The Burke Situation

Tom finds Harper crying in a lone corner of the third floor. It's unexpected. Girls tend to cry, he thinks, but Harper Gamp never looked the type. She's very different from Amy Benson – she might be the best out of his fellow club members, even.

Harper sniffs and says, "Oh, it's you."

Well, yes, indeed – it's him. Who else?

"Thought you might be Burke," she says when he asks, "here to gloat."

Beatrice Burke isn't someone Tom has spoken much to. Mostly because she thinks non-inbred people are beneath her. Tom assumes he shouldn't bother trying to find a reason behind it – dumb kids are too hard to understand.

"She makes fun of me all the time," she says, even though Tom hasn't asked. "Now she's also saying I've got a crush on you," she glares at him.

Tom sighs.

"As Professor Dumbledore says, Harper, there's never shame in love."

Harper stops crying, but she still looks upset.

"Riddle, I'm not in love with you," she insists.

Tom nods along and smiles. Better humour her lest she start crying again. "Of course not," he says.

Harper sniffs again and moves away from her corner, looking a bit more like her usual self.

"Whatever," she says, "Burke's a lot meaner about my marks than about this."

About Harper's marks?

"But Burke's are much, much worse," he points out, in case she hasn't noticed.

She should use the information to strike back, he thinks.

"She says boys don't like smart girls," Harper says, blushing a little.

Huh, really? Tom doesn't like anyone much, but he certainly detests dumb girls more than smart ones. That's what he tells her.

"Who cares what you think?" she asks, rolling her eyes.

Such strong denial.

The Slytherin Brawl

Burke, Tom is forced to admit, is insufferable.

"Haven't you heard me?" she asks. "I'm speaking to you, you mudblood pauper."

Yes, he's heard her. Everyone in the Common Room has heard her. The Ravenclaws up in their high tower have heard her. Hell, Tom wouldn't be surprised if Headmaster Dippet comes down complaining about the screeching.

"Oh look," she says to Joyce Fawley, her best friend. "The poor thing's deaf, too."

He'll be soon, if she keeps talking.

"Are you really not going to answer?" she insists.

Tom wonders if the Prefects would approve of him setting her on fire. He'd do everyone a favour, wouldn't him? But the chuckles he's hearing around the Common Room indicate he might face some opposition.

Such a dilemma.

"He's heard you," answers Ertan, who apparently dislikes her just as much as Harper. "He's ignoring you, you twit. Learn the difference."

Oh, and he thought Ertan was a spineless idiot. Between this and his arts skills he might ascend to Tom's favourite. Sorry, Thoros – better luck next week.

"Who're you to call someone a twit when you're dumber than a flobberworm?" strikes back Walburga Black, Burke's older cousin.

"Rosier's not dumb." Payge Tripe, one of Harper's friends, unexpectedly jumps into the fight. "You're dumb."

Gods, children fights are the stupidest things.

"No," Walburga screams back, "you're –"

And splash! A batch of freshly sprouted Whizzing Worms strikes her right on her flat nose.

Tom stays seated as spells and joke products fly over his head and all the while he wonders if there's a way to accelerate childhood into adulthood. While he contemplates the immaturity of his peers, a raspberry muffin hits the back of his head.

He's managed to sting the butts of two second-years with well-aimed hexes when Luella Runcorn, the Head Girl, interrupts the brawl.

Collective detention doesn't sound like a good way to spend his Sunday.

The Precious Advice

Tom enjoys a warm cup of tea in his favourite room in the world: the Professor's Office.

"So," says Professor Dumbledore, frowning. "Your fellow Slytherins aren't being too kind?"

"Burke," Tom specifies. "No, not kind at all."

Kind is definitely not the word to use here.

The Professor sips his tea and nods sagely. In that gesture Tom can see his infinite wisdom.

"People sometimes can't accept that which is different," he says. "And never that which threatens their worldview. Miss Burke cannot comprehend the fact that you, a student with a muggle background, could be so talented – it clashes against all she's been taught. She can't help but lash out in response."

So, she's jealous. He'd grasped that much.

"She's mean to Harper, too," he says.

She must be jealous of her marks as well! Tom is proud of himself for having understood the strange brain processes of dumb girls.

"Ah, I thank you for bringing it to my attention," the Professor says. "You're very kind to do so."

Huh.

This is the first time he's ever been called kind in his life. Is trying to understand dumb kids a gesture of kindness?

It must be, Tom decides, for it's certainly a rather worthless sacrifice. Only kind people do those.

"What would you do, Professor? In my situation," he asks, because fire doesn't seem to be an option this time.

The Professor's eyes twinkle and Tom feels warm just from it.

"Show her, Tom. Show her, just like you've been doing already, that blood is meaningless. That it is prejudice and not knowledge that guides her words, and that her opinions are unjustified." He smiles at him. "In other words, Tom, just be yourself."

So, prove that he's better than her.

Tom nods happily.

Oh, he can do that.

Tom's hit list currently reads:

- BEATRICE BURKE

- Minerva McGonagall

- Garrick Ollivander

- The Sorting Hat (resistant to fire)

- Horace Slughorn

- Margot Droope