Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to JK Rowling's characters. Any characters that are not from the world of Harry Potter are of my sole creation and I own the rights to them. This is a slightly AU story.

Author's Note - Contains dialogue from HBP – but the scene is rewritten to go with this story.

Special Thanks – DamonSalvatoreLover and J-Star Black

Chapter 13

Tom Riddle sat outside an office in Hogwarts. A brown briefcase clutched in his hands; he waited nervously tapping his long fingers upon it.

The door opened and Albus Dumbledore walked out of the office. He clearly expected to see Tom here. It would appear that an appointment had been made. Dumbledore opened the door further, and tilted his head towards the room as if to tell his former pupil to come in.

Tom obliged and shut the door behind them. Dumbledore sat down, "Good evening, Tom. Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," Tom sat down opposite Dumbledore. "I heard that you," he continued coldly, "had become headmaster. A worthy choice."

"I am glad you approve. May I offer you a drink?"

"That would be welcome. I have come a long way."

"So Tom," Dumbledore poured his guest a glass of wine, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Tom took the glass and sipped his wine in silence. Surely, Dumbledore knew that he was no longer Tom Riddle. He hated that name now more than ever. "They do not call me 'Tom' anymore. These days, I am known as-"

Dumbledore cut him off with a smile, "I know what you are known as. But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."

Silence. Voldemort remained expressionless as he sipped his wine. Dumbledore's refusal to use his new name had hindered his plans to some degree but being a creature of changefulness, he continued to converse with the old headmaster, adapting to the situation. "I am surprised you have remained here for so long. I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."

Ha, Voldemort thought to himself, maybe now I can turn the tables and control the conditions of this appointment.

With a smile, Dumbledore said, "Well, to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."

And here we come to the heart of the matter, Voldemort thought to himself.

"I see it still. I merely wondered why you – who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of minister-"

Dumbledore cheerfully stated, "Three times at the last count, actually. But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."

Voldemort paused to sip his wine. For once, he was at a loss for words. He did not want to seem desperate but he did not want to let this moment pass him by either. He made himself busy by occupying himself with his glass of wine. He felt the only approach was to be honest.

He set his goblet upon the desk, "I have returned, later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected … but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students' things they can gain from no other wizard."

Dumbledore eyed Voldemort with a level look, "Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us. Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."

Expressionlessly, Voldemort said, "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."

"You call it 'greatness,' what have you been doing, do you?"

It seemed for a moment that Voldemort's eyes had flashed red. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed-"

"Of some kinds of magic. Of some. Of others, you remain … forgive me … woefully ignorant."

Voldemort smiled. However, this smile was not what Dumbledore remembered. This reptilian leer was sinister in all senses of malevolence. It was intimidating but Dumbledore did not show apprehension of any kind. Either Dumbledore was an old fool or he was simply not afraid of him.

"The old argument. But nothing I have seen in the world," Voldemort delicately stated, "has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than any kind of magic, Dumbledore."

If the old fool's assertion had been correct then Voldemort's own mother would not have taken her life. His mother would never have had to use a love potion on his father. According to Dumbledore's theory, a perfect world existed where Voldemort's father would not have run away or maybe he would not have required the potion. In an ideal world, Tom Riddle would never have been sent to the orphanage. But, alas, this ideal world did not exist and he did not want Dumbledore to give him the same decree about love again. He did not want to hear it.

"Perhaps, you have been looking in the wrong places."

Voldemort thought of Lara for a brief moment. He felt inside his robe pocket; the locket with her picture was still there along with his wand. The locket had started it all. He had asked for the locket in exchange for being her date at the ball. He had wanted to sell it, but instead he held onto it as though it were a memory. He had not had the nerve to open it to see her picture. She was gone now. She had left him. He pushed those thoughts aside, for, they were not beneficial to this meeting.

"Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts? Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."

"And what," Dumbledore asked, "will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves – or so the rumor has it – the Death Eaters?"

Voldemort paused, trying to regain his composure. "My friends will carry on without me, I am sure."

Dumbledore cast a wary eye at Voldemort, "I am glad to hear that you consider them friends. I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."

Voldemort's face grew stony, "You are mistaken."

"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them – Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov – awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."

Voldemort smiled his reptilian grin again. "You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore flightily said, "Oh no, merely friendly with the local barmen." Dumbledore changed his tone, "Now, Tom, let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"

Voldemort looked taken aback. "A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."

"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach anymore than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"

Voldemort looked affronted as though someone had slapped him in the face. He said scornfully, "If you do not want to give me a job-"

"Of course I don't and I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."

He rose from his seat. Rage enveloped his being until he no longer resembled Tom Riddle, "This is your final word?"

Dumbledore stood up, "It is."

Voldemort squared his jaw and said in clipped words, "Then we have nothing more to say to each other."

Dumbledore looked sad, "No nothing. The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom. … I wish I could. …"

Voldemort's hand reached into his robe pocket. His hand clasped around the locket. He may have not had much anymore but he still had this. He still had a piece of her. He turned away and closed the door behind him.

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