The Traveler's Secret

CHAPTER 8: PROFESSOR FREDERICK

The storm had worsened, sending down sheets of rain like shards of glass. Thunder rolled through the sky, and cracks of lightening lit up the dark night. Children ran every which way to get out of the rain, covering their heads with books, bags and some of the older students, protective spells. Professor Frederick stood at the main entrance, watching the students as they scuttled past him, amused by their rainy day antics. He had already had to stop a few mud fights, knowing full well that Mr. Borden, the caretaker, would not be too pleased with cleaning up after them.

Most students waved hello as they ran past the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. The students at Hogwarts generally liked Professor Frederick. He was a slight man, tall and shadow thin. He had squinty blue eyes and a receding hairline, which gave him a likeable, paternal air. He rarely raised his voice in anger, and used kindness rather than fear to discipline students. Most students found they could trust Professor Frederick because he was so patient. And most of the staff members respected him because he was a good teacher, but that was a side note to the fact that he had a famous cousin.

His real name was Frederick Dumbledore, son of Aster Dumbledore, whose brother was Albus Dumbledore's father. Frederick had lived in Albus Dumbledore's shadow all his life, and had grown accustomed to its quiet, forgotten interior. No matter what he achieved, or how many students loved him, Albus achieved more, did more, and was known by more. People had taken to calling Frederick by his first name rather than his last to avoid confusion. This was always a reminder that Professor Frederick was a nobody compared to Dumbledore. When he was younger it use to bother him as well as Aberforth, Albus' brother, but Frederick had gotten over it by now. In fact, he liked the quietness of normality. Albus had become well known and respected, but he had also gained enemies, and was always blamed and despised because of the actions of his father.

Frederick remembered very little of Dumbledore's father. He had been very young when the Ministry wizards had taken his Uncle, Percival Dumbledore, away to Azkaban, a place he would never leave. It was sad really. Percival had sought out the boys who had tortured his daughter, Ariana, into insanity, and made them pay. Because he was a wizard and a formidable one at that, all that worked against him when he was tried in front of the Wizengamot. Percival Dumbledore spent the rest of his life in Azkaban, and his family spent the rest of theirs in ruin. That kind of pain and darkness left a mark on people, on their lives and actions. His cousin Albus never showed that pain, never allowed it to interfere with his life, or with what must be done. Frederick found the man to be extraordinary and an enigma.

Albus had always been the brainy type, devising grand plans, and winning prestigious awards. Though Albus had always been kind to his cousin, and Frederick greatly respected Dumbledore, they had not become close friends. They trusted each other, and that seemed to make Frederick closer to Albus than his own brother. Aberforth, Albus' brother, was a little bit more subdued, and not as sociable. He was a decent wizard, but hardly ever used his ability. Aberforth didn't like the limelight as Albus did, instead content with farming, and setting up the new bar he planned on opening, the Hogshead. No, whenever Frederick had gone to visit his cousins, it was Ariana and her sweet kindness that he had always been drawn to. She would have been his age by now, if she were alive. Frederick shook his head, trying to forget how much he missed his old playmate. He could still feel a little ache remembering her, how she loved to make flower petals fall from the sky. Before the attack, Ariana was the mildest and most loving child that Frederick had ever met. The simplest things amused her: the wind, soft sunlight on a spring day, the smell of lavender and roses.

But nothing beautiful ever seemed to last. The time of innocence seemed to have dispersed over the winds like specks of dust. A harsh reality was all that was left. Frederick sighed, and looked out down the road. He was worried. Albus should have been back by now, he thought. The downpour of rain and the boom of thunder seemed to pound this thought deeper.

As Professor Frederick waited, he watched as the last of the students ran past him into the castle and noticed, to his surprise, that one student didn't seem too bothered by the tempest. A young boy dressed in secondhand robes had stopped in the middle of the courtyard completely oblivious to the rain falling around him. He was slender and tall, his smooth, white skin casting a pearly sheen in the flashes of light, as he tilted his handsome face up to the sky. The youth was intrigued by the raw, elemental power of nature, watching as lightening staggered down to the earth. He almost seemed to enjoy the darkness and chaos created by the storm.

Professor Frederick watched the boy, who had stopped a few feet from the doorway. It was the lightening that drew the youth's attention, not in awe or respect, but curiosity. The fourteen year old boy analyzed the storm as if he could pick it apart, and finally understand true power. Professor Frederick knew that Tom Riddle wasn't like other children. Something lurked behind his seemingly innocent eyes.

"Riddle, what are you doing standing in the rain? Get back inside," Frederick said.

Tom Riddle seemed to snap back into reality from the sound of the Professor's voice. He nodded, and began running to the door, his poorly mended book bag, swinging back and forth in the rain. As he passed the Professor, he flashed Frederick a bright smile, and waved goodbye. Something about the smile, behind the smile, didn't fit with Frederick. It was a clever smile, a smile of one who devised plans and schemes. Professor Frederick thought about Riddle's odd behavior, replaying over and over again what it was he saw. The thing is, there was something there that he didn't understand, something that he had seen in Riddle. And then it hit him. Riddle was intrigued by power as well as the fear that that power can cause.

Frederick shook his head. Maybe he was just imagining things. Riddle was a model student. Everybody, students and teachers alike, loved him. Professor Frederick thought that his nervous state had made him overanalyze the boy's attitude. Maybe Tom had found the storm to be a spectacular show and nothing more. Riddle was just a child, not some devious demon sent to earth. Frederick decided to keep an eye on him though, just in case. Right now he didn't have time to worry about a boy, and his love of power, which could all be apart of the Professor's imagination. Right at that moment, he was waiting for the carriage which carried his cousin and a secret.

Professor Frederick turned his attention to the road where he awaited his cousin. Through the rain and flashes of lightening, Frederick could just make out a black carriage, pulled by a pair of tired horses as it wound its way up to the castle.