Chapter Thirty Six

It wasn't the first time Harry had been in Dumbledore's memory, and looked at the younger Dumbledore, only really surprised over the fact he was sitting behind the desk in the headmaster's office that the older Dumbledore had just left moments ago.

He looked not much younger than the current Dumbledore, but with both hands undamaged. In fact the only real difference from the scene they had just left was that it was snowing, thick, soft flakes piling up outside the window.

Dumbledore also seemed to be waiting for someone, looking up at the door behind them. Sure enough there was a knock on the door.

The younger Dumbledore took a moment to steady himself before calling for whoever was behind the door to enter.

Harry wasn't surprised to see Tom Riddle enter. He was however surprised to see such a dramatic change in him, far more of a change than ten years should have made, even under difficult circumstances. Even now he was younger than Harry's parents, only a few years older than Tonks and Nikka.

He looked much older than his twenty eight or nine years though, and the biggest change was he was no longer handsome. There was not a trace of the beauty that once had been there. His features were already slightly squashed, burned and blurred somehow. His skin, once porcelain pale was waxy and sick looking.

The biggest change was his deep, dark eyes. They weren't yet the horrific red they would become, but the whites were bloodshot, almost looked like they would start to bleed any moment. It was not a good transformation.

The Dumbledore behind the desk, however, seemed to have been expected this half formed man and showed no sigh of surprise. Clearly this wasn't a drop in visit.

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

"Thank you." said Tom, or rather Voldemort as even his voice was slightly higher and far colder than it had been. He sat down and looked straight at Dumbledore, although there was little threat in his eyes currently, "I heard that you had become Headmaster. A worthy choice."

Dumbledore smiled, "I am glad you approve. May I offer you a drink?"

"That would be welcome. I have come a long way." Voldemort said blankly. Harry wondered if there was any emotion left in him other than anger and fear.

Dumbledore stood and moved over to the same cabinet which now held the pensive. Currently it was filled with a dozen or more bottles. Dumbledore poured wine into an ornate goblet and handed it to Voldemort before filling one for himself and settling back behind his desk.

He took a leisurely sip and smiled at Voldemort, "So, Tom… to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Voldemort didn't answer at once, choosing to prolong the moment he held the conversation as Dumbledore had. There may have been no threat in Voldemort's strange, bloody eyes but this was clearly a show of power, from both wizards.

"They do not call me 'Tom' any more." Voldemort said softly, "These days, I am known as-"

Dumbledore cut across him, smiling pleasantly enough, "I know what you are known as, 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."

Dumbledore raised his glass, as though he was toasting Voldemort. Voldemort's face didn't move but the atmosphere become notably more hostile. Harry could tell that this was a huge slight to Voldemort and an insistence by Dumbledore to control the meeting hadn't gone down well with Voldemort.

"I am surprised you have remained here so long." Voldemort said, changing the subject after a slight pause, "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."

"Well," smiled Dumbledore, "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." Voldemort said quickly, "I merely wondered why you, who is so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who has twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister…"

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

Voldemort didn't smile but nodded his head to concede the point. The silence stretched on, Dumbledore seemingly waiting for Voldemort to say something.

Harry watched as Voldemort debated his options and chose to break the silence, "I have returned, 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 looked at Voldemort over his goblet, considering him for a moment. Harry couldn't think that he was seriously considering letting Voldemort teach.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, after several moments, "I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us. Rumours of your doings have reached your old school Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."

Once more Voldemort's face didn't flicker, "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this Dumbledore."

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

Voldemort's eyes burned red, "Certainly. 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, but powerfully, "Of some. Of others, you remain… forgive me… woefully ignorant."

Harry expected Voldemort to be angry at such an obvious insult but for the first time he smiled. It was more of a leer, a look of evil, made only to threaten.

"The old argument." Voldemort 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.

Harry felt his mind drift back to Maggie, asking just for a moment how old her baby girl would be now, twelve or thirteen? For some reason he also knew that Voldemort's mind had gone to the same place.

Voldemort showed no sign of upset or emotion though, "Well then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts? 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."

Dumbledore looked mildly stunned for a moment, "And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves… or so rumour has it, the Death Eaters?"

It was clear to Harry that Voldemort hadn't expected Dumbledore to know the name of his followers. His eyes flashed red again and his mis-shapen nostrils flared.

He calmed himself quickly, "My friends will carry on without me, I am sure."

Dumbledore almost snorted a laugh, Harry was sure it was put on to further annoy Voldemort, "I am glad to hear that you consider them friends. I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."

"You are mistaken." Voldemort said quickly.

"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them, Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, 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."

Harry felt that that was unfair. He had no doubt that his friends would come with him if it was something important like a job interview.

Voldemort seemed most annoyed that Dumbledore had such detailed information on him and who was with him, but he composed his face once again, although his eyes were slightly more red.

"You are omniscient as ever Dumbledore."

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

Dumbledore set down his now empty glass and pulled himself up to his full height in his seat, drawing the tips of his fingers together as he so often did, "Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you don't want?"

Voldemort looked at him in cold, angry surprise, "A job I do not want? 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 eighteen. What is it you're after Tom. Why not try an open request for once?"

Voldemort sneered, "If you do not want to give me a job…" he hissed.

"Of course I don't." Dumbledore said plainly and calmly, "And I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."

Voldemort stood up, his features twisted in rage that made him look less like Tom Riddle than ever, "This is your final word?"

"It is." Dumbledore said, also standing, towering over Voldemort although there was only an inch or so difference in their heights.

Voldemort sneered at him, "Then we have nothing more to say to each other."

"No, nothing." said Dumbledore, his face filled with regret and sadness, "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…"

Voldemort's hand twitched towards his wand, but the moment passed. He turned away and left the room without even a goodbye.

Harry felt the current Dumbledore reached for his arm and pulling him from the memory. Dumbledore let Harry sit down, his mind swirling with what he'd seen.

"Mum always said there was no point in forcing an apology." Harry said. It was clearly not what Dumbledore had been expecting him to say.

Dumbledore sat carefully in his chair and placed his finger tips together once more, "I don't understand Harry."

"When I was little, I got into Dad's Potion lab at Grimmauld Place, wasted a fortune in ingredients to make what turned into black sludge. It didn't even explode!" Harry tired to explain, "I was annoyed at mum as I thought she was going to make me say sorry and I didn't want to, dad had promised me a lesson and then got busy so I thought it was his fault."

Dumbledore nodded along, listening to what Harry was saying, "I assume that your mother didn't make you apologise?"

"No." Harry nodded, "She said it was because if you tell someone to apologise, they don't mean it."

Harry nodded, "Are you saying that my forced apologies from Voldemort weren't genuine? For I know that now…"

Harry shook his head, looking Dumbledore dead in the eyes, "No. I'm saying you shouldn't of tried to force it out of him, scare him in the first place."

Dumbledore flinched just for a moment, "You may well be right…"

Harry said nothing. He wasn't sure if it was over confidence in the love of his mother but he was sure that had she been the one to take Voldemort under her wing, rather than Dumbledore, he would of turned out a better man.

"Do you have any other points about what you saw?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

"Do you know why he came back to school? Since you're so sure that he didn't in fact want the job?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore smiled, "I have ideas, but no more than that."

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes, "What ideas, Sir?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment, "It will be easier to make clear after we have seen Slughorn's memory."

"Well we have it." Harry pointed out.

"It is far too late." Dumbledore said firmly, "But I shall call for you soon."

Harry picked at his fingers, "It was the Defence Against the Dark Arts position Voldemort was after, wasn't it?"

Dumbledore nodded, "What makes you think that?"

Harry shrugged, "The job is cursed isn't it? Well that's the joke. But, it's true, no one lasts more than a year."

Dumbledore smiled and nodded again, "Yes."

Harry clenched his fists, "And yet you gave it to my dad."

Dumbledore's smile faltered for a second, "Good night Harry."

"Good night, Professor." Harry spat out through gritted teeth, leaving the room.