Chapter Five
I spent most of Tom's fifth year at Hogwarts in a state of disbelief. At the beginning of the term, I had been unable to accept that there was a monster roaming around the school, attacking Muggleborns. Then, as the year progressed, and several pupils―thankfully, none of my favorites―were Petrified, I had slowly absorbed the disquieting truth that there was indeed a beast creeping along the corridors, assailing unwary Muggleborns. The worst shock, though, had come when that girl―Myrtle or was it Marybeth?-had been killed in a bathroom.
In a year of such unpleasant surprises, I think you will agree that it was perfectly natural for a delicate man who consumed as many crystallized pineapples as I did to nearly have a stoke when I was summoned to the headmaster's office late at night on the thirteenth of June, especially since even those who aren't inclined to superstition know that the thirteenth is an inauspicious day.
As I hastened to Professor Dippet's study, I was sure that something dreadful had transpired. To be honest, I feared that another Muggleborn might well have perished, and the thought made the blood pound through my veins.
Professor Dippet had mentioned the giant boy Hagrid as well as Tom Riddle in his message. Good Lord, did that mean that Tom and the giant boy were dead?
It was entirely possible that they could be. After all, Tom might have been convinced that he was a half-blood, but, chances were, he was really nothing more than a Muggleborn orphan in an identity crisis. As for Hagrid, he was a half-giant, and any pureblood supremacist would sooner kill him than dine with him…
Please, God, I implored, finding myself in an oddly pious mood as I did every decade or so, don't take my Tom yet. I know he's clever and charming, so, of course, you want him by your side to amuse you, but you've all your angels to keep you company. Let me keep Tom a little longer. He's special, and he means so much to me.
Realizing how selfish that prayer sounded, I added fervently, Let the world keep Tom a while longer. The world needs a leader like he will become. If you permit him to live, you won't regret it for a second, Lord.
Tom is not dead, I snapped at myself once I finished my fervid beseeching of God. He is a powerful wizard. Any monster that attacked him would even live to rue doing so.
My inner turmoil was alleviated somewhat when Albus Dumbledore and I met up in the hallway leading to the headmaster's office. As Albus fell into step beside me, I demanded anxiously, "Do you know why we've been summoned?"
"Only that we've been summoned about a matter relating to the attacks on Muggleborns and that Riddle and Hagrid are involved somehow," answered Dumbledore, who must have received the same message I had.
"I hope that they haven't been killed," I whispered, wiping sweat from my brow.
"Oh, you needn't worry about Tom." There was a hard edge to my colleague's voice, as though he knew and resented that my concern was all for the bright, polite Tom Riddle and not for the bumbling idiot Hagrid. Albus never approved of my tendency to surround myself with my favorite students, although he in his way was as guilty of indulging certain pupils at the expense of others. "Tom is a survivor. He will go on living no matter how much it costs himself and others."
"Creativity and determination are virtues encouraged in Slytherin," I replied shortly, as Dumbledore and I entered Dippet's study.
When we stepped inside, I saw that the Ravenclaw Head of House―Professor Ferris who taught Arithmancy―and the Hufflpuff Head of House―Professor Randall who taught Charms―were already assembled behind Professor Dippet.
On the other side of the headmaster's desk, standing next to each other, were Tom and Hagrid. Looking at them, I noted inwardly that the two teenagers could not have appeared more different if they tried. Tom's back was straight; Hagrid's was hunched over as if he were vainly attempting to conceal the unnatural height he had inherited from his giant ancestors. Tom's hair was neat and his robes well-ordered, whereas Hagird's hair was tangled as though he had brushed it with brambles and his robes looked like they had never been washed. Tom emanated confidence, while Hagrid seemed to be wishing that he could melt into the floor.
Seeing that Tom was alive and unharmed, I felt the overwhelming surge of a father's desire to wrap my arms around him, so that I could have physical confirmation that he was intact, and give him a good-natured scolding for worrying me. The impulse died in me, however, as I took in the serious faces of the other staff members, and decided that the circumstances were too somber to indulge in such displays.
"Now that all of the Heads of House are present," Dippet remarked grimly, "we may start discussing the issue at hand, which, I am afraid, isn't a pleasant one."
"Few exchanges this year have been pleasant," pointed out Professor Ferris darkly. "Furthermore, few conversations that require people to leave their beds in the middle of the night are happy ones, although they are often necessary ones."
"This one is necessary." Dippet hesitated and then dropped a bombshell that wouldn't have been out of place in the war the Muggles were currently waging with each other. "This evening, Tom Riddle caught Hagrid in an empty dungeon with an acromantula―"
"What was Tom Riddle doing out of his common room after hours when I had already ordered him to return to his dormitory at once when he was heading back from his meeting with the headmaster?" Dumbledore wanted to know, riveting his piercing blue eyes on Tom.
"I heard an odd noise coming from one of the hallways as I made my way back to the common room, sir," responded Tom softly but distinctly, folding his hands behind his back as students were supposed to do when questioned. "Given that I am a prefect and given all the horrible events that have gone on this year, I figured it was best to investigate at once, especially since it was after hours and no students should have been out of bed at all. I didn't want to involve any professors right away, because I had no evidence that any severe infraction had taken place."
"Tom is a prefect," I contributed stiffly. "Albus, you know that prefects are expected to temper obedience with their own judgment. Hagrid, however, is not a prefect, nor was he meeting with the headmaster this evening. I think the question that is more to the point is what Hagrid was up to in a deserted dungeon after hours."
"I was lettin' Aragog out of his cage where he wouldn't hurt no one," grunted Hagrid, and I couldn't help but negatively compare his rough answer to Tom's smooth one. "Aragog is a big critter, and he gets cramped up in his cage."
"The acromantula gets cramped up in its cage," muttered Professor Randall, looking faint, "so it was released in a castle full of children."
"I don't believe that Hagrid meant the monster to kill anyone," Tom announced, his brown eyes earnest. "I just think that Hagrid doesn't always understand that what he thinks will make a great pet will actually turn out to be a lethal monster. I believe that he just couldn't control the acromantula, and then, well, a girl ended up dead, and several students were Petrified. It's a tragic accident, Professors, but hardly a malicious crime."
"You are kind to be so merciful, Tom, but releasing a monster in the school is a serious offense, especially if it results in the death of a student," sighed Dippet, and I couldn't help but agree with him, rather than Tom, in this instance. Hagrid, no doubt, hadn't intended to do anything evil, but motivations hardly mattered to the dead.
"Aragog isn't a monster," Hagird protested loudly, as though this were a perfectly rational contention to make, instead of one that proved how deranged he was.
"Aragog is an acromantula," snorted Professor Ferris. "Acromantulas by definition are beasts."
Hagrid opened his mouth to retort, but fell silent when Dumbledore spoke.
"Headmaster." Professor Dumbledore's knuckles were pale as he clenched Hagrid's shoulders reassuringly. Seeing the physical support Dumbledore was providing his student, I longed to rest my palms on Tom's shoulders, but, recalling that Tom was several inches taller than me, I decided that my holding onto him would make us both look ludicrous. Besides, Tom didn't need my support. Inarticulate Hagrid might have needed Dumbledore's, although why anyone would want to support the half-giant who had released a monster in the school was beyond me, but Tom didn't require mine. "We have no evidence linking the acromantula to any of the Petrified students or to Myrtle's death."
"With all due respect, Professor, I don't think that this castle can accommodate more than one monster," Tom cut in, and Randall, Ferris, and I all nodded in agreement.
"Obviously, you do not." Dumbledore eyed Tom as though he were the monster or the student accused of releasing the beast. "However, this school is large, and there are many places where a monster can hide, Tom. I would not be surprised if there was another beast making its home here, and I do not believe that the acromantula was responsible for the Petrified pupils or Myrtle's death."
Ignoring the fact that everyone in the office was gawking at him as though he had discovered another use for dragon blood, he looked down at Tom, and commented, "Mr. Riddle, I believe you are currently enrolled in Care of Magical Creatures."
"Yes, sir." Riddle sounded nonplussed.
"Tell me. Do acromantulas generally Petrify their victims?" Dumbledore arched his eyebrows, and I frowned when I realized where he was headed with this.
"I am not an expert on acromantula behavior, sir." Tom bit his lip in a fashion that suggested he had also spotted where Dumbledore was going. "However, from what I've read and from what Professor Kettleburn has taught me, no, acromantulas generally do not Petrify their victims. Still, acromantula venom is intended to incapacitate beings so the acromantuala can devour its prey, and some of the poison's effects are remarkably similar to Petrification. Our school nurse is nothing less than competent, of course, but mistake diagnoses do occur even with the best healers…"
"Very clever, Tom." Dumbledore's tone was cold. "What's your explanation for the fact that Myrtle wasn't devoured immediately by the acromantula? Acromantulas aren't known for their eagerness to delay meals."
"Species evolve, sir," Tom countered, his jaw tightening.
"Species evolve," repeated Dumbledore slowly, and I detected a hint of mockery that made me want to defend Tom, even though I was well aware that he possessed enough wit to protect himself, and that, in many ways, this was a private confrontation between Tom and Dumbledore. This was a challenge between two of the most brilliant and most potent wizards that ever existed, and, though there was tension between the pair of them ever since Tom first started at Hogwarts, I think that they both enjoyed their verbal sparring matches more than either of them would ever admit. In hindsight, I believe that both of them relished arguing with someone who had a mind as keen as theirs. To be honest, it must have been difficult for them both to be forever encircled by brains that were inferior to their own. "It's so convenient for us that our acromantula is at the spearhead of the evolutionary charge forward."
"Maybe I was wrong." Tom's eyes narrowed, and my spine stiffened. Tom was a respectful boy, but he wasn't a weak one, either. He didn't roll over and play dead when he believed he was insulted. More than that, he had a sharp mind that could manifest itself in a sharp tongue. Normally, his caustic comments were reserved for his less intelligent peers. On the rare occasions that they were deployed against members of the staff, they appeared with a gleaming grin and sparkling eyes that rendered it impossible to be miffed. Now, though, there was no trace of a grin on his suddenly taut features, and I knew that Tom was infuriated at Dumbledore's mockery. Tom was brilliant, and he couldn't tolerate being told he wasn't. "Perhaps I should have just allowed a fellow student to keep an acromantula as a pet."
"Tom," I chided before Dumbledore could speak. After all, Tom was in my House, and it was my obligation to discipline him. Although I could sympathize with his anger at Dumbledore, he couldn't be permitted to display such impudence before the headmaster and my fellow Heads of House, especially since Professor Ferris and Professor Randall already accused me of being lax with my charges because I never used a cane on members of my House. Of course, I doubted either of them would have laid so much as a finger on Tom if he had been Sorted into their House when they were as enamored of him as I was. "Don't be insolent. There is a fine line between confidence and insubordination. Make sure you stay on the right side of it, my boy."
Unfortunately, Tom ignored my reprimand. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice that there was anyone in the room except Dumbledore, whom he continued to glare at as he finished, "Maybe I misread the rulebook, and there is no line about having a dangerous pet like an acromantula being grounds alone for expulsion."
Watching Tom completely brush off my admonishment without even a glance in my direction, I realized with a start that I couldn't control the boy. Tom was smart and powerful, and, when it came down to it, any authority I wielded over him existed only because he permitted it to.
With that epiphany, came the abrupt fear of what might happen if Tom lost control and all the fury inside him burst out with all the random destructiveness of a flashflood, because, suddenly, I knew that Tom was the only one keeping himself in line―not me or any of his professors. The idea that my peers or I could hope to control Tom was nothing but a foolish delusion created by hubris.
Wishing passionately that I had sometimes been harsher on Tom so that he would have been forced to acknowledge me earlier, I clasped his shoulder and shook him, hissing, "Listen to me when I talk to you unless you want me to put you in detention for the first time in your life."
"I'm sorry, Professor Slughorn. I don't know what overcame me a moment ago." A contrite expression slid over Tom's face, and I dismissed my earlier fears as nonsense as he went on, "I beg your pardon, Professor Dumbledore. It's no excuse, but it has been a terribly long night for me, and exhaustion makes me unforgivably rude."
"Perhaps when we are tired we show our real selves without the masks that we wear all day that we no longer have the energy to maintain." Dumbledore's eyes pierced into Tom, and, since my hand was still clutching his shoulder, I could feel the boy cringe almost imperceptibly. I was wrong, I determined with a jolt. Tom Riddle feared Dumbledore, and he covered that fear with as much contempt as he dared to display while he was a student at school. One day, I thought that Tom might very well rival Dumbledore, but, until that day, he would have to swallow his pride when he dealt with the man, and if there is one thing Slytherins hate, it is swallowing our pride. "You are forgiven for your disrespect, Riddle, because I have learned not to expect better from teenagers even if they are prefects."
"Well, I'm glad I didn't disappoint you, at least, Professor." Tom ducked his head, so it was impossible to determine whether he was being serious or sarcastic.
"The boy might have crossed into impertinent territory, but his points are valid." Dippet coughed to draw attention to himself once more. "Having an acromantula is grounds alone for expulsion."
"Expelling Hagrid will not get rid of your problem, Armando," declared Dumbledore gravely. "The acromantula is not the monster from the Chamber of Secrets, and Hagrid is not the heir of Slytherin."
"I assume you have proof to back up such an assertion," Professor Ferris stated, raising an eyebrow at Dumbledore.
"Hagrid is not a Slytherin, nor is he pureblood," answered Dumbledore.
"Who says the heir of Slytherin has to be from Slytherin?" I demanded tersely. "Whatever you believe on the contrary, Albus, not all Slytherins are evil."
"I don't think all Slytherins are evil, Horace." Dumbledore gave me one of his annoying little bows, and I half-hoped that Tom would offer another barbed observation. "However, the fact remains that we are dealing with the heir of Slytherin, and I find it hard to believe that Slytherin would acknowledge anyone as heir if that individual wasn't in his House―"
"Slytherin's been dead for a millennium," I blustered. "He's not going to be acknowledging anybody!"
"Also, given the fact that the Chamber of Secrets has been hidden for a thousand years, whoever found it must be very clever indeed," added Dumbledore, gazing pointedly at Tom, who stepped forward.
"Professor Dippet, may I speak?" he asked, and I suspected that he was now making an extra effort to be deferential after his earlier insolence.
"You may." Professor Dippet nodded.
Tom took a deep breath to steel himself before establishing in a rush, "With all due respect to everyone assembled here, I don't believe that there is a Chamber of Secrets or an heir of Slytherin. Personally, I am inclined to believe that the legend of the Chamber of Secrets was just a myth students concocted over the years to scare each other late at night when they should have been asleep in their dormitories. Practically every scholarly book about the history of this school and the lives of its founders concur that there is no evidence that Slytherin had so much as a secret broom cupboard, and, if he did, I imagine that a brilliant wizard like him would put it to a better purpose than storing a monster. I think we would be unwise to dismiss the wisdom of generations of scholars in a panic over some attacks at our school, which can clearly be explained by the presence of an acromantula brought into the caste by a boy who didn't comprehend just how dangerous an acromantula can be to people."
Listening to him, I was impressed by his logic and cool head, and I couldn't help but be persuaded to see his point of view. Yes, the Chamber of Secrets did not exist. It was just another stupid myth designed to blacken the name of our House.
"What about the writing on the wall after the Halloween feast?" Dumbledore pressed.
"A prank by a student." I waved this off. "Anyone who read Hogwarts a History would be familiar enough with the story to think it a joke. Once the perpetrator saw how seriously it was taken, he or she would be afraid to come forward. Hagrid's acromantula attacking people and the writing on the wall aren't related. They just seemed to be in our panic."
"Perhaps," mumbled Professor Dippet, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Well, the fact remains that, whether or not Hagrid is the heir of Slytherin if such a person even exists, he was found with an acromantula on the grounds, which is an expellable offense. In light of the attacks this year, I have no choice but to expel him and hope that the attacks will stop."
Holding up a hand to silence Dumbledore's protest, Dippet addressed Tom, "Mr. Riddle, for your bravery and cleverness in resolving the mystery of what was attacking our students, you will receive a trophy commending you for special services to the school. Fifty points will also be added to Slytherin."
"I didn't do any of this for a reward, Professor Dippet," Tom said, sounding like the rare humble Slytherin. "I did it because I wanted the school to be a safe place for children to learn and professors to teach."
"Admirable sentiments, but good deeds will be rewarded as long as I am headmaster." Dippet smiled briefly at Tom, before the grin faded as he continued sternly, "Now, I have to ask that you do the school another favor, Tom."
"I'd do anything for the school, sir," replied Tom swiftly.
"Good. I want you to keep quiet about everything that happened tonight." Professor Dippet's eyes locked on Tom's. "Your friends will ask you questions about what happened, and you will provide them no answers. You will hear gossip, but you will not contribute to it. You will do what is best for the school and keep what happened tonight a secret."
"Yes, sir." Tom nodded his head grimly. "I'll never tell a soul what transpired this evening."
"There's a lad." Professor Dippet waved his hand in dismissal. "It's off to bed with you now."
"Yes, Professor." As Tom obediently turned to go, I was filled with such pride for the clever, handsome, articulate, and powerful boy that if anyone had told me that he would end up becoming a Dark Wizard, I would never have believed it. Watching him shut the door behind him, I would never have believed that he had gotten away with murdering Myrtle. I never would have believed that someone as charming as him even had a killer buried inside him. I saw savagery in Hagrid and civilization in Tom, because that was what I was meant to see. I forgot that someone as clever as Tom was capable of outsmarting everyone in that room―even Dumbledore, who ultimately must have seen through Tom but who had in the end been unable to stop Tom's plan from turning out as Tom had devised it to―in a way that Hagrid would never be able to achieve. I don't know how many people I allowed to be sacrificed on the altar of Tom's brilliance because my vision was skewed by the glitter of his smile and the glistening of his prefect badge that day.