Title: A Study of a Schoolboy in Seven Parts
Day/Theme: 6th September/"Hogwarts: a life"
Series: Harry Potter
Character/Pairing: Tom Riddle, Horace Slughorn
Rating: PG
The boy sitting on the stool was well-looking enough and seemed a likely lad from the way he'd been gazing around him, taking it all in and storing it in his head for when he'd need it. The boy – Riddle, wasn't it? – didn't seem to have much of a background, but Horace wasn't one to take against him on that account. He'd known too many Muggle-borns who'd become the background themselves.
Ah! Albus was watching him too, the sly old fox. Well, that settled it. It would be positively excellent to have the lad in Slytherin.
-
Riddle certainly seemed to have networking down to a fine art, Horace mused. He'd already amassed a nice collection of cronies, mostly Slytherin, but a few of the less prejudiced Ravenclaws had fallen in with him, and there wasn't a single one that Horace himself wouldn't have cultivated. He considered inviting the boy to his next soirée. Riddle was mature enough for it, he'd hardly drag the party down. Probably better not to serve anything stronger than butterbeer, though Horace wouldn't be surprised if the lad had a head for it.
-
Tom was flushed with cold and busy unwrapping his scarf from his neck when Horace met him in the corridor outside the common room.
"Back from Hogsmeade, Tom?" he asked jovially, stopping to exchange pleasantries with his favourite student.
"Yes, sir." Tom smiled at him, chafing his ungloved hands.
"I hope your first visit was memorable, lad."
"Oh, it wasn't my first." Tom's smile became slanting, wicked, and he looked up at Horace through his eyelashes. "You know, Professor."
Horace did, and he'd expected no less from his star student. He wagged a finger at the thirteen year old, chortling. "Not the sort of thing you want to be admitting, Tom!"
"I'll remember that, sir." Tom's grin was conspiratorial. "Don't tell on me?"
Horace clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Tell what, lad?"
-
"That's basic magical theory, Tanaqui." Tom was leaning against a filing cabinet and flustering the sixth year quite badly. "Surely you haven't forgotten that?"
"Of course not! But it's possible that you could split the balance of power – "
"No, it's not. Because the act of doing so would cause the balance to fail and veer sharply in favour of one participant. The ensuing backlash – " he shrugged. "Are you interested in witnessing someone's brain dribbling out of their ears?"
"Maybe if it were yours," she muttered. "What about using a Pensieve?"
"A possibility," Tom allowed. "However – "
Horace thought it a good time to interrupt and did so, persuading Tanaqui to go and find her escort, a gangly Hufflepuff with a rather impressive talent for oratory.
"Have a little pity for her, Tom," he suggested, chuckling at the raised eyebrow that his advice garnered.
"I don't suffer fools gladly," Tom replied, looking after Tanaqui with a scowl. "Honestly, what was Professor Cognus teaching her in third year?"
"Now, now, Tom. We can't all be as brilliant as you!" Horace patted him on the back.
"No," Tom agreed acidly. "It seems not."
-
"Any joy tonight, Tom?"
Tom paused in his pacing of the corridor. "No, Professor."
Horace sighed and leaned against the wall for support. It had been a long night. "It's always worth hoping, I suppose. I just wish we had some clue – " He cut himself off abruptly. There was no use in telling the boy his troubles.
"So do I, sir." Tom's hair was falling into his face and he pushed it back impatiently. "I'd do anything – " He stopped and bit his lip.
"As would we all, lad. As would we all." Horace laid a gentle hand on his student's arm. For the first time, he noticed how tired the boy was. How many nights had he been on watch? How many nights had he stayed awake anyway, racking his brains for some hint, a small sign of what was really happening at the school? "Get some sleep tomorrow night, Tom," he advised. "You'll do no one any good if you collapse from exhaustion."
"It's a point of view, sir," Tom replied noncommittally.
"Tom," he said warningly, and Tom nodded in acquiescence. "Good boy."
-
Tom lingered after the lesson one day, apparently admiring Olidus Malfoy's Draught of Living Death. He ran his finger round the edge of the cauldron, his face thoughtful. "Professor, would you give me a note for the Restricted Section?"
"Eh? The Restricted Section?" Horace was surprised, and showed it. "Why d'you want to go in there, lad?"
"Research," and Tom grinned disarmingly, all charm.
"I don't know that I can do that." Horace felt himself returning the grin, however, and his right hand reached for a quill.
"Thank you, sir," said Tom when Horace handed the folded parchment to him. "You don't know how much this means to me."
"Careful with those books, Tom," he told him genially. "Remember, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing."
"What about a lot?" inquired Tom, already on his way out of the door.
-
"Well, Head Boy," and Horace still felt the satisfaction of the appointment in his bones, Slytherin hadn't had a Head Boy in ten years, "what are you going to do now?"
Tom had his chin propped up on the palm of his hand and he gazed out over the battlements of the castle before answering. "I think – more research."
"More research? Lad, I think you know more than half the staff!"
"I like knowing things," Tom replied, his voice dreamy. "I love knowing things. Especially things that no one else knows."
"What do you want to do after that, then?" Horace was curious. He was sure that even the most thorough, painstaking research Tom could ever do would only occupy a fraction of the thoughts in the brilliant mind he had.
"Teach, perhaps." Tom sat up, his eyes bright. "I don't want to leave Hogwarts – ever. I'm only doing it now because no one will let me stay, so I'll come back here when someone dies and take their job."
Horace threw back his head and laughed. When he was recovered enough to speak, still snorting a little, he said, "Well, there's a fine thing to say!" His amusement died as he realised that Tom was deadly serious. "Really, now, lad."
"Oh, I meant that you'd never get anyone to leave here otherwise," Tom explained quickly.
"You like the old place better than I do, Tom." Horace shook his head slowly, grinning again.
"It's where I should be."
The cool conviction in his voice made Horace frown. "Surely you'd prefer the Ministry? Tom…"
"I think we've had this argument before." Tom smiled suddenly. "I'd hate it. So much bureaucracy! You'd never be able to get anything done. Hogwarts is better – you can shape the minds and hearts of the children who come here. That's where true power lies. The current generation are set in their ways, but their children are eager to learn what you are eager to teach – but I don't have to explain it to you, sir. You do it."
"That's not quite it," Horace tried to explain, feeling rather uncomfortable at this description of himself, but Tom held up a hand for silence.
"There's a saying – catch a child young and you've got him for life. It's true, you know. And we wizards have such long lives."
"Tom," Horace began again, but he was interrupted by a male voice coming from below.
"Oi, Tom! The carriages are about to leave!"
"But I don't want to go, you fool, don't remind me of it," said Tom softly to the old stones. Then he rose gracefully. "Goodbye, Professor."
"Tom – " But Tom flashed him a look like a bolt of ice and strode back into the castle, making for the stairs. Horace slumped back in his chair and wondered whether he should worry about the boy.