The Broken Victory

Chapter 07: A is for Ambition, L is For -

The owls scattered across the room, dropping letters and parcels into all of the students' hands. I perked up, not in expectation of receiving mail, but because this was also apparently the time of day when class schedules were delivered. Reaching up, I caught the letter a little black owl dropped over my head and hurriedly tore it open. On the inside, the following classes were scrawled out in the order I would be taking them: Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions and then Flying. The classes switched off daily, leaving Charms, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and History of Magic for the following day. They also offered specialty courses for upper level students taught by faculty or guest instructors, a new and experimental addition to the curriculum.

Enthralled, I studied the paper closely, not lifting my head until I heard a groan coming from next to me. Briefly glancing up, I noticed it was a large boy with a lisp whom I had met the night before. My memory took little time to recall his name. Randy O'Connell. He must have noticed my gaze, for he turned to me and said, glowering, "Why did we get stuck with the Gryffindors for so many classes?"

I paused at his question and looked back over my schedule. Each of my classes had another House paired with it -Transfiguration, Potions, Flying, and History of Magic were all with the Gryffindors. Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms were with Ravenclaw; Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures were with Hufflepuff. I shrugged, not overly concerned. From what I gathered through studying the interactions around me, none of the Houses liked Slytherin much, so what would it matter which House was glaring at us?

I said as much to Randy, who replied, "Gryffindors don't just hate us, they go out of their way to make our lives miserable. It's an old feud - they can't just leave it that we think differently." He sniffed in condescension, adding, "Sure, some of the Slytherins start stuff with them, but generally we'd prefer to have nothing to do with them." How true that was, I didn't yet know, but I kept silent. He then lowered his voice a bit, adding into my ear, "And awhile ago, some graduate of Slytherin killed a Gryffindor grad who had children going here. House rivalry got worse after that."

I soaked up the information, again not replying, letting Randy go on. "But they all act so high and mighty, especially now that they've won the House cup the last ten years or so." The jealousy in his voice was apparent as he grumbled, "Miserable unforgiving gits." He looked at me for confirmation.

It was time to head for class then, so Randy and I parted before I had a chance to respond. He leaped from the table to hurry to Transfiguration, saying quickly, "That was my Mum's best class - she went here, you know!" I headed out of the Great Hall more sedately, having seen that the teacher was Dumbledore.

The corridors were confusing, seeming to have changed shape from last night. I had read that this was part of the charm of Hogwarts, but I personally found it annoying to memorize. I followed a group of peers down the winding halls for what seemed like an eternity before reaching the Transfiguration classroom. A bit out of breath, I paused in the doorway and scanned the ornately decorated setting before me. It might have been vast, but was so stuffed with shelves around the edges that it felt crowded and small. The furniture itself was simple, with wooden desks and chairs all facing one large oak desk. I slid into the front and center seat and looked around. On the teacher's desk were a heap of matches and various books. There were also maps hanging haphazardly on the walls where small boats continuously made routes to places like Dragon Flight Peak and Bludgeoned Phoenix Island. What looked like a fish with fur was spouting pink bubbles in the corner of the ceiling, letting out a sweet smelling aroma. It was odd and intriguing, yet somehow still reminiscent of classrooms I'd read about. The only difference was that here, in person, it seemed much more fantastical. Having never been to a real school, I couldn't deny a small rush of excitement and nerves. All that was missing from this setting was the teacher, an addition I had yet to decide would be an improvement or not.

On edge, I kept glancing discreetly about me, noting that nobody sat still. Everyone was twisting slightly, nervously clenching quills or whispering quietly. Their apprehension let me breathe a bit easier, and I neatly set up my own quill, ink, paper and book before folding my hands in front, fighting to appear calm. At exactly nine Dumbledore strode in, clutching many parcels of paper and a triangular shaped book that kept changing colors. He thumped the handful onto the desk, a grin raising the corners of his mouth upwards as he paced the length of the desks in front. His eyes met with ours as he said the next instructions, landing last upon me.

"Transfiguration is perhaps the most difficult subject you will learn here at Hogwarts, and no, I am not just saying that because I teach it. Many magicians spend their entire lives studying it and still cannot master the full scope of the subject. Those who claim they have are likely misinformed as to what could truly be achieved." His gaze coming to rest on me, he finished, "but I am not here to discourage you, merely to assist you all in escaping the frustration which can result from expecting the wrong thing. Remember, effort counts more than anything." His eyes then settled on the girl next to me, who was trying not to fidget nervously. Giving her a small nod, his eyes sparkling a bit, he added gently, "and a measure of good cheer won't hurt." She stilled at that, managing a weak smile back. Giving her a final nod, he then addressed the rest of us again. "Any questions?"

I don't know why I put my hand up. Dumbledore didn't look surprised though, and said patiently, "Yes, Mr. Riddle?"

I looked around tentatively, and then said, "Well, you have to make some progress, right? I mean, if someone tried their hardest, and still couldn't do magic, then they'd be a Squib." I recalled that word from my reading the night before. Swallowing, I finished, "and they'd get thrown out. Right?" And get sent back to the orphanage, I didn't add.

I heard snorts from behind me, and some Gryffindor girl said, "just like a Slytherin, already trying to flush Hogwarts out. Effort doesn't count for anything to you pampered, silver-spooned slaughterers!" The Gryffindor at her side tried to quiet her, but she adamantly added, "You're lower than Squibs!" An outcry of support sounded for the girl, while several of the Slytherins indignantly shouted back. I simply slunk down into my seat.

Dumbledore called for silence in a stern voice, and the ruckus quieted, with the two Houses still throwing glares at each other. Looking around me, he said, "I'm sure that wasn't what Mr. Riddle meant. Was it?" At that, he glanced at me, giving me the opportunity for further humiliation.

I gazed about, trying to be diplomatic. "Well, not precisely in the words she used." The laughs I drew from the Slytherins meant nothing compared to the disappointment that flickered in Dumbledore's eyes. He was, after all, the one who would give me my grades.

He kept watching me, and slowly under his gaze I felt a small amount of guilt rise. However, it was quick to be accompanied by a defensive indignation. What was I supposed to have done? He had placed me in a no-win situation, expecting me to either voice my fears that I might be a Squib and have to go back to the orphanage, or look like a prejudiced Slytherin. A steeled glare rose up inside me. If he expected me to burst open with my feelings in a room full of people who probably hated me, he was gravely mistaken. Fortunately, he made no further comment about it, turning to his lesson. Both sides quieted down as we paid attention to his teaching.

The rest of the session was devoted to notes and instruction until the very end. With only a few minutes remaining, Dumbledore passed out the matches that had been lying on his desk. As he gave one to each student, he again carefully went over how we were supposed to turn the match into a pin. He walked up and down, cautioning us not to expect too much, to have patience, and such. I tuned his slow voice out, focusing with interest on the project at hand. I hadn't tried to transfigure anything yet, but then, I had only gotten the books three days before. Still, a nervous clench in my stomach made me wish I'd already somehow mastered the entire art, as if I was chastising myself. Uncertainly, I took out my wand, flicking it over the match and murmured the three-word spell. Immediately a warm glow filled me, and from the tip of my wand the same teardrop-shaped sparks flew, hitting the match and immediately changing it into a perfect pin.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief, a bit sweaty and shaky from the adrenaline that had built up. Terrifying, mortifying images of the match blowing up, or burning the classroom down--or not doing anything- filled my head. The last possibility had been the most haunting, having grown from my uncertainty over how much talent I truly possessed. My eyes trailed down to the silver pin before me, the shiniest object I could ever recall seeing in my life, and enormous relief inflated me. With a smile upon my face, I looked then at my wand in wonder. Every time I held it I felt a sense of control; a sense of belonging and ability that flowed through me, giving me confidence. It was a feeling that was utterly unknown to me before. It felt...right. I relished it.

I then felt something else. Glancing up, I found Dumbledore's eyes on me, staring down with that same weight they always had. I slowly lifted my head and saw that the whole class was whispering behind him. Suddenly nettled, I shifted my gaze back to him. His eyes large, he looked from the pin to me, and then said, "Is everything all right here, Mr. Riddle?"

A smile huge on my face, I responded, "never better. I think I may have a knack for this." As I held up the pin, the Gryffindor girl who had yelled at me before reared up again.

In an accusatory tone she said, "it's probably a trick, Professor! No one can turn it on the first day. No one saw him do it; we were all looking at you! Make him do it again, and I'll bet he can't!" A round of agreement followed her, not stifled by my fellow Slytherins. I rolled my eyes and turned to Dumbledore. He merely gave the girl a mild look that silenced her, and then turned a thoughtful expression to me.

"Mr. Riddle," he said slowly, "would you mind showing us your skill one more time?"

I was speechless. For a moment. The heatedly I replied, "do you think I'm lying?"

"No, no," Dumbledore said quickly. "I am merely amazed, that is all. I have never seen anything like it. I would like to watch it happen, if I may."

I gritted my teeth, frustration replacing my moment of happiness. Of course the moment I actually achieved something, it would be called into question, for no other apparent reason than that I was a Slytherin - a half-blooded and orphaned one at that, who could never amount to anything. I saw a subtle demand that I prove myself in his words, it was hard not to believe that he didn't trust me. Anger, pride, and defensiveness swelled inside me.

Standing up, I made a show of straightening my robes before I walked over to the annoying girl's desk and proceeded to change her match into a pin on the first try. Smiling as spitefully as I could at her, I turned back to Dumbledore and said, "did you have a good enough angle on that one? Or should I do it for all the other students?"

At that moment the class bell rang, ending the period. Everyone scurried to be let out, and I let my gaze hang on Dumbledore's an extra minute as he said, "no need."

I cursed my outburst internally, and under his gaze I muttered, "I'm sorry, sir."

Then I began to stomp out of the class, when Dumbledore said to me, "excellent work, Mr. Riddle. Outstanding, really."

For some reason, I could not hold the temper I had been coaxing down. Saying a bit coldly, "Thank you. I thought so," I swept out of the room without looking backwards. My mind mentally added, glad you finally realized it.

My next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, with Professor Miranda Thistle. She spent most of the class lecturing us that this was a class which would teach us to ward off the Dark Arts, not explore them. As she rattled on, I began to feel a bit annoyed with her. Was she afraid someone was going to accuse her of teaching the supposed 'Dark' Arts to us? And what could possibly be so 'dark'about them? I tried to sort it out in my mind, coming up only with the same thought. Magic was magic, it just depended on how one used it; at least, that was how I saw it so far. I had heard brief mutters in the past few days that they tortured and killed wizards at a prison called Azkaban--was that any different, simply because it was performed under Ministry authority and called righteous? I certainly didn't think so, but after Dumbledore's class I knew better than to speak my mind.

"Mr. Riddle?" Professor Thistle's voice cut through my thoughts.

Again I had chosen to sit front and center, as much to avoid having direct contact with my peers as to show my studious interests. I blinked and looked at her, frantically trying to figure out if a question had been posed to me. In order to stall, I offered, "yes?"

"Good!" Pr. Thistle's eyes beamed, and I nervously smiled back, having not a clue as to what I had done right. Then Thistle said, "I was never that good at Divination, but I could tell you had a question! I love class participation, so out with it!"

Of course. I heard the groans from the Ravenclaws, as well as a few hisses of, "suck-up!" directed my way. I gulped, trying to think of an appropriate question, only to come out with, "what's so terrible about learning the Dark Arts?"

The moment the words left my lips, I knew I should not have gotten up today. Thistle's eyes became fishbowls, and the collective gasps from the Ravenclaws were mirrored by the Slytherins, some of whom broke into snickers.

I attempted to rectify the situation, quickly saying, "I mean, not to use as such. But, isn't magic amoral? Magic by itself isn't evil, it takes the wizard to choose to use it for whatever means. And who decides what is 'dark'? I heard some say Azkaban is evil, but it's accepted by law. Wouldn't it be more beneficial for us to learn about the Dark Arts, to really understand them, in order to best be able to ward them off?" It seemed logical to me, though I'd rattled it off fairly fast, not having given it too much thought as of yet. I'd only heard of magic weeks ago. Still, some of the theories behind what I'd said had always made sense to me, however underdeveloped they still were in my mind.

Finally, I paused. Nobody had moved an inch, except perhaps to drop his or her jaw an inch lower to the ground in horror. Fingering my chain, I added, "just a thought."

Again, the silence prevailed for a minute. Thistle eventually recovered, saying in a flustered voice, "erm, no, Tom, that is a - a very good point. As a matter of fact, it is almost a constant source of debate within the Ministry and community. Especially nowadays, with the war going on. In fact, there is an Ethics in Magic course being offered. Perhaps you might convince Dumbledore to let you into it if you are really interested. However, for our purposes, we need only learn about the defense part. I am sure as we go along, you will learn why the Dark Arts are considered dark and taboo."

I nodded politely, not agreeing with her. How foolish was it to not associate oneself with weapons the enemy would undoubtedly use against them? I'd read everything at the orphanage, seeing the hypocrisy of Mrs. Blunt's actions juxtaposed with what her prayer books said. It seemed far better to me to know everything, especially what was forbidden to me. Being denied teaching had only made me more determined to sneak out of the orphanage and to learn reading and writing at a local library, which I had done. I saw no difference here in learning how to control these powers, not aberrations, that I possessed.

It would take a weak wizard to be unable to control how he used his magic. My heart beat faster at that, but I firmly told myself that I would not be weak. So far, I had found magic to only be beneficial, giving me power and knowledge. Such things weren't sources of good and evil, and neither was magic. Those attributes were for feeble people like those at the orphanage, or the Gryffindor girl who shouted at me. I couldn't see it any other way. Power, knowledge and magic were merely tools for someone to use and love.

Not that I was planning to use anything to hurt people. But I didn't see the problem with having the capability to, because who knew when it could be used for something positive? And who got to decide when I was ready to learn? The hypocritical people who allowed Azkaban? The prejudiced community which spat on Mudbloods and Slytherins? Teachers who went out of their way to humiliate me?

I finally snapped back to reality, finding Thistle managing a small smile at me. I bit my lip, forcing back a frown. She so far hadn't meant to embarrass me, and part of me did wish without much hope to have faith in her. The rest stubbornly held on to my old reasoning, finding hers unsatisfactory. In the end, for all the intellectual words and turns my mind made, I was still left slightly unsure.

This philosophical debate continued in my head until Potions began. The teacher was Professor Thaddeus Zwipp, our Head of House. He smiled at us, and then began to bark out questions rapidly. He began by focusing in on the Gryffindors, but once he realized that I knew all of the answers he let them be and instead merely asked me. I had read over the book during the brief lunch period between classes, and most of the information took. I once heard someone say to me I had a photographic memory. Whether this was true or not, memorization came easily for me, as did analytical reasoning, so Potions and I were a ready match. Zwipp basked in my glory, beaming and giving Slytherin twenty points after saying how proud he was to be associated with our House. Some of the Slytherins gave me grins as we exited, and I smiled back, relieved that there was one class I hadn't screwed up in yet. A smug sense of superiority filled me as well over my performance, one that I childishly didn't try to hide from certain Gryffindors.

After Potions, I headed with the Gryffindors and Slytherins outside onto the bright grassy field for our first flying lesson. The air outside was cool, and the sun was going down, letting off beautiful bands of red and orange to cover the school. I stared up in awe at the Quidditch scoring hoops, seeming to stand hundreds of feet in the air. A few also gazed dreamily upward, imagining the feeling of flying. The image truthfully made my palms slightly damp, though I scolded myself for it. I didn't exactly want to trust my personage on a cleaning utensil seventy feet in the air. Nor did I wish to become one with the broom, as some of my classmates were saying in a pathetic effort to sound poetic. I just wanted to control it enough so I didn't break anything or humiliate myself. Flying seemed a useful enough tool, though, so I gritted my teeth in determination to just learn how. I couldn't imagine we'd fly that high on the first day, but I resolved to regardless of my apprehension if it was required.

Our professor was Josephine Wingram, an old professional Quidditch player she kept saying over and over again. She seemed pleasant enough, if a little too enthusiastic. She also kept reminding the girls to not be intimidated by us "males" since it was almost proven that women were naturally better flyers than men. The girls giggled at this, while the masculine portion of us looked either confused or disgruntled. We were finally told to step to the left of our brooms and extend our right hands over, saying firmly the word "up."

I did so, the broom coming into my hand on the second try. It also did so on the first or second take for five of the girls, and three other of the boys. Randy's came into his hand first, a surprised but extremely pleased look on his face. Weasley, however, made a rude comment only to me, before his broom spun round and tripped him. I decided to believe that I had some small part in doing that.

Finally everyone had gotten their brooms and mounted. We were then told to hover in the air, which I managed fairly easily. Gripping the broom tight, I forced my concentration to focus on controlling the broom to stillness. It shook slightly, but didn't jerk or toss me off. Several of the kids began drifting or were dumped to the ground. My smile widened, the day having done an almost complete turnaround from its disastrous morning. Flying - well, hovering - wasn't an exhilarating feeling of freedom for me, but neither was it disastrous. I looked up, glad I didn't have to go higher, when I noticed that the sky was abruptly changing. Wingram was busy with someone who had fallen and was making a scene, and the rest were trying to hang on. No one was paying attention to the blue-black thickness that was clouding up the sky. It tumbled across, brushing through the peaceful rays of remaining sunlight, crushing them with sounds of laughter and lightening. My eyes widened as a small bird became lost in the mists, tossed around, out of control, and crying out for help. I turned my head wildly, amazed that no one else was hearing these calls.

The blackness was choking it--I sucked air in, feeling as dizzy and faint as the suffering bird must have. A fiber seemed knotted around its fate and my own. Without looking back, I sped upwards, swerving to avoid the bolts of bright silver that crackled and burned around me, singeing my face and hands. My eyes watered, blurring out of focus - but I could hear the bird, it was crying, crying out for anyone to answer its pleas, begging for assistance. I tried to comfort it, to let it know I was coming, was near--but it was so far away, and the smoke was dragging me down. I could make out the bird now--it was a phoenix, its beautiful feathers now dissolving, its beak falling off. It wailed at me to save it from this fate as its eyes filled with red and began to glow, a maniacal hand gripping its soul. It gave one last shriek to heaven, trying to extend the tip of its wing to my saving hand--I reached with all my might, not caring if I fell, taking whatever risks were necessary to reach through the darkness before it overtook us completely -

But I was too late, and the phoenix, once pure, became one with the darkness engulfing me--with cheerless eyes, glaring at me for not trying harder, it screeched at my head, using a will beyond mine to force me downward, plummeting me to the ground in a field of flames and anguish.

I landed soundly, my head dizzy. Images whirled in and out in front of me, before Wingram's face snapped into focus. Her voice a mixture of horror and anger, she sputtered, "what - what were you doing, Riddle?!"

I climbed up weakly, only then noticing I held something in my arms. Looking down in horror, I quickly dropped the charred remains I was holding and backed away on all fours. The smoke was rising from the dead corpse of the phoenix, singing a song as it was lifted through the wind. In a voice too weak for me to hear, I said, "Trying to save it."

Wingram's voice cut through, no longer upset but gentle. "Save what?" she asked, creeping up next to my shivering form. "All we saw was you swoop up into the sky screaming something unintelligible, then crash right here." She forced my eyes to hers, where I saw concern reside. "Care to tell us what happened?"

I stared at the ground. Nothing was left of the bird's remains. My calm voice, the only part of me not quivering uncontrollably, said, "I thought I saw something."

~*~

"A bird, Riddle?! That was your excuse? A bird?" Randy's voice was choked with food and amusement. Apparently my good work in Potions and my entertaining bout of insanity in Flying had gained me some admirers. A few others chuckled as I divulged the private conversation I had held with Wingram. I had been let off with a warning and a patronizing compliment on my flying. Randy shook his head, grinning in amazement. "Wow, I have new admiration for you, Riddle. An injured bird. You must be good if you could actually talk Wingram into believing that. I heard that normally she'd assume you were trying to show off and kick you out."

I smiled back pathetically. In all honesty, it probably was how shaken I was that made Wingram go easy on me, as opposed to the 'hurt bird and too much first day excitement' story. I didn't say as much, letting my classmates have a fair regard of me rather than divulge more information. I still could not get rid of the image of the darkness engulfing me, and the poor phoenix's tumultuous end alongside me. My stomach was too jittery to have eaten much again, causing Dumbledore to find something new to question me on. He had actually come up to the table to ask if I was all right, because I didn't seem to be eating properly. I had almost groaned right there. The last thing I needed was to be told something else about me was strange and abnormal.

Now we were all back in the common rooms, drinking tea around the fire. Even Snicks had come out to join us, and was lying on my shoulder, lapping from my cup. I felt slightly more at ease, having the small measure of acceptance that I now did. I was also glad that Dash wasn't around to hear this, because I was afraid he might take it more seriously than my peers. He might have noticed how my cup still trembled in my shaking hands, or how I jumped when a light flickered. The last thing I wanted now was to plunge back into that hallucination, especially since its echoes were still replaying inside my mind. I kept my replies polite but short, hoping they would take the hint.

Eventually the conversation turned to other things, and I leaned back, slowly drifting out of its circulation. The day confused me, wringing my insides out. I desperately wanted to figure it out, or at least focus on something I could understand. I was just about to make my excuses to do some homework when the passage door opened to reveal a small owl carrying a message. It flew over to me, and then waited for me to untie the paper and give it some tea before it flew out again hooting. I opened the paper curiously as the other members of my house crowded around. In the familiar loopy writing was scrawled a request that I visit Headmaster Dippet in his office immediately.

I looked up and shrugged my innocence to my housemates, who returned to conversing about the night's Potions homework. Standing, I threw my cloak over my clothes and left the common rooms. It still felt indescribably good to have two feet on the ground.

I ignored the tantalizing calls from Ms. Tress and headed down one of the long, windy hallways. Ten minutes later I was still walking that way, passing rooms I had never seen before. Frustrated, I stopped and tried to reorient myself when I felt a chill pass through me. Looking up, I saw the Slytherin's House ghost wavering above me. The Bloody Baron was decked out in his bloodstained uniform, his grin displaying a grey-stained row of rotten teeth.

"Not good to be roaming the halls at night, lad," he rumbled. I smiled at him, feeling relieved at his presence. The ghosts, especially the Baron and Peeves, scared most of the first-years, but I found them more amusing than anything.

"But it's the perfect time for ghost hunting," I said mischievously.

The Baron responded by passing through me again, his glide eliciting an icy coldness throughout my being. He hovered in front of me, glaring. "Don't even jest about taking up such a monstrous pastime."

"I'm sorry," I said contritely, and then asked, "do you know where Headmaster Dippet's office is?"

The Baron huffed. "Of course I do, but I am certainly not in the mood to tell you now." He crossed his arms, sending me a challenging look.

I sighed, and then said by way of apology, "how about if I put in a good word for you with Ms. Tress?" I'd heard someone say that the Baron had a liking for her, and I leaped upon that angle.

At that, the Baron's eyes brightened, and he said hungrily, "oh, I have been after her for ages. She just doesn't understand the opportunities a ghost could offer her." He smoothed his shirtfront at that, a preening pride exuding from his being.

"Erm - right, I'm sure." I tried hard not to form any mental images at that. "I'll inform her of that."

The Baron puffed up, and then said, "you wouldn't mind?" His eyebrow quirked up menacingly, clearly saying he would hold me to my word.

I smiled. "Not at all. If you would be so kind as to inform me where Dippet's office is?"

Floating higher, the Baron said slyly, "always a catch with Slytherins, eh? Well, I wouldn't have it any other way." He pointed to one of the staircases about a hundred feet behind me and said, "take that staircase to the bottom, then turn right. He should be there, his office was an hour ago when I - well, never mind about that, let's just say, I heard he was there an hour ago." At that, the Baron gave me a wink, and then straightened back into a menacing shape before gliding out, warning me that he would haunt me to death if I didn't speak with Ms. Tress.

I walked down the winding staircase, coming to the dark wood door and the shiny plaque, which proclaimed that this was Dippet's office. I paused outside, composing a plausible story that was in line with what I had told Wingram, and then knocked gently. A low voice bid me enter, and I pushed the door open to reveal a circular office with sleeping portraits covering the walls, their faces mashed against the frames. Faint snores and wheezes reached my ears. The furniture was decorated in warm colors, and a large tapestry emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest hung behind the cherry wood desk. Headmaster Dippet was seated, but he slowly came to his feet as he saw me, his wizened face adopting a faint smile. To his right sat Dumbledore, whose long auburn hair was pushed back from his face, revealing an intent gaze. My heart dropped at seeing him there, and my mind frantically raced trying to think of what to say. It didn't make sense; I had been completely calm and prepared to face the Headmaster of the school who, essentially, held my fate in his hands at the moment. But upon seeing the younger Deputy Headmaster, I was quaking. It must have something to do with the look in his eyes, which roused a kind of subconscious guilt in me. The way he regarded me, it made me feel as if I had no right to exist, as if I were guilty of things I didn't remember doing.

"Ah, Mr. Riddle of the never-ending Sorting," Dippet said kindly, motioning me to a chair facing him. I swallowed hard, trying to force a natural smile on my face. My eyes were continually drawn to Dumbledore, who remained motionless. I sat, nervously wringing my hands before gripping my chain. Dumbledore sat forward as he observed this, and I immediately dropped my hands, placing them both stiffly on my lap. I waited for one of them to speak.

Dippet sat back at his desk, folding his hands in front of him. He looked serious. "Mr. Riddle, today something was brought to my attention by one of your teachers--it doesn't have anything to do with your classes exactly, but -"

"I didn't do it!" I burst out with automatically before clamping my mouth shut. Dippet and Dumbledore looked at me curiously, and I cursed myself. Twisting my hands together I hastily added, "I mean, I thought I saw a bird, and--" Dippet was looking at me as if I had grown another head, and worse, Dumbledore merely looked more interested, if that was possible. I shifted my gaze between them. "And - and it was in trouble, and--this is not what you were talking about, is it?" I finished lamely. They both shook their heads, and I tried to smile and shrug. I couldn't understand what came over me--I always had good self-control, but the nerves I felt around Dumbledore drew any resolve out of me.

I forced myself to focus on Dippet, and said smoothly, "I thought you were talking about my flying lesson today. I thought I saw a phoenix being hurt -"

"A what?" Dumbledore interrupted me, looking a bit anxious now. I gave him a strange look, and then said coldly, "a bird - some kind of bird. I don't know birds," I lied, and Dippet waved his hand impatiently at Dumbledore to be quiet so that I could continue. Dumbledore seemed about to object, but he finally settled back, asawatskl;a watching me as if he could penetrate my mind.

I continued, rolling now, trying to keep the real images away. "And so I flew up to save it--I couldn't let it get hurt. But it was just the sun playing with my eyes, since it was going down and shadows were out. I shouldn't have been so abrupt, and I already apologized to Professor Wingram." I looked innocently back at Dippet, and said in a small voice, "I am very sorry sir, I should not have acted so hastily."

Dippet waved me off, saying, "oh, not at all, boy. I think it shows great strength of character to try something so brave, to save a life. And it seems you have learned a good lesson."

I made my eyes light up, and then said, "oh, I have, sir. I don't normally act so rashly."

Dippet smiled. "Of course. Now that that is out of the way, let's get to the real reason we called you down here, shall we?" At that he turned to Dumbledore, and I felt the smile freeze on my face. If it wasn't Wingram who had talked to Dippet, it must have been Dumbledore. Were they going to discuss my question in class?

I waited in agony for a few moments as Dippet sighed, then said carefully, "Mr. Riddle, Tom, it came to my attention that you live at an orphanage."

My voice caught in my throat. "Not anymore, sir. Now I'm at your school. And I am really enjoying it, and I think I'm doing well -"

Dippet said, "well, yes, Tom. But still, - oh, this is difficult." He leaned forward. "The students who come here, they receive support from others back home. I am not simply talking about emotional support--but rather, in the - financial sense."

I felt a slow burn rise up in me, my pale face turning red. I wondered if he had noticed my poor demeanor, or if Dumbledore had said something from our encounter at Diagon Alley. Probably Dumbledore, since Dippet said that it had just come to his attention. Part of me felt relief, actually - I knew this issue would have had to be addressed sometime. I looked at Dumbledore, and he looked genuinely sympathetic. I felt embarrassed for that, but at least he didn't look disapproving, which might have sent me into a fit.

Dippet was still talking, and I tried to focus on him. "You see, Hogwarts does have a tuition fee. It is not large, and some of our students receive scholarships or sponsorship. But, you see, since you are new to our community, and a first year, that is not really an option for you."

I nodded, beginning to rise slowly. Feeling what was left of my heart breaking I said quickly, "I understand. I'll pack up now. I really loved attending your school, while I could."

"Sit back down!" The commanding tone in Dumbledore's voice shocked me into place, half-risen from the seat. He must have just noticed how he startled me, for he added hastily, "you are not being kicked out. No, I told Dippet you showed--remarkable--promise." He gave me a strange smile, but a smile nonetheless. "We wanted to figure out a plausible way to keep you here."

"Oh," I said. I sat back down, thinking hard. Maybe Dumbledore was feeling bad for having doubted me earlier, and he was trying to make up for it? Maybe he just didn't trust me elsewhere. Well, whatever reason, I felt a desperate need to stay here, and I was grateful that I would be allowed to do so.

Dippet continued, smiling. "You were indeed the topic of conversation at dinner, Mr. Riddle. Your ears must have been burning. All the teachers commented that you were a wonderful addition to their class. So, since we are not going to give you up without a fight, we tried to come up with a plan for you to stay."

I nodded, my heart beating. "And?" I asked shakily.

Dippet smiled. "Professor Dumbledore came up with a wonderful solution. He suggested that you become an aide to the teachers here--he suggested a personal aide, but I thought it better if you helped out the entire faculty. So, if you agree, for a few hours every day, you will be an assistant to one of the teachers, or the groundskeeper, the nurse, or myself. It shouldn't take too much time from your studies, and besides, it'll be a great learning experience. Especially for someone just getting used to the magical community. What do you say?"

I looked at them. Dippet was smiling widely and satisfied. Dumbledore--well, he was smiling as well. I tried to do as he had done to me, to cut him open with my eyes and study his innards with a look. Why would he want me as his personal assistant? Because I could do the Transfiguration lesson so easily? Or because he didn't trust me? His eyes still showed the added keenness that had sprung up when I had withdrawn the phoenix statement. I was afraid that he would call me on it, on my hallucinations or visions, branding me a demon and try to banish me. I turned to Dippet, thanking every last hair on his head that he had not made me Dumbledore's personal aide.

"It sounds perfect, sir. Sirs. Thank you," I said this meekly, smiling with the genuine gratitude and relief I felt.

Dippet smiled and stood, his hand outstretched. "Well, that settles that. I knew a solution would be found. Things work out the way they should, Mr. Riddle."

"If you try hard enough they do, sir," I said back, carefully taking his hand. He gave a slightly confused glance, but still escorted me out, his hand wrapped around my flinching shoulder. He bade me goodnight, saying that in the morning he would have an owl send me word of where and when I would be working. I smiled back, said goodnight, and then hurried off.

Once alone, I breathed a shaky sigh of relief, leaning against the railing which led down to the Slytherin rooms. I fingered my cross, smiling slightly. Somehow, no matter how little I believed it would, life seemed to be working out here.

My smile widening, I turned, ready to enter my rooms and get ahead for the next day's lessons, when a voice stopped me cold. I didn't have to turn to recognize the speaker - I knew only one person who could put me at so ill at ease here. Steeling myself with a deep breath, I shifted to face him and stood my ground. I had to wonder what today's fourth encounter with Dumbledore would bring, and whether I would survive this one unscathed