicated too? "Why are you doing that?"
"Well, usually it gets me from one place to another."
Fair enough. "Where are you going?"
"Can't be sure, friend. But you know, I think we're in a castle?"