Chapter 3

It was well past curfew on a crisp November night, and I was returning from a meeting with Professor Dippet in his study when I heard shouting coming from inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Wondering what nonsense students were getting up to in the evening now and noting inwardly that the prefects really needed to do a better job patrolling, I flung open the door to the classroom.

I expected to see any number of miscreants up to any number of illicit activities. However, I didn't anticipate seeing Tom Riddle, his handsome face so pale that it looked almost bleached and his dark eyes moister than I had ever witnessed them, waving his wand in a frantic manner that lacked his customary grace at a boggart that had taken the shape of Tom's corpse. As he flourished his wand about wildly, Tom screamed, "Riddikulous!"

Responding reflexively to seeing a pupil, particularly this one, in such distress, I lurched forward. Instantly, the boggart transformed into my worst fear—myself, alone, friendless, and penniless. "Riddikulous," I said firmly, and the boggart turned into a fat circus clown before disappearing entirely.

"Sir, you didn't have to do that," remarked Tom stiffly once the boggart had vanished.

"Don't be foolish, my boy," I responded, tucking my wand back in my pocket. There were times when I wished that Tom was more willing to accept help, and this was one of them. "You may be out after curfew, but that doesn't mean I should leave you to fight off a boggart by yourself. I would be remiss in my duties as a teacher if I permitted that."

"I was fine, Professor, I assure you," insisted Tom.

"You shouldn't go around telling lies to your instructors, Tom, especially not lies as blatant as that one," I admonished, waggling my finger at him, as I often did when I wanted to convey to my students that I was serious, but still understood their adolescent mischief. "I have seen white sheets with more color than you had in your face a moment ago. If fine were a synonym for looking as if you are seconds away from fainting, then, yes you would have been fine. Since fine isn't a synonym for that, though, you most definitely weren't fine, young man, and it really would be best if you stop claiming that you were."

"Perhaps I wasn't fine, sir," Tom conceded after a few seconds' hesitation, " but that was the whole point. I need to learn how to fend off the boggart for myself."

"You mean to tell me that you came up here in the middle of the night to learn how to defend yourself against a boggart?" I demanded, wondering how the smartest pupil in the year and the brightest boy I had ever encountered could be so thick in this matter.

"Yes, sir." Tom nodded calmly, as though he still didn't appreciate the folly of his actions. "I had difficulty mastering the spell in class yesterday, and I don't tolerate failure. I need to master the spell immediately."

Realizing that Tom must have been troubled by finally hitting a spell that he could not perform correctly at once, I commented gently, "You know that at least half the third years aren't able to successfully banish a boggart during their first lesson. Having trouble is perfectly normal, and is nothing to worry about."

"Professor, I can't be in the bottom half of the class." Tom shook his head, and for a minute, I thought I saw fear of being ordinary flicker across his expression before his face smoothed out again. For possibly the hundredth time, I cursed the orphanage Tom had been reared in for instilling in him this terrible fear of being a failure even when he was the best in his year, and this awful conviction that being ordinary was nothing more than being inadequate. Ambition was all very well, but a person who had to derive all their satisfaction from achievements could never be happy for fear of losing their achievements, and it seemed unfair that a lad as clever and charming as Tom Riddle should be held hostage to the ambition and fear of failure that the orphanage had created in him.

"You aren't in the bottom half of your class. How you perform on one spell doesn't matter that much," I informed him, walking toward the door and gesturing for him to accompany me. "Now, let's get you back to your dormitory. You need to be well-rested for tomorrow's lessons."

"Yes, sir." Obediently, Tom followed me out into the corridor and toward the stairs that would lead down toward the dungeons. As we went along, he pressed, "How did you banish the boggart, Professor?"

"I just said the incantation that you already know and turned the sight of my worst fear into something amusing," I answered.

"How does one go about making death funny?" asked Tom gloomily, as we made our way down the staircase.

"I can't tell you that." Filled with pity for this teenager who had to be so terrified of death thanks to his mother's death when his peers could sail through their school years with the conviction that they were immortal and that death happened to other people, I rested a hand on his shoulder. "That's an answer that you must find for yourself in the fullness of time. For now, don't be ashamed. Fear of death is something much harder to conquer than fear of termites and other things so common with young witches and wizards."

"It is indeed, sir," Tom agreed, and he was silent until we reached the dungeon corridor that contained the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

Then, he burst into hysterical laughter. "I've found a way to make death amusing," he explained through gales of mirth, spotting my bewildered face. "You see, Professor, the very idea that death would happen to me…the very idea that I would be weak enough to allow it to destroy me…That amuses me greatly."

"Well, don't wake your fellow Slytherins with your laughter, Tom," I ordered, hoping to soothe this poor, brilliant student who had been so traumatized by the sight of his own corpse. "Also, don't let me catch you out after hours again, or I'll put you in detention."

"I won't go wondering about the school at night any more, I promise, Professor," Tom reassured me earnestly, halting outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room. "Thank you for your help in dealing with the boggart, and for teaching me how to defeat them."

"I already told you that helping get rid of the boggart was nothing, and I'm sure I told you nothing about vanquishing boggarts that Professor Merrythought didn't," I replied. Thinking that he might still be troubled from his encounter with the boggart, I added, "Perhaps I should take you to my office for a Cheering Draft before you go to sleep."

"You are too kind, sir," smiled Tom, and I was convinced by the sight of his sparkling teeth that he really was perfectly composed now. "That won't be necessary, though. I'm really fine now."

"Good." I clapped him on the shoulder again as he disappeared into the common room. "Make sure that you stay that way now, my boy."