This story is dedicated to my dear friend A7064.
I hope it brings you joy, just as your friendship brings me.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," greeted Albus Dumbledore, smiling warmly as he patiently waited with joyful expectancy for the first years to gather around him. "The start-of-term banquet at the Great Hall here behind me will begin shortly, but before you take your seats, you will be Sorted into your houses."
His smile now grew brighter, understanding the excitement and the nervousness now present in the air far too well.
"Now line up in pairs and follow me into the Great Hall," he said as his eyes curiously moved along the students. Some faces were already familiar, others not. Ah! There he is.
Tom Riddle was one of the last to line up, which seemed to be intentional. Albus was not surprised to see this, as the boy obviously preferred to be on his own, more interested in the ambience of the castle than his peers. There was a distinctive curious interest in his eyes that instantly turned cautious when they met his. Considering the particular events of their encounter, it didn't surprise him that he had left a lasting impression on the child. But this was true on both sides.
Albus decided against telling the staff members about the concerning things he'd seen and heard during his visit at the orphanage, wanting to give the child a second chance and an opportunity to repent. Nevertheless he would keep an eye on Riddle. The boy had a clear proclivity for cruelty that worried him, as well as him seemingly being secretive and alone by choice, but he was also such a highly unusual talent.
Some talents of his seemed very peculiar indeed for a child from the muggle world, but even with no clear parentage, it was already clear to Albus that Riddle would be the most gifted student he had met so far, or possibly ever would. And this realisation left him utterly intrigued .
In that look of his, he could also see daring intrepidity, another trait that Albus had noted in their first encounter. Even if he did not fully expect it, it would not be at all surprising nor unwelcome to see Riddle sorted into his house.
For his second lesson with the first years, Riddle was absent. Before the class started, he got a short note from Madame Blainey informing him that Riddle was in the Hospital Wing. He took a long breath at this news and its implications. Bullying could not be ruled out here. On the contrary, considering Riddle's muggle background and the strong favoritism for pureblood status running in Slytherin House, it would not be unreasonable to think that the child would be picked on by his classmates. But Riddle was vengeful—and from what Albus learned at the orphanage, surprisingly resourceful and cruel!—so he feared this would not end well. So Albus decided to have a talk with the boy about this vicious behavior trait after his classes today and try to correct it by showing him alternative options.
"Good evening Albus. I'm afraid Mr. Riddle is fast asleep now. He is still recovering from a stomach ache. Felt faint and spewed a couple of times. The poor child," said Madam Blainey in her usual calm tone, but her sad expression increased Albus's suspicion about the reason for Riddle's hospitalisation.
"Oh, I see. Will he be well soon or is it something serious?"
"Well, he—" she audibly swallowed, then looked him in the eyes and said, " Mr. Riddle told me he grew up in a muggle orphanage. I suspect the child's previous diet was unhealthy or not very nutritious at the very least. The symptoms he shows here are a clear indicator. But he will be fine. I think Mr. Riddle may be out as early as tomorrow afternoon but it will still take some more time for his body to adjust to the new diet here. Avoid heavier food in the near future."
Albus's eyebrows furrowed in worry and his lips pressed together in thought. He did not expect this outcome.
The boy was just sick. In a way it was a relief, in another it was truly grievous to know the child had to endure such poor living conditions.
Tom hated being sick. He disliked the weakness, as it made him feel too exposed and vulnerable.
He kept looking with suspicion to his side. There on the bedside table lay a package of fruit drops that had not been there when he fell asleep. The nurse reassured him it was a get well gift, and Tom politely accepted her story and the annoyingly kind smile, but secretly was not having it. He had no friends, nor anyone with a reason good enough to give him something.
But he gained practical and useful information out of it. When he politely asked the nurse if detecting charms or similar spells existed, mindful to pick a quiet moment with him being her only patient at the time, he was pleased to find that she was not only in a chatting mood to explain for him the standard spells and all their procedures, but also inclined enough to demonstrate them on his request on the candy.
So Tom not only learned new information and memorized useful spells, but was now certain that the candy was just candy.
At his next lesson, Albus saw Riddle back in his seat in the last row at the back of the class. He noted with concern that the boy still looked a little pale, but nevertheless attentively followed the lesson, taking notes and even being the first to correctly perform the transfiguration spell he taught them today.
"Tom, would you please spare a moment?" he said as Riddle was about to pass his desk as the lesson ended.
Riddle stopped and blinked in surprise, and Albus noted that as he turned around to face him, the boy made sure to keep a polite distance to his desk. "Is this about the performed spell, professor?"
"No, no. You did very well there, and the earned house points vouch for that. No, there is something I want to give you. Here," he said, and laid a couple loose sheets of parchment on his desk for Riddle to take. "Those are my notes of the previous lesson you missed. Some parts might be a bit cut short, so if things are unclear or you have any questions, come by my office or ask them quickly after class," said Albus encouragingly. He had an inkling Riddle had no one to ask notes from, so providing them for him would be the simplest and most practical solution.
There was a moment of hesitation before Riddle moved to take the offered pages. His eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and suspicion as he looked at the pages in his hand, before his expression turned blank and he looked away. "Thank you, sir."
"It's nothing. You should not fall behind in class after all. The first months at Hogwarts are quite challenging. Everything is new and it's normal one needs time to adjust and adapt to it," he said, and hesitated a moment before inquiring in a kindly tone, "I take it you managed to find everything in Diagon Alley?"
"Yes, sir," Riddle said in a distantly polite tone and curtly nodded.
"Good."
It was clear from his voice and posture that the boy wasn't inclined to tell him more. The taciturnity Riddle displayed left a sour taste in him, even if he comprehended the reasons for his distrust towards him.
Albus understood and respected Riddle's need for independence, but he hoped the child would eventually find someone he would open up to.
In the weeks that followed, Albus found himself fascinated as he attentively observed Riddle's progress. The boy had an intuitive grasp on magic that was beyond anything Albus had ever seen.
To his delight, the boy also possessed an unusually bright mind. His essays had some slight but common beginner's mistakes in correctly depicting the typical expressions and formularities used in Transfiguration, but it was clear he perfectly grasped the content and going by how he presented it with such astonishing precision while using refined vocabulary, Albus felt it was written by an adult and not an eleven-year-old.
From his colleagues, he knew Riddle to be very diligent, intelligent and curious in their classes, and incredibly talented in all his subjects. A true marvel and already Horace's golden boy.
Albus had also not heard or seen any evidence of incidents involving Riddle with other children. He hoped the boy had taken his admonition to heart.
Though he noticed Riddle to be very quiet with his housemates, rarely interacting with anyone while eating in the Great Hall. He also showed a clear disinterest in interacting with his classmates beyond mere formalities and schoolwork.
With the beginning of December, the castle now gained its festive decoration. Albus smiled warmly seeing all the first years right after class excitedly gathering around his classroom's windows to see the courtyard where large fir trees were being brought into the Great Hall. Riddle being one of the children looking on with the most wonder.
It was Albus's last class with the first years before Christmas break.
For this occasion, he had prepared an annual Christmas lecture, where he gave out cups of hot cocoa, explained to them the historic origin of now popular wizarding Christmas traditions and demonstrated how to decorate a Christmas tree using just transfiguration. Naturally, he also accepted their suggestions, pleased to see all the children so involved and cheerful, becoming quite amused as their suggestions kept becoming more creative and flashy.
At the end of the lesson, he returned their waves as they left his class. As Riddle was about to pass him, he affably called out:
"Tom, would you please spare a moment?"
As he was the one to introduce Riddle to the wizarding world, and considering the events that transpired at their first meeting, Albus felt he ought to give the boy some constructive feedback on his conduct.
Seeing how Riddle slowly approached his desk, his face blank but eyes cautious, Albus was reminded of how delighted his colleagues had been when telling stories of how Riddle approached them with clever questions. It seemingly had happened numerous times, but never once with him.
So this consolidated Albus in his decision that this would not only be a good opportunity to reassure the boy and reinforce healthy, positive behaviour, but also make himself more approachable for the boy with academic questions.
"Sir?"
"Well, Tom, I imagine you are looking forward to the holidays."
"Yes, sir."
"I take it you will be staying in Hogwarts?"
"Yes, sir."
Albus nodded, then leaned to the side to open his desk drawer. From there he took a package of fruit drops and offered them to Riddle.
"You are welcome to more than one," he said amiably as he himself took a lemon drop, "As I'm not your head of House, who is responsible to give feedback on their students' conduct and academic progress. I nevertheless wanted to inform you that all teaching staff at Hogwarts feel you have had a high-flying start here and all are willing to assist you on your academic development."
As he took a moment to take the drop, he noted with surprise how Riddle's stare was fixed on the candy package. The boy seemed to hold his breath and the raw intensity evident in his eyes perplexed Albus. Then his eyes quickly moved up to him and his look was almost accusing. But before Albus could properly react, the moment was gone and he saw Riddle quickly taking a drop of another flavor as his.
"Thank you, sir," said Riddle in his usual distant polite tone, while firmly looking at the door.
At this, Albus sighed and a deep sense of bitter disappointment settled in him, making him momentarily look down at the desk. Then he said in a more stern yet tired tone:
"I take it Professor Slughorn made you aware of the school's conduct? Therefore, you are now well aware of what is allowed here and what is not. I have nothing more to add in this regard."
Riddle curtly nodded, his eyes still fixed on the door.
"Very well Tom, then I wish you a happy holiday and a good rest."
At this, Riddle quickly looked back at him and asked:
"Will you be staying at Hogwarts too during the holidays, sir?"
Albus blinked, surprised at the sudden inquisitiveness.
"Well, yes. I will."
Riddle nodded and then pressed his lips together so hard they trembled. Albus waited, curious as he felt the boy was trying to suppress something he wanted to say, but then Riddle turned away, briefly said his goodbyes and left the room.
Tom was beyond furious .
He knew that Dumbledore was watching him! Had seen how he kept staring at him, be it in his class or in the Great Hall.
And now he found out not only that the crooked-nosed man would be staying at the castle over the holidays, but even had been willing to go so far as to spy on him when he was sick, even leaving candies for him as a message!
A warning.
Surely Dumbledore was not trying to keep him in line but looking for a reason to expel him out of school. Mrs. Cole never liked him, never trusted him, so had poisoned his opinion of him to make sure he disliked and distrusted Tom.
But Tom wouldn't let him!
He had checked the fruit drop he had taken with every detecting spell he was able to perform. He already knew of Veritaserum, had read all about it in a book in the library. He wouldn't fall for such a trap!
But Tom begrudgingly admitted that, while he was wary of Dumbledore, he respected the man and really enjoyed his lessons.
Dumbledore had true skill.
The ease he had displayed while transfiguring all kinds of objects into Christmas decorations, showing neither discomfort nor effort while following all kinds of crazy demands his classmates had asked of him, had left Tom mesmerized.
Maybe next year he would take a seat farther up in the class, as there was no point in keeping as much distance as possible with the professor, as this had neither helped keep the man away nor made him less observant of him.
Tom would be the only first year to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. He had been among the first to sign the list that Slughorn had brought them in the common room. With his noisy, boring and stupid housemates gone and even Slughorn away for most of the holidays, Tom was really looking forward to this time.
Had planned to read and explore the castle.
He also wanted to find out more about his father, see if he had been at Hogwarts too.
Riddle was sick again. Albus suspected it was due to the same reason as last year, as it was the second week of the new school year and the child had spent the summer break at the orphanage.
After he finished his shift patrolling the hallways late in the evening, he decided to quickly visit the Hospital Wing to check on the boy.
Riddle was the top student in his year yet friendless, still aloof with his peers. More interested in books than interacting with others. Albus had seen him often loosely carrying a book in his hand, using short gaps to read.
No cases of bullying so far had involved Riddle. In fact, his peers seemed to respect this distanced attitude or ignored him.
Albus found himself still intrigued by the boy's abilities.
The focus, precision and will needed when performing transfiguration seemed to come to him in such an effortlessly natural way, it came as no surprise he could perform the spells he learned almost always perfectly on the first try.
After their chat before Christmas, he sometimes offered him his help again in class, when giving him back his essays or correcting him on his stance while performing a spell.
From his colleagues he kept hearing stories of the boy's quick wit and clever questions. Some being so ingeniously creative, it had left them delighted and impressed. So it was a bit discouraging to see Riddle not once having sought him out for academic questions.
And therefore more surprising and pleasing, to see that the boy now took a place in the middle row of his class.
"Tom, would you please spare a moment?" said Dumbledore in his annoyingly friendly tone as he was about to pass his desk as the lesson ended.
"Sir?" asked Tom and inclined his head, feigning confusion. He knew what this was about, but faked ignorance to see the professor's reaction.
On his nightstand in the Hospital Wing, he had again found some candy. His stupid weakness and the medicine from Madam Blainey had caused Tom to fall fast asleep, so that he could not see anyone do so, but knew they must be from Dumbledore. Who else besides maybe his Head of House would go to the trouble of visiting him?
During the past year, he had been studying the professor and now knew he enjoyed sweets.
He was still wary about the man's intentions, but had come to realize he didn't seem to want him expelled. He kept gazing at him but seemed to leave it at that. There was no animosity when he looked at or spoke to him. He wasn't threatened with resentment.
Compared to the other teachers, Dumbledore also had shown to be a more perceptive and patient person. Especially with the clumsy or incompetent ones. But this didn't diminish his authority or value.
Tom was surprised and impressed seeing how quickly Dumbledore would recognise a problem and know just how to fix it, delivering advice that would show immediate results.
With him he gave pointed, insightful and useful advice. An easier way to write certain transfiguration signs, the historic or linguistic origin of certain technical terms, or why a certain posture is better or worse to perform a spell. It was not necessary, as his performance was by far the best, but Dumbledore did it anyway, and this particular attention he seemed to give Tom left him perplexed but somehow also…pleased.
His teachers were all quite competent, but he now was certain Dumbledore was the most talented of them all. The easiness, the playfulness the professor displayed while performing Transfiguration—seemingly when using magic in general—mesmerized Tom, leaving him eager to achieve the same level of skill and wanting to find out more about the man.
By chance he came to know Dumbledore usually didn't give out his own notes to students. This finding excited him somehow. Intrigued him.
He watched with silent anticipation as Dumbledore took out some sheets of parchment from his desk and laid them out for him to take.
"Since you missed the past lesson, I wanted you to have my notes on them so you won't fall behind," said Dumbledore pleasantly. Behind his glasses, Tom saw his piercing blue eyes piercing him. There was no malevolence, but the sheer intensity instinctively made Tom look away.
The man had a preposterously bright wardrobe that sometimes made him look ridiculous, but his eyes always showed sharp intelligence. A kind which Tom had never seen before shine though in anyone else.
"Thank you, sir," said Tom as he took them.
"Also, if you have any questions, just come by my office or ask them after class."
Tom nodded politely and quickly took his leave. He had no intention to seek him out. Dumbledore was perceptive, so he ought to be cautious with the man, not wanting to reveal too much of himself.
There was also a part of him that refused to be perceived as stupid by him.
Now holding the professor's notes in his hands, he couldn't suppress his thrill and smiled. He would look them over as soon as he was in the privacy of his dorm.
The Christmas holidays had started yesterday and the Hogwarts library was now almost empty. Albus had always loved this ambience, had spent numerous hours here as a student, so still enjoyed an occasional visit.
As he passed a long bookshelf, looking for a book, he noticed Riddle sitting by himself in a corner.
"What are you reading?" inquired Albus quietly, curiously looking over Riddle's shoulder at the tome the boy held in his hands.
The boy took a moment, then looked up from his seat and said in an equally low voice, "A history book, sir."
"Of British history? We have quite a selection down the Hall."
"Not quite, sir. It's about the history of British magical law."
Oh . He was not at all surprised to see the boy reading extracurricular textbooks for fun, but this topic was unexpected, yet somehow a delightful coincidence.
"Are you interested in a career in the Wizengamot?"
Riddle's brow furrowed and he looked down at the book, "I'm not sure. I just want to know as much about it as possible. How it works and what differences there are to the muggle one."
"I see. Then don't get too engrossed in it and forget dinner."
"I won't, sir."
As he was looking for his own book among the shelves, Albus pondered that there was a book he owned on the topic that probably would be of interest to the boy. He had to look for it in his own bookshelves later.
After dinner, Dumbledore approached him as he was about to go back to his dorm.
"Tom, do you have a moment?"
"Of course, sir," said Tom politely, while his senses sharpened in caution. Dumbledore had never approached him in the Great Hall before.
"Regarding our brief talk in the library, I have a book that might interest you," said Dumbledore merrily while taking out a book from his jacket, "I use it sometimes when studying cases. It proved to be a good companion and I'm sure it will help you better understand the bureaucratic complexity that is our good Wizengamot."
Astonished, Tom silently took the book from Dumbledore and looked at the cover. "Thank you, sir. I will return it as soon as possible."
"You can take your time. It's fine if you hand it back by Easter, and if you have questions or remarks, you are welcome to come by my office. As I occasionally do some work involving the Wizengamot, I'm quite knowledgeable in wizarding law and court procedures."
"As the professor of Transfiguration?" asked Tom too perplexed and surprised to stop himself.
At this Dumbledore smiled brightly, and Tom could see his eyes twinkling: "No, on this occasion I use another skill set."
The professor was clearly humoring him, but Tom didn't take it as an insult.
He knew the man to be reserved, which also meant he would not lend out his own book. So this was special.
His grip tightened over the hardcover as he thanked him again and quickly took his leave.
Accomplished in multiple disciplines. A scholar and researcher.
The professor was not just a mere teacher.
He was also different. Special.
His classmates were dumb sheep. Blinded by their simple perception of reality, they wouldn't see or realize it.
But Tom saw it. Could see Dumbledore's might, how far above it stood to anyone else.
Seeing Dumbledore's dynamic yet elegant movements in class when he explained or demonstrated spells, the precision and fluidity he displayed when doing wandless magic, Tom sometimes wondered if his father might also be as talented as the professor.
Tom found himself carrying Dumbledore's book with him wherever he went. He liked leafing through it, smelling the old pages. It somehow had a calming, warm effect on him.
He often read it before going to bed. Sometimes stuck it under his pillow, with the professor's notes.
Before Easter break, once all his classmates had left the room after class, Tom quickly went to Dumbledore's desk, returned the book and politely thanked him for his patience.
A quick affair, as Tom had been overcome with deep sadness knowing he wouldn't have the book with him anymore.
He now wanted the professor's notice.
Wanted to show him his skills, to impress him.
Wanted his recognition.
Albus had hoped that by showing Riddle endorsement in his extracurricular activity and lending him his book, he possibly might overcome this blockade between them.
But having seen no alteration in the boy's willingness to approach him, it was embittering having to acknowledge that his hostility towards him would probably never make the boy willing to seek him out for academic questions or anything else.
Guilt and shame crept into Albus whenever he read the newspapers.
The news he kept hearing from the continent deeply worried him. Not only had the muggles started another Great War, but Gellert seemed to be using this to push his own agenda.
What a monster his beloved, old friend had become.
Lately Riddle appeared to be far more attentive in class.
Albus was perplexed as he noticed how Riddle's gaze seemed to become fixed on him, even following him when he went to the back rows to assist other students. His dark eyes radiated a strange intensity.
He now stood up when he was called to perform a spell, and his casting style, while still meticulously precise yet so natural in its delivery, now had a dramatic flair that made Albus frown.
His essays kept becoming more elaborate and detailed, as if he sought to emulate the manner of a scholar.
Tom found no proof his father ever had attended Hogwarts. Nor ever had anyone with Riddle as a surname.
By feigning his interest to be related to the school's history, he had even gotten permission from Slughorn to look at the school's older archives.
As there were no more clues or leads he could follow, Tom begrudgingly accepted that his father had been homeschooled or was muggle born.
But Tom couldn´t come from mere muggle!
There was still his dead mother.
He would therefore focus on trying to find information about her family.
After Luxembourg, Belgium and Norway surrendered to the Germans, and at the end of June so did France, their greatest opposition and the last remaining stronghold in the western Continent.
A feat impossible to imagine only a few months back.
And as with the muggle one, so too had the wizard government collapsed under the sheer chaos and high pressure.
All this played to Gellert's favour, who was there to collect the shards and reform them according to his ideas.
A sudden wave of distress and guilt overcame Albus.
All of this was done in the pursuit of their past shared ideals.
With the new school year, a rather singular boy became a member of his House. Half wizard and half giant.
Albus had corresponded with the boy's father extensively during summer, worried his child's huge size might need special accommodations. A kindhearted and perceptive man.
He was pleased to see the son also had the same kind and caring disposition.
The founder, Salazar Slytherin, was also a Parselmouth, like him. A very uncommon skill, known to be an almost exclusively hereditary trait.
Maybe Tom was his descendant. He must be.
There was a strange connection Tom felt to the castle. A strange familiarity. A sense of longing that had settled in him when he'd first stepped into the school.
Never had he felt so attached to a place before. Where he felt happy and safe.
Hogwarts was his home.
Now Riddle was sitting in the first row of his class.
Having seen the boy's increasing drive to excel in his subject in the last few months, Albus was not surprised.
From the beginning, Riddle showed to be very studious, so it was a relief to see that his antipathy towards him at least did not hinder him from appreciating and enjoying his discipline.
Tom took every elective in his year. As, to his advantage, he had already studied several, he saw no trouble in keeping up with their respective curricula. Slughorn already trusted him so blindly that it proved to be no problem gaining his permission and support.
During the past two years, Tom not only studied schoolbooks, but also anything he could about wizarding culture and history, to better fit in and gain an understanding of wizarding society as a whole.
His world.
Now, above anything else, he needed to find a way to physically strengthen himself. Become invulnerable, so that the shameful weakness of the past years would never ever repeat itself.
Tom spotted Dumbledore in the library again. The professor occasionally visited on weekends, especially on Saturday mornings.
Tom always found himself watching him—purposefully choosing an unobtrusive corner behind him to avoid being seen and evade unwanted conversation.
Dumbledore always was clearly researching, surrounded by papers and thick tomes, reading attentively and occasionally jotting down notes on a parchment.
But what held Tom's gaze was not the study itself—it was the way Dumbledore engaged with it.
The professor never looked distressed or fatigued by his work. Instead, he radiated quiet joy, wholly absorbed in the material before him. His foot tapped lightly when something intrigued him, and his head tilted ever so slightly—almost playfully—when something amused him, and at times, he even hummed softly.
Tom wasn't annoyed by it. In fact, he understood it all too well.
Dumbledore clearly loved studying. Loved magic.
Watching him like this stirred something in Tom—made him want to seize his attention next time in class.
England had been under a series of incessant attacks by the Germans for weeks. But their respective governments had shown courage and resistance.
A creeping feeling of dread now expanded within Albus, overshadowing all of his other thoughts.
Did this mean Gellert intended to come here?
Must he confront him now?
This year Tom intentionally took more time to socialise with his peers, patiently solidifying the useful connections he had formed in Slytherin House, forming a selected clique.
While the attacks on England persisted, unceasing attacks were now occurring on the eastern countries by the Soviet Union and on the Mediterranean by the Germans and Italians.
Albus suspected Gellert's doings here too, as the timing was playing too well into his hands.
All those lands bore important magical resources and cultural heritage.
His old friend was indeed trying to fulfill their youthful ambition.
At this, Albus felt sick.
Tom was frustrated.
Again, the professor didn't pay attention to his perfectly executed spell. Didn't give him the usual attentiveness when returning his essay.
Lately Dumbledore seemed distracted.
He didn't like it.
Albus couldn't do it!
Couldn't bear the idea, the thought of facing his old friend.
To see with his own eyes what had become of him. To fight him.
But most of all, couldn't fathom knowing the true fate of Ariana that fateful night.
He couldn't!
Riddle had started asking questions in class. Advanced questions that were inquired at the very beginning or end of the lesson. Some were even connected to topics of the many elective classes he took.
To Albus's perception this was—besides a way to seek recognition from his peers—a natural reaction of finding oneself unstimulated with the standard curriculum, trying to find something else to engage their intellect. He might also be testing his limits here, but Albus could see Riddle respecting his authority and expertise.
He tried to always give him quick and satisfying answers, careful not to lose the attention of the rest of the students and well aware Riddle would not want to seek him after class.
Tomorrow morning, Tom would have a Transfiguration lesson in his first hour. The thought somehow stirred a quiet anticipation, bringing a faint smile to his lips.
Whenever the professor engaged with his questions, something in him eased, and when his answers led him to reveal something personal, be it in a direct or indirect manner, he held onto them, yet couldn't say why.
Even if the topics were from the dull curriculum, these moments left him with a quiet spark of energy in a manner a paper textbook never could.
The castle spoke to him. Understood and supported his needs. It had led him to find a hidden room full of potential while he had been wandering the corridors alone during Christmas break.
Tom had grown disillusioned with the Study of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Had hoped he could gain insightful information on ancient magic from the professors once he took their classes, but this proved to be a waste of time, as they were incapable and unwilling to think outside a box.
Now he could use the Room as a quiet study place and—with all the artefacts it entailed and could produce—a safe place for experimental and forbidden studies.
Tom had always been cautious with Dumbledore. Careful not to show him sides of himself that he wasn't supposed to see anymore.
Despite his many efforts to impress and being mindful not to transgress on Dumbledore's valued morals—at least under his watchful gaze—the professor's validation remained elusive.
For months, Dumbledore seemed elsewhere, his thoughts drifting even during class. That absence, subtle yet persistent, left Tom unsettled.
Frustration simmered beneath the surface, entwined with a yearning he couldn't quite name.
Something within him tightened.
A sharp sense of indignation took hold.
It felt like he was losing control.
He had to act.
Riddle had begun asking pointed questions in class, casually mentioning advanced topics to worry or discourage his classmates. With feigned innocence, he steered class discussions toward historical and ethical dilemmas, testing Dumbledore's patience with deliberate persistence.
Albus, observing the shift, noted with growing annoyance that Riddle's intent now seemed clear—he was trying to disrupt.
Sometimes, Albus wondered, deep at night, if staying beside Gellert would have changed something, made the current situation better or worse.
Would he have tried to diminish the pain and suffering or also seen it as a necessary evil?
For the Greater Good.
The slogan and the philosophy behind it had been his idea.
Was he the real monster?
Huge thanks to sujing for their amazing feedback and patience!