Chapter 1: Force Open Doors to Power

The black hawk swooped down low over the British countryside, keeping its incredible vision peeled for one tiny dot in the fields and plains below. A human would have had no hope of distinguishing the bird's ground target from any of the other seemingly identical homes that looked even more indistinguishable from thousands of feet in the air. But the hawk would recognize the sight of its master's humble abode anywhere.

Its beady eyes zooming in on the target once it was sighted, the hawk let out a truly blood-curdling screech and plummeted into a fast dive. Daredevil instinct blended with mastery of flight so that the bird did not pull up until the last possible moment, now easing into a glide path towards the cottage in the short distance.

The hawk perched gracefully on the sill of the cottage's open window, letting out a soft, twittering cackle. In response, the eighteen-year-old youth seated at the meager kitchen table lifted his head, tousling dark, luscious curls out of his chiseled and handsome face.

Young Tom Riddle rose from his seat with the practiced air of a lord or lady at the British court and crossed to the window almost regally. Master regarded pet with silent superiority, holding out his hand in silent prompt. If the hawk took any offense to being treated as a mere tool, a beast of burden, it did not let on, nor could have even if it did. Instead, the bird merely lifted its leg, holding out the envelope clutched in its one talon.

An envelope marked with the official seal of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Tom tried not to let his anxious excitement bleed out into his motions as he opened the envelope with careful, albeit shaking, restraint, in defiance of his urge to simply tear the thing open. Outside of yearly schoolbook letters throughout his undergraduate career, the last time he had received a letter with the school seal had been when he was 11 years old. His first Hogwarts letter informing him of his admittance and invitation to attend. Reading that offer letter had thrilled him, let him know he wasn't just some aberration or freak as he had been led to believe all his life. That there were, in fact, other people like him.

He dearly hoped that this letter would bear fruit of acceptance in much the same way, now that he was a fine man of 18, and a year removed from what he was already recalling fondly as the best years of his life. And his plans intended that his life would only continue to progress up from here. A posting to the Hogwarts Staff – potentially the youngest wizard ever to be offered such a prestigious appointment! – would be more than a fine place to start.

Tom pulled the sheet of parchment from the envelope with shaking hands and unfolded it, steely, sharp and charismatic eyes zooming in on the top line of the letter.

The first thing that jumped to his mind was that he didn't recognize the handwriting of the letter's author; he had assumed a job offer would be conveyed by way of Dumbledore as the informant. No matter. Respected Professor though the man was (perhaps not by Tom himself, but that was neither here nor there), these decisions would naturally be conveyed in writing by the Hogwarts Headmaster. That would still be Professor Armando Dippet.

Barely able to contain his excitement, Tom began to read. Within the first few lines, however, he felt as though he had plunged into a bath of ice:

July 31st, 1946

Dear Master Riddle:

Thank you very much for your demonstrated and earnest interest in the post of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While you are undoubtedly an extremely strong candidate, you are nonetheless one among many. Please be assured it is not your clear talents, nor even your ability to fulfill the post, that is in dispute here. Indeed, if I am to be quite candid, it is your young age that is of most concern to us, among other reservations.

Therefore, I and my colleagues on the Hogwarts staff have decided to move forward with another candidate. However, I would impress upon you not to be disheartened. I would indeed advise and even encourage you to apply again for any position here on staff within a few years' time, once you are older and have achieved gainful employment experience out in our fine world.

I truly wish you all the best in your future endeavors, as you continue to plot your course beyond the walls of our beloved Hogwarts.

Yours Most Sincerely,

Armando Dippet, Esquire

Order of Merlin, Second Class

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Some of the words in the letter now seemed to bunch up against each other from how tightly Tom was clenching the rejection letter in his fist. The doddering old coot had…. rejected him. Dared to reject him! Him?! This was…. this was an outrage!

Fuming, Riddle began to pace the length of this tiny little cottage. He sensed his faithful hawk watching him like…. well, a hawk from its statue-like perch on the windowsill, but no sound came from the bird, distressed or sympathetic or otherwise. He wanted to scream, to hex something, to vent at somebody…. but he couldn't very well do those things to his own pet. After all, there was a Muggle saying, silly as it was but still rang no the less true: don't shoot the messenger. The magical rewording of the phrase was really don't curse the messenger, but again, that was neither here nor there.

Lips pursed into a thin, bloodless line, Tom read the letter again, dissecting every single word for some deeper meaning. Denied a professorship simply because he was too young…. He was almost tempted to write an angry - he inhaled a deep breath - …. strongly-worded letter to Headmaster Dippet and point out that unfitness for office could just as reasonably extend in the other direction. A person could be too old to remain in the post, and if nothing else Dippet was that, at over 200 years of age: old. Tom's political opinions regarding term limits for Ministry officials were well known; he had recently submitted a fine opinion piece to the Daily Prophet arguing this very point. Such a reasonable policy should be extended to Hogwarts professors who had long overstayed their welcome, for professors should be treated no differently than career politicians.

He digressed. He re-read the letter yet a third time. For a rejection letter, this missive was anything but boilerplate; Dippet had clearly written him with much thought, if not exactly care.

"Please be assured it is not your clear talents, nor even your ability to fulfill the post, that is in dispute here. Indeed, if I am to be quite candid, it is your young age that is of most concern to us, among other reservations…."

For how forthright he claimed to be, Dippet did not bother to enumerate what those 'other reservations' to Tom's considered appointment had been, aside from a perceived lack of experience and maturity. Tom seethed. Dippet could reject his application on the grounds of youth and inexperience, but the phrase 'other reservations' was key – enough that it leapt off the page…. and he suspected it had Albus Dumbledore written all over it.

Tom had suspected – known – it from the Chamber of Secrets debacle during his fifth year: Dumbledore did not trust him. That meddlesome busybody must have gone to Dippet and warned the Headmaster of his fears, totally unfounded though they were. In Dumbledore's mind, he must have thought he, Tom, wanted to extoll the Dark Arts, not defend against them!

Though…. Tom had to hand it to the man: he was perceptive.

Angrily, Tom crumpled up the rejection letter from Dippet. Then, in a fit of pique, he ripped it into pieces for good measure, before throwing these shreds into the fire. Let them have their 'stronger candidate' or whatever tripe Dippet had said! He didn't need Hogwarts! (a tiny part of his heart tried to call out this lie, but he ignored it).

In any case, it didn't matter! He would show them! He would show them all in due course what he could be! What his talents could truly do! He was going to remake in his image a wizarding world badly in need of reform!

Stalking back over to the kitchen table, Tom began flipping through pages of the text he had been reading until he came across it: the image of a beautiful tiara, described herein as once belonging to the late, great and beautiful Rowena Ravenclaw, the Founder of Ravenclaw House at Hogwarts.

Now, it was clear: it was finally time to move forward with what he had up until now viewed as an alternative…. career plan. Dippet might encourage him to apply when he was older, but no matter how older Tom got, this new career path would ensure that, if not quite that he wouldn't age, that he would at least live forever!

Immortality was better than some silly professorship anyway.