Chapter Six: Past & Present Tense
Tom stared out the window. Clarissa had chided him earlier about his reluctance to fly, but he had been certain that flying lessons would prove to be a disaster.
He was right.
First of all, he turned Slytherin green whenever his broom rose more than five feet off the ground and the thing seemed to jerk back and forth like a crazy thing. He switched brooms twice to no avail.
To make matters worse, Clarissa effortlessly glided to a halt beside Tom and surveyed him with her cool gray eyes. "Trouble, Riddle?"
"I think I won't be making the house Quidditch team."
Clarissa's lips twitched and she let out a brief snort of amusement.
"Broom not working Riddle." Another voice inquired, Tom was less than happy to notice the practiced ease with which McKinnon handled her broom. "Maybe you should change it."
"Wait, he already has. Twice. Problem must be with the flyer, not the broom." Another Gryffindor quipped.
"Do I detect a bit of green on your robes, McKinnon. Really I thought Gryffindor's colors were red and gold, not green." Clarissa drawled.
"You must be seeing things, Malfoy. The only one wearing green is Riddle and its on his face, not his robes." McKinnon retorted before flying off.
Clarissa watched McKinnon with a poisonous expression on her face. "I hope she falls off the broom."
Tom laughed in spite of his queasy stomach. Clarissa did not get her wish, the only person to fall off a broom that day was Tom. He brushed himself off and tried to straighten his rumpled and grass stained robes while the Gryffindors giggled and whispered above him. Even his own house did nothing to help, they faced the Gryffindors stonily until Madam Twig got the classes attention by threatening detentions for everyone unless they settled down immediately.
After storming into the common room after class, Tom settled into an arm chair and began reading when a pock faced fourth year came up to him.
"Are you Tom Riddle?" The boy asked with disdain in his voice, surveying the boy as though he were a new and disgusting variety of insect.
"Possibly, and you are..."
"Marcus Prewitt."
"Well, Mr. Prewitt, why do you want to know who I am."
"I was curious about something I heard concerning your grandfather."
Tom raised an eyebrow, he knew very little about his mother's family and was eager to learn more, and invited Marcus to continue. Marcus pulled out a clipping from the Daily Prophet out of his pocket, an old one to judge by the yellow of the paper, and gingerly straightened it out before handing it to Tom.
Marvolo Reihlive, famed alchemist and world renowned potions expert was found dead in his laboratory early Tuesday morning. According to a Ministry statement, Mr. Reihlive was a victim of the Killing Curse. Additionally, his laboratory had been raided and certain items appeared to be missing.
The authorities are silent on the matter of motive at this time or whether Grindelwald could be involved. However, sources who were close to Reihlive claim that he was well on his way to duplicating Nicholas Flamel's feat and creating a second Sorceror's Stone. Mr Reihlive's widow, Maiya Reihlive dismisses such claims as "utter nonsense" and suggests the culprit was in reality after some of the more sensitive ingredients Mr. Reihlive kept in his possession under a special ministry license.
"Why show this to me?" Tom asked, puzzled.
Prewitt sighed like a person constantly having to suffer fools. "Rumor has it the thief never got Reihlive's notes on the stone."
"So."
"So, his only relative was his daughter. Your mother."
Tom laughed bitterly. "And you think I know where the notes are."
Marcus shrugged.
"I hate to disillusion you but my mother died shortly after I was born. I have nothing from my mother but a few pictures. No notes."
Marcus smiled. "If you should happen to locate your grandfather's notes, I know some people who would be quiet helpful in finishing Reihlive's work. Your help would be...suitably rewarded."
Tom watched him leave. He fingered the pages of his book. "If I find those notes, it will be you who comes begging to me, Prewitt. Not the other way around. I can see you myself that my reward for providing the notes would be meager compared to what you would reap. If I find them, I will dictate their use." Tom smiled at the notion of the arrogant pale faced boy bowing to him with respect and fear in his cold eyes. He stretched out and continued reading, he was the top of every class (except flying) and wanted to stay that way.