a/n: thanks again to AFamiliarWitch for tolerating me long enough to brilliantly beta this chapter!
It was not fine.
At all.
In fact, it was nightmarish in the same way Beery's dancing was nightmarish, only he didn't have to attempt to design a secret, illegal curriculum for Beery's dancing.
"The official stance of the Ministry," Minerva had told him during their second covert meeting, which was not covert at all because they were sitting in the middle of the library, "is the same as it's been for about six hundred years."
"Right."
"Absolutely no sex education of any kind is allowed at Hogwarts."
"Right."
"Though, the policy has improved slightly. We can now say the word 'sex' without suffering a terrible tongue-removing curse."
"How progressive."
"Now, I have most of the planning taken care of, but I require assistance with the research and, of course, execution."
"You do realize that this is probably something we should be obtaining parental permission for, right?"
She sighed. "Yes. But parents are even more difficult to deal with than the Ministry and the Governors put together. It's just easier this way."
"And how exactly are we supposed to stealthily teach a banned topic to half the student population over the course of a few weeks with no one noticing?"
She glared at him.
"Right," he muttered. "You have it taken care of."
He thought research would be an acceptable task. He'd always taken an objective, academic view of these sorts of things, and he assumed that such an approach would be exactly what was required.
But of course, as with almost everything else in this job, he'd made the wrong assumptions.
Minerva had handed him a list of topics and a stack of books with the most awkward titles ever devised and insisted that he report back to her with his findings. It took him a full three days before he managed to summon enough patience and self-control to open that first text (Your Body is Magic!), which he immediately closed and set on fire.
"Reproductive health" was far more convoluted than he had previously assumed, and the books were entirely too detailed for his liking. And everything had a fucking diagram.
There was no reason anyone other than a healer would ever need to know the different… parts of things. That knowledge certainly wasn't required to use them. Encouraging the prevention of disease and pregnancy made sense. But why could the information not have been laid out in a pamphlet or something? Why did it have to be taught?
Minerva was not happy when he approached her with this logic.
"They're going to have questions," she explained impatiently. "And if we can provide answers, then it is our obligation to do so."
"Is it, though?"
They were in her office again, and he had given her what little research he'd managed to get through, which seemed to placate her for the time being.
"It is," she said.
He stared at her.
"We are teachers," she continued, "and our responsibility does not end in the classroom."
"Sure." He stared at her some more.
He was not listening at all. Instead, he was trying to figure out a way to make subtle eye contact so that he could continue his investigation into her unnaturally strong mind wall (if he could just manage to get some answers, he could disappear forever and never touch another revolting reproductive education book). But she was not making it easy.
Most of the time he did not need eye contact to perform Legilimency. But for what he was trying to do here, it was almost a necessity.
"I thought you understood the importance of this," she lectured, standing up and adding notes to her office wall, which was covered with plans and ideas and reminded him slightly of what the inside of a crazed stalker's house probably looked like. "Now, all you have to do in the sessions is go through the folder. It starts with reproductive health, so make sure to go over the diagrams."
"Right." He was not going to do that.
She sat back down at her desk. "I'll incorporate your notes, but we'll need a bit more on contraception."
He stared at her in response.
"And we can start next week. I've got all the sessions lined up."
More staring.
"So, starting on Tuesday, you will report to the eighth floor at six o'clock."
He could see images now, and ideas. He only needed to focus on one…
"The first sessions will be fifth years, which won't be easy… but…"
There was the fear again. If he could just follow it to something useful...
"Tom…"
There was a face, maybe, and an object? He couldn't quite tell-
"TOM!"
"What?"
"Why the bloody hell are you staring at me like that? Are you having another episode?"
"No," he sighed. "I do not have episodes."
"It's alright, you know… If you do," she said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. "You should see Madam Sable. She can do a psychological assessment-"
"I do not need a psychological assessment."
"Nothing to be embarrassed about. Honestly, we all have moments-"
"Please stop talking."
Well, this was a failure. He should have stunned her first.
The plan was to have a series of evening sessions with small groups - fifteen or twenty at a time - to avoid attracting attention. Minerva insisted she had a strategy for getting the students to the right place at the right time, though she never bothered to tell him what that strategy was.
He didn't really care, either. He would show up, he would be on time. But he was not going to teach a bloody thing if he could help it. All he had to do was keep up this charade long enough to get her alone one more time – he was determined, now.
Of course, he could have just broken into her quarters at night, or cornered her in her office during her morning break, or even sent a subtle Imperius Curse at her during dinner, and had her follow him to somewhere private.
But those options carried considerable risks. And anyway, he wasn't a pervert. And if he was once again attacked by whatever it was that was protecting her memories, there was a chance he would end up unconscious and lying on the floor. He did not want to be discovered passed out next to a woman inside her flat after breaking into it.
The fifth-year boys took their seats and stared at him in silent confusion. He addressed them as he normally would have done – like it was just another lecture.
"The purpose of this session is to discuss topics related to reproductive health."
"What is that?" one of the boys asked, looking clueless.
"He's talking about sex, you arse," said another boy.
There was a mixture of stifled laughter and shouts of "what?" and "really?"
"Yes," said Tom, "…that. However, I do not have - nor will I ever have - any desire at all to talk about anything related to reproductive health. So, we are going to sit in silence for an hour and no one will say a single word and we will all leave here happy."
"But sir -"
"No."
"But-"
"No. Do not speak."
He passed out the folders that Minerva had made. "These folders contain information. Do not ask me questions about anything in them."
They were quiet for a while. Some of the boys seemed perfectly content to fall asleep or stare at the wall. But others did not. And quite a few were perusing the contents of their folders with interest, which annoyed him considerably, because he knew they were going to try to ask him questions about it. That was what students did.
After several minutes they started whispering.
Then one boy said, "Professor, can I ask a question?"
"No."
But in a bold and foolish move, the boy ignored him. "Sir, shouldn't you be teaching us about this stuff?"
"Probably."
"But why don't you want to teach us?"
"Why are you still talking?"
Unbelievably, the idiot kept going. "Sir, why don't you like talking about sex-"
He removed the boy's mouth. "Anyone else?"
Quite a few hands went into the air, and before he had decided whether or not it was worth the effort to remove all of their mouths, they started talking.
"It says in here that potions don't work all the time, but what if you pay for the really good ones?"
"Nah, condoms work best."
"How would you know? You've never even talked to a girl, Smith."
"Shut your mouth."
"Can you get diseases from touching? Or do you have to actually do it?"
"Don't be thick. It has to go in."
"No, it only has to be close."
"What the hell are you on about?"
Tom sat back in his chair and sighed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe if they kept going like this they could entertain themselves for the rest of the session and he wouldn't have to say a word.
"It's safer to just do it yourself."
"You're just saying that because you know you'll never get a girl, Moran."
"I bet Moran does it himself all the time."
"But, like, how do you actually, like, do it?"
"Oooh! Singleton's a virgin!"
"Shut up. So are you, Fawley."
"Liar! I've had loads-"
"Bollocks."
He was managing to tune them out, somehow, likely in the same way he'd managed to tune out his classmates when ninety percent of their conversations had centered around sex. What a miserable time that had been. No one would do anything he told them to do because they were all distracted, so he ended up doing everything by himself. Which was fine, really, because they were all incompetent, anyway.
Though, perhaps if he had paid a bit more attention to what was going on around him, he would have been somewhat more prepared for this job, which he did not-
"Sir?"
"What?"
They were all staring at him.
"I asked what kind of protection works best."
"Whatever it says in the folder."
"But, you know, like… What's your opinion? From experience."
Tom blinked stupidly at him.
After several awkward seconds of silence, the boy continued. "You- you know what I mean, right sir?"
They all turned to look at him with burning curiosity.
"Do you?" asked another boy.
"That- that is hardly relevant to-"
Yes, it was. It was directly relevant.
It was like a trap from which there was no escape that did not involve cursing or killing children. Or erasing all their memories and hoping for the best.
Or… talking about himself.
There had to be a way to flee. Maybe he could murder them all and disappear to somewhere nice. Portugal, perhaps. He'd always liked the idea of Portugal.
When he failed to give an answer, they started whispering.
"Sir," one of them said, "you do have experience, don't you?"
He sighed. "Does it matter?"
"Does that mean no?"
"No, it means it doesn't matter."
"So yes, then?"
"Please stop talking."
"But if you don't have any experience, how are you supposed to teach-"
"I did not say I don't-" He took a deep, calming breath. "You know, there are so many, many more important things in this world to concern yourself with than sex."
They looked bewildered.
Of course they did. He was foolish and naïve to think that there was anything else in the world teenage boys cared about more than sex. Well, normal ones, anyway.
He sighed again before stunning them all. They did not need to remember this.
"How did it go?" Minerva asked as the boys left the room.
"It was fine."
"Did they ask questions?"
"Yes." Technically not a lie.
"Did you answer them?"
"Yes." Also technically not a lie.
She studied him carefully, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Brilliant, I'll just go ask a few of the boys if they felt they'd learned something-"
"Or, you could not do that."
"Bloody hell, Tom. Did you teach them anything?"
"I am offended by that accusation."
She glared at him. "The next session is tomorrow. Sixth years. Do not be late and do not muck it up."
It was apparent that he would need to approach future sessions differently. So, he decided to spend the time going through the contents of those abhorrent folders. He would simply read through each page and not give them a chance to ask questions and then it would be over.
That did not work either.
The next day, as the students took their seats, he sat behind the desk at the front, wishing desperately that the hallucination theory Impostor Dumbledore had offered was true and that he would suddenly wake up anywhere but in this room. When several minutes went by and the nightmare had not ended, he realized that at some point he was going to have to say words.
He handed out the folders. Then he opened one himself. The first page appeared to be an introduction and a simple list of facts. Easy enough.
"This session," he told them, "is to discuss issues related to reproductive health."
Scattered snickering and whispering.
"Please reference the folder provided."
Once they all appeared to be paying attention, he started on the first page.
"'Today,'" he read, "'you will be learning about the important changes your body is going through-'" he sighed, "'-and how you can stay safe, should you choose to engage… in… sexual activity.'"
More snickering.
"'It is important to understand,'" he continued, "'that as you get older, you may have urges'- good lord."
He skipped a few lines.
"'It is completely normal to experience nocturnal emi-' Jesus Christ."
This was a nightmare. Why did he think this would be better? He tried the last few lines.
"'You may find that your pe-'"
He threw the sheet of paper onto the floor. "Let's move on to the next page, shall we?"
The next page was a large and very detailed diagram of the male reproductive system.
He slammed the folder down onto the desk in front of him and sighed. "Look, don't be idiots. Don't shag anything that moves just because you want to. If you are insistent upon shagging anything that moves, use protection. End of lesson."
He looked at the clock on the wall.
Seven minutes. He'd managed to get through seven minutes.
The boys were staring at him in confusion, much like the fifth years had. "Sir," one of them asked, "are you alright?"
There was a reason he was here, at Hogwarts. There was a reason, he just couldn't remember it at the moment. Some grand strategy that he had been completely certain would work. And a logical explanation for why the Greatest Dark Wizard of All Time was currently sitting in a classroom with teenagers and talking about sex organs while praying for the sweet release of death.
"Let's just keep going through the folder," he muttered, resigned to his fate.
After two revolting diagrams and sixteen pages of torture – during which he managed to say the word "penis" more times in forty-five minutes than he had in his entire life – it was over.
His relief lasted about three seconds before he remembered that there were eight more sessions to lead after this one.
Maybe if he just killed Minerva, he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not she was a threat, and he would never have to do this again. Yes, that seemed logical. Desirable, even, after the hell she had just put him through.
After the not-so-surprising revelation that teaching was trapping him in a torturous hell from which there was no escape – a revelation he realized he'd had several times before and had done nothing about – he decided to go ahead and steal the Sword of Gryffindor.
He had traced the Sword's whereabouts through the centuries and somehow, unbelievably, it had ended up back in the castle sometime within the last decade. It was the first decent thing that had happened since he'd started this job.
And now, after his holiday visit to Dippet's office, he knew exactly where it was and how to get it.
He'd left the office in a hurry the last time, after Phineas's revelation that there were two Dumbledores roaming around, but he was not too terribly concerned that anyone would touch the Sword in the meantime.
The office was empty, as Dippet was fast asleep in the library. He opened the door and immediately saw the Sword on the other side of the room, still sitting in its flimsy glass case, the light from the flames in the fireplace glinting off its blade in a welcoming sort of way.
"You're back!" said Phineas from his portrait above the door.
"Do not talk to me," he commanded as he walked across the room and approached the glass with his wand raised.
It didn't take much.
The glass exploded and the Sword fell with a clang onto the hard stone floor of the office.
"Well, that was somewhat underwhelming," Phineas muttered, watching Tom pick up the Sword and examine it.
It had a warmth to it, and the almost imperceptible vibration that often came with ancient magical relics whose powers had, for lack of a better phrase, fermented with age. It was not sentient like the Sorting Hat, however. This he could determine immediately. Manipulating it would not be difficult.
It was the first time he had actually managed to obtain something that had belonged to any of the Founders, and this moment, he realized, was a moment of triumph. There had been nothing in this world – no other relics, no objects of power, nothing – that was prestigious and meaningful enough to house a part of himself. Only these-
"I think he's in love!" Phineas exclaimed to no one in particular.
Tom snapped out of his reverie and shot the portrait a nasty look. "I am not above burning a hole in your face, old man," he said.
"Forgive me," Phineas drawled in false politeness, "I was merely commenting on the passion and reverence with which you behold this most sacred object. It must hold great significance for you, because you looked like you were about to snog it."
"STOP TALKING!" Tom yelled, gripping the Sword by the hilt and making for the door. "And if you tell anyone about this-"
"Yes, yes. Fire, destruction, poorly planned portrait homicide, et cetera. I have no interest in alerting anyone to your astonishingly unskilled thievery. I want to see where this goes."
Tom glanced around the room at the other portraits, who were watching him carefully and nodding their agreement.
"They won't say anything either," Phineas assured him. "Being a painting is bloody boring. We like to see action once in a while. Now, why don't you go and do unspeakable things with that Sword and report the thrilling tale back to us, yes?"
Tom left without another word.
"I hope you two are happy together!" Phineas called after him.
They were alone.
Finally, after nearly a week of torture, Tom found himself alone in a room with Minerva.
"I don't know why they would suggest such a thing," he said.
"Did you say it or not?" she demanded.
"No."
"Are you lying?"
"No. I did not tell the students that I had put a curse on the entire castle that would make their genitalia fall off if they attempted to have sex inside it."
He did.
"Did you at least get the whole way through the folder this time?"
"Yes. I successfully reviewed the contents of the entire folder."
He didn't.
Surprisingly, instead of berating him, she gave an exasperated sigh. "To be honest, I'm not having much luck either. Most of the girls will not listen to a thing I say until I tell them who it is that's pregnant, which, of course, I will not do. And when I do actually manage to start some sort of lecture, it is constantly interrupted by obnoxious giggling."
She stared at the obsessive notes covering her office wall for a few seconds, and Tom took the chance to shut and lock the door with his wand.
"Fine," she said after a while. "We'll get them all together then, in a single session, and make sure that they are at least taught the proper methods of contraception."
"We?"
"Yes."
It was quite possible that this meant no more horrendous sessions. Also, if it was both of them, she could do all the talking. And he knew she would, too, if she was worried enough that he would cock it up. "Sounds wonderful," he said.
The moment she sat down at her desk, he cast the Imperius Curse once again and the annoyance and frustration in her face disappeared.
He had, over the course of the week, decided against his original plan of killing her, either because he was right in thinking that it would be far too much effort to hide the murder of a coworker he'd been seen associating with, or he was getting lazy.
He had more information now than he did last time – a face, and the distorted image of what looked like a round object. So, instead of following the deep and all-consuming fear she had in connection to whatever was going on, he went in a different direction.
He started by focusing on her desire to hide the problem, to ensure that she maintained a professional demeanor even as she suffered some sort of grave inner turmoil. It proved to be just as useful a guide as the fear. And the idea of hiding led him directly to the exact thing he was searching for.
The image depicted a box - an ornate, gilded container encrusted with what looked like rubies. It was about the size of an apple and octagonal in shape. But it wasn't the box itself that she feared. He tried to push her mind to open it, to contemplate what was inside, but as he did so, that sharp, stabbing pain began to return to his head, as if it were a warning to stay away.
Then, like something out of a nightmare, Minerva's face appeared inside her own head, distorted and scarred and furious.
And then everything went black.
"I really think you ought to see the nurse," she said, standing over him again and looking more annoyed than concerned. "This is getting ridiculous."
The eighth-floor all-purpose classroom had been reconfigured to resemble an auditorium and, somehow, Minerva had managed to successfully summon all of the fifth, sixth, and seventh years there at eight o'clock at night on a Friday. It was risky, but she did not seem to care anymore.
She never told Tom exactly what they would be doing, but it didn't matter, as long as she did all the talking. She could go over every disgusting diagram in existence for all he cared, as long as he didn't have to say a word. He was more or less keeping up appearances at that point, placating her until he could locate the object she kept hidden away.
Once the students were seated and had quieted down, she began the lesson. "Tonight, we will be going over various forms of contraception and their effectiveness in preventing pregnancy and disease. I'll review the basics first, then Professor Riddle and I will demonstrate-"
"What?" Tom said before he could stop himself.
She ignored his outburst. "-demonstrate the proper application of certain methods. Now, contrary to popular belief, potions are not the most effective method of contraception. They are, at best, only somewhat reliable. And do not forget that everyone reacts to medicinal potions differently.
"Condoms are not necessarily the most reliable method either, but they are much more consistent in effectiveness than potions and far more readily available. Or, at least, they will be once I convince Madam Sable to stop yelling the word 'abstinence' at me every time I bring up the subject.
"Anyway, as I'm sure the boys have learned, every penis is different, and the correct use of condoms…"
Tom slid further down into his seat, hoping he would simply melt into it at some point. He did not think this would be a problem. He could sit in a classroom with children and talk through this rubbish - that was fine (after a few false starts). But when Minerva did it, right in front of him, with no shame, it was much less tolerable for some reason.
She droned on for a while and he wondered why this whole project was so important to her. It wasn't like the students were going to listen or take advice or do what they were told. That was asking quite a lot. But she was, nevertheless, determined.
"…to demonstrate. Professor Riddle, would you kindly assist me?"
"No."
She tried to make the threatening glare she was sending him subtle, so that the students couldn't see it. He got up reluctantly and joined her at the table.
There was a banana on it.
"STOP!" someone yelled.
The door burst open and three men in long, regal-looking robes stormed their way toward the front of the room.
"Fucking hell," Minerva muttered.
The rotund man in front looked furious, his face painfully red. "Stop this immediately," he commanded. "We forbid you to carry on this scandalous, unapproved curriculum."
She sighed. "Of course you do."
"OUT!" the man told the children, who did not move, and instead looked at Minerva for guidance.
"Go," she told them. "We will continue this later."
"You most certainly will not," the man growled as the students filed out of the room looking confused.
"Governor Macmillan," Minerva said in mock politeness, "do please try to remain calm. I don't need you having a heart attack while berating me. That would be highly inconvenient."
He ignored her and instead looked at Tom. "So, you're the new one, eh? Dippet must be going blind. You're barely out of school."
"Nice to meet you as well," said Tom.
"And you, Miss McGonagall-"
"Professor McGonagall, thank you very much. I do not spend every waking moment of my life teaching children inside this infernal castle with you breathing down my neck constantly as a hobby, Governor."
"Did we not tell you last year that continued delinquency would result in disciplinary action?"
"How did you even find out-"
"We have our methods, Miss McGonagall," one of the other Governors told her.
She stared at them and, slowly, the confusion in her face morphed into unmistakable rage. "A trace," she said quietly. "You put a trace on me." Her hands balled into fists.
"We did," Macmillan admitted. "After your last attempt to indoctrinate children with your immoral, liberal ideals-"
"A trace," Minerva repeated, and Tom could sense that she was very quickly losing her self-control.
"We'd hoped you would have learned your lesson, but clearly you did not. All we had to do was wait until there was enough evidence to incriminate-"
There was a sudden, bright flash of light and all three of the Governors fell to the floor.
"Oh no," Minerva breathed, her wand still pointed at the space where the Governors had been standing.
Tom wasn't sure what to say, exactly. Eventually he landed on "well done."
She looked fearful now. "'Well done?' I think I just destroyed my career!"
"Not necessarily."
"What I did was horribly out of line."
"Can't we just-"
"We cannot keep abusing and then Obliviating authority figures when they annoy us, Tom."
"Well, forgive me. That small detail must have been included in the orientation I never received."
He'd had it in his possession for a week. One week.
And despite having been extremely careful, scouting the best possible alternative location ahead of time, and waiting until three in the morning to do anything, he'd been caught.
There was nothing he could do. He was quite literally standing on the marble steps in front of the Great Hall, holding the Sword of Gryffindor and staring blankly up at Dumbledore like an idiot.
But which Dumbledore?
The man pointed at the Sword. "What are you doing with that, if I may ask?"
"I found it, sir. I believe a student may have stolen it out of the Headmaster's office and I was returning it."
Dumbledore observed him carefully for what felt like ages, until he finally said, "is there something you wish to tell me, Tom?"
"No, sir."
"Brilliant, because I don't care."
He walked away.
Impostor Dumbledore, then. "Wait!" Tom called before he had a chance to disappear again.
The man stopped and looked at him with that same odd, benign smile. "Yes?"
He pointed his wand in the impostor's face. He would not take any chances this time. "Who are you? And what have you done with the real Dumbledore?"
The man did not appear at all intimidated by the threat. "I am Dumbledore. Though I prefer 'Albus' and, occasionally, 'Brian.' You know, this you is a lot less interesting, I have to say."
"This me?"
"Less intelligent, too. Honestly, it wasn't like I was particularly careful about hiding myself."
"What?"
"'What' indeed."
"Enough nonsense. Answer my questions or I will-"
"You will what?"
There was a strange, unfamiliar tone to his voice, as if he knew exactly what Tom was capable of and was not even remotely intimidated by him. It was so very different from the real Dumbledore that it made Tom extremely uncomfortable. Despite this, he kept his wand steady and his face blank.
Dumbledore looked at him for a moment. "Ah, now I see why you are still alive," he said casually. "Interesting. She will not like this at all."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
In a single, swift movement, the impostor yanked the Sword out of Tom's hand like a child stealing a toy, and with a sudden, loud popping noise, he was gone.
Disapparated.
From within Hogwarts.
With the Sword of Gryffindor.