Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting, everyone. I have been busy with volunteer work at a senior citizen center, and I have just lacked inspiration for this chapter for awhile. Anyway, hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter.
Cruel to be Kind
It was two days after Christmas, and I had invited fourteen-year-old Tom Riddle, who was practically the only Slytherin left at Hogwarts over break, to my office after supper for some butterbear. Although I had invited Tom to the Christmas party I had hosted before break, where he had thrust a box of crystallized pineapple upon me, I still felt as if I hadn't done enough to ensure that this charming young man wasn't lonely over the holidays.
"How has your vacation been so far, my boy?" I asked, as I settled myself comfortably in my chair and gestured for him to seat himself on one of the many chairs opposite my desk.
"It's been fine, thank you, sir," Tom replied, seating himself and accepting the bottle of butterbeer I offered him with a grateful nod. "Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are so much more spectacular here than they ever were at—at the place I grew up. In the place I grew up, there wasn't enough money to spare on special foods, presents, or decorations."
Sipping wildly at my butterbeer in the hope that it would warm my chest enough to keep at bay images of the cold place Tom must have been reared in, I remarked, "I pray you aren't lonely here."
"Oh, I could never be lonely at Hogwarts, Professor," Tom assured me, sounding scandalized as though the very notion were blasphemy.
"All your friends have gone home for break," I pointed out gently. "It would only be natural if you were lonesome."
"I'm not lonely," repeated Tom firmly, shaking his head. "I've always believed that a clever person will never be lonely, since he's got his thoughts to occupy him at all times. Besides, I could never be lonely here, not when it's filled with books for me to read and secrets for me to uncover. Hogwarts is the only home that I've ever known, as pathetic as that sounds, and I never want to leave it."
"Tom, Tom, you're being a bit hasty," I chided, waggling a finger at him.
"Hasty?" Tom frowned, as he swallowed his butterbeer, acting as though he had never heard the adjective before in his life. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you mean, sir."
"Then, as your professor and Head of House, I shall explain my meaning to you," I responded. "After the—the unpleasant childhood you were unfortunate enough to have, my boy, I understand how you would feel a sentimental attachment to this castle as the first place you were ever cared for as you should have been. However, I think that it would be wrong for you to remain here after you graduate. You are the top student in your year, and you have the sort of personality that draws people to you. You belong in the Ministry, not hiding away in a school. Remember, every bird has to fly from its nest eventually, and every boy must leave his home behind."
"With all due respect, Professor, I don't wish to go into government right now," answered Tom, his dark eyes glinting in a manner that I couldn't fathom at the time, but later thought was his promise that he would be going into government of his own sort later on. "I'd rather remain on here as a teacher."
"That would be a waste of your talents, Tom," I protested, distressed that my most talented pupil was refusing to travel the path that I had selected for him the first time I met him in Potions class. As far as I was concerned, Tom would be Minister of Magic even if I had to twist both his arms to convince him to do so. "You are not a Ravenclaw meant to languish in some ivory tower. In case you have forgotten, you are a Slytherin meant to achieve greatness. Passing along your knowledge to the next generation is very noble, but Slytherins are ambitious, not noble. A Slytherin never misses an opportunity to advance himself. A Slytherin with your brains and charisma belongs in the Ministry, where he can rise through the ranks quickly. Learning is all very well, but it is no good for you if you never employ it."
During the course of my speech, my voice had elevated, and, with a jolt, I recognized that I was really shouting at one of my favorite students ever. Guilt flared in me as it occurred to me that I was ripping into a boy who was scarred from his childhood in a filthy Muggle orphanage.
My feeling that I was a monster only increased when Tom, biting his lip, commented, "Sir, I don't want to be the center of attention. I'd prefer to remain here in the shadows where I'm comfortable if it's all the same to you."
"It's not all the same to me. You were born to be the center of attention, whether you like it or not," I educated him, shaking a finger again and squashing my remorse by reasoning that I was only being cruel to be kind. "No matter how much you might like to be part of the background, you were meant to take center stage. By all means, tell everyone that you hate the spotlight, but when they offer it to you, as they inevitably will since people love modesty, jump into it."
"Yes, sir." Tom nodded, absorbing my lesson like a cloth sopping up water as he always did. Nothing one ever said to him was lost or forgotten, even if, years later, you found yourself wishing that his memory was abysmal, just as you longed for your memory to be atrocious. Blinking rapidly, he added, "Professor, I didn't intend to upset you."
"Nor did I wish to upset you." Lapsing into my usual jovial, beaming self, I opened a box of crystallized pineapple, munched on a slice, and then waved it at him. "It's just my duty to protect you from yourself. It is my job to ensure that you do not make impulsive decisions now that you will regret twenty years from now. It is my responsibility to push you to be the best that you can be. Believe it or not, all I want is what's best for you."
Even as I said those words, I knew that they were false. Despite the fact that I harbored a genuine affection for the young man, my primary concern wasn't him—it was me. The truth was that I wished to be well-connected to a powerful Ministry official like Tom should become, and I did not care if I was dragging the boy into a spotlight he didn't want to be in. In short, even though I suspected that Tom ultimately would find fulfillment in the Ministry, it was my best interests that I was looking after, not his.
"Oh, I know, Professor," declared Tom swiftly. "I just wanted to be a teacher like you, and influence tomorrow's children. I didn't plan on making you cross with me."
"I'm flattered that you want to be like me, and I could never really be cross with you, my boy. You know that." I glowed, even though a part of me knew that Tom deserved a less selfish role model and an advisor that was completely concerned with his welfare.
"Of course I want to be like you, sir," stated Tom, finishing his butterbeer. "You are the only father I have ever really known at all."
"I'm not sure I deserve such an honor," I stuttered. Oh, and, at the time, I thought it was an honor. At the time, I was delighted that such a clever and polite boy perceived me as a father. At the time, it flattered me that he wanted to be a teacher just like me. Only years later would I realize how much of a curse his words were. Only years later would I see his remark as an accusation, telling me that he had picked up his cunning, ruthlessness, and selfishness at least in part from me. Only years later would it occur to me that Tom had probably only ever wanted to be a professor in order to force impressionable young minds to join his Death Eaters, and that I had been the one to give him this idea. Only years later would I recognize that perhaps the implication that I was the true father of Lord Voldemort was meant to be Tom's punishment to me for not being as concerned with him as I should have been.
"You do," Tom established, flashing his brilliant grin as he stood. "It was I, Professor, who did not deserve any of the attention that you have showered upon me all these years."
Before I could reply, he continued, consulting the grandfather clock behind him, "It's almost curfew. I ought to return to my dormitory. Thank you for the talk and the butterbeer. I will be certain to reflect on everything you said to me."
"Good night, Tom." For a second, I felt the compulsion to hug this lad to compensate for the fact that I could never be a good father to him, but, in the end, I stayed in my chair. As far as Heads of Houses went, I was affectionate, but that was too far even for me. After all, Tom Riddle was not my son, and he never would be. Awkwardly, I told him, "Keep in mind that like any father, I want you to become yourself, not to become me."
"Yes, Professor." Nodding dutifully, Tom left, closing the door behind him.
Oh, if only I had known as he shut the door in his wake that his idea of being himself would entail becoming the most evil wizard the world had ever seen. If I had, my advice would have been so different.