Knowledge is Power
February 20, 1944
Tom found it quite pleasant to wake up to the sight of Rosemary in his bed. He couldn't help but to run a hand over her body, still completely naked from the previous night's explorations. He traced her leg, hip, waist, and shoulder, before finally stroking her hair. Tom should have felt guilty for waking her, but was too content to see her blue eyes open for the first time that day. She turned over so she was facing him; this time she didn't seem as testy as she had when he woke her in the library earlier that week.
"Good morning," she whispered, smiling before raising her head up to reach his lips with her own.
"How did you sleep?" he asked, continuing to stroke her hair.
"Quite well, thank you. And you?"
"Likewise."
She lifted her head up and glanced around the room; both Donohue and Orion had also spent the night. "I should go before they all wake up."
He didn't want her to leave, but nodded in understanding. Rose reached over the side of the bed and grabbed her clothes. He watched in amusement as she struggled to dress under the covers so the others didn't catch a glimpse of her exposed body.
She leaned down to kiss his cheek as she stood to leave. He found himself wishing that every morning could be like this, but it was rather impractical for her to spend every night in his dormitory, of course. When she left, Tom leaned over to smell the pillow she had slept on and allowed her scent to fill his lungs. He was tempted to stay in bed all morning, but forced himself to get up; he may as well do something productive.
His first stop would be Slughorn's office.
The professor promptly answered his office door and greeted Tom warmly, welcoming him inside. "What can I do for you, Tom?"
"Well," he started, "I wanted to thank you for allowing Miss Horton and I to meet with Mr. Flamel. It was quite an astounding experience." Tom decided to leave out his underwhelmed thoughts of Flamel.
"I was hoping you two would enjoy it! It was my pleasure. When he informed me that he would be paying Albus and myself a visit, I thought that you especially might want to meet with him. I couldn't help but remember your interest in horcruxes and thought I might introduce you to a branch of magic that is perhaps more…worthwhile to study. I do wish we could have offered classes in alchemy this term."
Slughorn's comment irritated him. So the meeting was simply meant to distract him from studying potentially troubling areas of magic, with Slughorn attempting to steer him in the "right" direction? He certainly did not appreciate professors telling him what he should and should not study. What was possibly wrong with wanting to gain as much magical knowledge as he could?
But it wasn't the first time he had been reminded of horcruxes in the past day. Before he had fallen asleep the night before, he had thought of Nicolas Flamel's quest for immortality. He had spent decades developing the Philosopher's Stone and could have saved so much time if he had just created a horcrux instead. Of course, murder was the prerequisite for doing so and Tom realized that not everyone had the stomach for it. But if one wanted immortality above all else, it seemed like such a small price to pay. Especially if the condition could be fulfilled by offing someone that wouldn't be particularly missed, like a beggar or someone of the sort.
Another thought briefly flickered across his mind: if he had known about horcruxes the previous year, before Myrtle's death, he could have been immortal at that very moment. It occurred to Tom that he had caused the death of a fellow student without feeling even a hint of guilt for it. Admittedly, the more he thought about it in the past week, he became increasingly certain that his reaction was actually entirely normal. Did people ever actually feel guilty for killing if the victims themselves were of no worth to society, such as the muggle-born folk? Perhaps it was simply that people expressed guilt only because it was the "right" thing to do; but who, really, determined right from wrong?
He realized that Slughorn was still speaking and finally tuned back in to what he was saying: "Now it's so clear why both of you wanted each other chosen as Head Boy and Head Girl…"
Tom said nothing, but moved to stand in front of the fireplace. He enjoyed looking at the flames, consuming everything in their path with little discrimination. Slughorn continued to ramble on about their coupledom, until Tom finally interrupted. "Sir, who is on the panel that makes the final decision?"
"Well, it is myself, Headmaster Dippet of course, Professor Flannigan, Professor Viesey, and Professor Dumbledore."
Tom swallowed slowly as he heard the last name. It made sense that each Head of House was on the selection panel, but Tom had hoped this wasn't the case for the Head of Gryffindor. He was the only professor that didn't seem to like him and he hadn't a clue why. He was even at the top of the class in Transfiguration, along with Rosemary, who seemed to get along with him just fine.
"I see," he said quietly, letting the information fully sink in. He considered the flames again and realized what he should do, suddenly feeling full of purpose. "I should be off, Sir. Thank you again for allowing us to have dinner with Nicolas Flamel."
Slughorn gave him a cheery smile and Riddle was on his way, heading quickly to the staircase that would lead him to Professor Dumbledore's office. Clearly he would have to take matters into his own hands and begin campaigning for himself; he didn't want there to be any doubt in his selection as Head Boy.
The door was opened slightly when he finally reached it, five flights of stairs and a few corridors later. Tom took a slow deep breath before knocking, knowing this encounter would surely test his limited patience. "Come in," he heard Professor Dumbledore say.
Tom pushed open the door and let himself inside. Dumbledore was in the process of writing something; he caught a glimpse and thought it looked like a lengthy letter. "Hello, Tom. How may I help you?" he asked, sounding rather distracted and continuing to write.
There was something about Dumbledore that had always made him somewhat uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the fact that he was the one who had brought Tom to Hogwarts from Wool's Orphanage; it was disconcerting that he, or anyone, knew about Tom's past.
Tom thought about bringing up his dinner with Nicolas Flamel, but thought better of it. He wasn't sure if Slughorn had informed Dumbledore and he certainly didn't want to have his best professor accused of blatant favoritism. He shifted nervously between his feet before speaking with an air of his perfect, practiced composure: "Sir, with Head Boy and Head Girl selection quickly approaching, I was wondering if you had a preferred candidate?"
Dumbledore didn't even look up as he responded. "It would be of conflicting interest to the other applicants if I told you."
"But you do have a preference though," Tom pressed on.
"It's impossible to say without reviewing each application. There will be plenty of qualified applicants this term...I trust that it will be very difficult to choose."
It was as though Dumbledore was trying to provoke him. Tom forced himself to take a breath, calming himself before replying. "Well, you may have guessed that I am planning on applying."
"I wish you the best of luck in your pursuits," he said lightly. "I do hope Miss Horton will apply as well."
Now he was clearly trying to provoke Tom. Hadn't he said just seconds ago that he didn't have a preference? Asking about Rose certainly seemed to indicate the opposite. As if all of this wasn't obvious enough already, he carried on: "You're lucky to have her, she's quite clever."
It was true; Tom did feel lucky to have her. But it stung hearing it from someone else, as though Dumbledore was suggesting that Tom was entirely unworthy of her. He gritted his teeth as he spoke. "Yes, both of us are always top of the class…" Tom told himself to stop there, but couldn't help it; his temper had been flared and it was overpowering. "…which is why it simply wouldn't be logical for anyone else to be named Head Boy and Head Girl."
Dumbledore must have sensed his anger because he finally looked up, his blue eyes piercing him as though he was scanning every inch of Tom's mind. "Tom," he said calmly, "I told you that I cannot reveal any preference."
The calmness of the professor's voice served only to enrage him more. "Surely you are aware of the fact that no student at this school has the same dedication to the study of magic as I, nor the talent." His voice was sharp, cutting like razors through the air. He knew that it was arrogant and rather rude to say, but at the time, he found that he didn't really give a damn.
It didn't seem to faze Dumbledore at all. A hint of a serene smile appeared on his face; it seemed like the more composure Tom lost, the more that the professor gained. He stood from his desk, walked over to Tom, and placed a hand on his arm. Dumbledore's eyes gazed down at him, conveying an air of complete superiority. The look alone was enough to make Tom's blood boil. "One of the most valuable assets for a student to have is an appreciation for the limitations of their knowledge."
Tom glared at him and ripped his arm away, storming out of the office before he could begin shouting obscenities at the infuriating wizard. He was too mad to care about the fact that he had likely lost any possible endorsement from Dumbledore in regard to the Head Boy position. What did it matter? He didn't need him anyway. There were three other professors, and the headmaster, who would be happy to make him Head Boy. It wasn't even worth the exhaustion of trying to get on Dumbledore's good side; he would take his chances.
He fumed as he walked down the corridor. What was Dumbledore's problem with him anyhow? Why did he always seem hesitant to encourage him? It wasn't simply because he was a Slytherin and Dumbledore the Head of Gryffindor; he had seen the professor interacting quite amicably with others from his house. The professor was known as a great wizard; even Slughorn carried on about Dumbledore's magical feats from time to time. As such, shouldn't he be more impressed with Tom's accomplishments at Hogwarts, especially knowing that he didn't grow up with any sort of magical influence?
Dumbledore's last comment rang in his ears: "One of the most valuable assets for a student to have is an appreciation for the limitations of their knowledge."
Tom came to the realization that a burning hate for the professor had suddenly been brought to the surface. He had a feeling that it had been there for some time, but it had just taken him this encounter to realize it fully. Tom rounded the corner and spotted the library. For the second time that morning, he was filled with purpose.
He entered the restricted section and began pulling any book off the shelf that he hadn't yet read, until his arms were full. He brought them to the study room that he usually shared with Rosemary and was rather relieved that she wasn't there. He was in the mood to be alone, to fume and sulk in peace. He remembered the way that Dumbledore looked at him, full of calm superiority, and the memory fueled his vast temper.
But in the face of the unpleasant encounter and his subsequent rage, his new purpose and drive had been born: he would dedicate his life to becoming a master of magical knowledge. One day, preferably sooner than later, he would be a greater wizard than even Dumbledore.
He decided to read into each subject a bit at a time; it wouldn't be enough to study just one branch of magic, he needed to master them all if he were to succeed in his task. Tom began with an old History of Magic textbook, cracking it open and pouring himself into the pages, absorbing word after word. He was lucky to have such a sharp memory; it took no effort at all to retain nearly everything he read. But perhaps this was due in part to his newfound motivation.
Interestingly, he reached the section regarding the founders of Hogwarts and came across a line that seemed to contradict the story Rosemary told him at the waterfall in the Forest earlier that week: Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor were married in 997 A.D.
Tom debated telling Rose about it; surely she would be disappointed that her grandfather's story was wrong. Then again, she seemed to think that he might have been a bit loony...He made a mental note, deciding to show her the section later. He put the book down and stretched, glancing up at the clock. Nearly an hour had passed and he had only read on one subject. He picked up a new book, this time about the Dark Arts. He began reading once more with exceptional zeal, given that this was, without a doubt, his favorite subject.
He soon came across a couple of subjects that he had read about before: legilimency and occlumency. For some reason, they hadn't seemed nearly as interesting before as they did now. Perhaps his encounter with Dumbledore had given him a greater appreciation regarding their potential uses. If he was a skilled legilimens, he could have simply read Dumbledore's mind to see who he was planning to advocate for the Head Boy position; the entire episode would have been completely unnecessary.
This sparked a genuinely terrifying thought in his mind: what if Professor Dumbledore knew legilimency? Would that explain that feeling Tom got whenever Dumbledore looked into his eyes? Not only would he be aware of Tom's loathing toward him, but also more serious secrets of his, such as the events regarding the Chamber of Secrets the previous year. It made Tom quite paranoid to think about, so he tried to push it from his mind. Surely, if he knew for sure that it was Tom's fault, Dumbledore wouldn't have let him get away with it. Regardless, the fact that his memories were clear and out in the open once more was all the more reason to learn a skill like occlumency. He decided that mastering these should be his first order of business as they were both fairly basic and extremely useful. In the meantime, he would continue his mastery of other subjects: Potions was up next.
Eventually, Tom forced himself to leave the library, checking out five books regarding legilimency and occlumency on his way out. After stopping in the Great Hall for dinner, he returned to the dungeons and was nearing the Slytherin common room when he looked up to see Lestrange approaching him in the corridor.
"Afternoon, mate," he said. "You look quite chipper."
Tom narrowed his eyes, saying nothing in response. He was in a better mood since leaving the library, filled with the hopefulness of new purpose and ambition.
Lestrange raised an eyebrow suggestively. "I couldn't help but notice that Horton spent the night last night."
Why was it that everyone seemed to think that any part of their relationship should be public knowledge? Was it so difficult for everyone to mind their own damned business?
"Yes," Tom said, his voice heavily laden with annoyance. "And?"
Lestrange smirked. "Nothing at all…it just explains your good mood. At least she left before Faye woke up. That might've ended in disaster." Tom continued walking toward the common room and Lestrange followed behind him. "I can't imagine Avery is too happy about it either; she never slept over when she was with him. But you knew that of course." Clearly, Lestrange was somehow under the impression that Tom wanted to talk about all of this. "So, was she as good as he always said she was…?"
It took Tom a moment to realize what Lestrange was actually asking about, but when he did, he was appalled and in a state of near disbelief. At times he forgot how vile his housemates could be. His temper flared and he quickly drew his wand. "Confringo!" He flicked his wrist and Lestrange was violently thrown back against the wall.
The spell had hit him directly in the stomach and he began coughing; Tom assumed it made him lose his breath. He calmly strode over and stood above him, looking down at him with his most threatening glare. "If you ever bring that up again, I promise that whatever happens to you will be much, much worse." Lestrange looked up and nodded; the fear in his eyes made Tom feel powerful, almost as powerful as his newly attained knowledge made him feel. He found that he quite enjoyed it. He briskly turned on his heel and continued to the common room, drunk with power and thirsty for more.
"His resolve is not to seem, but to be, the best." ― Aeschylus
Ah, I apologize that this chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but hopefully you enjoyed it nonetheless! It was kind of nice to just write from Tom's point of view this time. I'll be writing from Rose's two chapters from now, and later in the series I may incorporate some occasional "guest" POVs.
Thank you to NoneOfYourBusiness101, S the Sky Pirate, and Mrs. WaylandOdinsonBlack for your reviews, as well as those of you that have favorited/followed this story! It's officially over 50,000 words, hooray!
Preview for next chapter: drinking, a swim, and a secret.
I'll post a little early this week since I was late on this one. Thanks for reading!