Chapter 2

In the seventh corridor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, stood a couple making out. Tom waited in the corner for fifteen minutes, his hand tightly around his bag, hoping that they would move their rendezvous elsewhere. But far from it – they didn't move. He swore quietly. If anyone saw him watching the couple, the reputation of being a voyeur would stick to him like tar and feathers. To make matters worse, he was wasting his scarce time. For better or worse, he had to prioritise another task on his list.

So he decided to go to another place and that he would have to hide the Horcrux after his conversation with Dumbledore, the ostensible reason for paying a visit to the school. Everything was fine as long as he had done everything he had planned at the end of the day.

oOo

He still knew the library like the back of his hand. Immediately, his path had led to the Forbidden Section. Now that the Hogwarts degree had long been his own, he did not have to fear repressions. The Forbidden Ward was off-limits to students only. He, however, was a registered guest.

A student who had to have special permission glanced at him wide-eyed – they were literally glued to him. Tom Riddle had that about him – he was used to this.

Concentrating, his eyes searched the rows of books shelf by shelf. He also used his fingers, which slid over the spines of the books and gently scraped the dusty leather. The smell of old paper rose to his nose and permeated his clothes. Days later, he would still have that special Hogwarts scent on him. Just the thought made him smile – the corners of his mouth tightened.

His happiness was wiped away when he could not find what he was looking for.

And yet he could still remember this one particular book! It had looked down on him from up there when he was leaning between the shelves late one evening with a small lantern, greedily sucking in the words of a tome. The thrill of being caught had tugged at his eyes and fingers. He had had to choose his reading carefully. There was nothing more annoying than being discovered and not even having an exciting book in your hands.

He had leafed through the one he was looking for a few times, but then put it aside and opted for other representatives of the genre. What a stupid boy he had been! He had not been able to appreciate the riches offered to him. He had quickly dismissed the author's words as crazy, because the webs of sentences he created sounded too grand, too terrifying – even too fantastic. At the time, he had dismissed it as a horror story – in the meantime, he began to suspect that there must be at least one kernel of truth. It wouldn't let him go, so he wanted to risk another look.

But it was no longer in the Forbidden Section of Hogwarts' library.

Dumbledore must have removed it after he took office. The man he often called an old fool had once again proved that he was anything but foolish. He liked to virtually torment Tom in his sanctimonious way.

His gaze slid to the clock – five minutes to half past eleven.

His time in the library was up. Grumpily, he made his way to the headmaster's office. As he climbed the narrow spiral stairs, he put on a mask of reserve and friendliness. Not that he could fool Dumbledore with it – but politeness was the surest form of contempt.

oOo

"Tom, I didn't expect to see you again so soon," he was greeted by Dumbledore. Of course, Dumbledore was not lying out of courtesy – at least not to him. No "I'm glad to see you", he just said that he had not expected to see him again soon after the Malfoys' Christmas Ball.

Admittedly – Tom had not either. It had been a half-baked idea, so to speak, he had needed an excuse to enter Hogwarts. Of course, he could not tell the truth to Dumbledore's face, so he scurried off with a cryptic, "Sir, with respect, I didn't think our paths would cross again so soon either."

It was a small miracle: they met on Tom's initiative, after all he had cleverly managed to avoid Albus Dumbledore's presence as much as possible for seven school years.

"I congratulate you warmly on your new post." He put on a smile that he thought seemed particularly endearing. Dumbledore, however, as expected, did not look thrilled by it. His face continued to resemble a rigid mask. "There could not have been a more suitable successor to Headmaster Dippet. After all, at a young age you had already been awarded a first class Merlin Order for your research. There, it's hard to top the pinnacle of your life's career again – but I must say, you've achieved it."

Dumbledore sighed and folded his hands. "That's enough, Tom."

"Sir?"

"They are kind phrases from your mouth, but in terms of flattery you have had more to offer before."

"I'm sorry, sir, you see it that way. Let me make it up to you."

"Save yourself the feint. We both know your words are nothing more than mischievous tricks."

"With respect, sir," he countered. "That is an insult I do not deserve."

"I have seen through your gestures, Tom. Ever since our very first encounter, I've seen you try to hide your cold nature behind warm words."

Tom gritted his teeth. "Do you mean our first encounter at the orphanage?" He didn't wait to see if the old man nodded. "You never forgot my harsh words then, but I was a child and it was not a nice place to grow up. Don't measure me by those adverse circumstances."

"I never measured you by that," the headmaster defended himself. "Not at all. All I need is one look... - No, it's two. One on your intelligence and another on your morals. Again and again you have surprised me with how clever and at the same time immoral you can be. You use your exceptionally great intellect only for your hypocrisy and the concealment of your fragile soul."

"I have a fragile soul?" Tom laughed, but inside he was sweating. Perhaps approaching his nemesis out of hypocrisy had not been such a good idea after all. "Sir, the battle against Grindelwald must still be having an effect on you. I can think of no other reason why you could accuse me of such morbidity."

"Tom, be honest. You must be suffering under yourself." Dumbledore looked at him piercingly. "You are already taking the first step by seeking help from me."

First step? Seek help? What world did the old man live in? He had done him wrong – he was a fool after all "Sir, I am here for the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professorship."

Dumbledore playfully propped his chin on his hand. "Oh, is that you? So tell me about your qualifications. What makes you think you'd be a suitable candidate for the job?"

Involuntarily, Tom pursed his lips. Dumbledore was trying to trick him. They both knew he would never give the job to him. Only over Dumbledore's dead body would he be able to become a teacher. It was also recently no longer his goal. Dumbledore's hostility in all honour – things were going as Tom had imagined. Only the fact that his former professor entered the interview made him ponder more deeply about his motivation. Why was the old man burdening himself with Tom's plans and salvation – or so it had sounded? Did he really do that to everyone?

For the sake of appearances, Tom played along. "Sir, I'm sure you know my degree. I have an excellent education and during my professional life and travels I have been able to gain practical experience."

"Huh – I'm sure you have." Dumbledore pretended to be listening meticulously and yet he was lost in thought. His gaze was fixed on Tom, but his words elicited little response. Accuratly, his eyes wandered over Tom's form and lowered down to his hands. Even his neatly trimmed fingernails seemed to be studied by them.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" he asked. Attack was the best defence.

Dumbledore looked up, straight into his eyes, and viewed him again urgently – but he remained silent.

"Do not take refuge in excuses. Just tell me why you are looking at me so strangely," Tom ordered. He leaned forward and intensified the eye contact. To his surging annoyance, Dumbledore backed away only minimally and concealed this as stretching to boot. His counterpart was not at all intimidated by his frontal offensive.

For a few seconds they stared at each other.

"I'll keep your appearance in mind," the professor replied in a calm voice that left no doubt that he had the words well in mind. He had probably thought through all the turns the conversation could take and then made a decision – just like Tom did.

What he was alluding to, Tom knew exactly. "Aren't you going to take my picture?" he hissed. "It'll hold better. Otherwise it's awkward, isn't it?"

"I didn't think you'd let me," Dumbledore returned impassively.

His fingers winced. This could not go on. He had to manage to get the old man to show a spark of awe. The upper hand of the conversation – how did one win you back when the other person apparently could not be ruffled?

Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald. No doubt, he knew how to deal with manipulation. "What have you found out so far?" asked Tom lurking. "Perhaps I can contribute an adjective or paraphrase or two."

The mocking words did not have the effect they had on the common folk. But Dumbledore, too, for the first time showed a reaction that betrayed his inner life. In his practised observation, Tom could not miss it: Dumbledore swallowed and noisily pulled open a drawer of his desk. Surrendered, he tried to stop the collision. "Can I offer you a sherbet lemon?"

"Go ahead. I'm curious to see how you project my fragile soul onto my appearance." Tom smiled. For a moment he felt the euphoria of victory. It was so intoxicating that it could be addictive – if one were weak and not in control of one's emotions.

Dumbledore sighed and surrendered. "Well... - The first thing I noticed is that your appearance seems even more inhuman than it did at the Malfoy ball. Amazing, considering the short time span."

Tom grinned arrogantly. "I may not be the classic beauty I once was, but inhuman? I wouldn't call it that. After all, look at me, I have all the qualities that make a human being." He waved his hands around his face and torso.

Sceptically, Dumbledore followed his gestures. "That may be true, but your features... – They are distorted. Your nose is more pointed and shallow than usual, your prominent cheekbones are entirely invisible, and your chin, which had once been quite prominent, is now sharply tapered. Considered individually, I'm not sure I would have noticed it, but collectively…"

"It's not worth mentioning anything. I don't understand the fuss that's being made about my phenotype."

"I do, because there are still your eyes." As usual, Dumbledore had saved the most impressive argument for the very end.

"What about them?" He enjoyed teasing the unease out of his former teacher. Even though he pretended to be cool, there was no mistaking that this new peculiarity gave Dumbledore an eerie feeling.

"They're shimmering red, Tom." Dumbledore leaned forward, towards his counterpart, and Tom knew that now came the counter-attack. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed. You enjoy the discomfort you cause those around you, even at this moment."

"Not at all!"

"Don't deny it. You are more comfortable in this skin than in your own former one. So comfortable that you don't even notice how you're isolating yourself. You're lonely, Tom, even if you're in no position to bemoan the lack of human interaction." Dumbledore stared into his face as if to emphasise his point. If the glimmering red eyes upset him, he was good at disguising it. He had always reproached Tom for things he had done himself. He had been immune to all attempts at manipulation – at the beginning of his school days Tom had still tried to win the goodwill of the teacher – because he himself was a cunning manipulator. "You had never been a social person, but now, Tom, you are not even socially acceptable."

Tom gritted his teeth to keep his mask from slipping. It was getting harder as hot anger rose inside him. How dare Dumbledore try to humiliate him with words like that? Who was the professor to presume to judge Tom in such a way? Who he associated with and who he did not – whether he even sought contact with a human being at all – that was entirely up to him. The anger was joined by the feeling of having been caught, which fuelled the former. Since his return, joining British wizarding society had proved to be more difficult than expected. The Knights of Walpurgis now had jobs and many already had families. Few wanted to hear about reckless plans to seize power. In his chest, anger at all these circumstances mingled into a great ball of savage murder lust.

An urge crept up in his throat. He wanted to scream and shout until fear was reflected in the old fool's eyes. He would have loved to reach for his wand and destroy the office and the headmaster with a single spell – and everything he stood for.

But he remembered his mission again. "Could I have a glass of water? I'm sorry to be so intrusive, but you haven't offered me anything to drink yet, sir." He coughed harshly, but the scratching in his throat did not disappear.

"I didn't think our conversation would last this long," Dumbledore admitted, and with a sweep of his wand, a large, filled glass stood before Tom.

The latter grabbed it eagerly and, against etiquette, emptied it in one go.

"You're awfully thirsty," Dumbledore stated the obvious and refilled it with another wave. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," he growled, emptying this glass almost to the bottom as well.

With wide eyes in which – had they been a little wider – one could have read the thoughts of the other, Tom was regarded by his counterpart. He knew better than to use legilimency right now.

At that moment the door slammed open and Professor Slughorn burst into the room. "Albus, I must apologise, but this is extremely urgent. If you could please interrupt your conversation, we need to -" Tom had turned and Slughorn's gaze had fallen on him. It took the professor an infinite number of seconds to realise who was sitting there in front of him and to believe his eyes. "Tom…?" He shook his head, barely perceptibly. "We need to talk, Albus, now. A student has gone missing in the Forbidden Forest."

That Slughorn, as Head of Slytherin, had come to the Headmaster's office meant nothing other than that it had to be a Slytherin student. Thus, there was the non-negligible possibility that it would be a pureblood with rich parents concerned about the family honour. Tom knew how to use this incident to his advantage. That it happened now of all times – now when he was visiting, could only be a twist of fate.

Dumbledore rose. "We had nothing more to say to each other anyway."

Tom jumped to his feet as well. "With respect, sir, that sounds like a serious situation. I'm sure you'll need to assemble search parties today, and if you'll allow it, I'd like to help."

There had been a time when Slughorn would have praised this as a sign of kindness, but on this day he only stared into Tom's distorted face. It had left him speechless, which was huge considering Slughorn was a man of many words.

"I don't think it would be a good measure," Dumbledore decided, and Tom could already saw his hopes dashed.

Then Slughorn cleared his throat. "Albus... The Forbidden Forest is large and there is an even gigantic area to cover. The gamekeeper's apprentice disappeared with the student. We can use every man we have. If we don't find them today, we will have to rely on volunteers tomorrow at the latest. It would be bureaucratic nonsense to refuse his help."

"Then we'll ask him tomorrow," Dumbledore objected, but already sounding unconvinced himself.

"You can deal with the enraged parents then," Slughorn reminded him. "I promise you, it will become public and the school board will go to the barricades against you for underestimating the seriousness of the situation."

"Over one person offering his help? It's a drop in the ocean."

"It's a sign of the inability to put official matters above personal ones." He looked wistfully at Tom.

Dumbledore nodded wearily. "All right, Tom, but you must not go on a quest alone. What a shame it would be if you were lost as a third person." He made no effort to express his concern in a believable way. It was just a matter of saying. "Either accompany Professor Slughorn or me."

Gritting his teeth, Tom agreed to comply and make a choice soon.