A/N: I apologise for making you wait so long for this chapter, and I thank you for your patience. Why did it take me so long? This chapter required research. I read Mein Kampf by Hitler, re-read the history of World War II, and read about the Battle of Britain. Yes, I was a busy little bee. I tried to make the scenes in which Riddle experienced the Battle of Britain as realistic as possible. To accomplish this, I actually listened to the sounds of various fighter aircraft of the period. Serious! Older military aircraft make a droning type of noise. Modern military aircraft, from my experience at air shows (should go to one if you get a chance; they're great!), make a deafening, screaming sound (when flying low). Anywho, I visited Battle of Britain.com to hear sounds from various fighter engines flown during World War II.
There's more. If you look at the previous chapters, you will notice that they have been changed. Why? They have been "converted" to British English. I'm presently revising another one of my stories. I promised that it would be in British English. Of course, this affects any other stories I write. It's tedious to switch back and forth between American English and British English. Since Harry Potter is British.... Anywho, you get the point. This chapter is in British English, so this required that the previous ones be revised. Therefore, no flames, please, from my fellow Americans about spelling.
Oh, I forgot. I changed the title of the first chapter. I discovered a story, here, with the exact same title. *sigh*
Nemesis: Many thanks for your reviews! I'm flattered, actually. However...don't sell your fic short. The difference only lies in the interpretation of one said character, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Your story is great in its interpretation. Hope that this makes sense. Hey, your fic was nominated for a Golden Quill Award. So there! ^_~
Helpful Hint: You may want to make this chapter available offline.
That's it from moi (for now).
Warning: Violence (of course), animal cruelty, foul language, and scary war stuff ahead.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter ideas, characters, and places do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.
~~~~~~
Immortalis Dominus Dominatus
Part I: Alpha
by Auror5
~~~~~~
Chapter III: Lepus
Yea, the continyud dwyndling of our peepul ys alarming. Yet, to embraese the preposterus suggestyun of those traytors of our rayse ys abominabul! Yt ys without qwestyun Mugguls are of an unnashural and infearyor human strayn. I hast closelee scrutinised theyr habyts without theyr awareness. These foul subhuman spechees the Ordur of The Preservashun of Sorsuree proposes to commyngle with wallow in pestylense, and are plagued with diseases of the mynd, bodee, and soul. Theyr huvels are often filthee and overrun with vermyn. Yt ys commun to see theyr yung fraulycking with vyle, pest-riddun animuls, for thae themselves are on a beast-like levul. A few tymes, I hath the misforshune of coming within close proximitee of these unwurthee creeshures. The stench from theyr bodees overwelmed and sickened me. Yt ys not customaree for them to baethe on a regulur baesis, yf at all.
The meer idea of willinglee polluting our blud with a lowlee communer, a being so close to that of a beast, ys abhorrunt! How dost we ever acheyveth human perfecshun by taynting our blud with foul, infearyor beings? Historicul rekkords hast proven that we sorsurers hast attayned masteree thru censhurees of evolushun whilst the Mugguls remayn infearyor in intelligense, morals, and habits. Thruout historee, yt has been showne that Mugguls persyst in engaging in unsavouree habits, and theyr intelligense remayns akin to that of a nome. Thae are incaepabul of rashanul thot dew to a rudimentree braeyn; altho, a few of theyr members hast managed to attayn surprisinglee hy levuls of thot onlee seen in the magycul wurld. Those few Mugguls caepabul of intelligense, even magycul abilitee, are but meer aberraeshuns, or a form of mutaetion in the Muggul breed.
Dost our wayning in numbers justify taynting our blud with infearyor stock? Nae! Yt ys me convycshun that in ordur to preserv our peepul we must aggressivlee maintayn our pure bludlyne at enee coste. The survivul of our superyor speshees aeons into the fushure ys imperativ. We must settul the conflyt between arkaic moral consideraeshune and the compelling conshusness for survivul of our master rayse. Yt ys vastly more preferabul for us to resorte to inbreeding to saev ourselves than to abaese and destroy our bludlyne by consorting to mix with lowlee animuls....
"Good afternoon, Mr. Riddle."
Tom glanced up sharply from the book he was reading, and carefully placed his arm across the volume so as to conceal its title.
"Good afternoon, sir."
Headmaster Dippet, an ancient appearing wizard with sparse strands of white hair atop his otherwise bald dome, smiled kindly at Tom. Then Professor Dippet proceeded to sit in the chair across from him. Tom clenched his jaw slightly with annoyance. For some indefinable reason, the old man's frailty repelled him.
"I wish the other students were as dedicated as you, Riddle. Your marks are excellent. You consistently score at the top of your year. That is a worthy accomplishment."
He shook his head. "Alas, I only wish half the students were as bright and devoted to their studies as you are. You are a model pupil, not just in grades, but in deportment as well. Your professors tell me that your behaviour is exemplary. Yes, keep it up, son, and you will be Head Boy in your seventh year. I wish every student was like you to tell the truth."
"Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome. Tell me, for which lesson are you studying on this Sunday afternoon?"
"Dark Arts."
"Ah. Professor Falcon speaks very highly of you, of course."
Tom made no reply, but feigned a sudden fit of bashfulness.
Professor Dippet chuckled softly. "A modest one at that, eh? I'm sorry to put you on the spot, son." Then the headmaster briefly touched his hand.
It took Tom all his willpower to prevent himself from recoiling with revulsion at that touch.
"Tell me, do you have all that you need? If there is anything you require, do not hesitate to ask. I'll see to it that you receive what you need. A boy as intelligent and good as you deserves to be supported."
Inwardly, Tom gloated and formulated a plan.
"Sir?"
"Yes."
Tom sighed. "I was wondering...."
"Go on. Is there anything you require?" Professor Dippet gently encouraged.
"Well, I..." Tom took a deep breath. "Well, sir, often I need to read the books in the restricted section, but I need permission to do so. Sir, not all of my professors are willing to give me permission to borrow books in the restricted section."
"Oh, I see."
"Sir, I'm a good student...."
"Brilliant, actually."
Tom grinned. "Thank you, sir. I was wondering if you would allow me access to the restricted books. Please, sir? I promise I would use them responsibly. I really do enjoy learning. It seems I cannot get enough. That is the reason I spend so much time in here. My professors inspire me to want to learn more. And you, sir. You're my inspiration, too. I hope some day to become Headmaster of Hogwarts. I would model myself after you, and tell my charges that you helped make me a noble and worthy person." Tom sighed. "I only wish everyone could see you the way I do."
Professor Dippet appeared flustered and touched by praise from someone so young. "Thank you, Tom. What a dear boy you are!"
For a moment, he lapsed into thought. Tom held his breath.
"Yes, you are a model student. I will grant your request. How is that?"
A grin overspread Tom's face. "You will, sir?"
"Yes, I will. If I have to make an exception, it would be in your case. You deserve it. I will write a letter to Madam Pince directing her to allow you full liberty and freedom of all the contents of this library. I know that you will use good judgment and be a responsible lad."
"Oh, thank you, sir," gushed Tom. "Thank you, Headmaster! This means so much to me. Thanks!"
Professor Dippet smiled, and rose from the chair. "You are welcome, son. Madam Pince will receive the letter first thing tomorrow morning." He patted Tom on the head and proceeded to leave.
With a smirk on his face and a cold gleam in his eyes, Tom watched the old wizard slowly exit the library. He thought that now he would have full access to the restricted section, he would finally be able to solve the mystery of Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets.
******
Daemon and Omin, the Strick twins, interrupted him as he was working on his Transfiguration assignment in the common room.
" Tom, this is Friedrich, Isaac, and Timothy. They're first years."
He glanced at the three unfamiliar boys. "So?"
"They're wondering if you would help them with Dark Arts like you've been helping us," answered Omin.
Tom peered closely at Isaac, Timothy, and Friedrich.
"Please?" said Timothy, a slight boy with curly dark hair, green eyes, and effeminate features.
"All right. Meet me below the castle after lessons tomorrow. Daemon and Omin will show you the way."
"Thanks!" the boys chorused, and left.
******
The boys stood before him in a musty, litter strewn, forgotten room below Hogwarts.
"I'm too busy with my work. I don't know how I can't help all five of you without a price."
Daemon and Omin, both second years, frowned slightly. The other boys stared up at him with lack of understanding on their faces.
"Daemon, you told these three about how I've been helping you and your brother, eh?"
Daemon nodded his head.
"So, what do you think is going to happen next?"
Daemon glanced at Omin, and shrugged.
Omin frowned ponderously, and then replied, "One of them will tell someone else?"
"Yes, Omin. Too bad your twin isn't as intelligent as you."
Daemon's face turned a bright shade of red.
"You see, I don't want to be bothered every day by stupid little boys asking me to teach them the Dark Arts. I also don't want it to get around this bloody school that I've been helping you with the Dark Arts. I have a reputation to keep. Headmaster Dippet believes me to be a model student. The headmaster wishes that every one of you were like me." He laughed.
Tom's peculiar laugh made the boys feel uneasy.
Then Friedrich, a boy with whitish-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a disappointed expression on his face, said, "So, you're not going to help us?"
"I didn't say that. I said it would not come without a price. Are you willing to pay the price?"
With slight reservation, the boys nodded their heads.
"All right. Roll up your sleeves."
The boys complied.
Tom removed a sharp knife, stolen from the kitchens late one night, from his pocket.
"Each of you must swear that everything passing between us stays with us. You must swear that you won't tell anyone about our group or us. You must swear that you won't bring anyone into this group without my permission. Understand?"
Slightly unsure, the boys nodded their heads slowly.
"You must swear obedience to me. You must swear that you will obey everything I tell you to do. Do you swear?"
"Yes," they replied in a low voice.
"Louder!"
"Yes," they shouted.
"All right. Daemon, you first."
Daemon stepped up to him with apprehension on his face.
Tom grabbed him by the forearm. "You must freely give me your blood so that I know I have your loyalty."
With fear on his face, Daemon said, "Tom? Tom, this isn't going to hurt, is it?"
"No."
Then with quick, efficient strokes, he carved a shallow "S" on Daemon's arm as the boy screamed in pain. Blood splattered onto the dusty, bone littered floor.
"You said it wouldn't hurt!" Daemon whimpered as he gripped his arm above the shallow cut.
"Oh shut your gob, poof. You sound like a f---ing girl. I wager your brother is stronger than you. Omin, come here."
Reluctantly, Omin walked up to Tom.
"You're more of a man than your brother, eh?"
Omin nodded his head.
"All right. Then prove it. I don't have time for f---ing poofs."
Omin presented his arm, and Tom performed his work. The boy flinched as tears filled his eyes.
"Whose next?"
The three first year boys glanced at each other nervously. Then Isaac, a caramel coloured boy with hazel eyes and long, crinkly, reddish brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, stepped forward and held out his forearm.
After all of the boys were marked, they stood before Tom sniffling and trying unsuccessfully, in most cases, to hold back tears.
"D'you know who we are?"
They shook their heads.
"The 'S' on your arm is for Slytherin. You are Slytherin's soldiers. You are part of Slytherin's army. D'you know who we are at war against?"
"Muggles?" Friedrich piped up while wiping tears from his face.
"Yes. We're at war with Muggles and Mudbloods. Slytherin's soldiers against Muggles and Mudbloods, understand?"
They nodded their heads.
"All right. Now, the price."
Confusion passed across their faces.
"For membership in Slytherin's army, of which I'm the leader, you must each pay me one Sickle per week. This Saturday, after lunch, meet me down here with your money."
They nodded their heads and mumbled, "All right."
"Don't forget. Every week you must pay me one Sickle.
"All right. You can go."
As they started to leave, each comically gripping their bloody forearms, Tom halted them. In an ominous voice, he warned them again not to mention their group or anything pertaining to it to no one.
Once they were ahead of him by a good distance, Tom grinned and thought, Now, I will have money for my first Hogsmeade visit.
******
"Where are you going?" drawled Uthman Malfoy as he spotted Tom leaving the common room.
He grinned. "To shepherd my sheep."
"Could we join?" Miles Dougal called out.
"No."
Miles shrugged and then resumed playing chess with Uthman.
They were waiting for him when he entered the room beneath the castle.
"All right. Hand it over."
All five boys gave him a Sickle. Tom reckoned that by the first Hogsmeade visit, he would have fifteen Sickles, two shy of a Galleon. He thought that perhaps he should recruit more followers.
******
A week before the first Hogsmeade visit of the year, Tom gathered the boys in the room where they had been having their rendezvous.
"I have an assignment for you."
He paced the small room. The boys looked up at him.
"Your assignment is this: you will keep an ear out on what people are saying about me in this bloody school. I want to know everything. Each week, you will report anything you've heard about me. Make sure you get the names of those who say anything nasty about me. Understand?"
"Yes," they chorused.
"I especially want to know who has said anything ill about me.
"Now, I need my fee."
The boys began to remove money from the pockets of their robes.
"Timothy?"
"Here, Tom."
"It's 'Sir' or 'Leader,' Timothy, not Tom. Don't forget."
"I have mine, Leader." Isaac dropped twenty-nine Knuts into Tom's hand. "I'm sorry, sir, for the Knuts."
"It's all right," he replied and pocketed the coins.
"We have ours, too," said Daemon.
Omin and Daemon each dropped a Sickle into Tom's outstretched palm.
"Friedrich?"
Friedrich squirmed nervously with his eyes downcast.
In a colder voice, Tom repeated the boy's name.
"Sir? Leader, I'm sorry. I don't have it all. All I had left were eighteen...."
Before Friedrich could finish, Tom angrily struck him across the side of the head with his wand. The boy fell to the floor, and then reached up to cup his bleeding ear.
Eyes narrowed, Tom shouted at Friedrich to rise to his feet.
Crying, the eleven-year-old boy stumbled to his feet while cradling his rapidly swelling, bleeding ear.
"I told you, one Sickle per week, Friedrich! What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with eighteen f---ing Knuts? Answer me!"
"I, I do-don't know, sir," Friedrich sobbed.
He bent to Friedrich's level and said in a near whisper, "Friedrich, you must always obey me. I'm your leader. I tell you what to do. I told you to bring me one f---ing Sickle per week. This week, you chose not to obey me. Therefore...."
"But...."
Irrational fury seized Tom. He grabbed Friedrich brutally by the hair and flung him against the wall.
The other boys stepped back in alarm. They had not realised, until then, that he could be so violent.
Tom put his face close to Friedrich's and said in a low voice, "Don't you ever interrupt me while I'm talking to you. D'you hear me?"
Friedrich could barely speak for he was sobbing too hard. His head and back were throbbing with pain. He managed to choke out, "Yes, Leader."
Tom clenched and unclenched his fists while breathing heavily. He had an overwhelming desire to beat the boy before him. He wanted to hear him shriek and beg for mercy. Striking Friedrich made him feel good, powerful. Tom enjoyed watching the boy cower before him. Perhaps another time, he thought.
"Leader?" said Isaac in a tremulous voice and with an anxious expression on his face. "I have eleven Knuts."
"So?" Tom hissed.
"Erm, if I give you my eleven Knuts, you will have five Sickles. You know, with Friedrich's eighteen Knuts."
"All right. Give them to me."
With trembling hands, Isaac handed Tom the coins.
Tom returned his attention to Friedrich. "What about you, Friedrich? What are you waiting for?"
Tears rolling down his face, Friedrich fished for the coins in his pockets. Sniffing, he gave them to Tom with shaking hands.
"Good. I'll bring each of you a sweet from Hogsmeade."
"Thank you, sir," they replied, quietly.
******
Tom, Uthman, Alvar, Miles, Jordan Towshipp of Ravenclaw, and Bertram Greeneye of Hufflepuff sat in the Three Broomsticks sipping their second round of butterbeer.
"Eh, Towshipp, think she's pretty?"
Jordan blushed.
"Towshipp's in love with the owner's daughter," laughed Miles.
"Isn't she too old for you?" remarked Bertram.
"Shut up," Jordan replied.
"Perhaps he fancies older women," commented Uthman.
"She's not that old," Alvar said. "She's eighteen, five years older than us."
"How do you know?" said Jordan.
"Earlier, I heard one of those fifth years over there ask." He nodded in the direction of a group of boys clustered at a table near the counter.
"What's her name?" Uthman said while watching the girl in question.
She was exceptionally pretty with an hourglass figure that had caught the attention of a number of older boys.
"Rosmerta," supplied Miles.
"What do you think, Tom?" said Jordan.
"Of what?"
"Rosmerta."
Tom shrugged, and sipped his butterbeer.
"D'you think she's pretty, Tom?" Bertram said.
"She's all right for a girl."
Bertram then made the mistake of saying, "You aren't a bender, are you?"
Tom threw the remainder of his butterbeer in Bertram's face. Then he rose from his chair and walked over to where Bertram was hastily wiping the drink from his face and hair.
"What did you do that for? I only asked!"
Quietly, with teeth clenched, Tom said, "Don't you ever ask me a question like that again. I'll kill you."
******
After their third visit to Hogsmeade, Tom began to sneak out of the castle late at night to visit Hogsmeade. He broke into various shops and stole small items such as socks, quills, parchment, and sweets despite the fact that he had enough money to purchase the things he had pilfered.
******
The Christmas holidays arrived, and as usual Tom was the only Slytherin left. He brooded over his mother and simmered in fury over the thought of his Muggle father. He wondered whether his father still lived in Little Hangleton. Tom planned to confront him one day, to make him pay for what he had done to his mother and him.
Tom also utilized the time to work on solving the mystery surrounding the Chamber of Secrets. He suspected that the chamber was somewhere in the castle but he could not fathom its location. His only clue was a cryptic one that stated, "From where water springeth forth, a tunnul shall leadeth to the chaymbur which doth purgeth the unworthee." Tom found this in an obscure book entitled, Slytherin's Selective Hogwarts.
He made another clandestine foray into Hogsmeade and filched a pair of dragon-hide gloves; a warm and expensive, black cloak; and a pair of shoes. It was the first comfortable and correct-fitting shoes he had ever worn. He doubted that Drakonis ever took the time to go through the contents of his trunk during the summer holidays. Tom planned to tell his friends that his new clothing was a Christmas present from his grandfather.
One night, Tom strolled across the grounds while puzzling over Salazar's riddles. Lost deep in thought, he was suddenly startled by a blue speckled kneazle that glowed faintly. The animal arched its back, hissed, and spat at him. Tom removed the wand from his pocket. Before it could escape, he shouted, "Stupefy." He went over to the unconscious feline and picked it up by its tail. Tom then headed for the greenhouses.
Once inside a greenhouse, he attached the kneazle to a table by driving a nail into each of its paws. Afterwards, Tom pointed his wand at the animal and said, "Ennervate." The feline immediately began to shriek in a disturbingly child-like, human voice while trying to tear its paws from the table. Tom immediately placed a Silencer Charm on the beast. He did not want the kneazle's cries to attract attention from the castle. Tom methodically began to flay the animal alive. It died before he could get to its tail.
Professor Stemm was aghast and sickened when she discovered the kneazle the following morning.
******
On Valentine's Day, Tom received a half-dozen love letters, cards, and sweets from girls who wished to remain anonymous. All of it disgusted him. His friends were puzzled over his reaction.
******
The boys gathered in the room below the castle. After the boys provided a report to Tom, he demanded the obligatory Sickle from each of them. For the second time, Friedrich did not have his payment. Tom grabbed him cruelly by the upper arm.
"I'm going to teach you a lesson, Friedrich. I told you not to disobey me, but you did it again."
Tears welling up in his blue eyes, Friedrich exclaimed, "I'm sorry, Leader. I asked my mum to...."
"Shut up! I don't want to hear your stupid excuses. I told you, one Sickle per week, not six f---ing Knuts! I don't care how you get the money, Friedrich. You get it to obey me. D'you hear? You steal it if you have to! Now, strip."
"What?"
Tom slapped him. "I said strip, you putrid little prick!"
Friedrich started crying, and slowly began to remove his robe.
"Hurry! I don't have all day. I'm going to teach you lesson." Then he glared at the other boys who watched in anxiety. "You're going to watch what I do. Timmy, shut the door."
Timothy ran over to close the heavy, oak door.
"Please, sir," said Isaac with worry etching his face. "I have extra money."
"NO! You won't cover for him this time, Isaac."
Isaac shrank back from Tom while watching his best friend remove his remaining articles of clothing.
Nude, Friedrich stood shivering and crying before Tom.
"Turn around and place your hands on the wall. Go on."
With a brief hesitation, Friedrich complied.
Tom removed the wand from his pocket. He looked at the other boys who were huddled together with fear and apprehension.
"Watch and remember."
Using his wand, Tom struck Friedrich across the back with as much force as he could muster. Friedrich screamed. Tom continued to beat the boy with mounting excitement and while yelling at him to keep his hands on the wall. More than once, he repeated to Friedrich that he better not tell anyone who beat him. Eventually, Friedrich passed out.
"Someone help me put his clothes on."
The boys were paralysed with fright over what they had witnessed.
"Isaac, come here!"
Isaac, weeping silently, slowly made his way over to Tom.
"Help me put his clothes on."
Isaac assisted Tom in dressing Friedrich. He noted that Friedrich's entire backside, from the neck down, was red, purple, blue, and lumpy. There was blood in his hair.
"All right," Tom said after Friedrich was clothed. "We're going to have to carry him out of here. Daemon, help me."
Reluctantly, Daemon helped Tom lift Friedrich.
"Timothy, you and Isaac run ahead of us. Let us know if you see anyone coming our way."
They nodded their heads while averting their eyes.
"Omin, you stay to the rear to keep a lookout."
Omin nodded his head.
"Are you ready, Daemon?"
"Yes," he murmured with eyes downcast.
Cautiously, with Friedrich's limp form hanging between them, they carried him up four flights of stairs. A few times they were nearly caught. Finally, Tom decided to leave Friedrich behind a heavy tapestry on the floor where Potions was held. Tom and Daemon were out of breath and sweaty after the exertion.
"Let's go."
"You're, you're going to leave him here?"
"Yes, stupid. Where else would we leave him?"
Daemon shrugged with an expression of worry on his face. "What if no one finds him?"
"So? He's not dead. He'll come around. Come, we better hurry. Supper will be served in a few minutes."
Late that night, the caretaker found Friedrich's unconscious form and rushed him to the hospital wing. Friedrich was unable to tell those who questioned him the next morning what had happened. Apparently, he had forgotten everything.
******
Tom was sitting in an overstuffed chair in the common room with one leg draped across the armrest. He was idly flipping through the pages of his mother's diary while half-listening to his chums.
"Oi," he said, lazily.
"What?" replied Alvar.
"I was wondering if you three would do me a favour."
Uthman shrugged. "What is it?"
Tom half-smiled. "I need you to spy on my flock of sheep."
Miles sniggered. "Have your little sheep been straying?"
"No. They better not. I just want to make sure they have been obeying me. D'you know who they all are?"
"The Strick twins," responded Alvar.
"And those three over there in that corner." Tom pointed to Isaac, Friedrich, and Timothy, who happened to be playing Gobstones at the moment.
Uthman, Miles, and Alvar gazed at the three first years.
"All right," replied Miles.
"What do you want to know?" Uthman said.
"Erm, just let me know what they're up to. Especially keep an eye on Isaac and Friedrich. They're best friends. I think Isaac is helping Friedrich with something he ought not to."
"All right. We're your spies," said Alvar.
"What's in it for us?" Uthman inquired.
"You can help me discipline them...once in a while."
"D'you know that Gryffindor Mudblood I squirted flobuncle essence on last year?" said Alvar changing the subject.
"Yes," Tom replied.
"I heard that his older brother was killed in some bloody Muggle war."
Tom frowned. "War?"
Uthman snorted. "What do they use to fight with? Sticks and stones?" He laughed.
Skye Amberidge and Cynthia Darkling, who were blushing and giggling, distracted them.
Skye flipped her blonde hair out of her face, batted her eyelashes, and said, "Erm, Tom, Cindy and me..." She glanced at her friend, who blushed. "Were wondering if you could help us with our Potions assignment. Please?" She batted her eyelashes again and pouted slightly.
"No. But Miles will."
Miles' mouth dropped open in indignation.
Both girls' faces fell with disappointment. They glanced over at Miles.
Cynthia muttered, "All right. Thanks."
They left.
"What did you do that for?" shouted Miles in consternation.
"I don't want to be bothered with stupid cows."
"Neither do I!"
"Just do it, Miles. For me, eh?"
Miles glared at him.
"I'll give you three Galleons, if you do it."
He sighed. "All right."
Then Rhiannon appeared. "Mahnnie, have you seen Chloe?"
"No."
She sighed. "If you see her before I do, tell her Mother sent the doll she wanted."
Then Rhiannon proceeded to move away.
Uthman muttered with a scowl on his face, "The little princess always gets what she wants."
Tom watched Rhiannon as she walked off.
******
The students gathered up their belongings and prepared to leave the Transfiguration classroom.
"Mr. Riddle, may I see you for a moment?"
Nearly to the door, Tom turned on his heels and went to Dumbledore's desk.
"Oi, Tom, we'll see you in the common room!" said Uthman from the doorway.
Tom nodded his head and returned his attention to Dumbledore.
"Sir?"
"I wanted to see you about your essay."
Dumbledore reached inside his desk and retrieved Tom's paper.
"I found your views on magical transformation...intriguing. I see that you put much research and effort into it."
"I did, sir."
"So, tell me: why would a wizard or witch desire to undergo radical, no doubt dangerous, transformations?"
Tom shrugged. "To alter his or her image, sir."
"Yes, of course. I was curious as to why you wholeheartedly seemed to embrace attempting such an experiment."
Feeling slightly irritated, Tom replied, "Perhaps a wizard would want to shed his identity."
"And why would he want to do that?"
"To become something new, something better."
"Indeed? And what if it should fail? These type of magical transformations you outlined in your essay are exceedingly dangerous."
He responded, "It would not fail for the right wizard, sir, a powerful wizard who was also very brilliant."
Dumbledore gave him a penetrating stare. Then he quietly said, "Mr. Riddle, would you attempt to carry out such an experiment?"
Tom gazed unwaveringly into Dumbledore's bright, blue eyes and replied, "Perhaps."
"I offer you one advice, Mr. Riddle: don't try it. I would hate to see a brilliant and handsome boy such as yourself come to ruin."
With jaw clenched in anger, he retorted, "I won't ever come to ruin, sir."
"I gather you would exercise wise judgment and not attempt such a dangerous feat? I knew you were a clever boy."
Tom stared at Dumbledore with barely disguised contempt.
"Here's your essay, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said in a slightly cold tone. "As you can see, I gave you high marks despite the fact that I found the content...disturbing."
Tom took the five rolls of parchment. "Thank you," he said, icily.
"Good day, Mr. Riddle."
******
Tom faced a very nervous Isaac in the meeting room below the castle. They were alone.
"Uthman told me that you have been supplying your bloody friend, Friedrich, with money. Is that true?"
Afraid, Isaac glanced down at the floor and backed away from Tom.
"Answer me," he said in a low, silky voice.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he's my best friend and...."
"And what?" Tom snapped.
"I didn't want him to be beat again," Isaac blurted out.
"Really? And what do you think is going to happen to you?"
Gazing down at his feet, Isaac shrugged.
Tom roughly shoved him to the floor and then straddled over the boy's chest. Tom pinned Isaac's arms to his sides with his legs.
Tears sprang to Isaac's eyes. "Please, Tom."
Tom slapped him. "When we're down here I'm Leader or Sir!"
He reached into his pocket and retrieved his dragon-hide gloves. He then pulled them on. "I'm going to teach you a lesson, Isaac. You aren't supposed to help those who won't help themselves. If Friedrich needs money, he has to learn to get it for himself. He's not a charity case."
Tom reached into his other pocket and took out a packet. "D'you know what undiluted bubotuber pus is, Isaac?"
Isaac shook his head while intently watching Tom's hands.
"In a moment, you'll become intimately familiar with it." Tom gave him an arresting smile that momentarily disarmed Isaac.
"Now, stay still."
Holding the open packet over Isaac's face, he began to squeeze the thick, petrol smelling liquid from it.
"Don't tell anyone I did this, Isaac," he said in a threatening voice as the first drop splattered onto Isaac's right cheek.
At first, Isaac yelped as the bubotuber pus began to sting. Then he started shrieking and writhing as Tom squeezed the rest of it on his face. Tom smeared the pus across his skin for maximum coverage. In a matter of seconds, Isaac's face was covered with large, yellow boils.
Tom leapt up and bellowed over Isaac's screams, "Don't tell anyone who did this to you." Then he left the room.
******
In three days, the students would leave Hogwarts for the summer holidays. Tom was not looking forward to returning to the orphanage. He wondered if there was a way for him to never set foot in the hated place ever again.
First, he had to find a location to conceal most of the money he had accumulated. During their last visit to Hogsmeade, he had procured a small, bewitched chest in which to place his coins. He wanted to leave the box with his meagre wealth at Hogwarts, in the room he was presently in. Before doing so, he would need to place a Concealer Charm on the container so that it would not be seen. Tom rose from the floor by his bed and went to the door. He locked it so that the other boys could not enter and interrupt what he was about to do.
Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the chest and began the chant he memorized from one of the books in the advanced magic section of the library.
"Mine eyes, deceiveth not.
"To eyes of strangers, not of mine...concealeth thyself in obscurity.
"Remain in secret, hidden from eyes not mine...until revealeth by my tongue.
"Chest of value, concealeth from all...except mine.
"Occulto!"
An electric blue light skated over the contours of the chest and winked out. Then a cloud of black smoke billowed over the container and promptly vanished. The box no longer appeared solid. Tom could see it, but it was as though he were viewing it through shimmering, slightly murky water. He smiled. The charm worked. No one would see the chest even if he levitated it in the centre of the common room.
******
Drakonis met him at platform nine and three-quarters. He took Tom's trunk and gruffly stated, "Due to the barbaric Muggle war, we're going to have to use a Portkey to travel to that bloody orphanage of yours."
Tom had no concept of what Drakonis meant by Portkey. He found out shortly after they left the station. In a rubbish-strewn courtyard nearly obscured by shrubbery, Drakonis picked up a filthy sock and ordered him to grab one end of it. Tom hesitated.
"Go on, boy," he snapped. "I don't have all day."
Tom complied. Immediately, he felt an odd sensation as though a string was tugging him forward by his abdomen. He seemed to have left the ground, and was flying rapidly toward an unknown destination in a kaleidoscope of images and roaring of wind. Suddenly, his feet hit the ground and he fell. He picked himself up and dusted off his clothes. Glancing around, he realised that he was in a vacant lot behind the orphanage.
"You know the way from here," Drakonis said, and disapparated. It was the first time Tom had ever seen him do it.
Sighing, Tom slowly made his way over to St. Cuthbert's Orphanage for Boys.
******
... Summer 1940: The Muggle Battle of Britain ...
He hated Muggle life. Tom and the rest of the orphans were crammed and locked into St. Cuthbert's basement each day before sunset. They were told that they had to stay in the dark basement at night for their protection and so that there would not be any light above to attract the notice of enemy aircraft. Periodically, they were awakened in the night by air raid sirens. Tom no longer slept soundly. Between the ill boys coughing throughout the night, sirens, and fighting to keep the rats off him, Tom barely slept two hours per night.
Each morning, the orphans were brought up to the upper floors to quickly wash and eat. Their food rations were skimpier than ever. Tom and the rest of the boys seemed to live in perpetual hunger. There were numerous accidents or injuries at the factory as a result of the boys being deprived of sleep and food. The foremen worked them unmercifully in support of the war effort.
One day, after labouring strenuously at Holwart's Textile Factory, the bus that carried the boys to and from work broke down on Vauxhall Road. The orphans remained inside while the driver attempted to discover the cause of the problem. Then the sirens awakened and filled them with dread. The driver yelled for the boys to exit the bus.
They ran into a nearby building as a number of aeroplanes growled overhead.
"Put on your gas masks," the driver shouted. "Stay low and keep your hands over your heads!"
The boys and the patrons of the shop kneeled in the aisles with their foreheads pressed to the floor and hands covering their heads.
Outside, aircraft droned in the sky. Distantly, they heard a series of staccato gunshots.
Tom huddled against a shelf full of assorted items. His eyes settled on a small, thin, black book inches from his face. He reached out and grasped it at the same instant the windows of the shop shattered as a bomb detonated not too far away.
As the summer progressed, the air raids increased.
******
When Drakonis came by to take him to Diagon Alley via Portkey, Tom was surprised to see that he was as almost as tall as his grandfather. He reckoned that within a year or two, he and Drakonis would be of the same height.
His trek within the confines of Diagon Alley seemed as though it were occurring in a surrealistic world. Anxiety hung over him like a pall. He was bone-weary and starving. Tom was glad when they finally stopped for something to eat at one of the pubs. A fortnight, he thought while wolfing down his meal. A fortnight, and I'll be back at Hogwarts.
******
... London: The Night of The Muggle Blitz ...
In terror, the orphans huddled in the basement. St. Cuthbert's foundations shook as the German bombs fell on the city. The sirens blared endlessly. Over the never-ending wailing sirens and din of explosions rocketing parts of London, they could hear the buzzing drone of hundreds of aircraft as they flew overhead at impossibly high speeds. The younger boys shrieked and held onto each other. The older boys, like Tom, simply trembled with too-wide eyes and faces drained of colour. None of the boys knew where the orphanage staff disappeared to each night when they were locked in the basement.
Huddled in a corner and listening to the deafening sounds of doom, Tom worried that there would be a fire, that they would die burning in this room below the orphanage. He wished for his wand. Tom had never felt so afraid and helpless in his life.
******
Alvar stared intently at Tom with concern on his face. The train had just begun its long journey to Hogwarts.
"Tom," he said, softly, "are you all right?"
His friends noted Tom's pale and thin countenance. Tom also had dark smudges beneath his eyes as though he had not been sleeping much.
"I'm just tired," he replied. "Wake me when the witch with the food trolley comes by."
"All right," said Uthman.
As he drifted off, he thought, I'll finish my History of Magic assignment later.
******
The sleep refreshed him but he was ravenous with hunger. Tom impatiently waited for the Sorting Ceremony to begin.
"My God, do you see him?" Cole Rudyard exclaimed. "Look at him!"
Murmuring filled the Great Hall as the first years entered. A large first year boy, who appeared about six feet tall, had attracted the rest of the students' attention. A number of Slytherins guffawed loudly.
Uthman snorted. "What did he do? Put an Engorgement Charm on himself?"
"Perhaps he drank a bottle of Skele-Gro because he couldn't read," sniggered Maximillian LaSalle.
Tom smirked as a number of his fellow Slytherins laughed and poked fun at the oversized first year.
"Silence, please," Dumbledore ordered. "In a moment, the Sorting Ceremony will begin."
"APPLESAUCE, TOBY."
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Tom turned to listen to the Slytherins nearby utter crude and vulgar jokes about the large first year boy.
"CONRAD, MELIA."
"SLYTHERIN!"
The Slytherins erupted in boisterous applause for the first student sorted into their house. Tom glanced up and turned away. Then he did a double take. He watched as the girl with long, glossy black ringlets and dark, blue eyes made her way over to the table with a faint smile on her lips.
She sat next to Chloe Malfoy. Tom continued to gaze at her for several more minutes. Then he leaned over and whispered to Alvar, "What was the girl's name? Did you catch it?"
"Conrad. I didn't catch her first name."
"Oh." He would find out later.
"HAGRID, RUBEUS."
"Shite, it's the mountain boy," said Uthman.
Hagrid attempted to pull the sorting hat onto his large head.
Several of the Slytherins snorted and banged their fists on the table. One of the older boys shouted, "It won't fit, boy. Stop trying."
Dumbledore glared out at the sea of students as a number of them laughed.
Hagrid blushed and simply propped the hat atop his head.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"You must be joking!" said Miles as the Gryffindors stood and cheered wildly. "I was sure the big oaf would be placed in Hufflepuff."
Much to Tom's relief, the Sorting Ceremony eventually ended and the feast began. He was starving. While partaking of the meal, Tom furtively gazed at Conrad.
Later, he discovered that her full name was Melia Alexandra Conrad.
******
For the first several weeks of the school year, Tom was plagued with recurring nightmares of explosions, sirens, and unseen droning aircraft. Overlying the dreams was a sense of having no control, of being a rabbit trapped in a cage with a serpent. He did not want to feel helpless and powerless ever again.
******
"Tom?"
"What?"
He was sitting in the common room pretending to work on a Herbology assignment. Actually, he was waiting for Melia to show up so that he could watch her.
"I think those boys over there..." Timothy pointed to two first year boys eagerly looking over at them. "Want to join our army."
"Really?"
Timothy nodded his head. "They always seem to follow us around."
Tom seemed to recall the two boys tagging along at times when they were in the corridors.
He sighed. "Bring them over here."
Timothy quickly rose and went over to the boys. Huge grins overspread their faces, and they followed Timothy over to where Tom sat.
"Hullo," they said.
"What are your names?"
"Clem Michaelson," replied the short, scrawny boy with prominent front teeth.
"I'm Jason Weber."
"All right, Clem and Jason, our next meeting will be this Saturday after lunch. Timothy will show you how to get there. Don't tell anyone about the meeting or you will regret it. Understand?"
They nodded their heads.
"All right. Leave me."
Melia and her friends had just entered the common room.
******
Tom decided to take a break from trying to solve the Chamber of Secrets mystery. He did not seem to be arriving anywhere. So he turned his attention to studying the greatest sorcerers and sorceresses known in the magical world.
******
The seven boys stood before him in a semicircle in the room beneath the castle. Alvar, Uthman, and Miles leaned against a wall with their arms folded across their chests.
"These are my friends," he told the boys. "Alvar McKinley, Miles Dougal, and Uthman Malfoy. You are to obey them as you obey me. They are my generals. You are my soldiers. You are of the lowest rank.
"These two new soldiers of Slytherin's Army are Clem Michaelson and Jason Weber.
"Omin, tell the new soldiers our purpose."
"To wage war against Muggles, Mudbloods, and their sympathizers!"
"Hear, hear," shouted Uthman, Miles, and Alvar.
"Daemon, what is our first rule?"
"The first rule is to always obey our leader."
"Who is your leader?"
"You are, sir!" The boys responded.
"Isaac, what's our second rule?"
"To never repeat what goes on in this room to anyone!"
"Timothy, what's our third rule?"
"To always refer to you as Sir or Leader in this room. Never Tom!"
"Friedrich, what's our fourth rule?"
"To always provide our leader with one Sickle per week!"
"Or?"
"You will be severely punished!"
"Clem, Jason, do you still wish to join?"
They nodded their heads.
"Roll up your sleeves!" he barked.
They complied.
Tom removed the sharp dagger he had stolen from Hogsmeade from his pocket. He grabbed Jason by the arm and carved the letter "S" onto it. Jason yelled, and then burst into tears as blood dripped onto the dusty, littered floor.
Uthman snorted. "A little pansy, that one is."
Clem was shaking like a leaf when Tom grasped his forearm. He squeezed his eyes shut as Tom began to apply pressure to his skin with the point of the dagger. Clem burst into loud sobs as Tom sliced his skin open.
Miles shook his head. "Are you sure you want these babies in your army?"
"They'll be all right," Tom dismissively said as he wiped blood from the dagger.
Jason and Clem sniffed while attempting to stop the blood from flowing.
"Now, for my fee."
Friedrich, Timothy, Isaac, Daemon, and Omin each gave Tom a Sickle.
"Jason?"
Jason, with tears still on his face, fished in his pocket and retrieved a handful of coins. He found a Sickle amongst a number of Knuts and dropped it into Tom's outstretched hand.
"Clem?"
"I, I don't have mine, today."
Tom struck him across the face. Clem screamed and fell to the floor as blood gushed from his broken nose.
Tom stood over Clem as he bawled in agony and said, "Rule Number Five: Slytherin's soldiers are always prepared."
Then he turned to Isaac. "Take the little prat to Madam Salve to have his nose fixed. Make sure you tell the witch that the fool ran into a door as it was being opened. Also, make sure Clem says the same thing, understand?"
Isaac nodded. "Yes, Leader." He went over to the sobbing, bleeding Clem. "C'mon."
"The rest of you may leave. The meeting is over."
As the boys filed out the door, Alvar stepped up to Tom and winked at him. "I have to say, Maestro, that you have trained the pansies well."
Tom gave Alvar a half smile while staring at him with a shrewd expression on his face.
Maestro, he thought. I like the sound of it.
******
The fourth year Slytherin boys were in their room late one night, with each cavorting in his private world. Tom was gazing at the photographs of his mother and thinking how remarkably Melia favoured her.
Uthman barged into the room and shattered their reverie. He was dragging his sister, Chloe, with him.
"Let go, Uthman!" she cried. Her silvery-blonde hair was wet as though she had just stepped out of a bath. She wore a thin bathrobe over her nightgown.
"Shut up!"
Then Uthman turned his attention to the boys in the room. "Do you want to be entertained by my sister?" he said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"Come. Let's see what you look like naked, Princess." Then he began to rip Chloe's bathrobe and nightgown from her shoulders as she struggled to escape.
Miles leapt from his bed and swiftly approached Uthman. "LET HER GO, MALFOY!"
Uthman's face contorted with rage. "SHE'S MY SISTER. Who are you, Miles? Her rescuer? Her knight in shining armour?" Then he said in a low voice. "Are you in love with my sister, Miles?"
"Let her go. For God's sake, Malfoy, you always treat her like a damned Muggle! She's your sister."
"Aye, that's right. She's my sister, Miles. I treat her the way she deserves."
"She does not deserve to be treated like a bloody Muggle!"
"If you only knew, Dougal, you...."
"Oh, I know, Malfoy. I know everything. I heard it from Rhiannon. You're jealous of your sister! You wish that it were you who had almost died, so your parents could lavish affection on you. Yes, I know what happened, Uthman!"
He proceeded to share the tale with the rest of the boys in the room.
"When Chloe was three, an erkling found its way into the house and hid in her bedroom closet. She tried to tell her parents, but they thought she was trying to escape from being put to bed. They locked her in her room so she wouldn't get out. At first, they thought she was throwing a tantrum for being put to bed. Then they heard her screams become strangled. They went into her room and found the erkling in the crib eating her.(1)
"Rhiannon said that Chloe was in St. Mungo's for months while they reconstructed her. She almost died. Your parents buy her things and take her everywhere with them because they feel guilty, Uthman! They haven't forgiven themselves for locking her in a room with an erkling. Why don't you see that?"
Uthman glowered at Miles and loosened his grip on Chloe, who wept.
"You can go, Chloe," Miles said, gently.
She left the room.
Uthman slammed his fist against the wall and stalked out the door.
******
He was in the room tidying the contents of his trunk when he heard the door softly close behind him. Tom whirled around and spotted a small girl gazing at him. He vaguely recalled seeing her in the common room on a few occasions. She was petite with elfin-like facial features; short, bright red hair in a boyish hairstyle; turquoise eyes; and freckles.
Tom stood up. "Who are you? What are you doing in here?"
In a surprisingly husky voice, she replied, "I'm Abigail Petra Orlen. I'm a first year who turned eleven on the seventh of September. Why am I here? I want to be a soldier in Slytherin's Army."
He gave her a penetrating stare. "There is no Slytherin's Army."
She stepped up to him and gazed up into his eyes. "You're a bloody liar, Tom Marvolo Riddle."
He hit her. She staggered from the blow but did not fall.
Gingerly she touched her right cheek, which bore the mark of a red handprint.
"I followed you and your soldiers a fortnight ago," she said. "None of you saw me. I stood listening outside the room you met in. You have two new soldiers: Clem Michaelson and Jason Weber. The purpose of Slytherin's Army is to wage war against Muggles and Mudbloods, and all those who support them. You are to be called Leader or Sir below the castle. Your soldiers must pay you one Sickle per week or be severely punished. Your fifth rule is to always be prepared."
He had to admire her. Instead, Tom knocked her to the floor. She winced as the back of her head connected with the stone. Then Tom straddled her as she heroically fought back tears.
"Who told you to follow me, Abigail?"
"No one."
"No one?"
"No one. I want to be a member of your army."
"What if I were to say no?" he said in a low, silky voice.
"Why? Because I'm a girl? I would make a better soldier than half the boys in your army," she defiantly stated.
"Really?"
"Aye."
"I believe you would." He stood and helped her to her feet. "Our next meeting is this Friday, after supper. You already know the location.
"Don't disappoint me, Abigail."
"I won't."
Then she left.
~~~~~~
Note: I have no idea how they wrote (the standard of English) prior to 992 A.D., supposedly when Salazar Slytherin was alive and well. So, please forgive my botched attempt (at the beginning of the chapter). Are there any (written) language historians in the audience?
(1)J.K. Rowling, Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them, (Scholastic Press, 2001), p15.