Chapter Six
Breakfast the next morning started with an irritating, if predictable, round of assuring everyone he was fine. Mrs. Weasley was especially overbearing, pushing more and more food onto his plate as though eating himself to death would be in any way helpful. "Mrs. Weasley," Tom finally said, not quite managing to conceal his irritation, "I'm more than capable of feeding myself."
"But Harry, you barely ate anything yesterday, and now -" she tried to insist.
Black cut her off, looking pretty irritated himself. "If Harry says he's fine, he's fine."
The red-headed matriarch glowered back at the man hosting her family, hands on her hips. "I think I know a bit more about caring for a teenage boy than you."
"But Sirius actually was a teenage boy at one point," Tom pointed out quite reasonably. He kept his expression as innocent as possible. He absolutely wasn't trying to provoke the woman. Not in the slightest.
Mrs. Weasley harumphed, and her scowl deepened. "Sirius may as well still be a teenage boy, and teenage boys are notoriously bad at knowing how to take care of themselves." As though she didn't realize she'd just insulted a good portion of the room, she immediately turned and smiled gently at Tom. "You really should try to eat a little more, dear. Then maybe you can join the rest of the children cleaning the second floor today."
"No thank you," Tom said flatly. He looked to Black. "Sirius, is it alright if I keep studying?"
"Of course, kiddo," Black said. He had an undeniably smug look on his face. "Why don't you take Hermione with you?" He glanced at Mrs. Weasley, whose face was reddening alarmingly, then to Ginny. "Sorry Ginny, but if your mother wants you to clean, I can't really countermand her on that."
The girl in question shot her mother a pleading look. Mrs. Weasley wavered. No doubt she wanted nothing more than to reject any suggestion made by Black at the moment. At last, though, she sighed. "Go ahead and study with Harry and Hermione," she said at last. She rounded on her sons. "You three, though, are going to scrub the bathrooms until they're sparkling! Up, up, up! Off you go!"
Tom hurried to the library without bothering to check if Ginny or Hermione were following, though ideally Hermione would decide against it. He needed to speak with Ginny alone.
It'd taken all night, but he'd managed to get a reasonably good account of Potter's first three years at Hogwarts. He slid into his chair from yesterday and stared at the book Ginny'd left on the table. As it turned out, there was a perfectly good reason for Dumbledore to choose Ginny to spy on him. Of everyone in this house, Ginny actually knew him - Tom Riddle, that was - the best. She had, after all, spent her first year being possessed by his younger self.
His eye twitched at the memory. Potter had managed to kill a basilisk and destroy his first horcrux as a second year. A second year. True, the boy had received a great deal of assistance from Dumbledore's bloody flaming chicken, but it was still an incredible feat.
His first instinct was anger and a burning frustration that Potter was already beyond his reach. However, on further consideration, he decided the destruction of his horcrux was… acceptable. At the time, creating the diary horcrux was the only available option, as he hadn't had time to procure a different means of immortality. However, horcruxes were turning out to be a much less elegant solution than he'd initially believed. He would need to reabsorb or destroy the rest of them once he'd found a better form of insurance.
In the meantime, he needed to discuss things with Ginny. He would prefer if he could just use the Imperius Curse to gain her cooperation, but Dumbledore would likely be able to detect such a thing. Instead, he would need to bribe her. What would work best? Money? Power? ...Affection? Everyone had a price. He merely needed to discover hers.
Unfortunately, Ginny and Hermione both sat across from him. "We need to talk," Ginny said as soon as she'd settled in.
Tom froze. Was she going to confront him now, with Hermione present?
Ginny pointed to the book on soul magic. "I think I know how V-Voldemort survived back then." She opened the book and flipped to the section on horcruxes, putting the book in front of Hermione and pointing. "It's called a horcrux. The person splits their soul and puts part of it in something else. Apparently, that'll keep the person from dying for real."
Tom stared blankly, trying to process this conversation within the framework of his earlier thoughts. It didn't work. His brow furrowed. Did Ginny… not… realize what he was? Was she not a spy?
It was the only thing that made sense.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It came out as a breathy laugh.
Ginny frowned at him. "What's so funny?"
Oh. Tom smiled easily and shook his head. "You're talking about the diary, right? I just thought that, well, compared to the things I was imagining, destroying some more things like that's not so bad."
Ginny cocked her head thoughtfully. "I hadn't thought of it like that," she mused. "I guess it is better to know." The thoughtful look shifted to a grimace. "But we don't know how many he might have made. Obviously more than just the one, since he still came back after you destroyed the diary, but how could we figure out what and where the others are?"
"Even more," Hermione added, staring at the book, face pale, "what if he made something small, like a coin or something, into one and then tossed it into the ocean?"
Tom sighed. If that had been an option, he'd have done it. He wasn't an idiot. "If that was possible, wouldn't there be all sorts of immortal dark wizards hanging around?" It was the best he could do to convince her as 'Harry Potter.' He really needed to amend the image of Harry Potter being a slacker intellectually.
He paused. He hadn't been planning on using this speech quite yet, but it was mostly aimed at Hermione anyway, so he may as well go ahead with it. It was, in his opinion, a quintessentially Gryffindorish speech. "By the way... " He focused on Hermione. "I don't think I'll be able to be as close with Ron again, even if we find what we're looking for."
Hermione looked stricken. "Why?"
"It's just… The Durselys punished me if I did well in school, and then when I got to Hogwarts, Ron always wanted to just hang out and play chess and stuff, and I just went along with it." He looked down. "But after last year, I've realized. Ron can afford to act like that because he's just Ron. But… I'm never really going to be just Harry." He set his jaw, thinking of the third time James Potter defied him, and emulating the grim determination he'd seen on the man's face. "I need to work harder and be better. My parents gave their lives for me. I owe it to them to be the best version of Harry Potter possible. And eventually, I'll face Lord Voldemort again, and this time I won't just survive. I'll defeat him once and for all." Even he felt a little moved by his performance.
"Well said, my boy."
Dumbledore's voice from behind him drove ice down his back and all satisfaction from his mind. Tom licked his lips nervously, then turned to face the man with what he hoped looked like mere embarrassment. Hermione and Ginny, meanwhile, stood, though Hermione near jumped to her feet, while Ginny was more relaxed about it.
Dumbledore stood in the doorway, eyes twinkling. "I was hoping for a moment of your time, Harry, if you don't mind." Naturally, it wasn't a request. He nodded to the two girls and smiled that damned grandfatherly smile. "It won't take long, if you two are willing to wait." He walked away then, clearly expecting Tom to follow. Without much choice, Tom did.
The elder wizard led him to a room occupied by nothing more than a hippogriff. After Tom had entered, fingers itching for his wand, Dumbledore closed the door with a swish of nonverbal magic. He was no longer smiling. "I heard about your vision last night."
Tom focused on his breathing, trying not to let his anxiety show. "Sir?"
With a sigh, Dumbledore turned to the hippogriff and, after a short exchange to gain permission, transfigured two chairs the beast had clearly mauled, making them as soft and plush as anything. He lowered himself into one slowly and gestured for Tom to take the other. Tom bowed to the winged horse, then obligingly sat when the beast returned his bow. Dumbledore sat back then, smiling faintly. "Was that the first time you experienced such a vision this summer?"
Tom shook his head, thankful he'd taken the time to review the boy's memories of anything vision-related in detail. "No, but it was the first time while I was awake."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "If you recall, we spoke of a connection between yourself and Voldemort. Do you remember?"
"Yes." Tom met Dumbledore's gaze evenly, but the man merely looked to the side, still apparently refusing to look directly at him. "You said that's why I could speak Parseltongue."
"Exactly." Dumbledore hesitated, then continued. "I believe that the dementor attack strengthened this connection in some way. You may find yourself experiencing more such visions. If their content changes, I urge you to inform myself or your godfather."
Frowning, Tom nodded. "Of course, sir."
"For the moment, I do not believe Voldemort is aware of his connection to you. However, should he discover it, he may try to enter your mind purposely. To prevent this, I would like you to learn an art called Occlumency. Have you heard of it?"
Was this a trick? Tom narrowed his eyes and said, "I've seen it mentioned in some of the books here. It's a technique used to defend one's mind against intrusion."
A flicker of something crossed Dumbledore's face, too fast for Tom to decipher. "Indeed." Now the man did look at him. "Professor Snape has agreed to teach you. He will be here tonight for your first lesson."
Suddenly the headmaster clapped his hands together. "That aside, I had another topic I wished to discuss with you."
Tom blinked. "Sir?"
Dumbledore smiled at him. "As you are no doubt aware, this is the year you take your OWLs. It is also when we first choose Prefects from your class."
Nodding, Tom tilted his head slightly, questioningly.
"You will not be a Prefect," Dumbledore said. He held up a hand to stall any protest. "I wished to warn you of this ahead of time. This is not a slight against you. I am certain that, presented with the opportunity, you would make an excellent Prefect." He sighed. "However, while fifth year is undoubtedly stressful for most students, it will be even more so for you. The Ministry continues to deny Voldemort's return, and you will no doubt experience increased scrutiny from both your classmates and the general public. In the face of that, I would not put the additional pressure of acting as Prefect upon you, especially when you will not especially benefit from the prestige the position normally grants."
Tom ground his teeth, but had to admit the old man was correct. The-Boy-Who-Lived hardly needed Prefect on his resume. Everyone in Wizarding Britain already had their opinions of him, one way or another. "I understand, sir. May I ask who you intend to make Prefect instead?"
"Mister Weasley," Dumbledore replied.
His initial reaction was to laugh. Ron would make a terrible Prefect. On second thought though, he saw Dumbledore's reasoning. Choosing Ron, Harry Potter's best friend, indicated that Dumbledore trusted and supported Harry. Or rather, choosing any other boy would indicate the opposite. Tom closed his eyes and nodded. This was for the best for him too. With his Prefect duties taking up his time, Ron would be less of an irritation. "Thank you for the warning, sir," he said.
And surely this was a sign that Dumbledore no longer suspected him, if he ever truly had. The man would no doubt have left Tom Riddle unaware to receive that unwelcome surprise, but apparently Harry Potter received at least some smidgen of care, probably as a manipulation to keep the boy loyal.
Tom looked to Dumbledore again and saw the man watching him, eyes twinkling merrily, a proud smile on his face. It made his gut churn, seeing that expression aimed at him.
People said Dumbledore was the only person Lord Voldemort ever truly feared. That was a lie. Tom had, in fact, vigorously tested himself against boggarts and dementors alike, and he could say with absolute certainty that he was not afraid of Dumbledore.
No, what he felt toward the man was loathing.
He'd always chosen not to fight Dumbledore because he wanted the man to live to see the end of the war. To see Lord Voldemort take over first Britain, then the world. He wanted nothing more than to revel in the man's despair as he realized his utter failure. He would take the man's closest followers and either turn them or destroy them until Dumbledore had nothing left, and once the man's soul was crushed, Tom would rip it to pieces and send them through the Veil. No torture was too great and no punishment harsh enough for the man who had, once upon a time, terrified an eleven-year-old boy for the high crime of trying to survive.
Tom would almost rather die than ever make Dumbledore proud, but here he was. He stood. "If that's all, sir?" he asked. At Dumbledore's nod, he left, not to the library, but to the toilet, where he vomited, wiped his face, rinsed his mouth, and then went back to Ginny and Hermione.
A/N: My daughter caught a cold and passed it to me, so this ended up being written while I was sick. So, you know, if you catch mistakes, please let me know? And thank you for reading!
