Disclaimer: The characters and idea of this fan fiction come from the mind of J.K. Rowling
Summary: Little is known about Tom Marvolo Riddle (other than the fact that he was an orphan, disowned by his Muggle father). This is how I imagine young Lord Voldemort's life to have been.
A/N: I wanted to apologize for this chapter being so long in the making—I promise it won't take nearly so long for the next chapter!
The Tale of Tom Riddle
Chapter 6
1938
For a moment, Tom appeared to be rooted to where he was crouched behind the suit of armor. The words of Archibald Hale resounded through his mind: I think yeh need to go ter the library… As though he had activated a film, the vision of the large, green skull spun tumultuously in his mind's eye. Quietly, he cursed himself for leaving evidence, no matter how obscure, in the library. Of course, there really would have been nothing he could have done—Tom had no idea how he had conjured the skull, let alone how he could have rid the library of its presence.
For the briefest of moments he contemplated his situation. Hesitating slightly, he gazed in the direction the two professors and the caretaker, Hale, had gone. Blinking his eyes against his decision, Tom strode purposefully towards the library.
Perhaps it was his paranoia, but Tom thought he heard whispering. Clinging to the shadows, he looked behind him, but saw no one. When the soft sound persisted, he stopped completely, and saw a slight movement, despite the darkness enveloping Tom's vision. By straining his eyes, Tom was able to see that the movement he had formerly glimpsed was moving in his direction, and was steadily becoming easier to see. In fact, it had begun to glow. After a few scant moments, Tom realized, with a start, that he was looking upon a fearsome sort of ghost. Suddenly, a hushed silence and eerie stillness fell across the corridor. Unable to look away, Tom stared at this ghost dressed in garb that would most appropriately be found on a nobleman in the seventeenth century. However, the ghost's coat was splattered randomly with silvery stains that looked, to Tom's disgust, to be blood. Long, silver, stringy hair framed the ghost's face, which retained what appeared to be an utterly blank look—it seemed to see everything and nothing at once. A blast of freezing air blew passed Tom—who hadn't even attempted to hide—when the ghost floated passed him. Apparently, Tom had been holding his breath, for when the ghost passed he heaved an immense sigh of relief.
Just as quickly as the sounds in the hallway had faded, they began once more when the ghost continued to leave Tom's vicinity. Only, now, Tom realized what the sound was. Indeed, he had been hearing whisperings, but they were the whispers of neither humans nor ghosts. The whispering that seemed to haunt Tom were those of the paintings in the corridor, which were avidly discussing what they (and Tom) had witnessed.
"The Bloody Baron!" one woman said to another. "I told you he was making his way down this passage."
"Can you blame me for not believing you?" the other woman asked, annoyed. "He barely leaves the first floor's Dark Passage, and he's never come this way!"
Tom listened only half-heartedly as the two women continued their chattering concerning the Bloody Baron, until he decided he should continue to the library. He slunk uneasily through the halls—even though he was anxious to see what would be done about the green skull, he couldn't help but imagine what would happen if he were caught. The image of Hogwarts' irascible caretaker hung before his eyes like a veil. Even worse was the thought of being caught by Professor Dumbledore. If Hale caught Tom, he would be taken to Headmaster Dippet. This caused Tom little worry—he could convince Dippet to believe any story he created… Dumbledore, on the other hand, seemed to perceive things about Tom that he himself didn't even realize. And the man had authority in the school—more than any other teacher—and Tom had to admit it.
With a jolt, Tom found himself faced once more with the rear entrance of the library. Decided the lure of the scenario that would unfold was more an opportunity than he could surpass, Tom pushed the door open the tiniest bit, and peaked into the cavernous room.
"…What could it mean?" came the apprehensive voice of Professor Dippet.
After a brief silence, Archibald Hale answered brusquely, "Foul play. Them mangy kids're goin' through these dark books—they're planning on takin' over the school!"
"I'm not sure we can infer so much, Archibald," Professor Dumbledore answered, obviously concentrating greatly on the situation, no matter how lightly he had answered the caretaker.
"That's right," Professor Dippet interjected, seeming to try to prove to himself his confidence. "In fact, some of these books have protection against any wandering eyes that may happen to read their pages. Isn't it possible that this skull could have been created when book was open?"
"Even if that is the case, Armando, I'm not sure I'd be so secure in knowing that someone broke into the library and was reading books in the Restricted Section. Besides, I'm not sure a book conjured this skull. Most of the repelling charms on Restricted Section books emit noises to alert a staff member," Professor Dumbledore paused, faltering slightly. "This almost seems as though it was protecting someone rather than something."
Tom held his breath as he waited for the responses of the other two men. Due to the fact that the library was flooded in the skull's light, Tom could easily see Headmaster Dippet's face, which changed from a poorly disguised anxious expression to that of one most at ease.
Jovially, Dippet clapped a hand on Professor Dumbledore's back. "My friend, you read too much into a situation. I distinctly remember Roberta Peck telling me of this charm—" he jabbed a finger at the green skull "—several years ago for a particularly nasty book… the title slips my mind, however."
"Indeed?" Professor Dumbledore asked skeptically. "Well, perhaps. Still, I ask that, in light of recent information, you don't take this lightly. What are you planning to do with the skull?"
"Er… well, I'm not sure how we can dispose of it. I suppose you are correct, however. For several days, the library will be off-limits to students."
"All right. I'll inform the other professors first thing in the morning," Professor Dumbledore stated.
Gratefully, Professor Dippet said, "Thank you, Albus. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Goodnight," Professor Dumbledore answered. With that, the two professors parted ways once more to leave Archibald Hale to grumble about the lack of respect students had.
Pensively, Professor Dumbledore began to walk passed the many shelves of books. Abruptly, however, he paused. He turned his head and gazed in Tom's direction. Until that moment, Tom hadn't realized that he still held the door ajar, and was, therefore, in plain view. Professor Dumbledore began to stride towards Tom, looking intently at a spot to Tom's right. After no more than five steps, he stopped a final time, shook his head, and turned once more towards the main doors of the library.
Tom had been standing, frozen, to this spot neither inside nor outside the library. Only when the three adults had left the room did he trust himself to close the door. He then began considering why Professor Dumbledore punished him—the door had been open at least six inches, so Tom's peering countenance most assuredly had been visible. Perhaps the professor had been protecting Tom? He let out a huff of sarcastic laughter at the thought. Based on what he'd heard, Dumbledore resented seeing Tom wander the halls freely in the daylight; heaven knows what he'd do if he saw Tom slinking through the dank passageways in the middle of the night.
A low, barely perceptible rumble caused Tom to return his thoughts to the castle and himself. Because he was suddenly overcome by a feeling of utter exhaustion, Tom decided he'd consider Dumbledore's motives at a later time. Feeling his eyes droop, Tom quickly made his way back to the Slytherin Dungeons to be engulfed by a blissfully dreamless sleep.
* * *
The next morning Tom woke with an emptiness in his heart that he quickly acknowledged as something he would have to get used to. As though the magnitude of the events in the past was only just occurring to Tom, Gwendolyn consumed his every thought. Silently, he wept. He couldn't help but remember the times she had made life at the orphanage bearable with a kind word or an extra cookie. More than anything, Tom needed a companion. He needed a friend. Gwendolyn had been everything to Tom. Only in her death did he realize how precious she was. Over and over, he remembered her last moments—lying, anonymous, in a dirty hospital with no one to love her except Tom. His reverie was disrupted, however, when the sound of beating wings rippled through the air.
With a start, Tom recognized the bird as the one Dumbledore had called Wrion, which was perched nonchalantly on Tom's bed frame—merely looking at him. Tom felt himself forget his troubles, and wonder vaguely about the bird. Why had it chosen to follow him to Hogwarts? Why had Tom never seen Wrion if he had belonged to Gwendolyn? And, finally, what type of bird was he? Wrion looked rather like an owl, but… something was slightly off.
Wrion emitted a soft hoot, and Tom suddenly realized that his questions were irrelevant. He suddenly felt stronger, emotionally, than he had in years. It was as though thinking of Gwendolyn made him remember the cheerful times they had spent together rather than her untimely death. It was as though he had discarded any unpleasant memories to be replaced by the joyful ones—happy memories that could be accessed in much the same manner as he had looked through Gwendolyn's box of trinkets.
Quietly, he pushed open his bed curtains, and greeted the day as he kicked his bare feet over the edge of his bed.
Thinking about nothing in particular, Tom dressed himself before leaving his dormitory and going to the common room. He looked around the room for Letifer, but didn't see him. Actually, he didn't see anyone in the common room. Only then did he notice the eerie silence that seemed to shroud the castle. Hastily, he began to walk to the Great Hall.
The hush that had befallen the common room seemed to follow Tom the entire way to the Great Hall. Even the clamor from the large dining hall that typically reverberated throughout the halls was mysteriously absent. Warily, he turned the corner to look into the Great Hall.
The scenario that met his eyes was even more curious than Tom had thought. In the back of his mind, Tom was sure that he had overslept, and everyone was in class. However, the Great Hall was completely full—in fact, he had never seen so many students in there at one time. In fact, the solemnity and reverence filling the room was nearly overwhelming. Few students were eating the meals spread across the table, and even fewer were speaking.
Tom's eyes wandered to the Slytherin table, and he saw that many Slytherins were eating, and the few voices he heard were coming from that table. Letifer caught Tom's eye, smirked, and motioned for Tom to join him and Max.
"What's going on?" Tom whispered as he slid into a seat next to Letifer.
"You won't believe it," he returned energetically. "Grindelwald has struck again, but this time it was here in Britain—in a small town called Little Hangleton. The teachers here haven't said anything about it yet, but news like this travels fast. Parents are already owling Dippet to make sure we're all still alive," Letifer finished dramatically. "Honestly, as though father would let Grindelwald strike here."
Tom looked around his fellow classmates and the professors, and noticed what emotion had been so poignant, but so hard to place. It was defeat.
Continuing in a significantly lower voice, Letifer continued, "My father's right in his inner-circle, you know. He works for the British Ministry of Magic, which means Grindelwald is somewhat dependant on my father." Letifer puffed his chest importantly, but was sure to speak quietly enough that no one would hear him but Tom, "Father works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so he's in charge of the number of people to send to fight Grindelwald. Obviously, he's going to keep as many people out of the situation as possible. Father's quite interested in the dark arts," he continued fervently, "He's even encouraged me to learn a few spells. I'll have to show you what I've learned sometime…"
He may have continued, but Tom suddenly found it hard to concentrate. Amidst Letifer's rambling, Tom was sure he had heard the town 'Little Hangleton.' The name seemed to tug on a memory, a memory that was just out of Tom's grasp—as though he had heard it as a small child, but had chosen to forget it. Before Tom could brood on the subject, Headmaster Dippet rose stiffly from his seat to address the students.
"As I believe most of you know, there has been yet another attack—this time the entirely Muggle town, Little Hangleton was stricken. A theory has arisen that suspects this attack to be the work of Grindelwald's supporters. Many parents have owled me to request I close the school. Indeed, many have insisted I close the school. However, my colleagues and myself firmly believe that Hogwarts is the safest place at this moment for anyone. Though the situation is Little Hangleton is dire, witches and wizards from the Ministry of Magic have already arrived to lend their support to the Muggles. However, despite the frenzied accusations being made, the Ministry witches and wizards have found nothing to suggest that—other than the fact that the attack was obviously of magical origins—Grindelwald is behind this attack."
For a moment he paused and waited for the murmuring to subside. As soon as the room quieted, he continued, "As unfortunate as this situation has become, it has been generally agreed that Muggles outside Little Hangleton should not be informed of this incident, and that the Muggles living in Little Hangleton must have their minds modified to forget the matter," he cast a nervous, sidelong glance at Professor Dumbledore, whose normally placid demeanor was replaced by that of suppressed contempt. "However, it has been unanimously agreed that help should be given to the populace of Little Hangleton. Professor Dumbledore himself has offered to chaperone a group of twenty students to lend their services in the devastated village. Precautions have been taken to ensure that nothing of this sort can happen again in Little Hangleton." In an undertone, he spoke to Professor Dumbledore, "Anything you'd like to add, Albus?"
Professor Dumbledore nodded to the headmaster, and rose gently from his chair. "The group I take to Little Hangleton will be expected to help rebuild destroyed buildings as well as administer basic first aid. We expect to be away for one month. Please keep in mind that it will be very cold, and we'll be living under primitive circumstances. Any serious applicant must speak with me before Thursday." Before sitting again, he said, in a softened tone, "Any interest will be considered, and I would eagerly agree to chaperone more than twenty students if sincere compassion is shown."
Despite the fact that the teachers appeared to have concluded their opinions of the matter, the students' chatter did resume as it would a normal day. Instead, in the absence of the voices of authority, the silence Tom had noted to be so uncharacteristic of a full dining hall recommenced.
Tom was reaching for a pitcher of milk when Letifer spoke in a hushed voice, "What do you say? Do you want to go? Maybe we'll get to learn something useful. Father can arrange a meeting with one of Gwendolyn's spies, I'll bet!"
"Meet a spy?" Ton asked, not expecting an answer. "But Dumbledore is going—don't you think he'll keep a close watch on us?"
Letifer scoffed, "He wouldn't dare mess with my father—I've told you what sort of influence he has. Besides, isn't the risk sort of exciting? Or are you too scared to do anything but study?"
Glowering, Tom spoke through gritted teeth, "I'm not scared—I do things besides study. Dumbledore just…" As Tom began to trail off, Letifer interjected.
"Come on—let's do it." With that, Letifer pushed his bowl of porridge away as he quickly rose from the table.
In a desperate attempt to buy more time to talk Letifer out of his idea, Tom grabbed the elbow of Letifer's robes, "Wait, Letifer! We… we don't want to seem too… eager! Let's wait until Transfiguration before we tell him we're going."
Letifer gave Tom a skeptical look, but lowered himself, conceding. "Fine, we'll do it after lunch."
The remainder of breakfast passed in reverent silence, making Tom feel that classes couldn't begin soon enough.
* * *
The minutes, which, during breakfast, seemed to crawl slowly along, rapidly spun themselves into hours once classes began. No matter how he wished he could disappear from the earth, Tom reluctantly realized that his feet were leading him towards the large Transfiguration room, and he had been unable to persuade Letifer to abandon the idea of traveling to Little Hangleton.
"Good afternoon, class," Professor Dumbledore said kindly, if not wearily. Though a smile spread itself across his face, Professor Dumbledore's eyes betrayed him to show that melancholy thoughts plagued his mind. "Before we begin class, I'd like to ask whether or not anyone is interested in going with me to Little Hangleton? Though there will be considerable work involved, I believe it will be an excellent learning experience."
A girl with brown hair from Hufflepuff raised her hand before asking, "Professor, isn't there a danger that whoever caused this mess will come back?"
Professor Dumbledore answered with only a slight hesitation, "Both Professor Dippet and myself feel that the area surrounding Little Hangleton has been sufficiently secured by Ministry wizards, who have worked round the clock to provide the village with an anti-dark magic spell."
The Hufflepuff girl nodded her head, but stated, "Still, I don't think I'd ever go."
Smiling kindly, Professor Dumbledore said, "That's fine, Beth. Is there anyone else interested?"
Two hands rose slowly into the air.
"Ah, wonderful," the professor exclaimed. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a piece of parchment and a pen and bottle of ink. As he wrote, he muttered, "Letifer Malfoy, Slytherin, and Scott Dricken, Hufflepuff…"
Before he turned his head, Tom could feel Letifer's eyes nearly pierce his skin.
"Raise your hand, Riddle!" Letifer hissed.
"Letifer, this is a bad idea—look who's going: Dumbledore and Scott," Tom pled.
Nearly disgusted, Letifer spat, "So now you're afraid of Scott Dricken?"
Grimacing, Tom said, "Listen, I know something about Scott—"
"Enough. You're going," Letifer interjected. In one swift movement, Letifer grasped his wand, pointed it at Tom, and murmured, "Imperio."
A sensation unlike any he'd experienced spread through Tom. Utter calmness filled his mind, and Tom found himself laughing inwardly at his paranoia. What was he afraid of, really? Scott? The very idea was laughable—the boy was a disaster. And Dumbledore? Sure, the man was powerful, but he had no real authority. After all, Armando Dippet was the headmaster; Albus Dumbledore was nothing but a lowly Transfiguration professor.
Suddenly, Tom felt his right arm move and be lifted into the air, as if by some unseen force. Though the thought of struggling crossed his mind, Tom decided that perhaps it was for the best that he went to Little Hangleton.
In the same manner that his arm had risen, words suddenly began to spill from Tom's mouth, "I'd like to go to Little Hangleton, too."
Now that he was getting used to the idea, Tom realized he did want to go to Little Hangleton.
"…And Tom Riddle, Slytherin," Professor Dumbledore responded, jotting the name on his parchment. "We shall depart promptly at nine o'clock on Saturday for Little Hangleton. You shall be expected to get to Hogsmeade station on your own accord. However, your luggage may be left in your common rooms to be delivered to the train…"
Uncertainty seemed to pool in Tom's stomach and spread outward. How could he have volunteered to go to Little Hangleton? He knew the dangers. Fearfully, Tom shot a glance at Letifer, whose face bore an extremely smug expression.
"What did you do?" Tom hissed below his breath.
"What do you mean?" Letifer returned in—what he tried to make—an innocent tone.
An exasperated sigh escaped Tom's lips, and he decided to drop the subject, and concentrate on Professor Dumbledore, who was explaining the procedure of the test the class would be taking in a few moments.
Before long, the class was turning teacups into snails, though many students were having troubles.
"My snail is leaving a trail of tea," Letifer whined.
"Then perhaps you're performing the spell incorrectly," Tom returned coolly.
"Care to help?" Letifer implored.
"Not until you tell me why I volunteered to go to Little Hangleton," Tom stated adamantly.
Letifer laughed, "Forget about it, Riddle. It's out of your league."
Through gritted teeth, eyes never leaving his snail slowly turning circles on the large wooden table, Tom whispered, "Try me."
Letifer's smirk slowly disappeared from his face, and he nodded silently. "Fine. I cast a spell that allowed me to control your actions temporarily."
This statement left Tom aghast. It was common knowledge that Letifer had never been overly talented in magic—every Slytherin and first year was aware that Tom was the brain of his small group of friends.
Tom eyebrows drew together and he turned to face Letifer. "How?" he breathed.
Letifer's lips curled into a grin and he spoke so lowly that Tom felt himself lean closer so he could hear him, "Dark magic. Father has already taught me the three Unforgivable Curses." Before Tom even had time to ask what the Unforgivable Curses were, Letifer quickly continued, having turned back to his malfunctioning snail, "Of course, Father's forbidden me from telling anyone else from doing them—they're illegal, you know."
Forgetting completely that he was mad at Letifer, Tom asked, "You say there are three? What do the others do?"
Realizing Tom was completely relying on him to explain these Curses, Letifer's grin grew, though he remained silent.
Remembering, suddenly, his impatience for Letifer, Tom gave up, "Fine! Forget I asked."
As though he were preparing to unleash a great secret, Letifer said, "No, I'll tell you. The three curses are the Cruciatus Curse, the Imperius Curse, and Adavra Kedavra—the killing curse."
Tom was wholly intrigued. His snail, having been left to its own devices, fell, unbeknownst to Tom, to the floor. Hungrily, Tom asked, "Cruciatus? Imperius? What do they do?"
As though the subject bored him, Letifer waved a hand at the question, "The Imperius curse was what I cast on you a moment ago—I could have forced you to do somersaults around the classroom if I had wanted to. You didn't even resist! The Cruciatus Curse is a most painful torture-device. Some people who are subject to it even go mad because of the pain."
Before Tom had the chance to ask further questions, a bell sounded to announce the conclusion of class.
"Please bring your snails to the front of the classroom, and place it in the box labeled with your name—I shall grade them before the next class period," Professor Dumbledore announced.
"Oh, no," Tom said upon realizing his snail was nowhere in sight. Without hesitation, he flopped onto the floor to search for the elusive creature. To his dismay, he found the snail had shattered. Cradling the broken pieces in his hands, Tom quickly rose to his feet.
"Ouch!" He exclaimed, and dropped his snail once more when his hands, unconsciously, flew to his throbbing forehead.
"Sorry," Tom heard a boy's voice say. Upon realizing that his eyes were squeezed shut, Tom opened them to see Scott Dricken standing before him, rubbing his elbow.
Without saying a word, Tom stooped once more to collect the pieces of his now unrecognizable snail. When he stood once more—carefully, this time—he saw that Scott had barely moved, and was looking at Tom.
Somewhat disconcerted, Tom pushed passed Scott, and the two exchanged equally cold glares.
"Professor, I've had a bit of an accident," Tom said as he approached the Transfiguration professor.
Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes carefully assessed the damage. "Ah, yes, these snails must be handled with extreme care—because they were transfigured from teacups, they break as easily as porcelain."
"Do you… still want me to turn this in?" Tom asked, realizing he would most likely receive failing marks on this project.
Professor Dumbledore's eyes scrutinized Tom for several, silent, minutes before he said, "No, Tom, that won't be necessary."
Feeling hope drain from his body, Tom slowly turned to leave the large room.
"Wait a moment, Tom," Professor Dumbledore said. "Or are you not interested in hearing the conditions of your retake of this test?"
Pleased, Tom faced Professor Dumbledore again, "I can retake the test?"
Professor Dumbledore nodded, "You may. However, it will not be during class. Perhaps you could stop by after you finish with your lessons today?"
"Sure," Tom answered, grateful that he would have another chance at the test.
"I shall expect to see you then. Good afternoon, Tom."
"Bye," Tom said, retreating to the corridor outside the Transfiguration room.
Upon reaching the large doorway, Tom nearly walked into Letifer, who was standing against the roughly hewn wall, waiting for Tom.
"What was that all about?" Letifer drawled, looking intently at Tom, while he stood with his arms firmly crossed.
"Professor Dumbledore is allowing me to take today's test again, since my project shattered," Tom answered simply.
Skeptically, Letifer squinted his eyes to glare at Tom; "You didn't try to get out of the Hangleton trip, then?"
Tom merely rolled his eyes, and began to stride towards the Slytherin dungeons, leaving Letifer to stand outside Professor Dumbledore's classroom.
~*~*~
Exactly two hours after leaving Transfiguration, Tom arrived once more, his wand in tow.
"Professor?" He asked, looking around the empty room.
A muffled, "I'm right here," greeted his ears. Seconds later, Professor Dumbledore, whose auburn beard and hair were coated in a layer of dust, giving him a wise, aged appearance, appeared from a closet Tom had never noticed before.
"I'm terribly sorry about all this," the professor said, patting the dust away from his beard and hair. "For your test, you won't be transfiguring a teacup into a snail, but you will be transfiguring this," he held a piece of finely woven rope, "into a snake."
Tom's head snapped from looking at the dangling piece of rope to look into Professor Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes. In vain, Tom searched Professor Dumbledore's eyes for any hint as to why the professor had chosen this assignment. Surely he couldn't know about Tom's ability to converse with snakes…
"…I said, you may begin, Tom," the voice of Professor Dumbledore said, pulling Tom from his thoughts.
"Yes, sir," Tom said, sitting at a table with the length of rope before him.
With little difficulty, Tom was able to transfigure the rope. However, he was so preoccupied with the worry that Professor Dumbledore may, perhaps, discover something about Tom he wouldn't want others to know, Tom barely noticed when the snake spoke.
"Thankss," it said, as it began slithering away from Tom.
"Stop!" Tom whispered.
The snake obeyed.
Gently, Tom scooped the small figure into his hands, and began to carry it towards Professor Dumbledore's desk. Alarmingly, Professor Dumbledore's gaze was unwavering as he examined Tom.
"Er—here's my snake…"
"Thank you, Tom. Please, put it in the case with the snails," Professor Dumbledore said, his voice strangely faraway. "You're free to go…"
Without hesitation, Tom strode purposefully away from, what was becoming, the insidious Transfiguration room.
To be continued…
I wanted to be the first to apologize profusely to all my lovely reviewers—I really didn't expect to have so little time to write this past month or so. I also had a sort of block against this chapter, so it took even longer than it might have. However, I know exactly what's going to happen in the following chapter, so it shan't take nearly so long to get it out to be read, I absolutely promise! I hope everyone had pleasant holidays; I think we all needed a nice break! Now, onto my 'thank you's (which, I'm afraid to say, are rather short—just know that there's really no way for me to thank you all enough)…
WhetherRose: First and foremost, I wanted to say that I hope you are able to return to us at fanfiction.net soon! You're such a splendid writer and reviewer and a wonderful person. Your reviews are enough to brighten anyone's day—and I'm sure many authors would agree with me. I wish for nothing more than you to have time to do get completely well, and to have time to do the things you enjoy doing. Just know that you're in my thoughts!
T.H: Why, hello! Thanks bunches for leaving a review—I know what it's like to have such small amounts of free time… Ugh, it's no fun. Anyway, thanks for the review—I really appreciate that you notice little things about Tom's emotions as well as the characters like Mr. McFarland and Letifer; reviews like those really make writing worthwhile. Also, I understand you having to put off reading Les Mis—against my wishes, I've had to do the same. Where's free time when we all need it so desperately?
Hollie: Hollie! Your newest chapter was absolutely *spectacular*! I loved it! It was most definitely worth the wait. Anywho, thanks so much for the reviews—I'm extremely pleased that I've began reading this story (though I know you've still got a few chapters to go before you'll read this!).
QuietOne: First of all, thanks so much for the reviews—I was so happy to get a couple of new readers recently! Anyway, your review made me blush… I didn't ever explain why Tom was able to use magic outside of school—and you caught it! Oops. Just for the sake of my dignity, lets say that he was able to use it because it was an emergency ;) . Your reviews are wonderful—I love them!
Pinefresh: Thanks for your reviews. I'm glad you like my Dio Vesper spell as well as my idea for how the Dark Mark may have been conjured—I really enjoy trying to think of spells and liked writing the entire library scene. Thanks again!
Serina: Thanks so much for your reviews! I really appreciate that you write what you like as well as *why*. Also, you wrote that Tom told Letifer that Gwendolyn was a witch—there must have just been a small misunderstanding because of the way I wrote it. Actually, when Letifer asks Tom whether Gwendolyn was a witch, Tom shakes his head to say 'no.' I hope I sort of cleared that up for you! Oh, and reviewing your story was no problem—I've been checking back quite often to see whether you've updated (I can't wait for a new chapter). Thanks again!
Also, thanks to: Bonita Knows All, OceanSun, Kitty Nicoe, SunLight, Babyphatcat13, HarryPotterMagic32, S. Nicolai, my dad, Melissa, Sara Minks, and Azalais Malfoy for leaving reviews!