3. Slytherin
I would lie if I claim that all wizarding community shared Peresus Potter's opinion about the purity of blood.
Times had already passed when the Muggle children, gifted with the magical abilities, were commonly accounted to be the second class citizens and in the social hierarchy were measured up to the goblins and the giants. In the middle of the XX-th century, law guaranteed the equality of rights of all the wizards, regardless of their origin (and also sex, skin colour or other attributes that for the ages have divided people into better and worse), and the best examples were me and the other Muggle born students, who could study in the schools of witchcraft together with the pure-blood ones.
Officially, no one dared to question the rightness of such a policy. On the other hand, it wasn't secret that old wizarding families, often boasted of the several hundreds years tradition, were very malevolent towards diffusion of the magical abilities into the Muggle world. Many of them, though of course not everybody, believed that magic in the hands of the Mudbloods is simply a profanation of the ancient art, which deserved only a chosen few. Things came to such a point that the members of those families married only within their caste, and any attempts of breaking out of that unwritten duty usually resulted in a disinheritance of such a black sheep and in breaking off all relations with him (or her).
This prejudice against the Muggle-born wizards resulted from the conviction that people, who didn't have magical abilities were, in general, less intelligent and, subsequently, worse than the ones whose magical perception was strong. An origin of such a view should be placed in the ancient times, when the development of civilisation was much less advanced then the development of magic. The wizards could easily take control over the mass of primitive Muggles, usually under the pretence of the invented worships and religions. But with the progress of human knowledge and technology the wizards lost their dominant position and the two worlds: magical and the one of the Muggles, separated. Since that time each one has been developing independently and their inter-dependence was minimal. In the XX-th century most of the pure blood wizards had no idea about the achievements of the modern physics and chemistry but they still believed that THEY were the most perfect human beings. They despised Muggles and considered them as the lower kind of people. That's why it was so difficult for them to accept the fact that the Mudbloods often had greater talent than the heirs of the old, wizarding families.
Entering into the world of magic I didn't even suspect I would find here so many xenophobia and hidden racism.
*
It was a point of honour for Perseus Potter to remind me as often as possible that for him I was an absolute zero. Every day he aimed some vicious and scornful remark at me, usually referring to my poverty and the fact that I had grown up in the orphanage. And when he was sure that no one else could hear him, in a venomous voice he called Mudblood and dirty half-breed. On such occasions his dark eyes were gleaming with a pure hatred.
Yes, there is no doubt that the main goal of Perseus Potter, devoured by envy and helpless fury anytime I was better than him during the lessons, was to make my life in Hogwart as unbearable as deep was his morbid antipathy.
And me ? Well, I simply tried not to pay attention to Potter's blustering. Years of teasing, first in the orphanage, then it the Public School, armed me in a thick armour of indifference and distance towards what the people were saying about me. When the shock had passed after my first conversation with Potter, that had ruined once forever my illusions and naive faith in the perfection of the magical world, I started to treat him as if he didn't exist. With a cool insensibility I endured even the most mean and insulting comments that his wretched intellect, obsessively focused on this one goal, had managed to produce.
And yet, though I didn't show any emotions, Potter's words hurt me, the deeper, the more I tried to pretend that I didn't care about them. I kept silent but every insult burnt its stinging mark in my heart and memory.
But that was what Perseus Potter didn't know and he was bridling up because of my indifference and coolness. However, he remained hopeful that one day he would succeed in putting me out of patience and he would fully enjoy a divine taste of vengeance.
Next possibility occurred to him in the middle of May. The day was sunny and warm so the students left the castle and dispersed over the green lawns. I sat at the lakeside, put a Transfiguration textbook in front of me and I completely lost myself in reading.
Suddenly a shadow fell on the pages. I turned away surprised and I saw Perseus Potter. He was alone, he was standing several steps from me and was looking at me with an expression that was usually reserved for something particularly hideous and disgusting. As we were eyeing each other, a very nasty and vicious smile appeared on his thick lips.
'Riddle,' he drawled venomously 'It's rather fortunate that I see you, I just wanted to ask you a question. As an expert...' he chuckled softly 'Is that true that the Muggle orphanage doesn't differ from a pigsty ? Come on, tell me, Riddle' he moved closer and poked my shoulder 'I heard you were all kept in one great hall where you slept, eat and shitted.'
I clenched my teeth, with all my strength trying to control the rage that was growing in me. Potter was observing me with a sneering grimace.
'I heard that in the orphanage you gobbled form the floor. My! ' he shook with laugher 'You must look like pigs then ! Like Muggle pigs !'
I clenched my fists. I was looking at the wildly chortling boy and I felt an irresistible temptation to change his empty, puffed up head into a shapely pumpkin with a single wave of my wand (it was a curse I'd learnt recently). Vision of Potter, walking through the Hogwart with a great vegetable on his shoulders, seemed so amusing that I started to goggle myself. I was just reaching for my wand when suddenly someone shouted on the other side of the lake. It brought me round. Potter stopped laughing too and looked at me with a new dose of hatred.
'Come on, Riddle,' he hissed 'Tell the truth; did you gobble from the floor?'
I shrugged my shoulders and I stepped forward to pass him but then he sprang at me and knocked me down to the ground.
'Show me how you ate, pig !' he shrieked, trying to press my head to the grass.
He was taller and stronger than me and it gave him a goodly advantage. Though I was struggling with a fierceness of an encircled dragon, I couldn't wrench myself free.
'Mug to the ground, Mudblood!' howled Potter triumphantly 'You must lie just like that when you are talking with a pure-blood wizard!'
I succeeded in freeing one hand. I tried to reach my pocket but it wasn't easy. Finally my fingers tightened on the black handle of the wand...
'POTTER !!!'
At the sound of that voice we both came to a standstill. I felt the hands, which had pressed me to the ground, moved back rapidly. I rose my head.
Blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore, fixed on Perseus Potter, were burning with indignation.
'You disappointed me, boy,' he said coldly 'You are a disgrace for your family name. Go back to the castle. In an hour you will report in the Headmaster's office.'
For the first time in his Hogwart career Potter didn't even try to protest. Without a word of comment, with downcast eyes, he moved humbly towards the school.
Bright, piercing glance of Dumbledore rested on me. I was shaking with rage and humiliation, not able to stifle any longer the bitterness rising in me.
'WHY does it happen?!' I cried, giving a loose to all the rancour that had gathered in my heart for many years; at the same time I fixed my burning eyes at Dumbledore as if I expected that he was the one who should answer me 'Why do always such wretched skunks as Arnie Giber and Perseus Potter consider themselves better than me? It's not fair !' I stamped my foot 'Is that my fault that I'm a Muggle orphan?! I would give a lot to change it. But I am who I am. THEY are the ones who are not fit to hold a candle to me ! They have no right to treat me like that !'
Hatred overcame me completely. I have no doubt that if in that moment anyone put in front of me all the authors of my sufferings, beginning from the damned Muggle who was my father and finishing at that wretched pure-blood idiot, nothing would stop me from dispensing them justice; my own justice, which in that moment provided only one, capital punishment...
Some of those feelings must have appeared on my face, because for the first time since I had known him, Dumbledore looked at me with apprehension and some strange sadness.
'Tom, I'm really sorry that it happened,' he sighed 'Potter had passed all bounds. But, please, don't judge all community only on the ground of behaviour of one envious raw lad. He doesn't like you and he says whatever comes upon his mouths only to tease you. But it doesn't mean that everybody shares such opinions. Other students always treat you very kindly.'
'It's easy to say...' I muttered bitterly 'But YOU weren't called bastard or dirty Mudblood for all your life. I endured it so long...but now I have enough of it. Simply enough.'
Dumbledore was looking at me concentrated, as if he was about to take a very important decision.
'Tom,' he said finally in a firm voice 'I was wondering when I should tell you that. And, to tell the truth, I was going to wait several more years, till you finish the school and begin independent life. But now I see it will be better if you know all at once.'
'All...?' I repeated unsteadily, feeling again like that eventful night when I had heard that I had been a wizard 'But about what?'
Dumbledore's blue eyes flared up.
'Tom,' he said slowly, stressing every word 'You are, in a straight line, a last heir of great Salazar Slytherin.'
*
For several following days I was living like in a dream, absolutely unaware what was going around. If somebody asked me what I had been doing then, I wouldn't be able to answer. I only know that during the Charms lesson I made my classmate crying, absent-mindedly diminishing her nates instead of her nose (*). Moreover, a mixture I had prepared during Potions looked more like thick mud than a volatile, phosphorescent liquid, the Regeneration Solution should have been. The teachers looked at me in amazement and I was wandering about the classrooms and corridors as a sleepwalker, with a distant and vacant gaze.
Only one thought was burning in my feverish mind: I am a heir of Slytherin ! I descend from the most splendid wizarding family ever! All Hogwart students knew by heart the story of four founders of the school and they knew perfectly well that Salazar Slytherin was the most powerful and the most esteemed among them. Many considered him to be the most eminent wizard in history and even in my times an opinion prevailed that no one had been born who could compare with him in knowledge and talent.
It wasn't mentioned, however, that Salazar Slytherin was the most prominent advocate of a pure blood politics ad he had began a campaign against the Muggle-born wizards. Why did they conceal that fact? Well, for centuries the name of Slytherin was a too powerful weapon in the hands of the equal rights' opponents.
But I haven't known it yet. For me and for the other students, Slytherin was almost a myth, a symbol of a deep wisdom and an unimaginable power. Who of us, belonging to his house, in the secrecy of heart didn't dream about being like him?
Therefore it shouldn't be surprise that the fact, that a blood of famous Salazar run in my veins, made such an impression on me. It was the next great turning-point in my life and, from the point of view of passing years, I can say that the one of the most important.
*
In those days I was living in a state of a strange intoxication that was something more than happiness: it was euphoria, pride and a deep faith that finally fate looked at me more graciously and rewarded all wrongs I had suffered in my life.
I have never felt so wonderful before. I - an orphan, Mudblood, despised by Muggles and by many wizards only for who I had been born - descended from a house, which was the highest aristocracy in the magical world. It ennobled me in my own eyes and caused that I completely stopped to care whether the arrogant imbeciles of Potter sort call me a Muggle pig or not. I believe it was Dumbledore's guiding principle when he had decided to reveal the truth to me.
I cannot deny, however, that in a glory of my famous ancestor my own ego started to shoot up, making me more and more delighted with myself. And it was something that Dumbledore didn't want to happen, though I'm sure he was prepared for such results of enlightening me on who I really was.
'Tom,' he said me that day when we were going back to the castle; I was walking stiffly, flabbergasted with everything I had just heard 'I hope I didn't act too eagerly. I realise that such knowledge can be too heavy burden for such a young man. I trust you, however, and I hope you will assume a sensible attitude towards it. In plain words, I don't want the fact, that you are Slytherin's heir, turn your head.'
Well, I think I disappointed him...at least in the beginning. I became bumptious and began to look down on the other students. There was only one thing left to make my triumph complete. I was dying to tell the whole world that Tom Riddle, a half-Muggle is a descendant of the most splendid house. With a vindictive satisfaction I tried to imagine a stupid face of that puffed-up, arrogant Potter when he would understand how little his own family meant in comparison with mine.
But that was something I couldn't do.
'I want you not to make your origin known public for the time being.' said Dumbledore when we stooped on the castle's stairs; I looked at him with surprise 'Only we know the truth and let it remain between us, at least until you finish Hogwart. When you are older you will see that any inheritance can be both gift and curse.'
I didn't know what those mysterious words supposed to mean. Could be anything better that SUCH an inheritance. That evening I was sure it couldn't.
And yet I swore that I would keep it secrets for six years. That was a price of the truth.
*
The first question I asked myself when the initial euphoria had passed was: why my mother, who had also Slytherin's blood in her veins, died on a street, alone and left not only by her lousy Muggle husband but by her own world? Didn't she have any relatives except the Riddles family? Was she also the last heir of Slytherin, orphaned and brought up by the people who didn't really care about her? But on the other hand, every witch and wizard would consider it an honour to look after Slytherin's descendant. So why did my mother die like that ?
I couldn't understand it. I've been thinking about it for a long time and finally, desperate, I went to Dumbledore's office, searching for advise. In those times I treated him like a kind of an oracle and I expected him to find an answer to my every question.
But this time it looked different. Dumbledore listened to me attentively, observing me over the top oh his half-moon glasses, but when I finished and looked at him anticipatingly, an expression of strange, painful grief appeared on his face. He slowly shook his head.
'I'm sorry, Tom,' he said softly, avoiding my eyes and staring at some point over my head. 'But I cannot help you.'
I couldn't hide my disappointed. Dumbledore noticed that and smiled apologetically but remained silent.
'But...' I began, trying to formulate somehow all tangled thoughts running through my mind 'But you know, who I am...you had to now my mother...'
For the second time this evening Dumbledore shook his head.
'No, Tom,' he said, not looking at me 'I didn't know her...believe me, I wish I did, but I didn't know Felicia Riddle,' for a one short while the look of his blue eyes was very distant, as if the wizard was watching something in the past.
I moved uneasily. I completely didn't get what Dumbledore meant.
'I knew your story only recently,' continued the wizard 'when the Headmaster asked me to prepare a list of the new first-years. You cannot imagine how much I was surprised when I discovered a heir of Slytherin in the Muggle orphanage.'
Well, in fact I could imagine it perfectly well. During the last year I faced several surprises myself. But there were still something that haunted me.
'But if you didn't know my mother,' I started, frowning 'how could you find out about me? Nobody knew I was a wizard.'
Dumbledore looked at me with a gentle smile.
'I see it's difficult to puff you off with just anything,' he said with a tone of appreciation 'Inquisitiveness and tenacity of purpose are indeed praiseworthy.' his blue eyes were fixed on my face. 'And coming back to your question... The Ministry of Magic keeps a so-called Public Register. It's a piece of a very advanced magic,' he informed me proudly. 'It contains a list of all witches and wizards, living in our country. Anytime a child with magical abilities is born, her or his name appears in the Register. The system has worked for centuries so in the case of the pure-blood children we know their genealogy up to several dozens generations. Every year the Register prepares a list of the first-years, which should start their education in the school of magic.'
'Ah! And there was written in the Register that I'm a heir of Slytherin!' I exclaimed.
'Not exactly,' said Dumbledore lengthily 'You see, the list contains only names and addresses of the students but doesn't mention about their parentage. Of course, it can be checked in the Register, but the only person who is allowed to do that is the Minster of Magic.'
I sank to the chair. I stopped to understand anything again. Dumbledore's eyes flashed.
'Tom, I would like that what I'm going to tell you now remain between us.' he said gravely, leaning over the desk; I nodded eagerly. 'The present Minister of Magic is an old friend of my and it was him who revealed me in secret the origin of little Tom Riddle.'
Yes, it really explained everything. I was so absorbed in deliberating over all new facts that I didn't ask myself an obvious question: why did the Minister of Magic look in the register for information about the half-muggle orphan. And why did he decide that he should share with Albus Dumbledore all he had found out?
Future was going to show than nothing happens without a reason...
But for the time being I left the Dumbledore's office, determined to learn everything about the history of my family.
*
For the following weeks I spend several hours daily in the library. The exams were approaching and most of the other students behaved liked that but, contrary to them, I didn't lose time for repeating recipes of the potions and incantation of various spells. I had it all in my fingers ends and the exams made me anxious only because they meant the end of the school year and return to the odious orphanage. I brushed it aside, however, from my thoughts and lost myself into studying of the Slytherin's mysteries.
The Greatest of the Four, as he was called, was born in 966 in the wizrading family of long history and traditions, though neither very rich nor of the significant weigh.
A legend says that Lady Cassandra Slytherin, Salazar's mother, had a strange dream several days before his birth, the dream that many historians interpreted as a classical example of a prophetic dream. She saw her son, standing on a lonely island in the middle of the lake. Four rivers were falling into the lake from the four sides of the world. Suddenly animals appeared on the island: eagle, lion and badger and on the Salazar's place a great, silver-green scaled snake was creeping in the grass. The mist had come and whirled onto a thick, impenetrable shroud and after a while an outline of a great castle, with many turrets and towers, loomed from it. Suddenly a terrible, icy hiss cut the silence. The snake rose its flat head, its eyes flashed rapaciously and sharp fangs came out from the open mouth. The wind blew and scattered misty contours of the castle while water in the rivers run with blood...
Till today the historians argue whether it really happened or whether the story about Lady Cassandra's prophetic dream was invented years later, when her son had already attained fame of the most powerful wizard.
Anyhow it really was, there is no doubt that Salazar has shown makings of a genius man since he was a child. Very talented, speaking Parseltongue, he was also a born leader. He could enchant people with his ideas, his opinion was an oracle and, before he finished twenty five years, he had risen a leader of all magical community. Several years later, together with Rovena Ravenclaw, Goddric Gryffindor and Helga Huffleppuff, he founded the first in England Academy of Magic.
In the beginning they co-operated in a perfect agreement and every years more and more students appeared in the castle. But harmony between the Hogwart's founders didn't last long. Several years later Slytherin quarrelled with the others and left the Academy in anger.
*
What was the reason of such a discord? The truth, when I had finally discovered it, damped my spirits at once. In one second all euphoria vanished and for the first time my inheritance appeared in all its dreariness.
Salazar Slytherin was a racialist. He believed that the Muggle-born witches and wizards were unworthy to merit education in such an exclusive institution like the Academy of Magic and he demanded not to let them into the school. The other three, however, in unison overruled that idea. Slytherin left Hogwart, furious and humiliated with the first defeat in his life, devising in secret a deadly revenge.
When I finished the chapter, describing those events, my hands were shaking and I had difficulties in putting back a book "Slytherin - god or demon ?". I shakily reached the library's door and passed a group of the Ravenclaws which, seeing my pale face, exchanged significant looks and whispers: 'Even Riddle is scared of the exams.' I don't know how I got to the dungeons. I went straight to the abandoned dormitory and fell on the bad, staring vacantly at the ceiling.
Strange are the paths of destiny... The last heir of Salazar Slytherin impersonated everything what the Greatest of the Four hated and despised. And what his followers have despised for centuries. I realised that he became an eternal symbol for those who considered a Muggle blood to be the most shameful mark.
On the other hand, for me such a view was completely absurd and void of any rational reasons. I still believed, or at least I desperately wanted to believe, in what Homer had always repeated: "It counts what you have in your head and in your heart". What could I think about my inheritance I was so proud of ? Was it the inheritance of prejudices and hatred? I think I began to understand what Dumbledore had meant talking about the gift and the curse.
But I couldn't and didn't want to renounce Slytherin's blood, not now when I have already acquired a taste for a role of the heir of the most powerful wizard in the history.
Was it my cursed fate? Was my origin to bring on me only distress, no matter how disgraceful or ennobling it was for the others? I started to lose myself in it. I didn't know what to think.
As usually in such situations, in the first impulse I thought about asking for Dumbledore's help. But then I hesitated. Why didn't Dumbledore tell me at once who Salazar Slytherin had been? Why did he NEVER tell me at once everything, what I should know. I believe he must have some reasons but I couldn't guess of what kind. And I plainly realised that since that moment I can rely only on myself. I have to tide over the burden of my inheritance alone.
Those were difficult days. I was split between what I believed in and what the dark succession of my family brought.
But then I found out about other interesting legend, which for a long time diverted my attention from those painful considerations. The legend that was to lead me much farther than I expected. Much farther than I had ever wished.
(*) in Latin: naris-nose, natis-nates; Tom must have made a mistake in the incantation.
I would lie if I claim that all wizarding community shared Peresus Potter's opinion about the purity of blood.
Times had already passed when the Muggle children, gifted with the magical abilities, were commonly accounted to be the second class citizens and in the social hierarchy were measured up to the goblins and the giants. In the middle of the XX-th century, law guaranteed the equality of rights of all the wizards, regardless of their origin (and also sex, skin colour or other attributes that for the ages have divided people into better and worse), and the best examples were me and the other Muggle born students, who could study in the schools of witchcraft together with the pure-blood ones.
Officially, no one dared to question the rightness of such a policy. On the other hand, it wasn't secret that old wizarding families, often boasted of the several hundreds years tradition, were very malevolent towards diffusion of the magical abilities into the Muggle world. Many of them, though of course not everybody, believed that magic in the hands of the Mudbloods is simply a profanation of the ancient art, which deserved only a chosen few. Things came to such a point that the members of those families married only within their caste, and any attempts of breaking out of that unwritten duty usually resulted in a disinheritance of such a black sheep and in breaking off all relations with him (or her).
This prejudice against the Muggle-born wizards resulted from the conviction that people, who didn't have magical abilities were, in general, less intelligent and, subsequently, worse than the ones whose magical perception was strong. An origin of such a view should be placed in the ancient times, when the development of civilisation was much less advanced then the development of magic. The wizards could easily take control over the mass of primitive Muggles, usually under the pretence of the invented worships and religions. But with the progress of human knowledge and technology the wizards lost their dominant position and the two worlds: magical and the one of the Muggles, separated. Since that time each one has been developing independently and their inter-dependence was minimal. In the XX-th century most of the pure blood wizards had no idea about the achievements of the modern physics and chemistry but they still believed that THEY were the most perfect human beings. They despised Muggles and considered them as the lower kind of people. That's why it was so difficult for them to accept the fact that the Mudbloods often had greater talent than the heirs of the old, wizarding families.
Entering into the world of magic I didn't even suspect I would find here so many xenophobia and hidden racism.
Yes, there is no doubt that the main goal of Perseus Potter, devoured by envy and helpless fury anytime I was better than him during the lessons, was to make my life in Hogwart as unbearable as deep was his morbid antipathy.
And me ? Well, I simply tried not to pay attention to Potter's blustering. Years of teasing, first in the orphanage, then it the Public School, armed me in a thick armour of indifference and distance towards what the people were saying about me. When the shock had passed after my first conversation with Potter, that had ruined once forever my illusions and naive faith in the perfection of the magical world, I started to treat him as if he didn't exist. With a cool insensibility I endured even the most mean and insulting comments that his wretched intellect, obsessively focused on this one goal, had managed to produce.
And yet, though I didn't show any emotions, Potter's words hurt me, the deeper, the more I tried to pretend that I didn't care about them. I kept silent but every insult burnt its stinging mark in my heart and memory.
But that was what Perseus Potter didn't know and he was bridling up because of my indifference and coolness. However, he remained hopeful that one day he would succeed in putting me out of patience and he would fully enjoy a divine taste of vengeance.
Next possibility occurred to him in the middle of May. The day was sunny and warm so the students left the castle and dispersed over the green lawns. I sat at the lakeside, put a Transfiguration textbook in front of me and I completely lost myself in reading.
Suddenly a shadow fell on the pages. I turned away surprised and I saw Perseus Potter. He was alone, he was standing several steps from me and was looking at me with an expression that was usually reserved for something particularly hideous and disgusting. As we were eyeing each other, a very nasty and vicious smile appeared on his thick lips.
'Riddle,' he drawled venomously 'It's rather fortunate that I see you, I just wanted to ask you a question. As an expert...' he chuckled softly 'Is that true that the Muggle orphanage doesn't differ from a pigsty ? Come on, tell me, Riddle' he moved closer and poked my shoulder 'I heard you were all kept in one great hall where you slept, eat and shitted.'
I clenched my teeth, with all my strength trying to control the rage that was growing in me. Potter was observing me with a sneering grimace.
'I heard that in the orphanage you gobbled form the floor. My! ' he shook with laugher 'You must look like pigs then ! Like Muggle pigs !'
I clenched my fists. I was looking at the wildly chortling boy and I felt an irresistible temptation to change his empty, puffed up head into a shapely pumpkin with a single wave of my wand (it was a curse I'd learnt recently). Vision of Potter, walking through the Hogwart with a great vegetable on his shoulders, seemed so amusing that I started to goggle myself. I was just reaching for my wand when suddenly someone shouted on the other side of the lake. It brought me round. Potter stopped laughing too and looked at me with a new dose of hatred.
'Come on, Riddle,' he hissed 'Tell the truth; did you gobble from the floor?'
I shrugged my shoulders and I stepped forward to pass him but then he sprang at me and knocked me down to the ground.
'Show me how you ate, pig !' he shrieked, trying to press my head to the grass.
He was taller and stronger than me and it gave him a goodly advantage. Though I was struggling with a fierceness of an encircled dragon, I couldn't wrench myself free.
'Mug to the ground, Mudblood!' howled Potter triumphantly 'You must lie just like that when you are talking with a pure-blood wizard!'
I succeeded in freeing one hand. I tried to reach my pocket but it wasn't easy. Finally my fingers tightened on the black handle of the wand...
'POTTER !!!'
At the sound of that voice we both came to a standstill. I felt the hands, which had pressed me to the ground, moved back rapidly. I rose my head.
Blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore, fixed on Perseus Potter, were burning with indignation.
'You disappointed me, boy,' he said coldly 'You are a disgrace for your family name. Go back to the castle. In an hour you will report in the Headmaster's office.'
For the first time in his Hogwart career Potter didn't even try to protest. Without a word of comment, with downcast eyes, he moved humbly towards the school.
Bright, piercing glance of Dumbledore rested on me. I was shaking with rage and humiliation, not able to stifle any longer the bitterness rising in me.
'WHY does it happen?!' I cried, giving a loose to all the rancour that had gathered in my heart for many years; at the same time I fixed my burning eyes at Dumbledore as if I expected that he was the one who should answer me 'Why do always such wretched skunks as Arnie Giber and Perseus Potter consider themselves better than me? It's not fair !' I stamped my foot 'Is that my fault that I'm a Muggle orphan?! I would give a lot to change it. But I am who I am. THEY are the ones who are not fit to hold a candle to me ! They have no right to treat me like that !'
Hatred overcame me completely. I have no doubt that if in that moment anyone put in front of me all the authors of my sufferings, beginning from the damned Muggle who was my father and finishing at that wretched pure-blood idiot, nothing would stop me from dispensing them justice; my own justice, which in that moment provided only one, capital punishment...
Some of those feelings must have appeared on my face, because for the first time since I had known him, Dumbledore looked at me with apprehension and some strange sadness.
'Tom, I'm really sorry that it happened,' he sighed 'Potter had passed all bounds. But, please, don't judge all community only on the ground of behaviour of one envious raw lad. He doesn't like you and he says whatever comes upon his mouths only to tease you. But it doesn't mean that everybody shares such opinions. Other students always treat you very kindly.'
'It's easy to say...' I muttered bitterly 'But YOU weren't called bastard or dirty Mudblood for all your life. I endured it so long...but now I have enough of it. Simply enough.'
Dumbledore was looking at me concentrated, as if he was about to take a very important decision.
'Tom,' he said finally in a firm voice 'I was wondering when I should tell you that. And, to tell the truth, I was going to wait several more years, till you finish the school and begin independent life. But now I see it will be better if you know all at once.'
'All...?' I repeated unsteadily, feeling again like that eventful night when I had heard that I had been a wizard 'But about what?'
Dumbledore's blue eyes flared up.
'Tom,' he said slowly, stressing every word 'You are, in a straight line, a last heir of great Salazar Slytherin.'
Only one thought was burning in my feverish mind: I am a heir of Slytherin ! I descend from the most splendid wizarding family ever! All Hogwart students knew by heart the story of four founders of the school and they knew perfectly well that Salazar Slytherin was the most powerful and the most esteemed among them. Many considered him to be the most eminent wizard in history and even in my times an opinion prevailed that no one had been born who could compare with him in knowledge and talent.
It wasn't mentioned, however, that Salazar Slytherin was the most prominent advocate of a pure blood politics ad he had began a campaign against the Muggle-born wizards. Why did they conceal that fact? Well, for centuries the name of Slytherin was a too powerful weapon in the hands of the equal rights' opponents.
But I haven't known it yet. For me and for the other students, Slytherin was almost a myth, a symbol of a deep wisdom and an unimaginable power. Who of us, belonging to his house, in the secrecy of heart didn't dream about being like him?
Therefore it shouldn't be surprise that the fact, that a blood of famous Salazar run in my veins, made such an impression on me. It was the next great turning-point in my life and, from the point of view of passing years, I can say that the one of the most important.
I have never felt so wonderful before. I - an orphan, Mudblood, despised by Muggles and by many wizards only for who I had been born - descended from a house, which was the highest aristocracy in the magical world. It ennobled me in my own eyes and caused that I completely stopped to care whether the arrogant imbeciles of Potter sort call me a Muggle pig or not. I believe it was Dumbledore's guiding principle when he had decided to reveal the truth to me.
I cannot deny, however, that in a glory of my famous ancestor my own ego started to shoot up, making me more and more delighted with myself. And it was something that Dumbledore didn't want to happen, though I'm sure he was prepared for such results of enlightening me on who I really was.
'Tom,' he said me that day when we were going back to the castle; I was walking stiffly, flabbergasted with everything I had just heard 'I hope I didn't act too eagerly. I realise that such knowledge can be too heavy burden for such a young man. I trust you, however, and I hope you will assume a sensible attitude towards it. In plain words, I don't want the fact, that you are Slytherin's heir, turn your head.'
Well, I think I disappointed him...at least in the beginning. I became bumptious and began to look down on the other students. There was only one thing left to make my triumph complete. I was dying to tell the whole world that Tom Riddle, a half-Muggle is a descendant of the most splendid house. With a vindictive satisfaction I tried to imagine a stupid face of that puffed-up, arrogant Potter when he would understand how little his own family meant in comparison with mine.
But that was something I couldn't do.
'I want you not to make your origin known public for the time being.' said Dumbledore when we stooped on the castle's stairs; I looked at him with surprise 'Only we know the truth and let it remain between us, at least until you finish Hogwart. When you are older you will see that any inheritance can be both gift and curse.'
I didn't know what those mysterious words supposed to mean. Could be anything better that SUCH an inheritance. That evening I was sure it couldn't.
And yet I swore that I would keep it secrets for six years. That was a price of the truth.
I couldn't understand it. I've been thinking about it for a long time and finally, desperate, I went to Dumbledore's office, searching for advise. In those times I treated him like a kind of an oracle and I expected him to find an answer to my every question.
But this time it looked different. Dumbledore listened to me attentively, observing me over the top oh his half-moon glasses, but when I finished and looked at him anticipatingly, an expression of strange, painful grief appeared on his face. He slowly shook his head.
'I'm sorry, Tom,' he said softly, avoiding my eyes and staring at some point over my head. 'But I cannot help you.'
I couldn't hide my disappointed. Dumbledore noticed that and smiled apologetically but remained silent.
'But...' I began, trying to formulate somehow all tangled thoughts running through my mind 'But you know, who I am...you had to now my mother...'
For the second time this evening Dumbledore shook his head.
'No, Tom,' he said, not looking at me 'I didn't know her...believe me, I wish I did, but I didn't know Felicia Riddle,' for a one short while the look of his blue eyes was very distant, as if the wizard was watching something in the past.
I moved uneasily. I completely didn't get what Dumbledore meant.
'I knew your story only recently,' continued the wizard 'when the Headmaster asked me to prepare a list of the new first-years. You cannot imagine how much I was surprised when I discovered a heir of Slytherin in the Muggle orphanage.'
Well, in fact I could imagine it perfectly well. During the last year I faced several surprises myself. But there were still something that haunted me.
'But if you didn't know my mother,' I started, frowning 'how could you find out about me? Nobody knew I was a wizard.'
Dumbledore looked at me with a gentle smile.
'I see it's difficult to puff you off with just anything,' he said with a tone of appreciation 'Inquisitiveness and tenacity of purpose are indeed praiseworthy.' his blue eyes were fixed on my face. 'And coming back to your question... The Ministry of Magic keeps a so-called Public Register. It's a piece of a very advanced magic,' he informed me proudly. 'It contains a list of all witches and wizards, living in our country. Anytime a child with magical abilities is born, her or his name appears in the Register. The system has worked for centuries so in the case of the pure-blood children we know their genealogy up to several dozens generations. Every year the Register prepares a list of the first-years, which should start their education in the school of magic.'
'Ah! And there was written in the Register that I'm a heir of Slytherin!' I exclaimed.
'Not exactly,' said Dumbledore lengthily 'You see, the list contains only names and addresses of the students but doesn't mention about their parentage. Of course, it can be checked in the Register, but the only person who is allowed to do that is the Minster of Magic.'
I sank to the chair. I stopped to understand anything again. Dumbledore's eyes flashed.
'Tom, I would like that what I'm going to tell you now remain between us.' he said gravely, leaning over the desk; I nodded eagerly. 'The present Minister of Magic is an old friend of my and it was him who revealed me in secret the origin of little Tom Riddle.'
Yes, it really explained everything. I was so absorbed in deliberating over all new facts that I didn't ask myself an obvious question: why did the Minister of Magic look in the register for information about the half-muggle orphan. And why did he decide that he should share with Albus Dumbledore all he had found out?
Future was going to show than nothing happens without a reason...
But for the time being I left the Dumbledore's office, determined to learn everything about the history of my family.
The Greatest of the Four, as he was called, was born in 966 in the wizrading family of long history and traditions, though neither very rich nor of the significant weigh.
A legend says that Lady Cassandra Slytherin, Salazar's mother, had a strange dream several days before his birth, the dream that many historians interpreted as a classical example of a prophetic dream. She saw her son, standing on a lonely island in the middle of the lake. Four rivers were falling into the lake from the four sides of the world. Suddenly animals appeared on the island: eagle, lion and badger and on the Salazar's place a great, silver-green scaled snake was creeping in the grass. The mist had come and whirled onto a thick, impenetrable shroud and after a while an outline of a great castle, with many turrets and towers, loomed from it. Suddenly a terrible, icy hiss cut the silence. The snake rose its flat head, its eyes flashed rapaciously and sharp fangs came out from the open mouth. The wind blew and scattered misty contours of the castle while water in the rivers run with blood...
Till today the historians argue whether it really happened or whether the story about Lady Cassandra's prophetic dream was invented years later, when her son had already attained fame of the most powerful wizard.
Anyhow it really was, there is no doubt that Salazar has shown makings of a genius man since he was a child. Very talented, speaking Parseltongue, he was also a born leader. He could enchant people with his ideas, his opinion was an oracle and, before he finished twenty five years, he had risen a leader of all magical community. Several years later, together with Rovena Ravenclaw, Goddric Gryffindor and Helga Huffleppuff, he founded the first in England Academy of Magic.
In the beginning they co-operated in a perfect agreement and every years more and more students appeared in the castle. But harmony between the Hogwart's founders didn't last long. Several years later Slytherin quarrelled with the others and left the Academy in anger.
Salazar Slytherin was a racialist. He believed that the Muggle-born witches and wizards were unworthy to merit education in such an exclusive institution like the Academy of Magic and he demanded not to let them into the school. The other three, however, in unison overruled that idea. Slytherin left Hogwart, furious and humiliated with the first defeat in his life, devising in secret a deadly revenge.
When I finished the chapter, describing those events, my hands were shaking and I had difficulties in putting back a book "Slytherin - god or demon ?". I shakily reached the library's door and passed a group of the Ravenclaws which, seeing my pale face, exchanged significant looks and whispers: 'Even Riddle is scared of the exams.' I don't know how I got to the dungeons. I went straight to the abandoned dormitory and fell on the bad, staring vacantly at the ceiling.
Strange are the paths of destiny... The last heir of Salazar Slytherin impersonated everything what the Greatest of the Four hated and despised. And what his followers have despised for centuries. I realised that he became an eternal symbol for those who considered a Muggle blood to be the most shameful mark.
On the other hand, for me such a view was completely absurd and void of any rational reasons. I still believed, or at least I desperately wanted to believe, in what Homer had always repeated: "It counts what you have in your head and in your heart". What could I think about my inheritance I was so proud of ? Was it the inheritance of prejudices and hatred? I think I began to understand what Dumbledore had meant talking about the gift and the curse.
But I couldn't and didn't want to renounce Slytherin's blood, not now when I have already acquired a taste for a role of the heir of the most powerful wizard in the history.
Was it my cursed fate? Was my origin to bring on me only distress, no matter how disgraceful or ennobling it was for the others? I started to lose myself in it. I didn't know what to think.
As usually in such situations, in the first impulse I thought about asking for Dumbledore's help. But then I hesitated. Why didn't Dumbledore tell me at once who Salazar Slytherin had been? Why did he NEVER tell me at once everything, what I should know. I believe he must have some reasons but I couldn't guess of what kind. And I plainly realised that since that moment I can rely only on myself. I have to tide over the burden of my inheritance alone.
Those were difficult days. I was split between what I believed in and what the dark succession of my family brought.
But then I found out about other interesting legend, which for a long time diverted my attention from those painful considerations. The legend that was to lead me much farther than I expected. Much farther than I had ever wished.
(*) in Latin: naris-nose, natis-nates; Tom must have made a mistake in the incantation.