Chapter Five: A Start
~~
Tom was slightly troubled for a moment. He'd heard Simon's side of the story, which had sounded triumphant, and Artemus's side of the story... which was what troubled him.
Dumbledore seemed biased, and somewhat ominous on Tom's part. And not to mention, Artemus seemed innocent, which must have been a rare thing, indeed.
Things weren't fitting with the puzzle he'd laid out for himself. He was determined to get to the bottom of people, to understand them, to be able to predict what they would do. And yet, maybe it was his own perspective that was distorting the facts.
Though Tom had to admit Artemus had it coming, he couldn't help but wonder how Simon had known the entire outcome of the Quidditch game.
He inquired of it the next day, only to see Simon grinning thoughtfully again. He seemed to do that a lot.
"A certain Ravenclaw told me."
"Who? How'd they know?"
Simon chuckled to himself. "Lovegood. His dad knows my dad, so naturally..." He looked at Tom, who didn't seem to be catching any of this. "Look, it doesn't matter."
"No," Tom persisted. "I want to know."
Simon scratched behind his ear. "Pushy lad, aren't you? Alright, if you must know, he was a Seer."
"A what?"
"A Seer. He Sees... look, never mind."
"You mean, he could tell the future?"
"Sure." Simon waved a hand. "But you can't go around telling people. Only Dippet and the teachers know."
"Can he read thoughts, too?"
Simon rolled his eyes. "How should I know? Besides, the point is, you really can't make a big deal out of this. People would never talk to him."
"I don't even know the guy. What was his name, again?"
"Exactly."
"What?"
"Forget it."
Tom tried, but couldn't possibly.
~~~~~~~~~~
Even with closed windows, Tom could feel the weather chilling him. He serenely watched the snow fall, contemplating the impenetrable boredom that had settled upon him as the uneventful holidays had swept by.
No gifts, no cards, not even a hello. Everyone who recognized him was either too curious about him to make conversation, despised him too much to acknowledge his presence, or was enjoying the holidays with their own families.
The worst of it all was the isolation. The utter isolation. Tom didn't have the money for an owl, so any hope of contact with the Blacks or the Potters inevitably rested upon whether they decided to send their own owl with a letter attached. Even a note, Tom prayed.
Inside the common room and wandering around the library aimlessly, Tom had found that the idea of being forgotten was scaring him beyond all reason and toleration.
Just as much as he couldn't be forgotten, Tom Riddle could not forget things so easily. Hours in the library, searching through books about seers, oracles, physical mediums, augurs, prophets, prognosticators, soothsayers and shamans hadn't satisfied the matter in the least bit.
But today was the last day. Today the students would be returning, and today would be the last day without classes to worry about. But oddly enough, Tom was anticipating class like never before. He needed someone to ask about the pressing questions he had.
Figuring the feast was close enough, Tom slid off his four-poster, trudged down the steps, and through the empty Slytherin common room.
As soon as Tom had started pushing his way out through the stone wall, a figure came down the passage from the opposite way, knocking him off balance, and back onto the cold, stone floor of the common room.
"Sorry," the person mumbled, but spun around when they had caught a glimpse of their victim's face. "Tom, old friend!"
Tom scrambled up hastily, brushed off his robes, and mumbled his hello to Alphard. "Artemus was coming in just behind me," he said, turning his head in acknowledgement of his brother's entrance. He was grinning.
With no trace of a greeting, Artemus dashed past Tom and up the stairs to the boy's dormitories, chuckling to himself.
"What's he so happy about?" Tom asked without turning around.
"Oh, he's just been really excited since finding a way to get back at Simon Potter."
Something in Tom's head sparked. "I see."
~~~~~~~~~~
"Just watch," Artemus whispered out of the side of his mouth to Tom. They were both seated at the Slytherin table, their backs to the wall, facing the Gryffindors on the other side of the Hall.
Tom smiled to himself as Artemus shifted his head to the side in order to see around a Ravenclaw's protruding head. "Come on, come on, take a drink..."
According to Artemus's brilliant plan, there was a powerful sleeping draught in Simon's pumpkin juice. However, Tom had found the war between the two highly entertaining, so he found it his duty to lend a hand in keeping it up.
Simon's figure was nearly indistinct from across the Hall, but both Slytherins could clearly tell that he was raising a toast in their general direction, smiling as broadly as his face would allow.
Artemus seemed slightly suspicious as Simon drained his entire goblet with relish – but not nearly suspicious enough, Tom thought as Artemus took a drink from his own goblet.
He found himself shaking his head as his neighbor buried his head in the mashed potatoes, snoring. With a grin, Tom raised his glass to Simon in return.
~~~~~~~~~~
Classes began as usual the following day, and Artemus didn't seem to have figured out Simon's trick as of yet.
Snickers rolled and echoed across the room and off the walls as Professor Malfoy announced to the Slytherins and Gryffindors what they would be learning in class that day.
Swiftly, and without the flourishing marks of an imperfect script, the chalk magically scratched the ingredients and instructions for making a basic Sleeping Draught onto the chalkboard.
Perhaps it was coincidence. Either way, Artemus was sinking in his seat.
Tom wondered if he hadn't told Simon about the drugged pumpkin juice, if he'd have figured it out anyway... after all, with a friend like that Ravenclaw – what was his name, anyway?
Tom found himself spacing out, looking through the wall, imagining what his life would be like if he knew everything that would happen, if he knew what everyone was thinking, if he could stop them before they made a mistake, or betrayed him, or...
The bell rang, and Tom found himself telling Artemus to go ahead without him.
The professor didn't even notice him when he approached his desk, or so it seemed to Tom.
"Er... Mr. Malfoy?"
"It's Professor to you," he growled without looking up.
"Professor, sir?"
Malfoy closed his book loudly; clearly trying to show his annoyance in hope that Tom would go away.
"What do you want?"
"Information, sir. Whatever you may know."
The professor glanced up, noting Tom's eagerness. His voice softened in spite of himself. "What would you like to know?" he asked patiently.
"The future," Tom blurted.
The professor chuckled, standing up from his seat, and walking around the desk. "And what would I know of that? Ask you Divination teacher." With that, he dismissed the matter.
"I'm only a first year, sir."
The professor sighed, only hoping he would be able to keep from strangling the boy. "So you are," he said dully. "Well, I know nothing of the matter. Good day." He turned his back to the student, talking long, swift strides towards the storage cupboard in hopes that Tom would leave.
"But sir," Tom continued, following Malfoy across the classroom. "I don't want to know the future quite like that."
The professor gave him a queer look.
"I want to know about Seers, you know? People who can see everything – with, you know..." Tom trailed off.
"Full control?" the professor offered without looking at Tom. He seemed to be considering the boy silently.
"Exactly," came Tom's breathless reply. Someone understood his fascination.
The professor smiled to himself – the first real smile Tom had seen on his face. "What about it?"
"How can I do that?"
"Oh, dear boy, you can't."
"I – I can't – why not?"
Malfoy shook his head again. Either he was having a hard time with this, or he found the boy's persistence amusing – Tom couldn't quite tell from where he stood.
"There's nothing you can do about it. But there is..." He stopped, unsure whether explaining the alternative would be right.
"Is what? Sir."
"There's another way."
"What? What is it?" Tom found himself bent upon the answer.
The professor's eyes were skyward, and his face was momentarily shadowed. "People's past and present, if that interests you."
It did. "It does."
The professor half-closed his eyes, his face showing intense thought. "I shouldn't. I'm not sure I'm the right one to – "
"If this is about my Sorting and people's problems with it..." Tom faltered for a moment. "I have every right to be a Slytherin. Perhaps more than others."
The professor raised his eyebrows. "Your reasoning behind that?" he asked mildly.
"If the Sorting Hat found me so much of a Slytherin that it... it overlooked my background... then perhaps that outweighs the rest?"
Malfoy was looking at him intently, and Tom had the fleeting sensation of one looking through glass. He was transparent, obvious, readable, open... wide open.
"Or," Malfoy said after a while. "Perhaps it is quite the opposite."
"Sir?"
"Perhaps your background has everything to do with it." His voice had a misty, thoughtful sound to it, and to Tom, it was quite unnerving.
"But sir, the present, if you please?"
"Sorry? Oh yes, Legilimency."
"Sir?" Tom repeated.
"Mind raiding. Beyond your years, forget it."
Tom's mouth dropped open. How could people just ask him to forget these things so easily? "I will not," he said with a rush of power. "I can do it."
"Pushy lad, aren't you?" The professor was almost surprised... and pleased?
"That's what people are telling me."
"Well, you ask me later about that. Or perhaps something... more your level."
"But, sir!"
"Not today lad."
That was the day Tom realized that Professor Malfoy could be just as stubborn as he could. Perhaps that was what started it all...
Tom left the classroom without another word, wondering faintly if lunch was over yet.
~~~~~~~~~~
Reviews!
Awkward: Ten points for you and your long reviews. I love them. Yeah, I guess I have been keeping Tom in the dark, but he'll be stepping up soon... I hope... and I hope you're happy because I put in some Simon/Tom cooperation/mischief just for your sake. But just realize they'll have to split up sometime. Probably once Tom gets a bit of a nasty attitude.
Miss Piratess: He'll be evil, someday, I swear! Why do you like Driedda, of all people? *feels obligated to write more of her* Ergh. You know, it was so much easier just writing 'Nixiy'.
Nikki: You scared me there for a moment, I thought I'd made a mistake! But yes, that's why he'll use Voldemort, so no one recognizes him as Tom. Except maybe Artemus, but he'll have a family by then, and probably won't care.
Erin: Nope. James = 70's (wah, disco!) and Tom = 40's. In fact, Tom's supposed to be almost as old as McGonagall, which is really kind of scary...
~~
Tom was slightly troubled for a moment. He'd heard Simon's side of the story, which had sounded triumphant, and Artemus's side of the story... which was what troubled him.
Dumbledore seemed biased, and somewhat ominous on Tom's part. And not to mention, Artemus seemed innocent, which must have been a rare thing, indeed.
Things weren't fitting with the puzzle he'd laid out for himself. He was determined to get to the bottom of people, to understand them, to be able to predict what they would do. And yet, maybe it was his own perspective that was distorting the facts.
Though Tom had to admit Artemus had it coming, he couldn't help but wonder how Simon had known the entire outcome of the Quidditch game.
He inquired of it the next day, only to see Simon grinning thoughtfully again. He seemed to do that a lot.
"A certain Ravenclaw told me."
"Who? How'd they know?"
Simon chuckled to himself. "Lovegood. His dad knows my dad, so naturally..." He looked at Tom, who didn't seem to be catching any of this. "Look, it doesn't matter."
"No," Tom persisted. "I want to know."
Simon scratched behind his ear. "Pushy lad, aren't you? Alright, if you must know, he was a Seer."
"A what?"
"A Seer. He Sees... look, never mind."
"You mean, he could tell the future?"
"Sure." Simon waved a hand. "But you can't go around telling people. Only Dippet and the teachers know."
"Can he read thoughts, too?"
Simon rolled his eyes. "How should I know? Besides, the point is, you really can't make a big deal out of this. People would never talk to him."
"I don't even know the guy. What was his name, again?"
"Exactly."
"What?"
"Forget it."
Tom tried, but couldn't possibly.
~~~~~~~~~~
Even with closed windows, Tom could feel the weather chilling him. He serenely watched the snow fall, contemplating the impenetrable boredom that had settled upon him as the uneventful holidays had swept by.
No gifts, no cards, not even a hello. Everyone who recognized him was either too curious about him to make conversation, despised him too much to acknowledge his presence, or was enjoying the holidays with their own families.
The worst of it all was the isolation. The utter isolation. Tom didn't have the money for an owl, so any hope of contact with the Blacks or the Potters inevitably rested upon whether they decided to send their own owl with a letter attached. Even a note, Tom prayed.
Inside the common room and wandering around the library aimlessly, Tom had found that the idea of being forgotten was scaring him beyond all reason and toleration.
Just as much as he couldn't be forgotten, Tom Riddle could not forget things so easily. Hours in the library, searching through books about seers, oracles, physical mediums, augurs, prophets, prognosticators, soothsayers and shamans hadn't satisfied the matter in the least bit.
But today was the last day. Today the students would be returning, and today would be the last day without classes to worry about. But oddly enough, Tom was anticipating class like never before. He needed someone to ask about the pressing questions he had.
Figuring the feast was close enough, Tom slid off his four-poster, trudged down the steps, and through the empty Slytherin common room.
As soon as Tom had started pushing his way out through the stone wall, a figure came down the passage from the opposite way, knocking him off balance, and back onto the cold, stone floor of the common room.
"Sorry," the person mumbled, but spun around when they had caught a glimpse of their victim's face. "Tom, old friend!"
Tom scrambled up hastily, brushed off his robes, and mumbled his hello to Alphard. "Artemus was coming in just behind me," he said, turning his head in acknowledgement of his brother's entrance. He was grinning.
With no trace of a greeting, Artemus dashed past Tom and up the stairs to the boy's dormitories, chuckling to himself.
"What's he so happy about?" Tom asked without turning around.
"Oh, he's just been really excited since finding a way to get back at Simon Potter."
Something in Tom's head sparked. "I see."
~~~~~~~~~~
"Just watch," Artemus whispered out of the side of his mouth to Tom. They were both seated at the Slytherin table, their backs to the wall, facing the Gryffindors on the other side of the Hall.
Tom smiled to himself as Artemus shifted his head to the side in order to see around a Ravenclaw's protruding head. "Come on, come on, take a drink..."
According to Artemus's brilliant plan, there was a powerful sleeping draught in Simon's pumpkin juice. However, Tom had found the war between the two highly entertaining, so he found it his duty to lend a hand in keeping it up.
Simon's figure was nearly indistinct from across the Hall, but both Slytherins could clearly tell that he was raising a toast in their general direction, smiling as broadly as his face would allow.
Artemus seemed slightly suspicious as Simon drained his entire goblet with relish – but not nearly suspicious enough, Tom thought as Artemus took a drink from his own goblet.
He found himself shaking his head as his neighbor buried his head in the mashed potatoes, snoring. With a grin, Tom raised his glass to Simon in return.
~~~~~~~~~~
Classes began as usual the following day, and Artemus didn't seem to have figured out Simon's trick as of yet.
Snickers rolled and echoed across the room and off the walls as Professor Malfoy announced to the Slytherins and Gryffindors what they would be learning in class that day.
Swiftly, and without the flourishing marks of an imperfect script, the chalk magically scratched the ingredients and instructions for making a basic Sleeping Draught onto the chalkboard.
Perhaps it was coincidence. Either way, Artemus was sinking in his seat.
Tom wondered if he hadn't told Simon about the drugged pumpkin juice, if he'd have figured it out anyway... after all, with a friend like that Ravenclaw – what was his name, anyway?
Tom found himself spacing out, looking through the wall, imagining what his life would be like if he knew everything that would happen, if he knew what everyone was thinking, if he could stop them before they made a mistake, or betrayed him, or...
The bell rang, and Tom found himself telling Artemus to go ahead without him.
The professor didn't even notice him when he approached his desk, or so it seemed to Tom.
"Er... Mr. Malfoy?"
"It's Professor to you," he growled without looking up.
"Professor, sir?"
Malfoy closed his book loudly; clearly trying to show his annoyance in hope that Tom would go away.
"What do you want?"
"Information, sir. Whatever you may know."
The professor glanced up, noting Tom's eagerness. His voice softened in spite of himself. "What would you like to know?" he asked patiently.
"The future," Tom blurted.
The professor chuckled, standing up from his seat, and walking around the desk. "And what would I know of that? Ask you Divination teacher." With that, he dismissed the matter.
"I'm only a first year, sir."
The professor sighed, only hoping he would be able to keep from strangling the boy. "So you are," he said dully. "Well, I know nothing of the matter. Good day." He turned his back to the student, talking long, swift strides towards the storage cupboard in hopes that Tom would leave.
"But sir," Tom continued, following Malfoy across the classroom. "I don't want to know the future quite like that."
The professor gave him a queer look.
"I want to know about Seers, you know? People who can see everything – with, you know..." Tom trailed off.
"Full control?" the professor offered without looking at Tom. He seemed to be considering the boy silently.
"Exactly," came Tom's breathless reply. Someone understood his fascination.
The professor smiled to himself – the first real smile Tom had seen on his face. "What about it?"
"How can I do that?"
"Oh, dear boy, you can't."
"I – I can't – why not?"
Malfoy shook his head again. Either he was having a hard time with this, or he found the boy's persistence amusing – Tom couldn't quite tell from where he stood.
"There's nothing you can do about it. But there is..." He stopped, unsure whether explaining the alternative would be right.
"Is what? Sir."
"There's another way."
"What? What is it?" Tom found himself bent upon the answer.
The professor's eyes were skyward, and his face was momentarily shadowed. "People's past and present, if that interests you."
It did. "It does."
The professor half-closed his eyes, his face showing intense thought. "I shouldn't. I'm not sure I'm the right one to – "
"If this is about my Sorting and people's problems with it..." Tom faltered for a moment. "I have every right to be a Slytherin. Perhaps more than others."
The professor raised his eyebrows. "Your reasoning behind that?" he asked mildly.
"If the Sorting Hat found me so much of a Slytherin that it... it overlooked my background... then perhaps that outweighs the rest?"
Malfoy was looking at him intently, and Tom had the fleeting sensation of one looking through glass. He was transparent, obvious, readable, open... wide open.
"Or," Malfoy said after a while. "Perhaps it is quite the opposite."
"Sir?"
"Perhaps your background has everything to do with it." His voice had a misty, thoughtful sound to it, and to Tom, it was quite unnerving.
"But sir, the present, if you please?"
"Sorry? Oh yes, Legilimency."
"Sir?" Tom repeated.
"Mind raiding. Beyond your years, forget it."
Tom's mouth dropped open. How could people just ask him to forget these things so easily? "I will not," he said with a rush of power. "I can do it."
"Pushy lad, aren't you?" The professor was almost surprised... and pleased?
"That's what people are telling me."
"Well, you ask me later about that. Or perhaps something... more your level."
"But, sir!"
"Not today lad."
That was the day Tom realized that Professor Malfoy could be just as stubborn as he could. Perhaps that was what started it all...
Tom left the classroom without another word, wondering faintly if lunch was over yet.
~~~~~~~~~~
Reviews!
Awkward: Ten points for you and your long reviews. I love them. Yeah, I guess I have been keeping Tom in the dark, but he'll be stepping up soon... I hope... and I hope you're happy because I put in some Simon/Tom cooperation/mischief just for your sake. But just realize they'll have to split up sometime. Probably once Tom gets a bit of a nasty attitude.
Miss Piratess: He'll be evil, someday, I swear! Why do you like Driedda, of all people? *feels obligated to write more of her* Ergh. You know, it was so much easier just writing 'Nixiy'.
Nikki: You scared me there for a moment, I thought I'd made a mistake! But yes, that's why he'll use Voldemort, so no one recognizes him as Tom. Except maybe Artemus, but he'll have a family by then, and probably won't care.
Erin: Nope. James = 70's (wah, disco!) and Tom = 40's. In fact, Tom's supposed to be almost as old as McGonagall, which is really kind of scary...