In all my years at Hogwarts, there are two students that stick out in my memory. Two, because they were such contrasts of their era. One, a dark in the light. The other, a light in the dark.
Tom Riddle. Tall, dark, and handsome. He was smart, charismatic, the tragic hero. I alone suspected a more sinister snake lay beneath his skin. There was something about the way he always looked at the Muggle-born, how he conveniently even avoided touching them. Brilliant, oh yes, he was quite brilliant. Top of all the classes. Even caught the Heir of Slytherin.
I never believed him. Never believed a word he ever said. That boy could take a grain of truth and weave it with lies until he had a complete fabrication that was utterly believable. And I was the only one who ever caught him in a lie. He had everyone twisted around his little finger, he carried the whole world around in his pocket.
Except for me.
I think Tom knew I didn't trust him. He didn't turn on his charm for me. He didn't try and manipulate me. I think, though perhaps I am flattering myself, that he might have even feared me. And in the end, he ended a golden era.
But I remember him quite well.
The other student I remember well was quite similar to Riddle. He too was tall, dark, handsome, charismatic. Head Boy as well, despite the fact that he broke every rule in the book. He lied left and right too, but with a smile on his face and a gleam in his eye. It was always 'No Headmaster, of course I didn't do that', and 'What makes you think I would do it, Headmaster?'. Everyone knew he was lying and he knew it.
Ah, yes. James Potter. Never told a harmful lie in his life. Harry doesn't quite understand that he is not the only one wounded by that one's death. Not just he, but Sirius and Remus, Minerva, Arthur, Mundungus. Myself. We all regret James Potter's passing.
Sometimes it hurts to look at Harry. He doesn't realize this, but he looks so much like him, smiles so much like him, talks and laughs and lives so much like him. It's like having James at Hogwarts all over again. But now there are no blatant but innocent lies, no Slytherins with hot pink hair, no robes that read 'I am a smarmy old fool' for me to wear.
I rather miss it. James never seemed to be affected by the dark times. It wasn't as if he ignored them; when Remus's parents died, James grieved along with him. When his own were killed, he was unable to go to classes for two days. After a week, he was back with his smile undimmed. He had accepted the loss and moved on, prepared to support others who needed a shoulder to cry on.
It gave me a pang to talk to Harry about his father that day. 'Prongs rode again last night' I said, and so he did. He rode in Sirius's heart, and Remus's, in Harry's, and in mine. He rode in Peter's, through Harry's act of pity, and even in Severus's bitter heart. Prongs rode again last night and rides in our hearts forever.