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...After all, Dumbledore knew Tom was the only perfect candidate for the job and there was no proof out there of his wrongdoing. It was all strictly rumors. Still, he couldn't help but feel that, as he knocked on the door three times and heard the old voice call 'come in', he was walking right into what could potentially become his demise...

CHAPTER 23: DUMBLEDORE'S REJECTION

Tom entered the large Headmaster's office and brushed the snow off of his shoulders. Dumbledore was sitting behind the desk and showed no sign of surprise at Tom's entrance. He had obviously not forgotten about their appointment, and had perhaps thought of nothing else since its inception.

"Good evening, Tom," said Dumbledore easily. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," said Tom, and he took the seat to which Dumbledore had gestured. "I heard that you had become headmaster," he said, looking around the big office. "A worthy choice."

"I'm glad you approve," said Dumbledore, smiling. "Though, it did happen years ago but I'm still quite new to the job. Uh, may I offer you a drink?"

"That would be welcome," said Tom, now facing Dumbledore again. "I have come a long way."

Dumbledore stood and swept over to the cabinet in the corner, which was full of bottles. Tom noticed that the office looked a lot different than it had when Dippet occupied it. Dumbledore had laid all sorts of silver instruments about the room which was now positively packed with piles of thick, dusty books. Handing Tom a goblet of wine and pouring one for himself, Dumbledore returned to the seat behind his desk.

"Order of Merlin, first class," said Tom, with fake admiration. "Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards...and now Headmaster at Hogwarts...very impressive."

Dumbledore's smile faded slightly.

"I see you have been following my progress closely," he said.

"If you want to know what a man truly is, take a good look at how he treats his superiors—I believe that is the saying..."

"Inferiors," corrected Dumbledore quietly, but Tom chose to ignore this.

"I have merely been curious as to what you do with your time."

"And have I satisfied you?"

"Certainly," said Tom in a most casual tone. "You are a very learned wizard, Dumbledore. I respect that."

"So, Tom...to what do I owe the pleasure then?"

Tom did not answer at once, but merely sipped his wine. He was working very hard at trying to keep his expression blank and hide his hatred. The last time he had a crucial conversation with someone who needed careful flattery, it had been Hepzibah Smith. And the time before that, Horace Slughorn. But Dumbledore was neither Hepzibah nor Slughorn. He was Dumbledore—the only wizard truly capable of inflicting fear in Tom.

"They do not call me 'Tom' anymore," he finally said, avoiding Dumbledore's eyes. "These days, I am known as—"

"I know what you are known as," said Dumbledore, smiling pleasantly. "But to me, I'm afraid you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."

He raised his glass as though toasting Tom, whose face remained expressionless with great difficulty. Nevertheless, the atmosphere in the room changed subtly. Dumbledore's refusal to use Tom's chosen name was a refusal to allow Tom to dictate the terms of the meeting. How very like him, thought Tom. He was still treating him as though he, Dumbledore, were superior to him.

"I am surprised you have remained here so long," said Tom after a short pause. It was meant to be an insult targeting Dumbledore's old age. He quickly covered it up with a compliment. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."

"Well," said Dumbledore, still smiling. "To a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills—helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."

"I see it still," said Tom, quickly. "I merely wondered why you—who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister—"

"Three times at the last count, actually," said Dumbledore, brightly. "But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."

Tom inclined his head, unsmiling, and took another sip of wine to buy himself some time. Pfft, something they had in common. As far as Tom was concerned, he and the wizard sitting across from him had absolutely nothing in common. Tom was far more ambitious and learned in the dark arts. Sure, Dumbledore had potential to become something great, if he really wanted to. But he was nothing more than an old fool, too reliant on the silly power of love. But how would he, Tom, go about this? Dumbledore was obviously forming some sort of a barrier between the two of them, if not purposely, then subconsciously. When Dumbledore did not break the silence that stretched between them now, but waited with a look of pleasant expectancy, Tom took this as a cue to begin.

"I have returned," he said, "later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected…but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard."

Dumbledore considered Tom over the top of his own goblet for a while before speaking.

"Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," he said quietly, and Tom noticed he was no longer smiling. "Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."

Typical, thought Tom. How very typical of Dumbledore to accuse Tom of going too far in the magical arts. With immense difficulty, Tom's expression remained impassive as he said, "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, and spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."

It was the first time he had ever called him by his name, and Dumbledore seemed to notice this as well for he frowned slightly.

"You call it 'greatness', what you have been doing, do you?" he asked delicately.

"Certainly," said Tom, casually, and his eyes seemed to burn as he said it. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed—"

"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbledore corrected him quietly, though Tom was grateful he interrupted for he had been about to spill his greatest secret yet.

"Of others," continued Dumbledore, "you remain…forgive me…woefully ignorant."

Having expected a remark like this, Tom smiled tautly.

"Ah, the old argument," he said softly. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."

"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," suggested Dumbledore.

Tom tightened his grip on the wine glass. Dumbledore was playing mind games with him—feigning kindness and oblivion. Growing slightly agitated, Tom decided to jump into the subject again.

"Well then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts?" he said quickly. "Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."

He had to admit to himself that it was painful—saying these words. The next worst thing to being Dumbledore's to command was death itself, as far as Tom was concerned. Nevertheless, he kept his expression tamed and watched Dumbledore's own expression. His eyebrows rose.

"And what will become of those whom you command?" he asked, quietly.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Tom, simply.

"What will happen to those who call themselves—or so rumor has it—the Death Eaters?" said Dumbledore, and he was now watching Tom carefully from behind the half-moon spectacles.

Tom had not expected Dumbledore to know this name. His eyes flashed red again and his slit-like nostrils flared. How—how did he do it? Where did he get his information from?

"My friends," said Tom, after a moment's pause, "will carry on without me, I am sure."

"I am glad to hear that you consider them friends," said Dumbledore. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."

"You are mistaken," said Tom, no longer able to suppress the bitterness in his voice. He glared at Dumbledore from across the desk.

"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them—Nott, Rosier, Muldber, Dolohov—awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."

Tom frowned. He was quite alarmed at how Dumbledore could possibly know all of these names. He was alarmed at how correct Dumbledore was. However, Tom rallied almost at once.

"You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."

"Oh no, merely friendly with the local barmen," said Dumbledore lightly. "Now, Tom…"

He set down his empty glass and drew himself up in his seat, the tips of his fingers together in a very characteristic gesture.

"Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"

Tom looked coldly surprised and quite astonished by Dumbledore's straightforwardness.

"A job I do not want? I am afraid I do not know what you mean. On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."

"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were seventeen. What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"

Tom sneered. How dare he talk to him like this?

"If you do not want to give me a job—"

"Of course I don't," said Dumbledore, surprising Tom very much. "And I don't think for a moment that you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."

Tom stood up, refusing to answer these questions. He could feel his face hot with rage but carefully controlled his voice as he spoke.

"This is your final word?"

"It is," said Dumbledore, also standing.

"Then we have nothing more to say to each other," declared Tom.

"No, nothing," said Dumbledore, and a great sadness filled his face. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom…I wish I could…"

Tom's hand had twitched toward his pocket and his wand, but he stopped himself at the last second, deciding that it was not a good idea. He turned away and headed for the door.

"Er, Tom," said Dumbledore.

Tom stopped, took a deep breath, and turned round to look at Dumbledore again.

"I thought I ought to let you know that I have hired a Keeper of the Keys—a gamekeeper, if you will. Would you like to know his name?"

Tom stared, wondering why he was hearing this, but was not confused for a second longer, for Dumbledore smiled softly and said, "Rubeus Hagrid."

Once out of the office, Tom sped through the dark corridors and up to the marble staircase. He practically raced all the way up to the seventh floor, ignoring the Bloody Baron who gasped at the sight of him. Tom was raging. He was furious. He hated Dumbledore perhaps more in that moment that he had ever before, if it were even possible. Forgetting that his Death Eaters were waiting for him in the Hog's Head, Tom stopped in front of one particular wall on the seventh floor and closed his eyes, wishing for the room where everything is hidden to materialise.

After a few moments, a door appeared and, looking around a few times, Tom hastily opened it and let himself in. He walked for a long time, searching for the perfect spot. Finally, after he himself was lost in piles of worthless objects, Tom stopped. He picked up a small treasure box and emptied it of the thousands of pearls. They littered to the floor and scattered about. Tom then retrieved the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw from his cloak and, stroking it, he placed it inside the box. He closed the box and placed that back on a random table and covered it with a random old cloak. Feeling confident that no one would ever find it there, he started back towards the door.

As he slowly made his way back down the stairs, feeling slightly calmer now than he had moments before, he stopped in the hall to stare at a girl who was standing alone. Noticing him, she quickly bowed her head. She seemed to recognize him instantly. Curious, Tom approached her. She had long black hair, virtually black eyes, and a pale but familiar face. She bowed her head to him just like he had seen her aunt do many times before.

"Your father is Cygnus?" Tom asked her, curiously.

"Yes, my lord," she answered.

Tom was sure he had seen her attend the dinner parties once or twice before. In any case, she was well trained and knew exactly how to address him.

"Your mother is the sister of one of my best men," Tom told her. "We were in school together...Rosier."

"Yes, I know, my lord," said the girl, her head still bowed. "My parents have told me all about you."

"Have they?" said Tom. Then, irritated, he added, "Look at me when I talk to you."

The girl met his eyes with a nervous jerk of the head. She looked exactly like a much younger version of her father's sister, Walburga Black. Tom stared at her.

"How old are you?" he asked quietly, forgetting his moment of frustration.

"I am in fourth year, my lord," she answered, surprised a little.

"Nearing graduation then," said Tom. "Are you planning on joining—"

"Yes, my lord," said the girl quickly. "I am anticipating it—counting the days."

Tom thought long and hard. There was something about her—some sort of viciousness or cruelty he knew she possessed—that interested him very much. He felt that he had a lot in common with her, which was bizarre for she was only a child and was not nearly as talented or skilled as he. Still, he smiled at her.

"I look forward to your initiation, Bellatrix Black."

"As do I, my lord," she responded.

He left her there and disappeared behind the stairs and down the Entrance Hall. Before heading back down to Hogsmeade, he caught a glimpse of an extremely tall shadowy figure lurking around a cabin not too far from the entrance to the Forbidden Forest. Tom turned around and walked towards the little cabin, with a slight idea as to what he would find in there. Sure enough, as he neared the cabin, he saw Rubeus Hagrid feeding some rats to an ugly fanged creature. He startled at the sight of Tom and even took a few step backwards.

"Nice to see you again, Hagrid," said Tom, brightly. "How on earth did you manage to come back?"

"W-w-what are y-you d-d-doing here?!" barked Hagrid, nervously.

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Pardon me?"

"I-I-I'll be g-g-going n-now," said Hagrid, and he actually made to return to his cabin, but Tom had pulled out his wand and was pointing it at him now.

"Do not go anywhere," he said quietly.

Hagrid froze.

"I asked you a question; I expect you to answer it," said Tom, coolly.

"I d-don't have t-to do a-anything y-y-you t-tell me," said Hagrid, defensively. Though, he was staring at the wand now rather than at Tom.

"Oh, I think you do," said Tom. And he lowered his wand. "Haven't you heard? I am Lord Voldemort."

Hagrid actually winced at the sound of the name and then backed all the way up against his cabin door. Pleased, Tom turned around and walked away.

"How did it go, my lord?" said Rosier eagerly when Tom met up with him and the others in the Hog's Head an hour later.

Tom shook his head.

"WHAT?!" cried Muldber. "I was so sure you would—"

"Let's go," said Tom, and he disapparated at once and landed on the Blacks' doorstep.

Though the dinner party had already started, the Death Eaters all froze once Tom entered the room. He nodded for them to continue on with their conversations, and himself went and got a drink. Rowle approached him at once, leaving his wife behind to talk to Walburga Black. Tom went to stand in the corner and Nott joined his side as well.

"My lord?" said Rowle with concern.

Tom smiled at him.

"But why—"

"Surely you remember what Mr. Dumbledore is like," said Tom, coolly.

"Git," said Rowle, under his breath. This made Tom smile even more.

"No worries, it's like you said, we have more important things to do than teach at some school."

"My lord," said Nott. "I feel sure that one day, Dumbledore will be at your knees."

"Of course," agreed Rowle. "He is no match for you. You have gone further than he has ever gone, I'm sure of it."

"But for now," said Nott, "We really do need to take care of things."

"Like the current situation at the ministry," said Rowle. "My lord, Lestrange has informed me just this afternoon that there have been rumors—whispers—that the auror office will begin conducting random searches."

"Searches?" repeated Tom.

"Trying to find you, my lord," explained Rowle.

Tom thought for a minute.

"Let them," he finally said.

"But my lord—"

"Let them, Rowle. There is nothing they can do to me." He sipped from his wine glass and stared at the group of wives standing in a circle, laughing at something that little Regulus had said or done. Tom narrowed his eyes at the youngest among the women. She was a tall woman with long blonde hair that flowed down her back.

"Who is this child?" Tom asked Rowle. "What is she doing here? Who has brought her here?"

"I have, m-my lord," said Nott in a low voice. Tom stared at him.

"Who is she?" he snapped.

"M-my wife, s-sir," answered Nott, who was looking down at his feet like he used to all those years ago.

Tom looked at her again. She looked to be no more than 17 or 18.

"You mean to say that this fetus is your wife?" he chuckled. Nott gave him a painful smile.

"I mean, I'm not judging," said Tom quickly. "I'm sure you had your reasons."

"She is very...energetic," said Nott.

Tom laughed out loud.

"Very well, Nott, have your fun but it'll cost you a couple of children to be my future servants."

"Of course, my lord," said Nott, quickly. "All of my children will be at your service, as will I, until the day I die."

Tom smiled at him.

"You were always my favourite, Nott."

Nott gave him a look of deep gratitude. Rowle, on the other hand, frowned.

"What about him?" Tom asked, pointing at a tall blonde man with a long beard, who was talking to Orion Black and Dolohov.

"That's Abraxas Malfoy," Rowle informed him.

"What's he doing here?" said Tom.

"He is a close friend of the Minister of Magic, my lord," said Rowle, smiling. "But personally, he would rather see the minister's head on a stick."

"It'll be my pleasure to grant him this," said Tom.

And with that, he set his glass on a table and went to the centre of the room.

"Good evening, my friends!" he said aloud. Everyone stopped talked and turned to look at him, all of them interested in what he was going to say. Someone turned down the music though it still played quietly. "I would like to personally welcome all newcomers. I feel sure we will be working together for a long time. I am also delighted to inform you that from now on, we will be increasing our influences and number of attacks. We will go public with our name and we will show them our true side."

The Death Eaters applauded in celebration. Tom waited until they were done.

"I have thought long and hard about this and have decided that the best way to go about it is to hit their weakest links."

He paused.

"We will target those which the Ministry and the Wizarding World in general have shunned—the outcasts."

"Goblins!" cried Walburga Black.

"And trolls!" added Lestrange.

"Think bigger," said Tom. "We will get them all—house elves, giants, werewolves, vampires. We will remind them how they have been treated all this time by wizards and we will persuade them to join us!"

"To join our ranks!" cried Rowle, holding up a glass.

"To conquer the world!" exclaimed Davis.

"Show them how it's done!" cried Rosier.

"And never let them forget it!" finished Tom, and together, they all raised their glasses and drank to their future, which looked, for the moment, to be very, very bright.

To review: At this point in the story, we have reached what is coming close to becoming the Wizarding War. The next few chapters will go into detail about the war, interactions between Voldemort and his Death Eaters who are always changing (their children are growing up and becoming Voldemort's closest allies while their parents are dying off). Voldemort meanwhile, will be very busy as well. He will continue to undergo magical transformations and practice legiliments. He will overpower the most powerful wizards and offer his Death Eaters a lot. He will find hiding spots for his remaining horcruxes, get a pet, and even have a brief relationship with a familiar someone.

Coming soon, interactions with Snape and the Malfoys, Crouch and Pettigrew.

Also, in case you were wondering... I feel as though I need to keep using the name Tom when saying "Tom looked there" or "Tom did that" to maintain a sense of continuity..that it is still that same little messed-up boy from the orphanage. However, all of the Death Eaters and everyone else know him as Voldemort now.

Hope you liked the chapter!