As morning dawned, Bellatrix was no closer to figuring out what to do about Andromeda. Simply bribing her into silence was no longer sufficient now that her sister had pieced together that she had been routinely obliviated. Intentionally wiping part of her long-term memory was not a risk she felt equipped to take, but neither could she see how Andie would keep quiet any other way. She knew she needed to let go of her pride, and her fear of appearing like an incompetent child in front of her Master. For Merlin's sake, she had killed someone for him. Yes, it had been her idea, but she was covering his tracks as much as her own, and he had promised her that he'd never let her be caught.
At quarter past five in the morning, Bellatrix tapped her wand on the portrait of Merlin. The wards immediately recognized and admitted her into the spartan interior of Professor Riddle's sitting room. He stood before her with a warm grey housecoat wrapped around his bare chest, freshly clean-shaven and dry from the shower. The whistling kettle on the stove told her that he had been awake at this early hour for at least a little while. After the initial shock of her arrival dissipated, he grabbed her by the elbow and steered her to sit down beside him at his small kitchen table.
"Slughorn walks this hall at five-thirty on his way to the storerooms to prepare a potion for his rheumatism, and you didn't even disillusion yourself! Whatever were you thinking, Bella?"
"I'm very sorry, my Lord, but I had to come. Andromeda knows I was missing two nights ago, and suspects I confounded the other students, which is true. Ted Tonks died yesterday at St. Mungo's, and in a few hours, Dumbledore and everyone will know. We dueled in the Common Room after she called us all Death Eaters and accused one of us of killing Ted. Rodolphus and Evan had to help me restrain her. I didn't want to but I don't know what to do," she admitted.
Professor Riddle stared at her for what felt like ages with such intensity that Bellatrix was sure he could have turned her into a pillar of salt. But when he finally spoke, his voice was soft, not at all acerbic as she would have imagined given her failure.
"I will need to carefully expunge any strong emotions about Ted from her mind. Her long-term memory will be left unscathed, although there's the possibility that all of her emotions will be permanently blunted as a result."
"She's petrified. Would you like me to bring her here now, Master?"
"You will first write a letter to your parents urging them to pull Andromeda from school in light of her worsening mind malady, and bring her home to Black Manor immediately. Make sure you include in your letter that the mudblood had designs on dating her. Get creative and bend the truth a little—he was a bad influence and tried to convince her to renounce your family. I will privately communicate a message to Cygnus about the stipulations for her return to school. Include instructions that she is to communicate with no one until the holidays. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, Master. I will write that letter and take it to the Owlery straight away."
"No, an owl will take too long. I have a servant in Hogsmeade who works at the post office, and will deliver it by Floo to Black Manor before noon. I'll go now, so I can be back before I need to teach my first class."
Once Professor Riddle was certain that Bellatrix's letter was stringently-worded so as to prompt the Blacks to take immediate action, he folded it inside an envelope and pulled on his travelling cloak to face the November chill. He would write his own letter upon returning that would strike the fear of God into Cygus about Andromeda's treasonous accusations. He left Bellatrix with additional instructions to give to Rosier's gang that they would confound every single witness to the duel before they let anyone leave for breakfast.
Bellatrix left Professor Riddle's quarters disillusioned, and headed to the boys' dormitories, halting at the last door on the left which was where she knew theoretically from Lucy Greengrass (who had something of a reputation for making occasional overnight visits) that the seventh-year boys slept. The Founders had assumed that no girls would ever try to enter the boys' dormitories for the purposes of engaging in nighttime activities, and only now in the 1960s had this started to gradually change. While it was still a punishable offense to be caught on the wrong side, this had not stopped a few hormonal teenagers from trying. Sensing no enchantments, she opened the door without knocking. Rodolphus, Avery, Mulciber and Nott sat upright in their beds, slack-jawed and shame-faced upon realizing that Bellatrix Black was staring at them in their underwear. Apparently, none of them wore pyjamas to bed.
"Rise and shine," Bellatrix announced with almost manic glee, relishing the power she was about to wield over the four boys.
"Merlin's beard, what are you doing here at the crack of dawn, Bella?" asked Rodolphus, pulling a patchwork quilt around his lower body to cover himself as got out of the bed.
"Orders from the Dark Lord. I'll turn my back and you can make yourselves presentable before I explain what I require of you."
Bellatrix heard the sound of dresser drawers slamming, along with Nott's grumbling about how it was too early for her to spring something like this upon them.
"I don't want to hear it, Nott. The Dark Lord doesn't give his Mark to whiny little boys." That certainly got their attention, she thought, as they now knew that the stakes of her visit were much more significant than they had supposed.
"Now, we're going to cast a powerful confundus charm upon the entire dormitory, since I can't be sure of everyone who witnessed my duel with the blood traitor last night. You'll assist me when I ask for your wands, got it?"
There were groggy murmurs of assent, although Mulciber, remembering Bellatrix's head-shaving hex, and now apparently enlightened of the fact that she had influence with the Dark Lord, looked a little fearful. Bellatrix began by demonstrating the precise wand movements as the boys observed.
"Confundo maxima," she whispered, then motioned for them to copy her as she concentrated on making their Housemates confused about the commotion of last night. There could never have been a duel between the Black sisters, because a prank using some dubious new products from Zonko's Joke Shop had created a noxious gas cloud in the Common Room, which had meant that everyone retired to their beds early while it the room was cleaned. The augmented power of the spell was palpable in the vibrating air as a single golden beam of light comprised of four separate strands from each of their wands trailed out into the corridors, under the cracks of each door and into the rooms in which their fellow Slytherins slept. Having no reason to linger on the scene, Bellatrix reminded them all that they would protect the Dark Lord's identity and not speak one word of the attack, on penalty of death.
Retreating to the girls' dormitories to observe the dazed looks on countless bleary-eyed faces, Bellatrix felt satisfied with her ingenuity, and pleased that she had not completely let the Dark Lord down.
Two weeks on from the mass confounding of the Slytherins and Ted Tonks' death, life at Hogwarts was beginning to settle down. The latter event was marked by a remembrance ceremony in which several staff and students paid tribute to the charismatic Hufflepuff prefect. The three Gryffindors who were attacked had been transferred to St. Mungo's, where a trainee healer from Germany who had attended Durmstrang recognized their condition as the effect of a Dark blood curse. He attempted a number of counter-curses which managed to restore the students to something resembling full health, but there was no telling if any lasting damage had been done.
The investigation into the attacks had also concluded after every lead had been followed up carefully, with nothing to show for the Governors' efforts. They contacted every supplier of food and drink for the Ball, and even members of the Raving Banshees and their talent agency; they interviewed eye witnesses who were in the crowd, and had left no stone unturned. With no one inside the school as a suspect, classes were allowed to recommence, and the attitude of the student body steadily improved, with most grateful that a semblance of normalcy had been restored.
Professor Riddle spent his days teaching, and his evenings alone, troubled by the knowledge that Dumbledore was still behaving oddly by barely touching on the pureblood supremacist movement that was on the rise, led by the shadowy Lord Voldemort. In his speech at Tonks' memorial, he made no mention of the boy's blood status, and instead said some vague drivel urging students to stand against injustice wherever they might find it. Could it possibly be that he was sitting on some kind of smoking gun that he couldn't reveal just yet?
Perhaps, he was suspicious about Andromeda being brought home by her parents to seek private treatment from a world-class mind healer, as the story went. Tom took time out of his busy schedule to pay Cygnus a visit, making him squirm under a round of the Cruciatus, and demanded that he would make his younger daughter behave herself, or they would both be made permanent residents of the Janus Thickey Ward. He came very close at one point to mentioning that Bellatrix liked the Cruciatus when it was done to her by a proper wizard, but that would have been excessive, and he was merciful.
Out of an abundance of caution, he limited his contact with Bella only to their Defense class and her twice-weekly research periods. A minor fight ensued as a result of his decision to keep her at a greater distance, with Bellatrix storming from his office in a huff, only to reappear twenty minutes later to apologize.
"You are incapable of staying away from me," said Riddle with a devious glint in his eyes as he raked his long fingers through her hair. He twisted her hair into a dense knot as he pushed her body against the wall behind his desk, slipping his other hand beneath her cardigan to feel up her lithesome figure. She needed this. Everything he did had the effect of making her crave him more deeply, like a powerful opiate. His vicelike grip at the apex of her neck hurt so much; she desperately keened against his chest trying to get him to stop.
"You want me to stop, Bella? You're very fortunate that I don't torture you like I would anyone else who talks to me as you did. I have fallen obscenely in love with you."
Letting go, his teeth grazed her lower lip gently, then suckled and drew it more deeply into his kiss until that, too, became a painful, but exquisite sensation. Bellatrix's rosy lips parted like a bow held taut. She slid her tongue across his inner cheek as he used wandless magic to make her body hover slightly off the ground, so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders while still backed up against the wall.
"I'm sorry, Master. I don't know why I did it; it felt so deeply wrong for me to disagree with you. Almost like a part of me was unbearably alienated from you. Our fates are entwined now because of the ritual, aren't they? Is that why I came back?"
"My little witch is very clever. You are perfectly free to disobey me, Bella, but I don't expect it will happen often. You say that it felt unbearable? That means the ritual has worked," he asserted.
Dizzily extricating herself for a breath of air, she tried to piece together the meaning of his words. What did it mean that the ritual worked? How could he know so soon?
Sensing her confusion, he elaborated, "Ancient wizards learned they could never be victorious in war without the blessing of the sovereign goddess of these Isles. It's a great honour that I chose to bestow upon you, Bella, by selecting you for the ritual. Will you to kill for me again once you're out of school?"
"I'll kill anyone for you, Master. I'll kill again and again, until entire oceans are stained red with blood."
"If I told you to kill your sister, would you do it?"
His voice was smooth like some rich confectionary; his honeyed words crawled through layers of bone and membrane, wrapping up tightly the part of her mind that ached to please and obey him. Bellatrix could not ignore the persistent itch of desire to carry out his will. She'd previously managed to do so for twenty minutes, but it seemed nearly impossible now. Any concerns about how she would live with the guilt if she were to take Andromeda's life were discarded like inconsequential rubbish.
Bellatrix gulped. "Yes. I should be very pained to do so, but if Andie stood in the way between you and victory, I would not choose her. She's a blood traitor now."
"Excellent answer, Miss Black. I think part of me will always regard you a little bit as a student. My best and brightest."
Boldly, encouraged by his heaping of praise upon her, Bella reached down and undid the placket of his trousers. His magic promptly returned her feet to the ground, and she began to stroke him through his underwear. She spent a minute massaging him there, frowning when he wasn't responding the way he usually did.
"Am I doing something wrong, Master?"
"No, not at all. There's just a lot weighing on my mind right now... with the movement." Tom did not want to tell her that he was still concerned that they might need to flee Hogwarts at a moment's notice, and that he had created multiple portkeys in case of such an event. It was an embarrassing position to find himself in, but he also didn't want her to blame herself when that couldn't be further from the truth.
"So pretty," he said, winding a corkscrew of curls around his finger. "You have the prettiest eyes, Bella, so Dark and deep like firewhiskey. You're the only witch in the world who has eyes that could entrance me so completely, luring me to the end of the world with your sirens-song."
"Alright, I get it. You can lay off the terrible poetry," she snorted lightly.
Voldemort laughed. "See? This is why you're special to me, Bella. You fearlessly say whatever is on your mind. I would never take that away from you, do you understand? I would not love a mechanical doll."
"Yes, Master."
He promised Bellatrix that once the winter holidays were upon them, he would write to her parents that she would be staying with him at his home, where he would lavish her with attention every day.
In truth, while he intended to enjoy the company of his youngest servant and future wife and solider, he would hold regular weekly meetings right up until Christmas with his Death Eaters. This was on account of a bothersome mid-level employee within the Auror Office named Franklin Carruthers, who had become suspicious of his boss, one of the newer recruits, Julian Travers, for wrapping up investigations into disappearances too hastily. Carruthers had been holding weekly meetings in secret with other employees who had developed similar suspicions, and needed to be vanished, sending a clear message to his associates. Another hapless colleague would then be Imperiused to confess to being a Death Eater and admit to Franklin's murder so that the Aurors could look like they had rooted out the infiltration.
In time, Minister for Magic Eugenia Jenkins' administration would appear even weaker than that of her predecessor. Tom would eventually shoehorn in his own candidate for Minister. He'd decided over the past few months that this would be more efficient than constantly reinforcing an Imperius Curse on some already-elected government flunky. Abraxas, if his image was significantly rehabilitated, was Tom's preferred candidate, although he had yet to tell his second-in-command this, so that his ego would not inflate to the size of a small planet.
Once Bellatrix had left to go to her History of Magic class, Tom combed over the list of the best magical employment and defence lawyers in Britain that he had asked Abraxas to compile. After reviewing his most trusted advisor's notes, he drafted a letter to retain Ignatius Gamp as his lawyer, a wizard who was known for being cutthroat in his line of work. The Gamps were distant relations of the Blacks, and Abraxas's notes detailed that he was privately known to be supportive of Lord Voldemort's political objectives. Along with the portkeys, having legal representation was just another item on his worst-case scenario checklist.
Tom locked away his private correspondence within a compartment of his desk, hearing echoing footsteps in the corridor. He was always cautious since Cygnus Black had paid him a visit, but his legilimency told him it was only Slughorn. The plump wizard wore a checked suit from which his gold pocket watch dangled on a chain. He began making small talk about Hogwarts slowly returning to "normal," and then invited Tom to join him for a game of Wizard's chess after dinner. Because Tom had declined his colleague's previous two invitations, he supposed he should go just to keep in good stead with the wizard whom he considered his closest ally at Hogwarts. He needed allies, especially if Dumbledore was playing his own game of three-dimensional chess.
Later that evening, Slughorn checkmated Tom in fewer moves than he had ever done before in their matches, which almost always went on long enough that Horace had a tendency to doze off. This time, however, his own thoughts had been far too distracted, as the purpose of the invitation soon became clear.
"Now Tom, you've been very discreet, I'm sure, but there's a group of Slytherin girls known to gossip. Miss Rowle is one of them. Albus mentioned her name along with Nott, Rosier, Lestrange, and Miss Black. They were at that shabby pub on the outskirts of Hogsmeade...oh, what's it called? Ah yes, The Hog's Head. It's under the new ownership of Aberforth Dumbledore, who overhead them discussing some rumour that you and Miss Black were... well, romantically involved. I scolded Albus that he should be above dragging you in for a meeting over such ridiculousness."
"It most certainly is ridiculous," said Tom. There it is, at last. Dumbledore's smoking gun. Did the old fool really think hearsay from drunkards in a pub would be enough to take down Lord Voldemort? Even if Dumbledore thought that he and Bellatrix had planned the attacks together, or if he had set her up to it, the evidence that he was more than just her mentor was conjectural, and there was still nothing to tie him to his alias. Perhaps, he should have done more to prevent Bella from socializing with Rosier's gang so frequently, but her fierce loyalty meant that he didn't feel it was necessary to trail her every movement.
"Is it really, Tom? You can speak freely here. I assure you it'll be kept confidential," Slughorn said, setting down his tumbler of firewhiskey to unwrap a piece of crystallised pineapple, "It now makes sense why you didn't care for Miss Winnicott if you were enjoying the company of Miss Black. Oh, I just remembered, I have a little present for you."
Slughorn waddled from the sitting room to retrieve a small box that he urged Tom to open in front of him. Inside were ten shiny gold packs of muggle cigarettes with black lettering: Benson & Hedges, Old Bond Street London. Tom turned already knew that he was going to light one, probably before he left, and would not regret it. The purebloods would just have to deal with Lord Voldemort's one remaining muggle vice.
"A new shop opened in Diagon Alley. I went in for the usual goblin-rolled stuff, but was told that these were gaining popularity among the younger crowd. Produced by the muggles, naturally, but I suppose one recognizes quality when one sees it."
"Do you mind if I—"
"No, go on, m'boy!"
Tom immediately pulled out his wand and lit the end of the cigarette, and felt the familiar head rush and mild euphoria. He almost momentarily forgot that Dumbledore was going to haul him in for questioning tomorrow morning.
Slughorn continued, "Perhaps I oughtn't to be, but I am sympathetic to the idea of a match between my most brilliant former student and present student, despite the...well, the less than ideal circumstances. It's a damned shame that Miss Black isn't a few years older, or I would be pushing the two of you down the aisle myself," he said while unwrapping a second piece of candy, "Of course, she is rather wild. But then, that wouldn't count as a strike against her outside of class. No, no, quite the opposite I should think, eh, m'boy?"
Reluctant to acknowledge in any way that he was correct, Tom also knew he wouldn't be able to change his mind now that the man had convinced himself that they were together. Slughorn was also a low-grade Legilimens, and it was possible, albeit deeply unlikely, that he might have picked up on something of his feelings for Bellatrix. The plump professor chewed thoughtfully, taking Tom's silence as agreement.
"I suppose her parents were only students themselves when they married. Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier, now they were a fine match. I often paired them together in Potions class, so maybe I'm partly responsible for Bellatrix, eh?" he chuckled, lost in his reminiscences, "Although decisions we make at seventeen are often not the wisest. Well, I won't press you about marrying again, Tom. But it remains a great regret of my life, never having a family. My students are my legacy, I suppose. Why, I must have taught every one of those young politicians who are shaking up our government how to brew! I once thought you had aspirations in politics yourself, m'boy?"
"Oh, I still have aspirations," replied Tom cryptically.
"Then it's settled. I will do everything I can to help persuade Albus not to pursue this further. I can't guarantee he'll listen. I'd advise that if he offers you some kind of severance to take it in order to keep him quiet. You don't want this to dog you for the rest of your career."
"But if I leave, it will look like I'm guilty, won't it? And since there is no evidence beyond hearsay, Dumbledore doesn't have grounds to dismiss me. He's doing this because he thinks it's the easiest way to get rid of me. You know he's never liked me."
"Now Tom, I'm sure that's not the case. Albus is doing his due diligence. By all accounts, you're a wonderful instructor. I'll continue to vouch for you with him."
Tom nodded. All of the efforts he'd ever made to cultivate a connection with Slughorn since the first time he lied about innocently stumbling upon the word "horcrux," might finally begin to be useful.
"I appreciate the... support, Horace. Thank you for the gift and intervening on my behalf. I should be returning to my chambers now."
"Goodnight, m'boy. It'll be alright."
Headmaster's Office
Tom reinforced his Occlumency shields as he climbed the spiral staircase which seemed much longer on this day than it had on any previous occasions. He was confident that his thoughts were protected, and felt almost like a gladiator entering a Roman amphitheatre ready for combat.
"Tom, please have a seat," Dumbledore beckoned in what Professor Riddle interpreted as a bizarre pantomime of collegiality.
"I will not be sitting," he answered.
"I see. Well, I will get straight to the point. I'm afraid the time has come for you to explain the nature of your relationship with Bellatrix Black. I've viewed Andromeda Black's memories," he said vaguely. Dumbledore had decided not to reveal precisely which memories he had viewed, in the hope that Tom would assume it was something more torrid, and incriminate himself.
"A child suffering from a hereditary mind malady, whose parents have pulled out of school so that she can receive private treatment? Really, Albus?" questioned Tom, studying the Headmaster's serene gaze.
"That is the account of her condition that I'm sure you would most like me to believe. But as the aches in my joints tell me, I was not born yesterday. Surely you have no problem with me bringing Bellatrix Black into my office after our meeting and asking her a few questions?"
"I suppose you will try to use legilimency on her, too? You've already used it on her sister to find something against me, for Merlin knows what reason beyond that you've never liked me."
Tom's decades-long animosity toward the man in front of him flared up just a little. He balled up his fists so tightly that his knuckles noticeably whitened. But his steely determination to keep his mind guarded immediately overtook the errant impulse, as he concentrated once more on his image of nothingness, a vast expanse of starless sky mirroring a still pool of water.
"We both know that legilimency is ethically ambiguous, Tom. I used it as a tool to untangle Andromeda Black's very uncharacteristic behaviour, which initially alerted me to the very real possibility that a more malevolent form of magic was affecting the poor girl."
"Well, I'd hazard a guess that the girl's parents put her up to rejecting Ted Tonks. You and I both know how the Blacks feel about that sort of mésalliance. And to be clear, there is nothing between Bellatrix Black and myself, besides a professional mentorship that you personally approved. Anything else would have no factual basis in reality."
"No factual basis in reality? A talented young witch with an inclination toward the Dark Arts, whose family is known to you, and who possesses an inclination toward the same, and has harboured romantic feelings toward you for years becomes your research assistant. Four muggle-born students are attacked, including Ted Tonks who is now dead."
"I do not see how these events are connected. You will have to put into clearer terms what exactly you are insinuating," Tom replied. He had in that moment decided he was going to force Dumbledore to say exactly what he thought.
"If I were to bring Misters Lestrange, Nott and Rosier into this office right now, would they not describe to me a scene at the Hog's Head Inn some time ago, when threats were uttered and allusions made to the veracity of rumours concerning an inappropriate relationship between yourself and Miss Black?"
Tom smirked. "Rumours and hearsay? Is that the only evidence you have? And no, I don't believe they would."
"You believe that the sons of your former schoolmates would lie for you? You must be very good friends with their fathers indeed. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that they regard you as their...leader?"
"How flattering, but no."
"Well, it seems to me that you really do not like being held accountable for your actions, Tom. Was that what Cygnus Black was attempting to do when he Flooed into my office? I could sense that he was Occluding tremendously. I wonder, what crimes and sins are shrouded by that dark veil you keep around your own mind at all times?"
Tom strained under the weight of Dumbledore's legilimency, desperately fighting off his enemy's intrusion with every ounce of his willpower. He brought forward alternate memories of Bellatrix working diligently on one of the research papers that he had provided her to edit, and showed him her displays of defensive duelling in the classroom. But Dumbledore pushed right past them to try and unlock memories that were hidden further away, deep within his mind's antechambers. Tom knew he couldn't bury them much longer, and in a last-ditch effort, used his own legilimency to make an offensive assault into Dumbledore's mind, barreling forward as he glimpsed a young girl who had the same auburn hair as Dumbledore in his youth. She was lying stiff as a board on the ground, while Albus and a young Grindelwald stood over her body with their wands turned on each other. The Headmaster appeared visibly shaken from Tom's ability to rapidly pinpoint his own worst memory, and stumbled backwards, holding his throbbing head in his hands.
Triumphant, Professor Riddle began dictating his own terms, "You will allow me to continue to teach until Christmas break, at which time I will leave Hogwarts of my own volition. If you try anything before then, I will notify the Governors of your unauthorized use of legilimency on a child. You will be removed as Headmaster and disgraced for violating a child's mind and legal right to privacy."
"Whereas you violated a child's body and mind."
"You have no proof. And Bellatrix is no child."
"I am quite familiar with the law, as morally repugnant as I find your actions as a man in his forties."
Tom snorted loudly in response. He almost countered by bringing up Dumbledore's own preferences, which were widely considered to be morally repugnant in their society. But that would be too predictable, and Tom Riddle was anything but; he also did not care about who someone experienced attraction towards. He only cared about whether they supported his movement, or had anything of value to offer him. Tom checked to see if Dumbledore had rebuilt his Occlumency shields again after his earlier successful intrusion. The bastard was persistent; his mind was once again a fortress.
"Horace found me this morning, urging me for a second time to make the case that you should not be subjected to any disciplinary action. I believe his words were, 'even if Tom did make an unfortunate mistake, surely Miss Black, with her record of attention-seeking behaviour, must have Of course, I disagreed with him that a seventeen-year-old, even one who has a pattern of seeking the wrong kinds of attention, could be blamed for the irresponsible and immoral actions of her professor"
Tom Riddle never considered himself to be indebted to anyone, and certainly he never repaid favours, but he did reward his acolytes when they served him well. He was greatly pleased that Slughorn was still in thrall to the mythic Head Boy, future Minister for Magic persona he'd crafted over two decades ago. He would need to come up with a new strategy to reward his loyalty that was better than crystallised pineapple. Maybe he'd offer him the role of Headmaster when he finally seized control of the Ministry.
"The rumours are nothing more than bullying and harassment. The witches in her year are admittedly jealous of her. She is also betrothed to Rodolphus Lestrange."
"Then why the effort to Occlude from me? Do you think I take some kind of perverse pleasure in questioning you about Miss Black?"
"Yes, I do. Because as I said, you've never liked me. Not even when I was eleven. You never tried to understand. Stealing from the other children was a matter of survival to exert dominance, so that I would not be singled out for even further abuse than what I already faced for being a freak. You lit my wardrobe on fire and made me feel ashamed for being different, just like they did. Not to mention the doctors, psychiatrists and priests who routinely came around to abuse us."
The sob story of the orphanage was not entirely untruthful; Tom Riddle had heard tales from other orphans of hands that lingered too long during medical examinations, and he did have various encounters with shrinks who all declared him to have some form of psychopathy with ethical deficits and a disregard for social norms. Or at least that's what the report he'd made Abraxas retrieve from the basement of the modern muggle hospital that stored the old Wool's Orphanage records had revealed. He'd obliviated Abraxas to forget ever requesting the files, of course.
Dumbledore paused for a moment, considering whether or not this unexpected evocation of human weakness from Riddle was a calculated move. He decided it most certainly was. "Your views were forged from the worst of what humanity has to offer, muggle or magical. But you are far from the only one to have had a difficult childhood, Tom. I'm also certain that Bellatrix would have latched on to anyone like a life-raft who offered her an alternative to the gilded cage in which the Blacks keep their daughters. As a Legilimens, you knew this, and chose to destroy her remaining innocence."
"Innocence?" Tom spat the word, his face contorted into a look of pure disgust, "There is no such thing. I don't suppose you have read as much as I have on soul magic, an entire branch of study that you label as 'Dark'—no, you deny that great families such as the Blacks or the Gaunts have inherited traits predisposing their souls' magical signatures to lean towards the Dark—it would violate your cherished belief that we are all, as a muggle philosopher once said, blank slates."
"Believe whatever you wish, Tom. I had not planned on bargaining with you. But I could potentially clear a path for your departure from the school in a way that you preserve the public appearance of no wrongdoing. But in exchange, I have demands."
"And what would those demands be?"
"You put an immediate stop to your machinations. You cease targeting Aurors' families, directing your Ministry plants to Imperius government officials, and stop recruiting to your group of followers. Go abroad again and sink deeper into even Darker magic, but cease your campaign of terror against peaceful members of our community. Take a binding oath and renounce it all."
"I'm not sure how I could possibly renounce things that I have never done," sneered Professor Riddle.
"When I suggested to Armando that you were, and still are, a practitioner of the Dark Arts, he laughed in my face. If I had spoken of my true suspicions, I'm quite sure he would have tried to remove me from my post; I made no further objections, hoping that keeping you under close observation might be a way to avoid further harm...another foolish part of me wanted to believe that you could reform. Wouldn't I be a hypocrite to deny you a second chance when I had also once felt the allure of studying dangerous magic as a young man?" Dumbledore paused, his expression morose as he recollected the past. "If you refuse my offer, I will take my information to the Hogwarts Governors, and will expeditiously file a motion to bring charges against you in the Wizengamot."
Tom felt his amplified magic threatening to explode and shatter the innumerable silver instruments cluttering Dumbledore's office. Surely, he was calling his bluff—there was no evidence that Tom Riddle was Lord Voldemort, because he had been meticulous. On the matter of his relationship with Bellatrix, well, Abraxas could simply put those governors under the Imperius again. The Wizengamot would be somewhat more difficult to sway, but not impossible. He would need to mobilise his Ministry moles in order to tank Dumbledore's credibility before anything came to a vote, and it wouldn't hurt to have some articles appear in the newspapers about the dead Squib sister—Abraxas' cousin Saturnus Malfoy held one of the largest shares in the company that owned the Daily Prophet, and had more than a little influence on what went to print. He'd make sure that everyone associated the name Dumbledore with the lunatic fringe.
Tom's pupils narrowed into slits and his irises seared blood red as they bore into Dumbledore before turning back to their usual dark blue. For the first time during their encounter, the Headmaster's face expressed genuine fear. Several portraits on the walls gasped and exchanged furtive glances at each other.
"You see this?" he hurled, standing up and waving his hand that wore the heavy black stone ring in the elder wizard's face, unconscious that for a brief moment, he had appeared as something unrecognizable and not-quite human, "This was passed down by the Gaunts. My mother's family is now extinct in the male line, or as good as, since Morfin was sentenced to Azkaban. I recall you taking great interest in re-opening that case. Many in the Wizengamot thought you to be a crackpot. Who will ever believe anything that Albus Dumbledore has to say about criminal conspiracies?" Tom stepped backward, lowering his hand. He did not want to spend one second longer in the same room, breathing the same air as the elder wizard. "I will not be communicating with you further without my legal counsel present. If I even hear one hint that you're preparing to take your lies to the public, I will ensure that your grandfatherly warlock persona is laid to rest forever. I have Gamp, and access to the Malfoy vaults. You will never win against me."
Tom turned sharply on his heels, leaving the Headmaster to scratch his silver beard in silence. Dumbledore rarely failed to extract a memory that he wanted—not that he made a habit of using legilimency on the unwilling, of course—and it was the first time that the he could recall having his own memory used by another Legilimens as blackmail. He had planned to store Riddle's forcibly extracted memories in his pensieve as evidence for the Wizengamot, but without definitive proof, it was true that he was operating largely upon suspicions, hearsay, and his prior knowledge of Tom Riddle's character. He rubbed his temples and conjured a glass to pour himself a small brandy.
Ought he to talk to Bellatrix Black and use legilimency on her despite Riddle's threats? He was not sure if he could condemn the troubled youth, whom he had seen as a very emotionally naïve child in her sister's memory, to Azkaban. The Blacks had essentially created the perfect conditions for her to be groomed by a silver-tongued, predatory monster like Riddle. Dumbledore wished he did not know intimately what it was like to be taken in by a handsome monster. His pet phoenix, Fawkes, who had been slumbering on his perch during the meeting, now awake, shattered the silence with a plaintive cry.