Disclaimer: The characters and idea of this fan fiction come from the mind of J.K. Rowling
Summary: This is my version of Tom Riddle's life, and his journey to evil.
A/N: I wanted to apologize—I didn't mean to take so long to write this chapter, but I wasn't completely satisfied with it when I finished it last weekend.
The Tale of Tom Riddle
Chapter 5
Late Winter, 1939
Tom ran desperately through the streets of London. Breathlessly he paused to lean against a cold, stone building, allowing his trunk to continue to levitate a few inches off the ground. At that moment, he noticed several policemen running down the sidewalk towards Tom. Without a second thought, he pointed his wand at his trunk, and followed it down a dark, wind-whipped alley. He slid into a crevice created by two buildings, and tried to tame his harsh breathing and rampant heart beat. Until this moment, Tom hadn't considered this dire situation. He had no way to contact anyone in the wizarding community, and the Hogwarts Express wouldn't be leaving London again for three days. Tom didn't think Mr. McFarland would be keen on letting him stay at the orphanage for a few days. Suddenly, the world seemed darker, the wind seemed to slice through his clothes and bite his skin.
Near hysterics, Tom held his forehead in his hands, and tried to decide what he should do. An odd sensation began at one of Tom's feet, and crept until he felt it in his shin and knee. He looked down and saw Nagini.
"Not ignoring me anymore?" Tom snapped.
"Sstop, Tom! Thiss iss neither the time nor the place for ssenssless bickering. I can't ssurvive in this cold—you've got to do something!" Nagini insisted.
Tom bit his lip as he tried to think of what he should do. Ignoring the strict rules imposed by the Ministry of Magic, Tom pulled his wand from his trunk, and uttered a few words that caused a small, but intensely warm fire to leap from the very snow-covered ground. Contentedly, Nagini slithered back down Tom's leg and coiled before the fire. For Tom, however, his work was not done. The magical fire alone would not protect them from the fierce winter days, let alone the nights. He pushed his trunk to the opening of the crack between the two buildings to block the wink, and began rummaging through it to find warmer clothes and food. From the wooden trunk he extracted three of his Hogwarts robes and a sweater, all of which he hastily put on.
However, once the articles of clothing had been removed, the trunk looked sadly bare, as it now held only the library's book of Salazar Slytherin. Deciding he could hunt for food later, Tom brushed snow away from a spot near the fire and sat with the book in his hands. He traced the picture on the cover—an angry-looking snake that looked as if it were about the spring—before opening the book. The title of the book was simply, Salazar Slytherin, and was printed by Schlanglandpresse in the year 889, which caused Tom to believe that some form of anti-aging charm had been placed on the volume to prevent its destruction. Not a speck of dirt or dust defiled the handsome leather cover, and there were no signs of wear on the pages.
He had just begun to vaguely flip through the pages when a slight rustle captured his attention. Nagini had shifted and was staring fixedly at a point in the sky. Quickly, Tom discovered what she was looking at. A large, soaring shape was gliding rapidly towards Tom and Nagini. Just when Tom shut his eyes against the collision he expected to have with the bird, a letter floated gently into Tom's lap. Nagini's eyes never left the bird, and Tom could feel her disdain as though it radiated like heat from a fire.
'Riddle –
The owners of the poor hospital tried to force me to take this. Included is a box of all of Gwendolyn's worldly 'possessions' as well as this smutty owl. The only reason I'm giving you this garbage is because it's cheaper to send it to you than to pay to have it dragged away.
F. McFarland
P.S. Don't expect a home to come back to after the summer holidays.'
Ignoring the lack of sentimentality the note included, Tom looked closely at the parcel a large owl with silvery feathers tinged red was carrying. The owl peered at Tom through brilliantly orange eyes that seemed to capture a blazing inferno in their depths. Its head was cocked so it looked as though it were waiting for something. Suddenly, Tom realized what the owl wanted. With frigid hands, Tom carefully untied the strings attaching the large box from the owl's legs. Giving Tom a contented hoot, the owl flew from the site where Tom sat on the icy sidewalk. Curiously, Tom watched it for a moment – the great bird circled three times before seeming to float back to the earth, and with a jolt it landed on Tom's shoulder. Quizzically, Tom looked at the bird.
"You know, don't you? You know Gwendolyn's gone," he said. In response, the owl blinked slowly, and Tom was astonished to see a pearly tear skim the hoary feathers of the owl's face. Not knowing what to make of the owl's actions, Tom broke the strings binding the parcel now sitting in his lap. Inside the hastily assembled package, he found an assortment of pictures and trinkets that would hold value only to Tom, as they once had Gwendolyn. He pulled out a photograph, originally black and white, but now yellowed with age, in which two women were laughing joyfully. One woman laid a hand protectively on her bulging belly, and gently nudged the other as though she were warning the other woman to stop making her laugh. However, inevitably, they once more collapsed in giggles. Tom, smiling sadly, flipped the snapshot to look at the back. In the small, neat script Tom knew at once to be Gwendolyn's the phrase, 'Elle and I – April, 1927.'
"Elle…" Tom whispered, confused. Gradually the meaning dawned on him, "Elle… Eloise. That's my mum – and me." Never in his life had Tom seen an actual photograph of his mother. When he looked at the picture once more, he recognized that the woman now grasping her friend's shoulder, laughing hysterically, was the same woman he had seen in his dream. The images on the rigid paper swam, and instead of two laughing young women, in his mind's eye, he saw the same two women – one lay sprawled limply on the floor, and the other cradling a tiny boy and sobbing into her arms.
Guiltily, Tom pushed the photograph aside and turned back to the present and the contents in the box.
Once again, Tom reached into the box to see a photograph – a Muggle photograph, he noticed – of his mother and a man… with the same features as Tom. Despite the fact that the image was a yellowed black-and-white, Tom could see the man dressed in wedding attire had dark hair and stormy gray eyes. He was staring, adoringly, at Eloise. Eloise's wavy, light hair partially hid her face, but couldn't mask the fact that, despite her seemingly happy grin, she was withholding something from her husband. Tom glanced once more at his father, and passionately tore the picture in half. The half in which his mother's naïve, happy face showed, he stowed gently in his coat pocket, and he allowed the half containing his father to waft in the wind as a gust blew through the darkened alley Tom was sitting.
The final picture Tom looked at showed to small figures not immediately recognizable. A girl with untamed, fair hair stood with a wand clutched in one hand by her side as she smiled timidly at the camera, despite her Hogwarts hat that perched jauntily on her head. Her companion, as Tom watched, linked elbows with the other girl, brushed her dark hair out of her eyes with her wand, and flashed an enormous grin at the camera. When he flipped the photo over, Tom saw words written in a young-looking scrawl:
'Sept. 1st, 1916 – Our first day at Hogwarts
My friend Eloise Evanly is pretty nervous, but surely Hogwarts can't be all bad'
Tom placed that photograph with the first he had seen, and placed the box in his lap and saw, for the first time, a letter addressed simply to 'Tom.' Curiously, he read the letter Gwendolyn had written.
'Dear Tom,
As I write this letter, I know my time to move towards ethereal dimensions draws near. By now, I believe you know that my carefully guarded secret has reached the ears of Ferdinand McFarland. I will not torture you with the location of my "home" since I exited Benevolent Heart. My savings have been invested in your Hogwarts fund, so you should have enough money to attend Hogwarts for your seven years. I know you, Tom, so I know that you will feel guilty; but you mustn't – you can do great things, and I feel that your education is more important than anything I might achieve by renting a room for a few months. Again, don't blame yourself. This was a decision I made due to my unwavering loyalty and love to you and your mother. Because I am now unable to do this in person, I'm going to write the history of your mother—your history.
Both your mother and myself grew up in the small, entirely Wizarding community of Schlange's Mire. British wizards don't often boast of this community because they see the people that live there as being somewhat backward. Despite the fact that with distant reflection I have decided the old ways of Schlange's Mire could be considered primitive, my fierce pride for the village perhaps blinds me and keeps me from disliking the old place. The people in the village are very tight-knit—indeed, they almost intervened to keep Eloise and I from leaving. They felt our innocent minds would be tainted by the "big world outside." Leaving Schlange's Mire was perhaps my best decision regardless of my fondness for the village—nothing the village offered would have compensated for Elle's and my education at Hogwarts. However, if you ever need answers, visit Schlange's Mire.
At Hogwarts, your mother was sorted into Slytherin and I into Ravenclaw. Unlike most students in our position, we maintained the closest of relationships, even going so far as to sneak one another into to our common rooms in the middle of the night. Two closer friends couldn't be found in Hogwarts. There was but one secret Elle ever kept from me. In our fourth year, I spent a school year at Beauxbatons for an exchange program, and when I returned to the Mire for the summer, your mother was completely dissipated. For months I tried to convince her to tell me what had happened over the school year as she gradually became weaker and paler. It wasn't until Christmas, though, that she'd tell me. She had spent her entire fourth year, and a part of her fifth to find the mythical Chamber of Secrets. I could never convince her to tell me whether she had found it or not.
I forgot the Chamber when we left Hogwarts, and your mother fell in love. Day after day she would tell me of her wonderful husband, for whom you are named, but under her words was an underlying guilt and sadness. She begged for my advice as to whether she should tell her husband, and I knew she wanted me to say 'yes.' But I knew Tom Riddle. To all but Eloise, he was rude, hateful. No one was up to his standards—he hinted that Eloise should abandon her friendship with me because I was not wealthy as he and his parents were. Consistently, I warned my friend against her husband, whom she thought loved her deeply and unconditionally. What her love concealed from her, I saw clearly. I noticed her feeble attempts to make excuses for the man she claimed to love. I noticed the bruises on her wrists when she angered him. But always she told me, "He promised to change." "Can he?" I would answer, and beg Eloise to leave Tom Riddle before it was too late. Then she came to me, her face was slack and her eyes vacant. In a faraway voice she explained that she had told her husband everything. "Calmly, he listened," she said. "I thought he forgave my lies," at this she couldn't help but weep. Finally, she looked at me and uttered, "He's gone back to his parents, but he swore he would ruin me!" All that your mother worried about was you, Tom—she was apprehensive about your birth. Oh, Tom Riddle was sly about his promise of ruin. Rather than spread slanderous lies, he used subtlety to devastate Eloise. Knowing that neither she nor I could support a child financially, he refused to send her money. No hospital would accept Elle, and she knew it. When you were born, we were forced into the very worst substitute for a hospital, but the details are too appalling to write now, today.
The twilight draws near, Tom, and I must conclude my letter. For the rest of your days, remember that I love you as my own son, and would have done anything in my power to make you happy. I only regret that you must return to Benevolent Heart without a welcoming face to greet you. May the scant mementos in this box always be reminders of those who loved you.
Lovingly,
Ethel Gwendolyn Merriwyther'
An unfounded, insane hatred in every fiber of his being as Tom read and reread this letter. How could the world steal from Tom the two people on the planet that loved him? How could people get away with these merciless acts? Tom's anger gave him a strange sense of clarity. Looking down the alley, he remembered the bird, and was taken aback to see the bird's eyes bore into his. Without a signal, the bird beat its powerful wings and flew to Tom, who, instinctively, stretched his arm to be parallel with the ground. The surprisingly light bird landed easily on his arm, and Tom scribbled a short note to Headmaster Dippet explaining his debacle. As soon as Tom folded the note, the owl grabbed it in her beak, and flew towards the lightened end of the alleyway.
Tom brushed a slight wetness that he dismissed as a snowflake from his cheek and watched the owl's figure grow smaller and smaller as it flew into the dusk. Without warning, he became overwhelmed with a feeling of utter exhaustion, and Tom curled next to the now slumbering Nagini and slipped into what might have been confused as an enchanted sleep.
*~*~*
Tom shifted and squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding brightness of the sun and tried to fall back asleep. However, his eyes flew open when he had the sensation of being watched. He jumped slightly when he saw Nagini's triangular visage inches from his nose.
"Good morning, Tom," Nagini said.
"Morning," Tom answered gruffly, as he rolled to his side, thinking to sleep. Only while slumbering did he seek solace from his pain. He despised the sky, whose crystal firmament was flecked with wisps of cloud, and whose sun shone brightly and defiantly despite Tom's grief. Longing for nothing more than to be once more engulfed by the blanket of sleep that guarded against sorrow, he was displeased to be interrupted by Nagini.
"Do you know how long you sslept?"
"No," Tom answered sharply as he threw an arm to cover his ear.
"You've sslept long enough for your friend to return."
At this, Tom raised his head slightly, and glanced questioningly at Nagini, who merely tossed her head in the direction of a wooden post, on which was seated the silvery-red owl, which was preening herself. When the owl noticed Tom was awake, she flew to Tom and gave him a hastily written letter from Professor Dippet, which informed Tom that he should meet a wizard south of the Benevolent Heart Orphanage to take him back to Hogwarts.
"How long did I sleep?" Tom breathed to himself.
"A day and a half," Nagini stated matter-of-factly.
"A day and a half? But that impossible!"
"Not under sspecial circumsstancess," Nagini answered ominously.
Not wishing to play Nagini's mind games, Tom tersely informed her that they must go to the orphanage. She slithered into Tom's trunk, and Tom picked up the fire—that was cool to the touch—and put it in the box with her. Deciding once more spell couldn't hurt, Tom make his trunk levitate an inconspicuous inch off the ground, and trudged through the slushy snow to the orphanage.
*~*~*
Sullenly, Tom kicked a pebble into a gutter as he neared the Benevolent Heart and wondered how he'd know which person should take him back to Hogwarts. He glanced at the orphanage and saw Albus Dumbledore, who had obviously not tried to disguise himself—his long auburn hair and beard fluttered in the cool breeze as did the hem of his blue robes. His steady, solemn gaze met Tom's for a moment before he forced a smile.
"Good afternoon, Tom, I—" he suddenly stopped and glanced at the owl (that had followed Tom the whole time he had been traipsing through London). "Wrion," Tom heard him utter. "How did you come in possession of that bird?" Dumbledore inquired.
Shrugging slightly, Tom answered, "It belonged to Gwendolyn… it's been following me all day."
"Wrion has been following you all day?" Dumbledore repeated softly. "How curious… Well, we really should return to Hogwarts. I've borrowed a portkey from the owners of the Hogwarts Express. As I'm sure you're aware, the train is in temporary disrepair." Professor Dumbledore extended a newspaper for Tom to grasp. Instantly, Tom felt the familiar twinge, as a hook seemed to pull him through space. He landed, on his knees, in the Hogsmeade train station.
"I'll help you with your trunk, Tom," Professor Dumbledore said as he seized one of the trunk's handles. Gratefully Tom smiled, and began walking towards Hogwarts. "Tom," Dumbledore said simply. "I can't carry this trunk alone."
Tom rolled his eyes before turning once more towards the tall professor. He took the trunk's other handle, and the two began heaving the trunk. Professor Dumbledore was smiling serenely, while Tom gritted his teeth, and wondered why they couldn't just levitate the trunk.
After nearly fifteen minutes, Tom and Dumbledore crossed the threshold of Hogwarts. "Okay, Tom. It's about time for dinner—why don't you go to the Great Hall, and I'll have your trunk taken to your dormitory. Without a word, Tom walked to the Great Hall to join his companions.
"Hi, Tom," Letifer greeted Tom around a mouthful of potatoes.
"Hullo, Letifer."
"Where've you been? Professor Bane wouldn't tell us anything—his own house! I dunno if you've noticed but you have a tendency to completely disappear."
"I told you I was leaving," Tom said, hoping Letifer would get the hint that he didn't want to talk; he especially didn't want to talk about 'where he was.'
"But you didn't say where you were going," Letifer pressed.
"I went to London."
"Oh," Letifer said. Tom breathed a sigh of relief as Letifer shoveled another spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. "What did you do in London?"
Tom grimaced. "It doesn't concern you. You don't need to know."
"Keeping secrets, are we?" Letifer asked coolly. "No matter. I'll find out. You might compare our statuses, Riddle. My father's given more money to this school than you'll see in your life. He's powerful. What are you? You're nothing."
Tom clenched and unclenched his hands, and he kept his eyes on his plate as Letifer rose from his seat. "Fine," Tom said quietly. "You want to know? I went to London to see the only person left who cared for me die."
Letifer's emotionless eyes looked steadily at Tom. "A Muggle?" he asked distastefully. Tom shook his head. "Well, then, how tragic." With those words, Letifer walked quickly away from Tom and the Great Hall, leaving Tom to, once again, become immersed in his lonely grief.
Deciding he was no longer hungry, Tom left the Great Hall. Tom walked slowly down corridors and passageways until he was sure he was lost. He pulled out his wand and uttered, "Lumos," so a dim light spilled across the hallway. A large door rested in its frame a mere twenty paces from where he stood. Curious, Tom pushed it open. Inside the room a room was filled with thousands of books. Tom furrowed his brow—this wasn't the entrance to the library. Then he realized that he was looking at the library from a different perspective. If he took one step, Tom would be in the Restricted Section of the library. Glancing behind him to make sure no one would witness him enter this forbidden region, Tom stepped gingerly on the stone floor, as though he expected alarms to blare. For a moment he stood so still that he could have heard the whispering of the feet of a mouse brush against stone. Faintly, he thought he heard breathing, but when nothing happened, he dismissed the sound as a figment of his imagination, and proceeded to enter the library, and walk leisurely down the aisles of books, occasionally pausing to read passages in books. One volume outlined ancient magic practiced by Vikings. Tom, who hadn't thought the Norse to be particularly skilled in the realm of magic, was interested to read about the fabled Balder. He soon became engrossed in the extremely difficult magic detailed in the book's pages as he read about the accomplishments the Norse wizards had achieved. There was even an enchantment to make a witch or wizard immortal. Tom quickly became disinterested when he read that no witch or wizard, that wasn't of Norse decent, had ever lived through the exhausting spell.
The minutes slipped away, and Tom heard a faraway clock chime the eleventh hour. Only dimly considering he had been in the library for five hours, Tom reached for a final book. This particular book was gilded and inlaid with reddish stones that seemed to glow despite the darkness of the library. Tom opened the book and began to read about legendary witches and wizards of the sixteenth century when he suddenly became engulfed in a putrid, hazy smoke. Coughing and sputtering, Tom tried to escape the suffocating smoke. Rows of books passed in a blur as Tom strove to reach the door before he needed to breathe again. However, he stopped short.
"It's gone," he breathed as he looked at where the door had been. The shelves now formed seamlessly to the wall, creating an impenetrable barrier. Wildly he began ripping books from their shelves to find a handle or something to trigger the door to open. A clamorous noise filled the library. Tom, wrapped in his own dilemma, refused to acknowledge that the door was gone. Finally, after he stood in a small mountain of strewn books, Tom turned to look towards the regular library door. And gasped as his breath caught in his throat. The smoke that now retained a sickeningly green color and, while radiating an eerie light, spelled the phrase, 'Tom Marvolo Riddle.'
Panicking, Tom grasped his wand in a shaky hand. "Be gone!" he bellowed, to no avail. "I command you to disappear!" Still pointing his wand at the script, Tom began muttering every incantation he knew, and even created a few of his own. Suddenly, an enormous skull with a serpent for a tongue forced itself from the tip of Tom's wand. Frozen in fear, Tom watched as it reared its skeletal head and consumed the tangible evidence of Tom's infringement of the library's strict rules. The skull now turned to Tom, and began to float towards him, mouth gaping. His mouth frozen in a silent scream, Tom watched in horror as it hovered nearer and nearer to where he stood. Inches from Tom, the skull stopped. As if filled with helium, the skull rose so it hovered above Tom, nearly brushing the library's ceiling.
Tom couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. As far as he was concerned, he had just survived a brush with death. He then looked around. Books were strewn across the floor, and the smoke had tarnished some of the books and bookcases a slight green color. To make matters worse, Tom heard a door squeak open.
"What's goin' on in here?" A gruff voice roared.
At once, Tom fled the scene of his crime, and hid behind a trolley bearing books needing to be reshelved. He heard the heavy footfalls belonging to Hogwarts' caretaker—Archibald Hale—draw nearer and nearer. It was rumored among Hogwarts' students that Archibald Hale could sense a student who was breaking the rules. Tom, who usually didn't hold much truth in such claims, was now considerably less sure of himself and desperately hoping his classmates were mistaken. Another commonly held belief was that Hale used forms of torture to punish students who were found to be wandering the school after-hours.
The moment Hale passed Tom, he sprinted towards the library door. He heard Archibald Hale emit what sounded like a low growl before Tom ran through passages to get to the Slytherin dungeons. However, he was forced to skid to a halt when he chanced upon to figures walking and talking in the shadows at the end of the corridor.
"Don't you understand what this means, Armando?" came the voice of Albus Dumbledore. "Few people know about Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose, and for good reason. Can you imagine the suspicion that would be raised?"
"I'm still not convinced that this 'Dio Vesper' spell works at all. Transfiguration is your area of expertise, not Defense Against the Dark Arts. How do you know that's what hit young Mr. Riddle that day?" Armando Dippet asked half-heartedly.
"I've told you already—no other spell causes a person to become transparent as Tom was!" Dumbledore answered impatiently.
"Fine, fine… so what does 'Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose' do?"
Dumbledore was near the breaking point. "You're not taking this seriously at all," Dumbledore said in an overly calm voice. However, he answered the question asked of him, "It means 'by day good; by night evil.' The spell is used to find a witch or wizard that is associated with the Dark Arts. To have a first year intercept it is… unbelievable, to say the least."
"Unbelievable—precisely. Your evidence is somewhat faulty, I'm afraid, for you cannot be correct. A first year can't be linked to the Dark Arts, especially a first year coming from a Muggle life. It's unheard of! Perhaps Tom somehow came in contact with a Draining Draught or a Concealment Concoction. There are thousands of explanations to disprove your justification, each making your Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose to sound ludicrous," Professor Dippet stated, his anger mounting inside.
"So my explanation is 'ludicrous'? Well what about yours? Both Draining Draughts and Concealment Concoctions—the only other elements I know to cause transparency—are banned from Hogwarts because of their potential to go awry, so how would he have had access to either potion?" Dumbledore countered, his voice remaining even, but firm. "However, I saw with my own eyes the color of the light that issued from the boy's wand. And I know that the antidote used to treat Dio Vesper will do naught but cause instantaneous death if given to someone who does not have the protection of his Dark Arts. You are naïve, Armando, to think that no first year has the capabilities to go against what you and I stand for. You must consider this threat!"
For the first time during the conversation, Professor Dippet laughed heartily. "You would consider Tom Riddle a threat? My good friend, what do you think first-year books teach? The Unforgivable Curses? That's not until second year!" Once again, he laughed. Professor Dumbledore, however, remained silent and erect.
"I'm glad to see you can make light of this situation, Headmaster," Professor Dumbledore said quietly. "I should be returning to my chamber to sleep before classes tomorrow. We will, however, see how the scenario unfolds soon, I feel."
Tom, who had until now stood listening to the teachers' conversation in plain few, now ducked behind a suit of armor as Professor Dumbledore swept past him towards Gryffindor Tower, and Professor Dippet sauntered towards his office, still chuckling at the absurdity of his and Dumbledore's conversation. Just as Tom felt he could safely move away from his hiding place, he heard a deafening sound echo and reverberate through the corridor. Tom ducked so only his eyes were visible, and watched as Archibald Hale practically flew through the passage. Seconds after he had passed Tom, he heard the caretaker bellow, "Professors! I think yeh need to go ter the library!"
Only then did Tom remember the skull that had been left in the library.
To be continued…
Thanks to:
WhetherRose: First and foremost, thank you so much for the review! I loved reading your last review—not only did you chose to use your study break to read my story, but you noticed the things I was trying to convey (which I was extremely grateful for), particularly about Gwendolyn. I didn't want to kill her, but I thought that *would* be the best way to concentrate Tom's anger. Also, thank you for the compliments about my poetry—it took me ages to get it to sound halfway decent (poetry doesn't seem to suit me very well, as much as I admire those who are talented at it), and I was glad when it was well received. Thank you and thank you again. I sincerely hope your tests went well (I think my teachers were conferring with yours—I had five tests in two days as well as play practice until ten o'clock. Ugh, I'm ready to return to a regular sleeping pattern. How long is summer…?), and hopefully you'll be able to finish (or begin, as the case may be) Casca's Beginning of the End. She finished it, and it was absolutely wonderful! You're going to love it, I'm sure!
T.H: Hello, hello! Thank you so much for complimenting my poetry—I almost gave up, and wrote a letter! It's so encouraging that I have such fabulous reviewers! You also noticed that Gwendolyn's death was meant to push Tom over the edge—I'm so grateful for you and WhetherRose… If all my reviewers had missed that detail, I would have rewritten the chapter to have Gwendolyn back. *Sigh* I miss the character. But Tom is getting interesting to write about *rubs hands together mischievously*. I have his 'transformation' after Hogwarts planned out completely. Ah, such fun. I was wondering, are you still reading Les Mis? If you are how are you enjoying it? I'm positively ecstatic, because my school is performing it next year, and I'll be a senior so I'll probably get to be Cosette… *swoons*. Ahem. Anyway, thanks again!
Hollie: Hollie, you seem to be suffering from the same lack of free time as WhetherRose and I. Hopefully you'll find time to write soon (and read any stories you've not finished, of course). I miss reading about Kelly and Dante!
Oceansun: I wanted to thank you for starting to read this story—I hope you enjoy it! To answer your question, yes, I am from Kansas—my sister said she met you at Girl Scout camp, I think (it was the camp that everyone got sent home early, I think). Also, yes, I did try to make Professor Bane similar to Professor Snape, though, now, I wish I hadn't. It would have been more ironic, I think, if Tom's head of house had been more of a kind teacher (or at least made Professor Bane teach a different subject). Ah, well, such are the consequences of reflection.
Also, thanks to: Pinefresh, Serina, Kitty Nicoe, Bonita Knows All, Babyphatcat13, Harry Potter Magic13, S. Nicolai, Sara Minks, Melissa, Azalais Malfoy