Summary: A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Tom gets a broom, Dumbledore gets angry, and Rita Skeeter gets a clue.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.
Warnings: Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but may, possibly, increase to M as things progress.
Author's Note: Keep the reviews coming! I appreciate all the support. I finally get to skip a day! Die, Friday, die! This chapter is a touch melancholy, and there is absolutely no Harry, which means no Harry/Tom :(

Chapter Sixteen: Being Disappointing

It was a balmy Saturday afternoon, and Tom's robes were clinging to his sweaty skin uncomfortably as he made his way up to the Headmaster's office. Quidditch practice that morning had been a fiasco; Harry had spent a good fifteen minutes teaching Tom how to mount a broom and hold on properly while the rest of the team warmed up. Tom hated being slow at catching on; he hated not being the best; he hated being disappointing. He had left practice feeling useless and frustrated after his continuing failure to score on Ron, and sore because he still wasn't very good at stopping or turning smoothly. The other team members had said he was loads better than he had been during tryouts, though, so he supposed that was something.

This was the first time Tom had walked by himself since his early dismissal in Divination. Harry was always watching him, except early Thursday evening when Harry had remedial Potions with Snape. Tom thought it a bit absurd that someone with an 'E' O.W.L. should be doing remedial work, and he had a suspicion that there was something more to it, but Ginny Weasley had watched Tom like a hawk for the whole time Harry was gone, so he hadn't had any chance to investigate. At least she had toned down her outward dislike of him; Tom wondered if Harry or Dumbledore had discussed it with her because she had made a concerted effort to be polite and even encouraging during Quidditch practice.

Tom rode the spiral staircase up to the door, which was open, and went inside.

'You wanted to see me, Headmaster?' Tom said formally.

'Yes, Tom, I did.' Dumbledore was facing the window when Tom entered, but turned around when as he spoke. He was smiling delightedly. 'I hear you have made the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I don't remember you being very good at flying,' he remarked.

'I'm not, sir.'

'Good, good,' Dumbledore said, still smiling and looking at Tom with those twinkling eyes. 'It's best to work on one's weaknesses as well as one's strengths, as I know you are aware. You're not clumsy on a broom in this time, as I recall. It is not a skill that comes naturally to you, but you've never shied away from a challenge. And how are you getting along with the Gryffindors?'

'Well enough, sir.' Let's just get this over with, shall we?

'You'll need a broom for Quidditch,' Dumbledore said.

Tom had forgotten about that, although he had been reminded of it only hours before as the others on the team complained that Tom couldn't keep up on one of the school's Shooting Stars. The old Shooting Stars still had more speed in them than the Moontrimmers the school had used in his day; Tom didn't think he could stand flying any faster. 'Yes, sir.' A beetle flew on to the arm of his chair, and he absently swatted it off. He thought he could almost hear it buzzing louder in distress.

'You don't know much about the brooms of our time, I suppose… I've been reading up on them recently, myself. The school brooms are getting a touch ratty – it's a terrible shame, I always liked the Shooting Stars, so many wonderful times, and such a nice name…' Dumbledore appeared lost in reverie for a few moments, and Tom was becoming concerned that he'd soon be listening to Dumbledore rant on about those 'wonderful times' for an hour or two, but he came back to reality and said, 'I've decided on some Cleansweep 9s for the school. The Cleansweep 11 that came out last year would serve you well, I think. It doesn't go too fast,' Dumbledore added, as if sensing Tom's concern, which he probably was. 'And I'll get a Twigger 90 for myself. They sound like such fun!'

'That's-that's too generous, sir –'

'We've been through this before, have we not?' Dumbledore said pointedly. 'It's all part of your cover.'

'I don't need to be on the Quidditch team for my cover.'

'But your parents would be able to afford a broom for you, and they'd be very pleased to buy you one, and excited that you made the team. In fact,' Dumbledore added thoughtfully, 'you ought to expect a letter from them on Monday at breakfast. They're not used to being separated from you and miss you terribly. I imagine they'll send you plenty of sweets, as well.'

Tom felt distinctly uncomfortable hearing about these imaginary parents of his. Dumbledore didn't get a chance to say anything more, though, because five people walked brusquely into the office at that very moment.

'Minister,' Dumbledore smiled at the man in front, waving him over to one of five chairs that had appeared when Tom wasn't looking. This, Tom supposed, must be the Minister for Magic in this time. The man was a short, portly fellow with a thick head of dark gray hair and a bushy gray moustache. He was wearing entirely black robes and appeared to be all business by the way he strode across the room and sat swiftly in the middle of the five new chairs. The others took seats alongside him.

Dumbledore greeted the two people sitting to the immediate right and left of the Minister first. 'Williamson, a pleasure to see you! And you as well, Kingsley,' Dumbledore said. Then he turned to the person to the far right of the Minister, whose bright red hair made him stand out from the others. 'And you, Mr. Weasley – and you, Rita,' he concluded, with a touch of hardness to his voice that wasn't present as he spoke to the other four when he addressed the outrageously dressed woman sitting next to Tom. Her hair was ruffled and her clothes wrinkled, as if she'd been walking around in the wind, but the air outside was still. 'What brings all of you here on such a beautiful Saturday afternoon?'

'We need to discuss a serious matter, Dumbledore,' the Minister said gruffly.

'I'm all ears, Zedekiah,' Dumbledore smiled, resting his head in his hands and gazing intently at the Minister. Tom noticed both Weasley – who looked quite a bit like Ron Weasley except for his horn-rimmed spectacles, so Tom supposed he must be a brother or cousin – and the woman beside him writing furiously, though she was doing so with a green quill that wrote on its own.

'I have been concerned, Dumbledore, about shoring up our defenses, and I am a touch concerned that – well, I don't mean to say that you are lax yourself, Albus,' the Minister said, bowing his head in deference. 'But I am concerned that we will not have enough manpower to defeat He Who Must Not Be –'

The Minister turned abruptly to Tom and said, his mustache rolling with each syllable, 'Perhaps the boy might be removed for the moment?'

'Oh, there's no need for that,' Dumbledore said cheerfully, still leaning his head on his hands.

'Are you… are you quite sure?' The Minister seemed reluctant to continue with Tom present, but also reluctant to compel him to leave without Dumbledore's support, and Tom wasn't about to volunteer to leave when the conversation was this intriguing.

'I'm sure, Zed. He's a good lad, a friend of Harry Potter's, actually.'

'Oh, well, I certainly don't mean to – never mind, then.' Apparently he wasn't willing to give any insult to a friend of Harry Potter. Tom thought Dumbledore was being a bit liberal with the use of the word 'friend,' but he wasn't tempted to correct him. 'Albus,' the Minister continued, taking a steadying breath, 'I want to start a recruiting campaign here at Hogwarts for the Magical Law Enforcement Department. You know, a few posters, a few Aurors and Hit Wizards coming in to talk to the students, maybe a little extra instruction after hours, that sort of thing.'

'I wasn't aware that the numbers weren't sufficient,' Dumbledore replied, his gaze more serious now than it was a moment ago.

'Not now, Albus, but – well, you remember the sort of thing we did back when Grindelwald –'

'I opposed the recruiting drives then, and I oppose them now, Zed. You may recall that I refused just such a proposal many years ago.'

'It's not as though I approve of it, exactly, old man,' the Minister said nervously. 'But – see here, now, there hasn't been a student accepted for Auror training from this school in years, and we all know that if they're not with us –'

'We do not all know that,' said Dumbledore, all humor gone from his voice now. 'I do not believe in making children choose sides in war.'

'But He does! Don't you see, it –'

'All I see, Minister,' Dumbledore interrupted coldly, 'is that, while you have the best of intentions, you don't see the value of a few great Aurors as opposed to large amounts of frightened people coerced into joining Law Enforcement. Those who already intend to become Aurors or Hit Wizards are those who will be valuable in the fight; the rest should be allowed to choose other avenues instead of being unduly encouraged into a field that may not be right for them.'

'The campaign is going on all over Britain except for Hogwarts!' the Minister replied angrily. 'Come now, Albus –'

'I approve of the recruitment drives elsewhere. Adults know enough about the world and the horrors in it to not take such a decision too lightly. But children, Zedekiah, do not, and I will not encourage them down a path that they know too little about to judge wisely.'

'That's why we'll have the Aurors come in, Albus!' said the Minister loudly. 'They'll talk about their work, and –'

'And they'll sugarcoat it just as they did fifty years ago – and I mean no insult to the Department when I say that, it is simply the experience I had during the recruitment campaign against Grindelwald.'

'That campaign worked marvelously!' the Minister blustered.

'It would not have taken place, had it been up to me,' Dumbledore said with narrowed eyes. 'I instructed that Junior Dark Force Defense League, as you may recall, and I have never regretted anything more in my life than agreeing to do so.'

'They were so well-prepared, though, Albus, they got through Auror training in half the time, and –'

'And they should not have done so!' Dumbledore said, standing up forcefully from his chair and glaring. 'I will not have it again! They knew the spells to defend themselves, yes, but they did not know what they were defending themselves against! How could they?' Dumbledore sat down again, looking overcome, his old hands shaking. The quills continued to scratch and Dumbledore, furious, pointed his wand at the woman's pages and made them disintegrate. He did the same to Weasley's a moment later. They both looked up at him in shock.

'What about that Dumbledore's Army nonsense last year then, eh? What was that all about?' the Minister growled.

'You should know, of all people, Zed,' Dumbledore said, looking at the Minister with the deepest disappointment in his eyes, 'that none of those accusations were just. There was a club at Hogwarts called Dumbledore's Army, yes, but it was for the students to learn how to defend themselves, not for the students to be indoctrinated as Aurors.'

'So you'll let things become just as they were before?' he grumbled. 'You'll let You-Know-Who outnumber us, you'll let the students be unprepared –'

'It will not be like last time,' Dumbledore sighed, staring at his desk. 'He does not have such numbers as he did before, nor will he if we do not drive potential allies away.'

'Dumbledore, I'm not here to talk about the giants –'

'Then this conversation has ended. There will be no recruitment drives at Hogwarts while I am Headmaster. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Hogwarts has acquired for this year is completely satisfactory, so no further training will be required.'

'This is your final word, Albus?'

'Yes.'

'Then we will leave. Good day to you, sir.' The Minister nodded curtly at Dumbledore. 'Rita, I trust you remember the particulars?'

'Yes, Minister,' the woman crooned.

'Excellent.' The Minister turned back to Dumbledore. 'Wonderful woman, Ms. Skeeter. She was the only one of those reporters who believed young Harry's story last year. I don't trust any of the rest of that Prophet lot,' he grunted.

Dumbledore made no reply to this. The woman turned to Tom and smiled, showing several gold teeth.

'And what's your name, darling?' she asked.

'Tom Maxwell,' he replied shortly.

'I'm Rita, Rita Skeeter, reporter for The Daily Prophet.' She held out her hand and he shook it. The others were filing out the doorway. 'I don't remember you from Hogwarts. I was quite sure that I'd met all of Harry's lovely friends.'

'I'm new,' he replied smoothly.

'I see,' she purred. 'Why don't you tell me a little about yourself and your relationship to Albus Dumbledore?' Her quill was out in her hand again faster than Tom could see.

Tom raised an eyebrow. 'He's just the Headmaster of my school, miss.'

'That's enough, Rita,' Dumbledore said, his tone light but his gaze warning. She pursed her lips and nodded, then flashed him a fake smile. Giving Tom an insincere farewell, she walked out as the Minister held the door for her, and then he, too, left.

Tom was left alone with Dumbledore, and they both savored the silence for several moments. Then Tom, burning with questions, couldn't stop himself any more.

'The Junior Dark Force Defense League was a Ministry recruitment ploy?'

Dumbledore closed his eyes and nodded.

Tom really wanted to ask why he was excluded from it, why Dumbledore hadn't wanted him to be an Auror, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. For the first time, he truly wished Dumbledore would look into his eyes and pluck his thoughts from his brain so he wouldn't have to explain himself, so the question could remain unspoken.

'Sir,' he said softly. 'Why –'

'You were…' said Dumbledore in a hoarse whisper, 'you were not meant for it. You didn't even like being given orders in class.' There was a strange reverie in his voice and his eyes. He was staring at the wall. 'I always hoped… even after she died, I hoped you would find your way.'

Tom didn't know what to say to that. He stood up and walked out the door without another word. He hated being disappointing, especially to his worst enemy.

Shattered Diamond: No, but dreams will figure prominently in the next chapter!

Monique: Yes, but I have to warn you that the dream sequence in the last chapter isn't as important as you may think. I think that Harry would be pretty good at blocking Voldemort out at this point; when Voldemort tried to 'break in,' all he did was trigger a bizarre dream that will only serve to make him curious, and perhaps more receptive to later rumors…