Harry waited at the door of the Room of Requirement, smiling stiffly at the members of the DA as he signaled the okay for them to leave in groups of three and four. It took some effort not to give in to impatience and kick them all out at once; no one had caught on to their meetings yet, but that was no reason to abandon caution now. Finally it was only him, Hermione and Ron left. His best friends approached him, looking a little sheepish. Ron spoke up first.
"Mate, I know I said I'd have time for a game of Exploding Snap tonight, but Filch seems to think that the holiday spirit is going to cause an outbreak of illegal duels in the hallways—dung for brains, that one, honestly. He's got all the prefects doing extra patrols."
"And you two are on tonight, I take it?" Harry flapped a hand at them when their faces turned apologetic. "No no, it's fine. I get it. We can always play another night."
"Oh Harry, are you sure you don't mind?" Hermione asked, twisting her fingers in the hem of her sweater. Ron and Hermione had never really stopped treating him carefully after his blowup back in August.
Usually, Harry probably would have minded. They were so busy with putting up Christmas decorations around the castle and watching over first and second years on their indoor breaks, he'd hardly spent time with them at all in the last week. Now, with these extra patrols, the next two weeks or so until the break looked like they were shaping up to more of the same. As resentful as he was towards Hogwarts in general and Umbridge in particular just now, it would have been easy to feel abandoned.
But as it happened, Harry found himself quite busy these days as well. On Riddle's instructions (though he tried not to think of it that way) he'd spent the last fortnight revising all the homework he'd turned in so far this term, using what passed for his very best penmanship to rewrite his essays with the inclusion of the professors' corrections. When Riddle had first proposed it, he'd wanted to complain that he had enough to be getting on with already with the current essay assignments. The knowing glint in the man's eyes had made him bite his tongue, however. There was no way he was giving the Riddle-thing a chance to call him lazy, or claim he was incapable of the kind of focus and dedication it would take to learn some real, useful magic. He'd promised Harry his help, and Harry wasn't going to give him any excuse not to deliver. Hours of review had left him eager to be done with proving himself, or setting a baseline or whatever it was he was currently doing. There was this to say for all the tedious scribing though: it sure didn't leave him any free time for wallowing in misery.
That let him put on a smile for his friends and say, "'Course not. Hardly your fault, is it?" and wish them as pleasant an evening patrolling as they could manage. He even accompanied them out into the hallway to show there were no hard feelings before he begged off the walk back to the Tower, citing a desire to practice a few jinxes for the DA's next session while he had the Room called up.
As soon as the other two disappeared around a corner, Harry leapt into a pace. Carefully but quickly, he repeated his requirements in his mind for what was now the sixth time.
The Riddle Room… Safe environment… Chance to talk… Can't be hurt…
As he waited for the iron-banded door to replace the polished, brass-knobbed entrance to the DA classroom, he admitted to himself he'd drifted a bit from his original intentions when he opened the room with Riddle in it—training for battle, studying his enemy, all of that. But with O.W.L. work piled to his chin, he thought he could be forgiven for embracing the chance to have an intelligent adult looking over his assignments, even if it was a Dark Lord in training. Or the reflection of one, anyway. Whatever else he'd done and become, Tom Riddle had been seriously academically accomplished. Hermione had looked him up back in second year—he'd set records.
That didn't mean he was going to tell Hermione about this new arrangement. For all that the man was brilliant, she probably wouldn't approve of Riddle as a tutor. Either she'd claim it was somehow cheating, or insist it was dangerous and that the simulation would corrupt him or something ridiculous like that. As for Ron, he wouldn't understand why Harry didn't want to spend every second in Riddle's presence blasting him with spells. That this iteration looked more like the boy who'd hurt his sister than the monster from the graveyard would only make things worse. All in all, keeping quiet for now was another thing Harry thought he could be forgiven for.
The door solidified at last, and Harry hurried through it before someone could come along and catch him hanging about where he'd no business. As he stepped into the increasingly familiar chamber with its high arched ceiling and mirrored wall, he scanned automatically for its other occupant.
Riddle stood in the center of the room beside the table and chairs, examining a carpet which now lay beneath them. Harry glanced at it too, wondering absently if the Room had conjured it completely or merely borrowed it from the Room of Hidden Things. It was a little threadbare, but pretty enough; a deep rich red that glowed in the torchlight, marbled through with twisting black vines covered in thorns and odd metallic fruit. Riddle was pushing at its pile with one booted toe.
"Hello Harry," he said without looking up. "How was the latest meeting of your little defense club?"
Harry paused halfway towards him. "How'd you know that's where I came from?"
Riddle swept him with a glance that seemed, in an instant, to take in his rolled up sleeves and loosened tie, the sweat stains around his collar, and the wand still in his hand. Then he met his eyes and raised one well-shaped brow.
"Lucky guess."
Unaccountably, Harry flushed. "We were working on our Stunners," he explained as he resumed his stride, tugging a bit at his skewed collar and feeling rather like a little boy who'd showed up to supper with unwashed hands—a feeling he did not appreciate. He did his best to scowl it away as he slumped into his usual chair, which was still a rickety mess of a thing even though the Room had given them a better table last time just as Riddle'd hoped.
"And that necessitates a high degree of physical exertion, does it?" Riddle drawled as he took his own seat, turning a bit so that his long legs could stretch out to one side.
"Snob," Harry fired back, "you and all the rest of them. Casting Stupefy doesn't, no. But dodging it does. Hardly any of them know how to shield yet. I'll teach them eventually, but first I want them to learn that dodging can be just as good a way to keep from getting Stunned—or worse. It can be faster, for one thing, and it frees you up to shoot back something offensive of your own as well. Plus, teaching it this way does double service by making the casters learn how to aim at moving targets. It's all well and good to go on about great, noble duels where you stand across a measured space from your opponent and lob fancy spells at each other, but it's not anything like that when you're fighting for your life." Images of his mad flight from the graveyard and the farcical duel which had preceded it tried to rise around him, but Harry squashed them mercilessly down.
"How practical of you, Harry. How sweet, too, that a fifth year student is preparing his classmates for mortal combat. Very… forward thinking. Your professors would doubtlessly find it delightful as well, should they learn of it."
Ugh, the first name thing was still so uncomfortable. He'd tried to take it up with Riddle during last week's review of Transfiguration, Astronomy, and Herbology, but the man had spouted off some nonsense about how he was Harry's instructor now and thus the question of "nominative intimacy" was his "indisputable prerogative," or something. Giving up any thought of another round arguing the subject as a bad job, Harry focused on the bit about professors instead.
"Brassing off Umbridge is half the point," he reminded Riddle. "Honestly, if she didn't love the Minister so much, I'd swear she was working for Voldemort. Not just because she's evil and hates me, either. I mean, even if the Ministry really doesn't think he's back, how can they justify not teaching an entire school of kids how to defend themselves from all the other dangerous stuff out there? It's like they want us all vulnerable. Or at least want us all to fail our exams, which is what my friend Hermione seems most worried about sometimes. She's the one who came up with the whole idea for the DA, as a way to make up for the fact that all Umbridge has us do in class is read shite theory about talking it out or running away. Which, again, I'm all for running, but you'll never get the chance to do it if you won't even cast a counter-jinx because you think it's really just a nice name for a jinx and jinxes are universally bad. She hasn't let us draw our wands once all term."
Riddle gave a delicate snort. "Well, I certainly cannot argue with your assessment of the quality of your Defense instruction, if that is the case. Still, that schoolchildren would find it necessary to take their educations—perhaps, even, their very lives—into their own hands seems a tragic failing on the part of the institution, no? Was there really no one amongst the faculty you could turn to, none with the power to protect you all as you set yourselves in direct opposition to this interloper? Could you not trust your professors or your Heads of House?" His voice took on a crooning note. "What about dear Dumbledore, who must surely be a champion of student welfare? Though really, if this Umbridge is as pernicious a creature as you describe, one must wonder how he allowed her into Hogwarts at all."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, to defend his Headmaster as he'd always done, to tell Riddle he didn't know what the hell he was talking about. But the words didn't come. Suddenly, all he could think about was the fact that Dumbledore still wouldn't meet his eyes. He could almost hear McGonagall's voice ringing in his ears, telling him to keep his head down. He closed his mouth again without saying anything, not even 'it's complicated'. Instead, he just shrugged. Riddle watched him carefully, posture studiously relaxed and dark eyes half-lidded. Harry fought not to squirm—he had the distinct impression he was being analyzed. It reminded him of standing in front of Aragog. Riddle's long limbs might be half as numerous and twice as elegant, but Harry suddenly found man and spider far too alike for comfort.
Thankfully, the similarity faded when he spoke again, voice gone brisk and light as he propped one ankle casually on the opposite knee and broke the spell his predatory stillness had cast.
"Nevertheless, the endeavor does speak well of your sense of initiative—or at least, that of your associate. How many members did you say your little group could credit?"
Harry did a quick mental count, after he finished his mental scoff at Riddle calling Hermione his 'associate'.
"Including me and my best friends? Near thirty, I think. They don't all come each time, but the total has got to be close to that."
"Interesting. From all the houses?"
"Three of the four. No Slytherins—they've thrown their lot in with Umbridge, not that they liked me much to begin with."
Riddle hummed thoughtfully. "That's quite good work for a half-blood fifth year. It took me until my sixth year to build a circle that large in Slytherin House, and until my seventh to secure any students from beyond it."
"Build a what?!" Harry sputtered. "This isn't—they aren't my circle. This is just a club! They're coming to learn defense, not for me. And like you said before," he went on when Riddle made a dismissive little gesture, "it's really Hermione who organized the whole thing. They aren't my anything."
Riddle seemed amused, raising a hand to tap his lip with one elegant finger as if to disguise the way it curled. It made Harry feel sort of nauseous. "But they come to learn defense from you, specifically, do they not?" he asked. "Even though I should hazard you count at least a few older, theoretically better educated students among your number? They certainly are not coming to learn from your little friend, despite her obviously enterprising nature and purported academic prowess."
Harry couldn't truly deny it, but was willing to try anyway. "I didn't ask to be in charge! I didn't want it at all! They just insisted, is all, even though I told them that I wasn't anything special, and that I always had help. Nearly always, anyway. But they wouldn't listen. And then Hermione had them all vote…" he trailed off as he remembered, to his great discomfort, that the vote confirming his leadership had been unanimous. Riddle's gaze had gone all significant now; Harry fixed his eyes on the carpet instead of meeting it.
"Close vote, I take it? Lots of competition?"
"That's—it's not the point. The point is, you don't understand the situation here. Most of the school hates me right now—think I'm a delusional madman and a liar, don't they? The Prophet's been saying so for months. So being around me isn't giving them any sort of popularity boost, or anything like that. They're not trying to be close to me, like they would if they were really my followers or my circle or whatever. They just know I'm top in Defense. Or they want to come stare at the freak—that's nothing new. Or they think that outflying a dragon one time means something, or casting a Patronus or stabbing a snake, when really, none of it does!
"Not to mention," he continued, building up steam, "half these people have hated me at some point over the last four and a half years, or been scared of me. Merlin, not even half—practically all of them. Shouldn't a circle be loyal or something? That lot would probably turn on me at the drop of a pointy hat! All it would take would be, I dunno, some big new public disgrace, or weird incident, and they'd be back to whispering about me in the halls and acting like I'm liable to curse at them as soon as look at them, the way everyone else does."
Riddle's expression had shifted to something downright indulgent. "You really believe that, don't you?" he murmured, shaking his head. "Come now, Harry, do not be foolish. Perhaps they may have treated you with fickleness in the past. But that was when they were forced merely to wonder about you from afar, choked by awe and envy. The balance of things has so obviously shifted now. You have drawn them close and bound them to you, as comrades in arms and confidants in conspiracy. You share something now… something exclusive, something intimate. They feel that they know you and that you know them. You have sought to protect them, teach them, nurture them—attended to them individually, unless I miss my guess, displaying a willingness to care for them on a personal level. That care renders any trouble you might bring or cause more than worth their while.
"That they have spent so many years gazing at you from the shadows of their own obscurity only strengthens the bond between you now that one has formed. It makes the pleasure of finally being admitted into your company, into your secrets, even more heady and powerful a draw. No, I doubt your new followers will give you up so easily."
"They're not followers. Maybe—maybe—we're, I dunno, friends now. If they really do feel close to me like you're saying, I mean. Because what you just described—helping each other, working together on something. That's just friendship really, isn't it?"
"Is it?" the construct mused. "Tell me, Harry, and be honest now—do you find yourself with a desire to run off and share your feelings with these people? Do you dream of telling them all your little secrets? Of spending long nights by the fire with them, laughing and crying and playing Gobstones, or whatever other insipid things friends are supposed to do together? Or rather, are they a force you know you can rely upon—not because you like them but because you have trained them? If you told them what to do, would they do it?" Harry leaned backwards instinctively as Riddle leaned forward and pressed his palms to the table, voice going low and intent. "Would they or would they not follow you into battle? Take your enemies as their own? Gather under your banner, rally around your name, your cause? Have they not, in fact, already done so?"
Harry stared at him, aghast. Not because what Riddle had said was horrible—though it was, in Harry's opinion. But rather because… because he was afraid it might be true.
I bet they really would, said an awful little voice in his head Harry couldn't stifle. Maybe not all of them, but many of them. Most of them? A lot more now than on that first day in the Hog's Head, that's for certain. And maybe that's a good deal nicer than having to fear a rabid crowd that's always out for your blood. Don't you like being believed for a change? Having them listen? Having them do what you—
No. He pushed those thoughts violently away.
"It doesn't matter whether they would do that or not, because I would never, ever ask them to." Harry said this as strongly as he could, because in that moment he was certain it was the truth, and a truth that mattered. A truth that made a difference, that drew a line between him and someone like Riddle—like Voldemort. From the look on Riddle's face, he didn't agree.
"Harry," he said, sitting back again, and oh, he was certainly laughing now. "Whether or not you would ask them to do so is quite beyond the point."
Was it? Harry squeezed his eyes shut, fisted his hands in his hair, and pulled at it as if he could rip his jumbled thoughts right out through his scalp. "Look, I don't want to talk about this anymore. Can we just… Let's just go over my homework some more, alright? I think we… yeah, um. Let's just do that." Christ. Why did talking to the conjuration always leave him feeling like he'd been flying in a thunderstorm—buffeted by heavy winds, not sure which way was up or down?
"Fine," said Riddle, a horrible trace of humor lingering in his voice. "As you wish, Harry."
Harry seized the opportunity to duck down under the table and dig the necessary papers out of his bag, determined to linger there until his chest felt less tight and his skin less prickly and hot. He took deep breaths, glared at Riddle's shiny leather boots, and tried to convince himself that he absolutely was not hiding.
"You have brought me your elective work today, have you not?" Riddle asked idly after a few moments of quiet.
Harry paused mid-rummage. "Oh, um, actually, I thought we were going back to Potions and Charms? Or History, we haven't done that yet. I feel like there isn't a need to have you look at the other stuff, really."
"Nonsense, Harry. Courses do not merit less investment simply because their enrollment is elective. They are just as meaningful as the core subjects, if not more so. Unless, of course, you are enrolled in Muggle Studies."
"Oh, of course that's the exception. What, is it because Muggles are such useless, lowly little animals it would be a waste of time to learn about them?"
"No," said Riddle, frowning down at him. "It is because you are clearly Muggle-raised, rendering Muggle Studies an unforgivably stupid and wasteful use of your time when you could have chosen to learn about magic instead. Anyone so foolish should—"
"Relax, I'm not in Muggle Studies. Just Divination and Care."
"Divination?" Riddle settled himself more comfortably in his wobbly chair and clasped his hands beneath his chin, looking faintly thoughtful instead of disdainful like Harry'd expected. "I have always been rather fascinated by the art myself, but if asked, I would not have predicted you would foster any especial interest in the subject. Forgive me for saying so Harry, but you seem rather more concerned with, shall we say, the immediate, rather than with the greater mysteries of magic and fate."
Harry blinked at him in surprise as he scrambled up to retake his own seat. "Fate, really? You're telling me you actually believe in all that crystal ball stuff?"
Riddle gave him a stern look over steepled fingers. "It is an ancient practice, as old as magic itself, and therefore not something to be dismissed out of hand. True, some divinatory paths are open only to those with inborn gifts. But the fact that such gifts exist at all, and can be passed down through the blood, proves the existence of a meaningful and accessible force and thereby confirms the legitimacy of the field as a whole. After all, inheritable gifts are some of the greatest magics known to wizarding kind.
"There have also been some very interesting studies into the veracity and pertinence of predictive methods that rely on the ambient magical field of the lay diviner. Some scholars have posited that an individual's emotional and mental state, as well as their greatest external stressors, have effects that resonate through ones magic in a way that can be detected and interpreted by minor divinatory rituals or magically charged artifacts. They theorize that it is similar to the mechanism by which a child's accidental magic is influenced by their desires and their environmental needs. Examining the ripples in—"
He must have caught Harry's dazed expression, for he stopped mid-sentence. He cleared his throat, expression cooling and closing, losing as it did so a sort of avid tension Harry hadn't noticed until it disappeared.
"If your homework involves xylomancy, or tessomancy, or even a spread of the cards, I would be happy to demonstrate the intelligent application of the theory," he concluded.
"That's, um—wow. Thanks. But. The only homework for Divination is keeping a dream journal, and I pretty much make all of it up. Nothing for you to comment on, really." Harry scrubbed at his hair again, feeling vaguely apologetic and unable to say why.
Riddle frowned, but he did it off into the corner of the room, not directly at Harry. "Leaving aside for the moment your appallingly lax approach to your studies—only a dream journal? That is an odd choice, indeed. True Oneiromancers are born, like Prophets. The average magical person can certainly experience prophetic dreams in times of significant stress or import, but Oneiromancy as a general school of divination is incredibly vague and subjective. It hinges far too much on the psychology of the individual. Why would one make it the primary focus of an O.W.L. level course when there are so many more informative and applicable methods of fortune-telling available for study?"
"Er—what's oneiromancy? Sorry," Harry added when Riddle's eyes widened with what might be distress, or maybe outrage. "It's just, I'm pretty sure Trelawney's never mentioned anything like that. She just has us talk about our dreams together, and then tells us that they mean we're about to die. Or suffer. Especially if it's me. We did look at tea leaves back in third year though?"
It was several moments until the illusion found his tongue again. "Your Divination instructor is a disgrace," he managed at last.
Harry shrugged. "Can't argue with that. That's why I didn't see any reason for you to look the dream journal over. It's not like it'll matter either way."
Riddle heaved a sigh that seemed to come all the way from his soul. "And Care of Magical Creatures?" he asked, in the manner of a man clinging to straws. Harry prepared to disappoint.
"Well, I've got some sketches and notes here, but Hagrid's not too big on assigning homework, really. His class definitely trends more to the… you know, the practical."
"Hagrid? Not Rubeus Hagrid, surely? Do you mean to tell me that Dumbledore has given that monster-loving expellee a position of authority and mentorship over—but of course he has, what am I saying. Of course he would make Hagrid a professor."
"Hey!" barked Harry, for here was someone he would not hesitate to defend. "Hagrid is my friend. And he's a great teacher! He… you know, he really cares a lot about his subject. And he shows us really cool things! I bet we know more about dangerous creatures than most N.E.W.T. students would. And he deserves a good turn or two, after what you did to him—yeah, the diary told me about that. You're the reason he can't even carry a wand. Now you're saying he shouldn't get to have a job, either?"
Riddle sighed again, this time impatiently. "In all likelihood, I did that oaf a favor. Left to his own devices, he might not have been kicked out of Hogwarts until he was old enough to be considered an intentional menace rather than merely a fool. One of his myriad creatures might even have killed someone with parents that mattered. When you think on it, I may be the reason he is not languishing in Azkaban today. Given that it has allowed him to achieve a position he would likely never have been qualified for even if he had managed to complete his schooling, perhaps it is the students of Hogwarts whom I have truly done a disservice."
"You're unbelievable, Riddle. I get that you're allergic to personal responsibility, but even you can't possibly pretend Hagrid's better off because you let him take the fall for murder. We both know the only one who ever actually killed someone with a dangerous magical creature was you."
Riddle waved that off with a little flick of his hand. "It hardly matters. Let us return to what does—which, at the moment, is your education. If we cannot discuss the material for your elective classes, perhaps we can instead discuss what in Salazar's name you were thinking when you selected them in the first place.
"What?" Harry was taken aback, sagging a little as the sudden change of topic took some of the righteous wind from his sails and left him unbalanced once again.
"Yes. You are aware that your scholastic selections do not exist in a void, are you not? They are meant to serve a greater purpose—to inform and enable your career aspirations, allowing you to live a productive adult life in the magical world. Surely this cannot be news to you, Harry. So, what was your strategy, your plan for what you would use the knowledge you gathered here to do? Because it would need to be a very good one to render your selections worthwhile. It seems impossible that you were not aware of the quality of these classes before you enrolled. Based merely on your brief descriptions, I have no doubt that both are notorious. Care of Magical Creatures isn't even taught by an accredited instructor—"
"Again, who's fault is that?" Harry cut in, still irritated, but Riddle went on like he hadn't heard.
"—and the Divination course is clearly a disaster. Even if the professor possessed a modicum of competency, it would have been a limited and limiting choice. To make any real use out of it, it ought to be paired with Arithmancy. That is a far more reliable, formulaic method of predicting the future, and the mathematical magic involved can inform the higher arts of spellcraft and enchantment as well. So can Runes, which anyone wishing to engage in a true study of magic itself really must take. Or anyone wishing to pursue curse-breaking," he added, catching Harry's eyes before he could even roll them, "for those more interested in a life of excitement rather than one of scholarly endeavors. Though that, of course, requires Arithmancy as well, as I recall.
"Creature Care might also have been an asset to a curse-breaker, what with the dangerous locales involved. But again, in isolation, what real good does it do you? You certainly do not seem to be aiming for a career in either the handling of beasts or their regulation, nor have I detected any desire to become the sort of potioneer who would require extensive knowledge of magical creatures for the purposes of ingredient gathering. So I ask again, Harry, what were you thinking? Am I missing some grand design?"
'Well, my best mate said these classes would be easiest' seemed like the absolute worst possible answer he could give, Harry figured. But what else could he say? Riddle wasn't exactly wrong. Both classes were a bit shite, and he hadn't cared a whit about that when he picked them. It's what Ron and all his other Gryffindor year-mates were doing—what more reason did he need, really? It wasn't like he was going to continue them to the N.E.W.T. level, given that they were both… pretty useless…
Damn.
That had never embarrassed him before but it was sort of starting to now. He worked to rouse his previous ire instead, to drown it out. He wasn't Hermione, and he was pretty sure even she didn't know for sure what she was doing after Hogwarts. And he'd picked the classes when he was only twelve. And, and, how was he supposed to have made some sort of detailed career plan when there was a basilisk slithering about the place, petrifying people? Which, when you thought about it, made the whole thing Riddle's fault, didn't it? In fact, Harry's general lack of long-term goals was probably Riddle's fault as well—Voldemort's, that is.
That thought assured him he was crossing his arms because he was angry, not because he was feeling defensive. He glared across the table at the representation of everything that had ever gone wrong in his life.
"Look, career prospects haven't exactly been the biggest of my concerns, alright? I mean, if you thought you were going to die at any moment, would you be focusing all your attention on grand plans for the future?"
"Yes," Riddle nearly hissed, with a vehemence that took Harry aback. Still, he shook his head.
"Well, I think you're wrong. I think anyone in my position would be distracted. I've had someone the entire wizarding world is too afraid to even mention by name hunting me since my very first year at Hogwarts. Since before I can even remember, actually. I learned about Voldemort and about magic on the same day! There's never been a magical world without him in it, for me. So how am I supposed to imagine a whole future without him in it? Because he'd need to be gone before I ever got to have one, that's for sure. Seeing as how I have no idea how that's supposed to happen, it makes it all just a little hard to picture, let alone get excited about. I mean, I want it, of course. I really, really want it. And of course I'm going to work hard for it—I'm here right now, aren't I? But I guess… maybe part of me doesn't think I'll ever get to have that future. So yeah, maybe I took classes that aren't very useful. And maybe I sometimes think more about, I dunno, Quidditch and things, things that are fun right now, rather than my ten year plan or whatever. But how can you possibly blame me for that, when right now might be all I have?"
Riddle regarded him silently for a while, doing that thing where he canted his head to the side like some great bird.
"Well-reasoned of you," he said at last. His voice was calm again, but Harry thought he might be sort of angry. It was hard to tell; with his eyes glittering but face cleared of any expression, he could just as easily be feeling smug, or entertained. "It is, of course, the most likely outcome. When a Dark Lord desires your death, it is safe to presume that said death will inevitably find you. And when it does, your mediocre academic performance and lack of any sort of guiding passion will obviously cease to matter. Once again, you show your practicality, Harry. Why not live as a thoughtless child, when you will surely die as one? At least you'll get to play Quidditch."
"Wow, thank you, Riddle," Harry grumbled. "That's exactly the sort of encouragement I needed. Very cheery. Turned me right around, it did."
Riddle only gave a fluid shrug. "We agreed I would speak truth to you, did we not? I have expressed my views on the likelihood of your survival from the very beginning. Learning that you possess astonishing luck and a half-decent brain has not changed my opinion much, particularly since you also possess an apparent unwillingness to utilize the latter to its fullest capacity, relying instead almost entirely on the former. I remain willing to assist you in what ways I can, but seeing your schoolwork has only emphasized the fact that unless we intend to resign ourselves to your imminent demise, there is no time to waste on tiresome hand holding."
Suddenly he smiled, a fantastically nasty little thing. "Perhaps this is why your instructors do not demand more of you—why they allow themselves to be content with your meagre efforts even when it seems evident that you do in fact have more to give. Perhaps it is not misguided hero worship after all, but rather an unwillingness to invest in a doomed enterprise. Even if you don't meet an early end, there's hardly any sign that you shall be amounting to much."
"Oh my God, I cannot believe you think that's the way normal people act. That's—they're definitely not thinking anything like that, at all. Teachers don't give students more or less attention based on what they think their careers are going to be."
"No? Are you certain? Achieve a full suite of Outstanding's on your O.W.L. exams, and we shall see if they treat you differently. My professors certainly did."
"Well, it's too bad we'll never know, isn't it?" Harry replied as he bent once again to retrieve his parchments from his bag, since it appeared they were finally back on the subject of exam preparation. "I'll work hard, Riddle, I already said I would, but getting all O's would take a bloody miracle at this stage. Particularly since we've got to train me to face Voldemort too at some point, don't forget."
"A miracle, hmm?" Riddle rapped his pale knuckles against the table for a moment before shooting Harry a speculative look, nastiness once again tucked away. He was an awfully mercurial sort, Harry was discovering.
"You know Potter," he said, as if thinking aloud, "there are legends of an artifact enchanted by Rowena Ravenclaw herself, reported to grant ultimate insight and mental clarity. If it is a miracle you're after, that might be the closest you could get. I would usually discourage such a shortcut, but I suppose it would leave you more time for your beloved extracurriculars. More time for your combative aims, as well. I could help you locate it, of course, and master it too. I have always been interested in objects of great power—you might even say I am something of an expert."
Harry snorted. "Let me guess, is it a talking book? Will I have to write in it? No thanks, Riddle. I've not forgotten Ginny and the diary just yet. You'll forgive me if I don't rush out after any powerful artifacts you happen to know about; if you like them, Voldemort likes them, which means he probably got there first. I'm not exactly in the mood to be possessed and drained of my life force."
Riddle sent him a bland, smooth sort of smile. "Just a thought, of course."
Right, of course it was. He shook his head.
"I must say though," Riddle went on blithely, turning to the papers, "your talent for attracting and holding attention certainly seems to outpace your talent for academics, if you decline to pursue any external augmentation. Maybe that should factor into your career plans. With a circle of followers already established, perhaps you ought to consider utilizing them to—"
"No!" Harry yelped. "Don't even go there, Riddle. Not everyone is a—an egomaniac like you, you know!"
Riddle ignored him. He was laughing again.