Notes: Hi guys, thank you for continuing to read this fic! After the next chapter, I am afraid this sort of wait (or longer) is how it's going to be for the foreseeable future, since I've (perhaps temporarily—we shall see) decelerated the speed of my idea generator for this fic, and also since I'm working on a new fic in a different AU and I've set a weekly update schedule for that one. I have another chapter that I expect will go up pretty shortly that is about werewolves. But I had this idea and I want to do it first for a couple of reasons that will be explained in the werewolf chapter.
Chapter Thirty: Dark Matter
October 1961.
Alone in his home office, Tom sighed. It had been a long day, though not for work reasons. This had been Madeline's eleventh birthday, and they had hosted a little party for her and three friends. The party itself had not been that difficult to plan for, but for some reason, the implications of the day itself weighed heavily on Tom's mind.
Of course, part of it had been that long-expected birthday treat for any wizarding child raised in their rightful world—no, Tom corrected himself, any wizarding child at all now, since the families of Muggle-borns were informed of it in their child's infancy and Ministry case workers visited frequently. But even though he had known this day would come since the day she was born, it was still momentous when that letter shot through the Floo connection. In not quite a year, his oldest child would be attending Hogwarts.
Thinking about Hogwarts led Tom down a train of thought that he had occasionally considered for years. It was a disgrace, in his opinion, that the school would not teach the Dark Arts. There was nothing wrong with Defense, certainly, but how could witches and wizards really understand how to defend themselves if they were not permitted more than superficial knowledge of what they were defending themselves from? People like Dumbledore were worried that many people would be unable to control their magic, causing harm to themselves and others… but that was exactly why the subject should be taught.
An elective, he mused. A NEWT-level elective that requires a high OWL in Defense before someone is allowed to take it. Tom rather thought that the way the school handled its elective classes needed to change, too; they should do their career counseling at the end of second year, not fifth, so that students would actually know what electives they should take to pursue a given profession. But he supposed, somewhat reluctantly, that a "special" elective like the Dark Arts should probably only be taught to older students.
Yes. That was what he would present as his next policy initiative. He had already changed people's views on the Dark Arts by virtue of his limited legalization of "experimental" Dark magic—not to mention his self-identification as a Dark wizard "when necessary." It's stunning how sycophantic most people are, he thought scornfully. Something that was long controversial, at best, suddenly gets normalized because a popular leader endorses it. Tom was certainly grateful that a critical percentage of the public was inclined to "follow the leader," but he did not admire them for doing so. Far better if they had come to the same conclusion themselves by thinking about it, rather than suddenly reversing course on their own long-held beliefs because they were fundamentally followers. It would make their support more robust if their change of opinion had been thoughtful. As it was, they could just as easily switch back if a charismatic opposition figure were to stand up….
And that's exactly why it is so important to teach the subject matter here in Britain, he thought. Yes—he would present it this way, with the compromise that it would be a NEWT-only course, not something to be taught to young teenagers. Surely that would satisfy the likes of Albus Dumbledore.
Tom held a meeting of his inner circle at the Serpents' Chalice the next day to offer his policy proposal. Next to him, Hermione sat tight-lipped and unsmiling. As he had promised her years ago, he had explained his ideas to her before the meeting, so she knew. She had not approved of it, though she had not been hostile in her opposition and had assured him that she wouldn't pick a public fight with him in front of his people.
True to her word, Hermione did not voice her disapproval at the meeting. Instead Tom observed her brown eyes dart around the table surreptitiously, gauging the reaction of the other people. Vincent Rosier was, predictably, in favor. That was no surprise; he was from a famously Dark Arts-tolerant family. Several other people were nodding complacently, or even enthusiastically.
But not all. Three people at the table were gazing at the Minister with clear disagreement written on their faces.
"Minister," said Geoffrey Fox, Head of the Office of Non-Magical Families of Witches and Wizards. "This is… something I have concerns about."
Tom's gaze swiveled to the bureaucrat. "What troubles you, Geoffrey?" he asked coolly.
To his credit, Fox did not wilt. He had been a supporter of Tom's since almost the beginning of Tom's Ministry career, and he was not intimidated. He was also a Gryffindor, Tom thought.
Fox continued, "I'm concerned about the age factor. Even if most of them would be seventeen or eighteen, I still think that's too young. People can make some pretty awful decisions at eighteen…." He trailed off at the peculiar look of mixed fear and rage that passed over Tom's face for a fraction of a second. "I didn't mean you, Minister," Fox said quickly. "Obviously you and your wife were very exceptional… using the Dark Arts for a good purpose, like defeating Grindelwald…."
At some point, this had become accepted fact, even though it was not actually true and Tom had never claimed it was. He had also never disputed the claim when the Dark Force Defense League had made it four years ago, and that was enough.
"Still, my daughter… I mean, I know a lot about the Dark Arts now, and there are plenty of topics I wouldn't want her to be exposed to at age seventeen."
"When she turns seventeen," Tom retorted, "she has the right to learn anything she likes."
"That's certainly true, but… I'm sure that you know even more about the Dark Arts than I do. Would you want your children to know about all of it just as soon as they come of age?"
"There is not one topic that I would have a problem telling them about when they're that age," Tom said icily. "Not a single one."
Hermione did not look at him. She had hoped that he would accept it if their children were not as interested in Dark Magic as he was… she had hoped he would drop his idea of indoctrinating them in his own views… but it seemed otherwise. She would not look at him. She couldn't.
In this moment, Tom was a little scary, and to several of the people at the table—even those who agreed with him—it was disconcerting. Rumblings filled the table for a moment, but died down quickly. Fox and his two allies shifted in their seats. "I see. Very well," the man said, looking down. "We have a difference of opinion on this, Minister."
Tom breathed deeply. He gazed around the table, sizing up everyone else, and came to the same conclusion that Hermione had: Most of his cronies agreed with him.
"That's fine," Tom managed. "I don't demand total conformity of opinion." He pasted a smile on his face. "We're a political faction, not a cult, and there have certainly been occasions before when we didn't all fully agree. That said," he continued, "I am the Minister for Magic, and I am going to push for this policy in the coming days. You don't have to claim to support it if you don't, but I must ask that you not undermine me publicly." He gazed at the three dissenters pointedly.
They shifted nervously some more, mumbling statements of agreement. Tom's vaguely sinister smile broadened.
Minister Riddle to Push Hogwarts to Teach the Dark Arts
Minister for Magic Tom Riddle has announced a policy initiative to change the curriculum of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with the goal of having the school offer a course in the Dark Arts to advanced students. Riddle, an acknowledged Dark wizard, states that the initiative is a "natural next step" to promote "knowledge and responsible use" of the controversial field of magic, following his previous policy to permit the experimental use of Dark spells on willing adult subjects with the risks of the magic stated honestly.
"Britain, unfortunately, has fallen behind countries in Northern and Eastern Europe that are in Durmstrang's sphere of influence," Riddle stated to the Daily Prophet, referring to the famously Dark Arts-tolerant school of magic where the subject is taught to students. "The Dark Arts are an ancient branch of magic, and as we have seen already, can be used for benevolent purposes with the proper intent. They are also the basis of most magical innovation. My proposed policy would be for a NEWT-level elective that students would be allowed to take only if they had already shown proficiency in their Defense OWL."
It is true that, although the Dark Arts are usually associated with harm, Dark spells actually are fueled by the intent of the witch or wizard casting them, and therefore do not have to be harmful. Furthermore, Riddle has acknowledged that he used Dark spells to defeat criminals in the Soviet Union who had violated the Statute of Secrecy and betrayed fellow witches and wizards to Muggle authorities, and it is strongly believed that he and his wife Hermione, the chairwoman of the National Museum of Magic, used Dark Magic to defeat the wizard Gellert Grindelwald in 1945.
But it appears that Riddle's way will not be smooth. When asked for comment, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore stated, "I have deep concerns about the idea of teaching Dark Magic in Hogwarts, and I would like to remind the Minister that the Ministry does not have the authority to dictate the curriculum at the school. I look forward to productive discussion with Minister Riddle about this subject."
.
Tom set down the newspaper. Underneath it was a deceptively benign-looking invitation from Dumbledore himself to visit the school to talk about the issue. He drew the envelope out from under the paper and read it again, although he knew what it said.
He considered his course of action. The Prophet coverage was, more or less, sympathetic to his position. He also believed that he had public opinion on his side, though he could not be sure. Dumbledore, though, was correct that the Ministry could not inject itself into the Hogwarts curriculum—at least, not without the approval of the Wizengamot.
Would the Wizengamot approve such a change? Tom held the thought in his mind for a moment before dismissing it reluctantly. The Reformist faction would probably be in lockstep against it. Sometimes the Dumbledore supporters and Weasley sycophants in that party disagreed, but this was one matter about which they would not. The Isolationist faction probably would not care for it either; many of them were from old families that had representation on the stable, sedate school board, whereas the direction of the Ministry had been known to shift with the political winds. Tom did mean for that to change… but he could hardly declare that to the wizarding community just yet. And even if all of his Wizarding Nationalists supported him—which they probably would not—with the other parties against him, any proposal to empower the Ministry to meddle with Hogwarts would go down in flames. No, asking the Wizengamot to change the rules was not viable.
Tom was also not convinced Dumbledore was susceptible to the pressure of public opinion—assuming that Tom could muster that to his side. The old codger had his principles, and people like that often liked to stand their ground even especially if it meant defying popular opinion. A flicker of self-consciousness passed through Tom's mind at this line of thought. He too had principles, and they were also pretty inflexible, but he would not consider it a point of pride to stake out an unpopular position for its own sake. He would prefer to change the public's views instead.
Though, come to think of it, so would Albus Dumbledore. Doomed quixotic stands were not his way. He was a slippery old manipulator….
It really did seem that Tom would have to take the Headmaster up on his offer, as much as he hated the idea. He sighed and considered his plans for the meeting. It would be better to have another push for the policy first, an articulate one expounding upon certain points that Tom thought would be especially persuasive. Knowledge of the Dark Arts helps people like Aurors and Healers do their job, he thought, listing the arguments to himself. It is a fruitful area of magical discovery, and has been for centuries. And with the Advance Organization now employing in-house Dark researchers, is it not better for those researchers to come from Wizarding Britain than from the Durmstrang area? Surely those arguments would work on the public… and Dumbledore was just pragmatic enough that he might not want to fight against a tide.
Tom considered Horace Slughorn as well. Sluggy liked him and Hermione. They had a genial relationship, and Sluggy unquestionably knew a lot about the Dark Arts. Tom, of all people, had personal confirmation of that. But at the same time, Sluggy did not really approve of the branch of magic. Tom was not sure whether Slughorn's personal approval of him (and Hermione) would triumph over his wariness of the type of magic that he wanted the school to teach. Slughorn was probably an easier mark than Dumbledore, but he was very far from being a guaranteed ally against the Headmaster. That was also something Tom would have to keep in mind during the visit to Hogwarts.
In the first few days after the article appeared in the newspaper, Hermione found that she had become curiously philosophical about it all.
He is a Dark wizard, she thought. He admires the Dark Arts, and he always has. Many things about him have changed, but that has not. After all, in the other timeline, he did want to be the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I don't believe for a minute that it was because of the "Defense" aspect. He thinks the school should teach the subject. This is something he has never wavered on, never changed his mind. I may not approve of it, but… it really is not surprising.
Hermione also found that, despite her disapproval of the idea, her opposition to it was not nearly as vehement as it had been to the first version of the Wizarding Renaissance. That had been a law that took people's rights away; this proposal was not. If it did take effect, illegal curses would still be illegal, and school rules about magic usage would still be in effect. There were students who taught themselves the Dark Arts at Hogwarts anyway; with a few exceptions, the books on the subject in the school library were for anyone to read if they were old enough or had a pass to the Restricted Section. She herself had read them. Tom's policy proposal was about as cautious as she could reasonably expect for something Dark-related coming from him. Only the NEWT Defense students would even be eligible, after all, and the school would get to select its own instructor. The class probably wouldn't be harmful to the students themselves. The students who would be allowed to take it likely would have learned anyway in private study, in school or immediately after.
A bigger objection that Hermione had to it was that it would normalize the material even more than it already had been… but no, even that wasn't quite that simple. Many Dark spells are perfectly legal, she thought, and no one wants this society to fall into anarchy. People aren't going to start using Unforgivables on each other in the street just because Tom is encouraging more tolerance of the Dark Arts. It's something else… something about… him… and the way people see him now. The realization hit her like a brick.
That was what it was. Although Tom was not having everything his own way, and Dumbledore did not seem likely to budge, Hermione was still surprised that, in the course of three days since the original article was printed, there had been very little public opposition in the pages of the Daily Prophet or elsewhere. Septimus Weasley, as usual, had expressed his heavy disapproval, but that was nothing new. Opposition to Tom was almost like an instinctive reflex for that man.
That meeting at the Serpents' Chalice had been unsettling to watch, and it had reawakened a bit of the old disquiet. Tom's partisans were afraid of him. It was subtle, but it was there. They knew that he was a Dark wizard with at least one kill to his name: Dolohov. His posture and body language at that meeting—to say nothing of the undertones of his voice—had been intimidating. There had been no serious public revolt over his acknowledgment of being a Dark wizard a few years ago, just the feeble and quickly forgotten protests of a few gadflies. But although the public was no longer shocked, and largely didn't hold moral disapproval of the Dark Arts in general, this magic did still intimidate or frighten them—and Tom benefited. His political opponents—or would-be rivals such as most of the adults in the Black family—were afraid to openly antagonize a politically (and magically) powerful Dark wizard, but the public disapproval of the Dark Arts was no longer a counterweight to the raw power of that Dark wizard. It left Tom with an outsize amount of power, and Hermione found that a little unsettling.
Well, if he isn't actually doing anything to people to make them fear him—which he isn't—then there's nothing I can do anyway, she thought. I can't make people less intimidated if they're simply intimidated by what he is. All I can do is make sure he doesn't abuse the power he is given, and I would do that anyway, for our family's sake and his own.
Tom was going to go to Hogwarts to meet with Dumbledore, and Hermione resolved that she would attend too. She had a feeling that, for Tom's sake, she had better be there. She could not explain why, what exactly she thought might happen, but she did not question her own instinct.
They chose to come to Hogwarts via the main entrance rather than using the Floo to enter Dumbledore's office directly. The halls of Hogwarts were just as Hermione had remembered. It was peculiar, going back there and walking down the familiar stone corridors, but knowing that in a year, her daughter would be walking these same halls.
Just before they reached Dumbledore's office, Tom pulled Hermione aside and pushed her gently against the wall. Her eyes flew wide open as he closed in, smirking.
"This hasn't happened in a while, has it?" he murmured, drawing in and giving her a short but intense kiss.
She threaded her fingers into his hair and gazed into his eyes. "It happened last night… but in the school, no, I can't say it has." A smile was playing at the corners of her mouth. "Should we visit the old Room of Requirement after the meeting with Dumbledore? For old times' sake?"
Tom's eyes gleamed. "I think that would be an excellent idea." He drew away from her, taking out the pocket watch she had given him—in that very room, for his eighteenth birthday—and checking the time. "Speaking of the old codger."
They continued their trek to his office, though both were thinking of other things until the moment they opened the door. In that instant, their more pleasant imaginings fled. Dumbledore gazed back at them, at Tom in particular, with an air better suited to a spider in its web.
"Minister Riddle… and Hermione," Dumbledore said, an old book open before him on his desk. "I am surprised to see you. Happy, but surprised."
Hermione smiled emptily back at the Headmaster. He did not look especially happy about her presence. Instead, he looked suddenly conflicted. She wondered what to make of that.
"I thought I should be here," she explained, "since my organization has a research division with a Dark Arts laboratory. I mainly take an oversight role in my position as president, of course… I'm more focused on the museum… but it's the only research institution in Wizarding Britain that does anything in the subject." That was not the reason at all, but Dumbledore did not need to know the truth—that she was here because she distrusted his intentions, even if she agreed with his view, and she wanted to protect Tom from himself if need be.
Dumbledore returned a bland smile. "Indeed. Adults who want to delve into the field have the opportunity to do so in a safe environment."
Hermione did not miss his pointed use of the word "adults," but she then noticed that Tom had not responded at all since they came into the office. That was strange. She glanced at him curiously, wondering what sight had silenced him, and then noticed that he was trying as hard as he could to read what was on the pages of the book that Dumbledore had open before him.
As unobtrusively as she could manage, she tried to sneak a look at it herself, but the print was very small. There was, however, a picture on the page: a woodcut of an arm with a long, deep slice in it, and drops of blood falling in curiously perfect vertical alignment toward a circle placeholder marked with occult symbols.
Hermione felt queasy. She recognized that picture. It was not the sort of thing one forgot—and certainly not when she had also had the "pleasure" of watching the man she loved perform the act.
Tom had worked out what it was too, and he was on the verge of gripping the edge of Dumbledore's desk. He was struggling to keep his countenance. Out of Dumbledore's sight, hidden by the desktop, she placed a hand gently on his and held it. Immediately he covered hers with his other hand, holding it as if his life depended on it.
The gleam in Dumbledore's eyes was not a twinkle in this context, but a threat. He closed the book, not making the slightest attempt to hide the title that was engraved into the binding: Secrets of the Darkest Art.
Tom swallowed. "Interesting choice of reading material, Headmaster. Were you researching the subject in preparation for our visit?"
Hermione certainly had to give him credit for sheer nerve. She ran the pad of her thumb over his hand and felt his other hand enclose hers even more tightly.
Dumbledore smiled fiercely at him, fixing his blue gaze on Tom's face as Tom averted his eyes from direct contact. "Yes, I was indeed, Tom."
Tom breathed deeply. "Well, I'm… very surprised, I have to say. That is not a book I would have considered as a text for the subject…."
"You're sure of that, Tom?"
Behind the desk, Tom squeezed Hermione's hand. His eyebrows narrowed as he regained a bit of courage at this blatant baiting. "Yes, I'm sure. Now… shall we discuss reality?"
Dumbledore regarded him wordlessly for a moment. Time continued to elapse past the point at which a conversationalist would have made a response, and Hermione felt the sudden rush of awkwardness that inevitably developed. "Professor," she began.
But Dumbledore had begun to speak at the same time. "I would like nothing more than to discuss reality," he said. "My apologies, Hermione," he added as he realized that she had spoken too. "Were you going to say something?"
She considered for a brief moment before shaking her head. "Go ahead."
"Very well. Tom… the reality is that I cannot support this plan of yours to pressure the school to teach the Dark Arts."
Tom glowered, momentarily forgetting the book that Dumbledore had prominently displayed. "I understand why some people have misgivings about the idea, and that is why my proposal would limit eligible students to those with an OWL in Defense. They would be old enough, and they would have proved their competence. They read books on the Dark Arts on their own anyway," he muttered.
A faint, ironic smile formed involuntarily on Hermione's face at that. Tom had realized the same thing she had.
"Yes, Horace and I were reminiscing about some of our most successful students, including you, I must say. He had such interesting discussions with you in his club… and he remarked that wizards of a certain caliber are often drawn to the study," Dumbledore said, his voice still mild and seemingly nonthreatening, one adult speaking to another about the deeds of youth. But in this context, any mention of Horace Slughorn's "reminiscences" about Tom, combined with that blasted book and the fact that it had been opened to that damned page, made Dumbledore's attitude something other than sympathetic nostalgia—and it was very threatening.
How the bloody hell could he have guessed? Hermione thought. Slughorn doesn't remember Tom's first Killing Curse survival, and Tom put Grindelwald under an Unbreakable Vow over his witness of the second. How—but then she remembered. When they had collaborated on removing the dementors from Azkaban, Tom had been aggressive indeed, dancing very close to the subject of Horcruxes. And Dumbledore did appear to know about the discussion with Slughorn….
"But the fact is that young people—even the most brilliant—can sometimes act recklessly," he continued. "The impulsiveness of youth is inherently more dangerous for witches and wizards, since we can do magic… and the Dark Arts would add even more danger to the situation. Even the very best and brightest students may lose their tempers with friends… or romantic interests," he added mildly, "and in a fit of anger, do something that they would not otherwise do. That could include Dark curses if they know dangerous ones."
Hermione's head swam with sudden confusion. This was not coded intimidation. This was Dumbledore's honest opinion about the subject at hand. Surely he wouldn't bother to bandy words with Tom if he truly thought that Tom had done the form of Dark Magic that he, Dumbledore, found most unforgivable… would he?
"These students are put at a disadvantage, compared to competition from Durmstrang, if they want to go into careers that involve dealing with Dark Magic," Tom said. "Unless, of course, they have studied privately… but they aren't tested, so there is no standard way of determining who can do what."
"The Ministry has the right to offer a test if you think it should," Dumbledore said. "One does not have to even attend Hogwarts to sit the OWL or NEWT, since the Ministry administers them."
That silenced Tom. His gaze settled once more on the book.
"But I have witnessed so many young people—well-meaning, intelligent, kind young people—have a fit of pique and lose their tempers, and with it, their inhibitions. At least half of the time a student is admitted to the infirmary, it's not because of an accident; it's because of a curse or a hex from someone else. Adding Dark Magic to the mix…." Dumbledore broke off, looking sad.
Hermione suddenly realized what he was thinking about, and so did Tom. Tom leaned forward, his eyes gleaming, aggression returning to his posture. He pounced. "Like yourself, your brother, and Grindelwald?"
Hermione wanted to shake him. What was he thinking? She had thought of it too, but this—
Dumbledore looked startled for a moment, but he recovered at once and fixed Tom with his hard stare again. "Yes, Tom, like that. And even adults can sometimes inflict permanent damage."
Tom's arrogant bravado dimmed again, and he swallowed.
Hermione decided to speak up. She gently stroked Tom's hands, trying to calm him. "Headmaster, I will speak freely to you. You must realize that we don't have the votes on the Wizengamot to force the school to do the Ministry's bidding… and to be honest, I'm not sure that any political faction would want that precedent, even my husband's. I certainly wouldn't want it. So if you truly believe that this subject should not be taught here, you have final say over that." She spoke carefully, choosing her words to try to calm Dumbledore as well, to send him the message that he did not need to blackmail and threaten Tom to protect the school from Tom's agenda.
Dumbledore studied her face, considering what she said. His face seemed to relax and soften, and Hermione then realized that he had been as tense as Tom. This is very important to him, she thought. He really, really does not want the Dark Arts taught at this school. That horrible duel with Grindelwald and his brother must truly be the main cause, and it makes sense.
"I… understand the need that some professions have to know the Dark Arts," Dumbledore said, contemplating. "And it is true that the genesis of new spells, the innovation that has improved our society over the years, is the will of the wizard to make something happen, which is the Dark part, and that 'light magic' is a refinement that reduces the amount of oneself that is poured into a spell…."
"Which also reduces the power," Tom put in, glaring blackly at the Headmaster.
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "It does. Whether that is good or bad depends wholly on the context. But this is the very reason why I cannot let the Dark Arts be taught here, Tom. One only has to mean them for them to work. One doesn't have to mean them rationally and thoughtfully."
Tom glowered, avoiding the sight of the book on Dumbledore's desk. He seemed suddenly depressed, and he rose from the chair, ready to leave the office.
"If it is important to you for people to learn this subject in a structured setting, I urge you to act through the Ministry to achieve your goals," Dumbledore said briskly. He turned to Hermione. "Hermione, may I have a private word with you?"
Hermione's heart sank again. This could not be good. Tom shot Dumbledore one last glare before stalking out and shutting the door behind him hard.
She folded her hands and gazed across the desk at him, determined not to wilt before him. He regarded her for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then spoke.
"I remember what you told me, back in 1945, just before the end of your seventh year," he said. His voice was calm again, back to its normal, familiar, somewhat comforting tone.
She found herself relieved. "What was that, Professor? Specifically?"
"You mentioned—and I paraphrase—that your life's work in this time would be ongoing, rather than changing one thing that fixed everything else for good." He smiled at her. "You have done a fine job so far."
Hermione was astounded. After that performance—after Dumbledore blatantly, if nonverbally, threatened to accuse Tom of his darkest secret—Dumbledore thought she had done a fine job?
He must have noticed her shock, for he smiled sadly at her. "You may tell this old man that it is none of his business, but it's clear to me that you and Tom love each other—and your family—very much. Your oldest child is going to be here next year, won't she?"
Hermione nodded. "Her eleventh birthday was recently. She was thrilled to get her letter, even though she knew it was coming."
"Of course," he said kindly. "The wonder of a child is a beautiful thing. I still have my letter preserved, though I do not know where now… and I remember my first sight of Hogwarts, long ago…." He trailed off. "I worried about you that day in 1945. I worried that you were making a choice simply because you believed it was your duty. That was why I offered you the option of returning. I was wrong then, and I admit it." He gazed toward the door, where Tom undoubtedly lurked outside. "Love is the most powerful force in the world," he finally said. "It sounds like a platitude, but I have learned over my life that it is nevertheless true." He smiled at her, a melancholy smile, but completely sincere.
Hermione somehow knew that this was her signal that the meeting was at an end. That was certainly an enigmatic little conversation, and she would have to think more about it—but Tom was waiting in the hall for her, and he was not happy. She could hardly blame him. He had not got what he wanted, and instead he had near-confirmation that Dumbledore suspected him in one of his biggest secrets. It seems that I'll have to use some of the powerful magic of love immediately, she thought wryly as she headed to the door.
Tom stormed towards the Room of Requirement. His robe was billowing behind him as he strode forward, and he had his wand drawn. Hermione pitied anyone who might cross his path, though fortunately the school was largely deserted, so they did not encounter anyone. It would have been all she could do to keep up with him if he had not been clutching her arm—gently, at least—and therefore slowing down just a bit to accommodate her. It gave her the chance to think about the conversation that had just transpired, and the more she thought about it, the better she felt.
Dumbledore was not apparently interested in proving his suspicion, certainly not in the public sphere. The consequences of that would be severe, and it was clear from the private discussion he'd had with Hermione that destroying Tom was not his goal. In letting Tom know that he had deduced the Horcrux secret, Dumbledore had wanted to check Tom's power a bit, not rip a husband from his wife, a father from his children. He had not wanted to divide a loving couple and a family over something that, distasteful as it might be, was not actually hurting anything except the wizard who had done it. For all Dumbledore knew, the requisite killing might have been the death of Antonin Dolohov, which was perfectly legal and which Tom had admitted to after their trip to the Soviet bloc. The other obvious possibility, from Dumbledore's limited perspective, was Myrtle, and that had happened years ago before Hermione even showed up.
Some part of the apparent change in Dumbledore had to be due to the fact that Tom was a productive member of society, and that Dumbledore did not have any reason to think that Tom's discussion of "seven" with Slughorn was anything more than a rejected theoretical musing. Tom looked perfectly normal, after all; his mind was rational and he had a family that even Dumbledore himself acknowledged was a loving one. Dumbledore had always had a pragmatic side, being willing to work with known Dark wizards and people who were guilty of all sorts of imprisonable offenses, but Hermione was not sure that this was primarily pragmatism. It seemed to be his belief in love.
Dumbledore had always claimed to be a proponent of love and its powers, and it looked as if that ideal was now more important to him even than his disgust for the magic that was his ultimate anathema. She recalled the old timeline, distant though the memories were now. For all his sunny optimism on everything else, that Dumbledore had still had an impenetrable darkness about him when it came to Tom Riddle. He had always excluded Tom from his statements about love. This time, it was different.
They were at their destination, so they stood in front of the entrance to the Room of Requirement and waited. Hermione focused her thoughts on the room she'd had as a seventh year, the room they had shared so many nights in that year. The outline appeared on the wall, and Tom opened the door.
The room was as she had remembered. The large bed, with its green, red, silver, and gold bedspread, stood on the floor. Tom ignored it, however, and sank into one of the armchairs. Hermione took the other one.
"That blasted, meddling old man—" Tom began. He shook his head in fury. "He knew. He knew! He had that book out, opened to the very section… that cute little allusion to my conversation with Slughorn…. Hermione, how the hell did he know?"
"He cannot prove it," Hermione said, trying to reassure him first before saying anything else. "Yes, he suspects, but he cannot prove it."
Tom took a deep breath and let it out. "There is that. He obviously wanted to use this as leverage, since he's so resolved against letting the Dark Arts be taught here… 'keep your Dark agenda out of my school or I'll expose your secret'… but how could he have known?"
Hermione did not really want to answer that, since she suspected it was Tom's own fault in alluding to the topic when they had discussed dementors, but Tom answered his own question.
"Never mind, I'm sure it was the conversation about dementors a couple of years ago," he said, groaning. "He suspected me of Dark Magic ever since I was a student, and by that time, I had admitted it to that reporter… so if he didn't already know about the conversation with Slughorn, I'm sure he asked then. But you're right: He cannot prove it." Tom scowled. "This makes me almost want to enroll Madeline in Durmstrang instead of here."
"Dumbledore won't be unfair to her," Hermione said at once. "He has flaws, and he does have his favorites among students—"
"You don't say."
"—but so does Slughorn. Slughorn will like her, I'm sure. And there's a difference between having favorites and singling out children for mistreatment and dislike."
"He singled me out."
"I don't think he sees you exactly the same way that he used to… but even so, the wizarding world believes that Dumbledore is related to me," Hermione said. "He won't treat her unfairly."
For a moment Tom wanted to continue arguing, but he seemed to consider what she had said and accepted it. "I hope you're right. I'm also worried that he'll try to get me removed from my seat now. He can't prove I created a Horcrux, and he probably wouldn't choose to spread innuendo about that particular thing either… but there would be other ways to attack me…."
"Dumbledore is pragmatic," Hermione said. "I'll be honest with you: If he wanted to become Minister himself, or there was someone in the Reformist faction who was a real contender—"
"And not a pompous, self-righteous has-been like Weasley."
"—then he would probably push for that. But there isn't, and so he would rather have someone intelligent and effective there whom he can work with. That's you, Tom."
"What did he say to you when he sent me out of his office?"
"I was going to tell you about that," she said. "It was an enigmatic conversation, but I thought about it while we were walking up here and I think I know what he was conveying. This is actually why I said just now that I think his view of you has changed."
"Even with his awareness of…?"
"It seems so." Hermione explained to Tom what Dumbledore had said and what she thought it meant.
Tom looked scornful at first, but Hermione had anticipated that. After all, she was talking about statements of Albus Dumbledore's on the subject of love. He did love his family, but his bias against Dumbledore was so great—and it would be especially acute right now—that he would not be amenable to sentimental comments from that source. But as she told Tom of her own interpretations, his face changed.
"That… makes sense," he acknowledged. He was much calmer now. He reached for her hand, the one that bore the silver-and-emerald serpent ring he had given her in 1945, and caressed that finger especially.
Hermione was relieved that he had accepted her word so quickly, but she was even more relieved that Tom was not spouting threats of killing Dumbledore over this. Perhaps it was merely that he knew how impracticable that would be, especially to get away with, given his prestigious and very public station. Perhaps it was because he knew that Dumbledore couldn't prove anything, and he was prepared for a political fight if Dumbledore decided to give him one over some unrelated matter. But she also wanted to think that there was more to it, and that over the years, Tom really had moved beyond immediately looking to violence as his first line of defense.
"I want to do something, though," Tom continued. "For the Dark Arts class."
"Maybe you should take Dumbledore's advice and have the Ministry do it," she suggested. "The Ministry already handles Apparition licensing."
He nodded. "I could keep the basic plan—Dark Arts courses for adults, limited to those who had earned Outstanding or Exceeds Expectations in their Defense OWLs—but have the Ministry do it, on Ministry property, rather than the school." He smirked. "That's preferable, now that I think about it. The old man would have been in charge of the instructor and curriculum if he'd conceded the school for it, but with this plan, he won't have any say other than his Wizengamot vote. Serves him right."
Hermione shook her head in mild exasperation, but at the same time, she was relieved that Tom was back to normal and would see fit to take his "revenge" on Dumbledore in this benign way.
They remained in the Room of Requirement for a while after that. The bed did beckon, after all, and they had plenty of time.
End Notes: The bit with Dumbledore was kind of foreshadowed in the chapter "Curious Allies," the scene where they discuss the dementors with him. He's guessed rather a lot since then. He guessed in canon, so he can do it here. Unlike in canon, he can't prove anything, but he doesn't have to—and, whether he'd admit it or not, he doesn't really want to. Tom has a family and is a good Minister. Dumbledore can disapprove highly of what he suspects (rightly) that Tom has done without wanting to destroy a family and ruin a beneficial Minister over it. And Hermione is right: He has not written off Tom this time.
As much as I want Tom to win at (almost) everything, he really is not the sort of person who can be trusted with absolute power—even this AU evolution of him. And I have to confess, the sort of behavior that people exhibit in this chapter is a guilty pleasure of mine.
The hunt for Fenrir Greyback will be next!