Chapter 2

The next important moment I remember with Tom was on the day after Easter during his second year. I was busy munching on the sweets that various former students had sent me for Easter when a knock sounded on my office door. "Come in," I called, as I unwrapped some crystallized pineapple, and, glancing up, I saw Tom Riddle enter.

"Shouldn't you be studying, my boy?" I asked, waggling a finger at him with mock severity while he settled himself upon the hardest seat of the cluster of chairs that I had around my desk. He always placed himself in that chair, I had noticed, as though he did not want anyone to think he was soft. "Term starts again tomorrow, you know."

"I know." Tom nodded. "Don't worry about me, Professor--I finished my homework before Easter."

"Of course you did," I chuckled. "I shouldn't have expected anything less from a responsible young wizard such as yourself."

Grinning at the praise, Tom ducked his head modestly. Then, he reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a box of chocolates. As he shot them across the desk at me, he said, "Speaking of Easter, sir, these are for you."

"Thank you, Tom," I answered, opening the box and popping a chocolate into my mouth. The instant I did so, my tastebuds exploded with the sweetness of caramel tucked into creamy milk chocolate. Death by chocolate was right--one bite alone was probably enough to clog the arteries. "These are excellent--truly delicious."

"Glad you like them." Tom smiled.

"But," I went on, remembering this brilliant pupil's unfortunate financial background, "this candy must have been expensive. Are you sure that you shouldn't spend your money on other things?"

"No, I'm quite certain that I want you to have that as an Easter present and as a demonstration of my gratitude for inviting me to your Easter party yesterday," replied Tom. As I waved off his thanks, he added, "Besides, I was able to convince Avery to give me them at a very good price. Many of the children from wealthy pureblood families are easy to out bargain because they do not understand money very well, nor do they fully comprehend the value of things."

"Tom, Tom, you know it's not nice to take advantage of those less clever than yourself," I admonished, although I was beaming at the cunning of the lad who was rapidly becoming Slytherin's star. Oh, yes, with a mind molded like his, Tom would be a great success in politics or business. After all, it was an accurate assessment that criminal behavior was really only a logical extension of the sort of actions that are often considered not only appropriate but desirable in government and commerce.

"True, Professor." Tom didn't look remotely abashed by my token scolding, because he knew as well as I did that I was pleased, not disappointed or angry. He knew as well as I did that I could never be stern with him. At the time, even though I was his Head of House, that didn't strike me as a problem, because a boy as respectful and reliable as he was did not seem like the kind of child who would require discipline, and, after hearing the horror stories of what life was like at Muggle orphanages from the Muggle Studies Professor, the last thing I thought Tom would need after growing up in one was a strong hand to keep him in line. If anything, I thought he needed my indulgence. Of course, now, I know better. Now, I know that Tom required someone to give him a proper reprimand when he showed his more misanthropic tendencies, but don't judge me too hard for not being able to be as severe as I should have been with him. After all, none of the other members of the staff except Dumbledore ever really reproved Tom, and Dumbledore alone appeared to detect the hints of darkness in Tom. You can blame me for not noticing the darkness in Tom and stamping it out with sternness, but you can blame Dumbledore for seeing it and doing nothing but waiting for Tom to make his next mistake and then judging him for it, instead of persuading Tom not engage in such behavior. "I suppose that fools can't help being fools any more than monsters can help being monsters."

Before I could respond, he muttered, "I also suppose it was rather unrefined of me to mention my bargain at all. Well, I guess you can polish pewter all you want, but you will never end up with gold."

"You are many things, my boy, but common pewter is not among them," I told him. "Really, you are much closer to gold. Don't think that you are common just because you were reared in a Muggle orphanage. Ancestry isn't everything, after all."

"No, I suppose it isn't, Professor." Tom offered a noncommittal shrug."Besides, I think I'm a halfblood, not a Muggleborn."

"Indeed?" I arched my eyebrow at him, encouraging him to continue. It was probably comforting for an orphan to talk about his parentage, and, besides, it was highly possible, given his abilities, that he was correct. While I didn't consider myself a pureblood supremacist, I also was of the opinion that magical talent, like intelligence and insanity, ran in certain families.

"I think that my father might have been a wizard." His eyes faraway as though he were lost in thought, Tom tapped his long fingers against the arms of his chair. "His name was Tom Riddle, too, but I haven't found a reference to him yet in any of the Wizarding genealogies in the library. Still, I'm only halfway done, so the name probably just hasn't cropped up yet..."

"Doubtlessly, that's the case," I said gently. Privately, I doubted that was the case. Riddle wasn't a Wizarding name, and I had neither taught nor studied with any Riddle in my years at the school, and, given Tom's age, his father would have had to either been my schoolmate or my student. As delicately as I could, aware that family was probably a sensitive topic for an orphan and that it was an honor for Tom to even discuss his parentage with me, I inquired, "May I ask who told you that your father was a wizard?"

"Nobody, sir, and since he abandoned my mother before I was born, it's hard to find out," admitted Tom, chewing on his lower lip. "It's just a hypothesis of mine. When Professor Dumbledore first explained to me that I was a wizard, I figured that I had to get my magic from somebody, and, not knowing at the time that magic can be passed through generations of Muggles without showing itself until one person demonstrates the talent, I assumed that my gift had to come from one of my parents. Then, when I was Sorted into Slytherin, I figured that I must be right, since there are plenty of purebloods in Slytherin and a handful of halfbloods, but no Muggleborns."

"Hmm. Your hunches tend to be accurate, Tom, but even the most rational person can make mistakes when emotions are involved." I gnawed meditatively on a piece of crystallized pineapple. "Have you considered the possibility that your mother might have been a witch?"

"No, sir." Tom shook his head, heat rising in his face and making his pale cheeks resemble autumn apples. "She--she died giving birth to me, you see, and I thought she must have been too weak to be a witch. Surely, her magic would have been able to save her if she was a witch."

"Perhaps," I allowed, "but pregnancy is a grueling ordeal for women, and your mother might have been so weakened from carrying you for nine months that she didn't have enough energy to use her magic to save herself when she was giving birth to you. Maybe it required all of her strength to stay alive long enough to deliver you, something that we are all grateful to her for doing."

"Maybe," agreed Tom. However, his tone was hollow, as if he didn't really set much in store by that theory.

"For all you know, my boy, she might have given her last breath giving you the greatest present of all--life," I went on, waggling my slice of pineapple at him to emphasize my point. "Don't scorn her for that."

"Oh, I don't scorn her," Tom said too quickly, his eyes on the ground, and I knew that he was lying. "It's just hard not to resent someone for dying and leaving you alone in an orphanage where you are doomed to be the freakish pariah of all pariahs, sir."

"Tom, you were only an outcast among the Muggles because they feared your magic, you know that." I sighed, thinking that I was not really qualified to help this charming young man deal with the shadows that the orphanage had obviously left upon his heart.

"I know that, yes, Professor." Now, there was no trace of a lie in his voice, and I relaxed.

"Good, and you shouldn't neglect your mother's side of the family," I added. "It's entirely possible that if you hunted around in the library, you might learn something about her lineage."

"I suppose that's possible." Tom's fingers drummed swiftly upon the arms of his chair, as though they were valiantly struggling to keep up with the acrobatic flips of his agile mind. "I do know that her father's name was Marvolo--my middle name. If my search for my father turns up empty, I'll be sure to investigate her heritage properly..."

He trailed off for a moment, and then remarked, changing the subject briskly, "Anyway, I'm sorry, Professor, because I didn't come here to bore you with my sordid family affairs. I came here to give you the chocolates and to seek your advice on something if I might."

"Of course you might," I reassured him, popping another one of the chocolate caramel candies he had given me into my mouth and discovering that its flavor rather clashed with the pineapple I had recently swallowed. "What would you like help with?"

"As you are doubtlessly aware, second years are supposed to sign up for third year classes over break."

"Yes, I do know that, since I have been teaching at this school since before you were born," I commented, beaming. "Oho, so you've come to ask me what classes you should take in the future, and you wanted to sweeten me up with some chocolate beforehand. "

"Sir, the chocolates are nothing more than an Easter gift and a thank you for inviting me to yesterday's get-to-together," he insisted, returning my smile.

"Well, it matters not what they are. After all, it is my job as the Head of Slytherin to advise all the students in my House on their classes and future careers, and so giving me presents isn't necessary," I said, although I think we both knew that it was a lie. The truth was that while it was my duty to provide all the Slytherins with the appropriate level of guidance throughout their years here, I tended to only focus my attention on those pupils I deemed worthy of my attention. Still, the fact remained that I would have given Tom the advice he required without a gift. After all, not only was I fond of the boy, but I sensed that he would get ahead in the world, and pay me back tenfold at least.

Tom was smart enough to recognize that I would have helped him without the present, I suspect, and so I think that the box of chocolates that he gave me was a purer gift than many would like to believe. Many people might like to see it as nothing more than a calculated bribe, but it can't have been if Tom was clever enough to determine that a bribe wasn't necessary, and even those who think the worst of him could never call him a fool. No, I think that the gift he offered me that day was a genuine display of affection for his favorite professor.

Whatever anyone says on the contrary, I am convinced that then he was doing something that wasn't meant to enhance his power. Later, he would be different--consumed entirely by his thirst for power. Later, he would think power would make him whole, but it never would. No matter what magic he worked on himself or others, Tom Riddle would never overcome his past. Even when all of Britain refused to whisper the new, dreadful name he had forged for himself, he would still be a lonely, misunderstood orphan boy whose mother had died giving birth to him and whose father had abandoned him before he left the womb.

Looking at him in this light, it is hard to blame him for the atrocities he committed in later years when he renounced his old identity, and it is hard not to feel sorry for him, especially when I realize that for all the love all of us professors claimed to have harbored for him, none of us worked the true transformation of making his broken heart whole again.. Maybe on that day when he gave me those chocolates he was hoping that I would pour more than advice into him. Perhaps he was hoping that I would somehow be able to make him whole. Maybe, when I didn't, he had given up on me, and, instead, devoted himself to building his magic and ultimately eradicating love wherever he could, because, after all, why should less clever people be permitted to enjoy what he wasn't?

I don't know, and I shall never know. That is my curse, since I shall never be able to speak to Tom again, and so I can only reflect on how that day in my study, I went on merrily, "Well, my boy, you've certainly come to the right place for advice. Tell me, what classes are you thinking of enrolling in?"

"I would like to enroll in them all, Professor," he informed me with that hunger for knowledge that often flooded his tone. "I should like to learn everything I can about every branch of magic. I should like to try to earn twelve O.W.L's, and twelve N.E.W.T's , too, if I can make it."

"It's been done before, and I don't think that should be impossible for you."

"You don't think that the work load would be too much for me to cope with, then, sir?" A weight seemed to fall off Tom's shoulders as he posed this question.

"Of course not." I shook my head at the absurdity of this question. "You finish your work at least three times faster than your peers. You'd probably have too much time on your hands if you didn't take all the classes that you could."

"You are very kind, Professor." Tom blushed and ducked his head humbly. Then, looking up again, he observed, "Forgive me if I sound obtuse, but there isn't enough time in a day to attend all those classes, so some sort of time traveling device like a Time Turner would be a necessity unless I am very much mistaken."

"Oho, you are even cleverer than I thought, Tom." I laughed uproariously, delighted at how quickly his mind worked. "Yes, a Time Turner would have to be lent to you by the Ministry of Magic for the sole purpose of attending your lessons if you enrolled in all the available classes, but Professor Dippet and I would take care of procuring it for you, so you needn't worry about that."

"Then, I think I will sign up for all the classes." Tom gave a decisive nod. "Thanks for your help, Professor."

"It was nothing." I waved a hand to show this and munched on another slice of pineapple. Thinking of the earlier part of our conversation, I added, "Tom,going back and trying to change a major event like a death would be very dangerous."

"I know, sir, and it would be pointless, too, since no magic can return the dead to life," Tom said flatly, rising and walking toward the door. As he reached the threshold, he spun around. "Good day, Professor."

"Good day, Tom," I responded, watching the door shut behind him, and not thinking to question how a second-year knew so much about the magic surrounding death.

Doubtlessly, you will read into this a sinister interest in death, and this scene certainly foreshadowed that, but at the time, if I had thought about it at all, I would have just believed it revealed his desire to better understand his mother's end, which would have been common and understandable in any orphan.

No, I think that if there were any real signs of the monster that Tom Riddle would one day allow himself to become, they were his independence and his refusal to sympathize with anyone weaker than himself, since if he had to survive by his wits and his will when he was no more than a child, why should others get special treatment just because they lacked his strength?

I also think that if I had any flaw then it was in allowing Tom to go away still believing that, but how could I have corrected him when I myself was guilty of favoring the strong students and ignoring the struggling ones?