The Broken Victory

Chapter 09: Sacrificial Pagan Holidays, or Halloween

"You're not evil," I said impatiently for the thousandth time. I was sitting on the floor in Dash's room, watching him pace. He didn't seem to be listening to me, so I turned my attention to the history book lying next to me. The annual Halloween party was only a week or so away, and the commotion in the dorms and common room had been too distracting. I was going to the library when I had been way sided by the curious sight of Dash pacing.

He finally turned to me, his face troubled. "Yes, I am, Tom. I'm a horrible person."

I rolled my eyes and said monotonously, "No, you're not. You can't be evil just by breaking up with your girlfriend. It's in the manual. Eating her, yes, breaking up, no."

"Eating her?" Dash gave me an odd look, but when I stared back uncomprehendingly, he shrugged with a small smile before continuing on with his self-pitying rant. I truly did not need to be in the room for this - he had been going on before I'd entered and barely acknowledged I was there, he was in such turmoil. Still, it was better than being with anyone else, in my mind, so I remained as he added, "And I did it right before our anniversary and the party!"

"Oh, I hadn't realized that. In that case, you're right. Grindelwald, step aside. Long live the new Dark Lord. May I get you the heart of a child or some puppies to snack on?"

He stopped and glowered at me, muttering, "I shouldn't expect a child to understand."

I stood up, my patience running thin. "Then why did you bring it up to me? I have studying to do." I made a move to exit when Dash stopped me.

Contritely he offered, "Sorry, Tom. I-it's just that none of the other Slytherins could understand my going out with her in the first place. They are all glad I broke it off. But you -"

"You thought I'd be more sympathetic?" I asked. When he nodded, I sighed and then said, "Well, I am sorry. I liked Gail. But you won't even say what went wrong."

At that, he balked. Refusing to meet my eyes, he muttered, "It's private."

"That's fine. I respect that. But sitting here whining about it won't do anyone any good. All I can say is, if you had your reasons, then move on. I'm sure she will." I couldn't really see what the big deal was, but then, I'd never loved someone.

Dash looked like he wanted to say more, but clamped up. Sighing again, he gave me a worn smile and said, "Given what I told you, that's reasonable advice. When did eleven year olds get so wise?" He tossed my book at me.

Laughing, I said in mock anger, "I'll be twelve soon. Twelve going on forty."

Dash looked surprised. "Your birthday's coming up?"

I looked down. In a low voice, I said, "Well - not really. I mean, maybe it is." I took a deep breath and finally explained. "I have no idea when my real birthday is. There's no record of my birth; at least, none at the orphanage. Mrs. Blunt - she's the wife of the owner of the orphanage - she told me it would be fitting to make my birthday the same day as Halloween. I didn't bother explaining to her that it is celebrating the eve of All Saints Day, not really seen as something demonic. It's not as if we celebrated it, anyway."

Dash looked sympathetic. I quickly smiled and shrugged, saying, "It's nothing, really. I never saw the point of celebrating being alive for another year. It just means you're one year closer to dying."

At the grim look Dash gave, I decided to keep this opinion of mine to myself as well. He said, "That's - really sad, Tom. Not that I can blame you for seeing it that way." Then he brightened and said with fake enthusiasm, "It's like the story of our House's founder."

At the mention of Salazar, I felt uneasy. Dash didn't seem to notice, continuing, "Salazar's birth was also a mystery. He just kind of appeared in society when he was about sixteen. He was a self-proclaimed visionary. He said that he saw Merlin, who hasn't been heard of in centuries, and that Merlin told him the deepest secrets of magic. This apparition supposedly happened on Halloween as well, so he claimed that date was the day he was truly born. We have no other date to celebrate him on." He must have seen my blanched face, for he quickly added, "It's not exactly like your story, but it's similar - Tom?"

"I-I have to go study," I mumbled, heading out the door. Dash didn't stop me, and I rushed out of the Slytherin rooms, not stopping till I had cleared the dungeon. Salazar's name had been haunting me for weeks now. Once out, I tried to regain control of my breathing. Several Ravenclaws passed me and turned to stare curiously. Trying to look inconspicuous, I straightened and headed for the library to think. The library itself was being re-hauled, having received a large donation of books and scrolls from Romania's History of Magic and Mayhem Library. Just the other day, I had been busy helping Madame Acadima the librarian restack shelves. There had been several histories of the founders of Hogwarts.

Right after the unicorn incident, I searched the entire school for information on possession, ghosts, and visions, anything that might explain what I was experiencing. Finding nothing and not trusting any of the professors, I had reread everything on file that I had taken from the Blunts. I was trying to figure out even a shred about myself that might relate to whatever was after me. Immediately I recognized the name my mother had written to. Salazar. I had looked the name up, finding it had been a common name in the magic community's history. There was also a group of people in the early 1900s that had formed a cult, believing Salazar Slytherin had ascended to godlike state in his death. They worshiped and prayed to him as some do to the great Merlin. However, the cult lost popularity soon after its creation, mostly because no magic requests asked of Salazar went answered. It surprised me that magicians would believe in such things, but the timing would have been perfect for my mother to be a member. My heart softened. In her letter, she didn't seem like the believing type, but had apparently cared enough about me to go to Salazar, no doubt as a last resort. I refused to believe she had simply been another crazy follower.

So either my mother had known someone named Salazar, or she had entreated the original one on her and my behalf. It made sense, but yet, I still felt I was missing something. The library and especially the new books offered an immense amount of information and speculation on my new subject of interest. I picked one out and sat down, trying to ignore the commotion around me. My eyes soaked in the information. He had been tall and bony, with thick, black hair and eyes either blue or black in color. On that, the sources contradicted. He had been left-handed. Every teacher he had said he was the finest student they'd ever seen, and his best subject was Transfiguration. Many people in the community distrusted him for his ambition and talent, fearing his thirst for knowledge without regard to law or morality. Others, obviously, worshipped him. He founded Hogwarts with three other great magicians, and one of his closest confidants was fellow founder Godric Gryffindor. However, each had been too stubborn in their ideals. Salazar believed only those of pure blood should attend Hogwarts, for only they had the ancient blood flowing in them that would enable them to reach the deepest levels of magic. Gryffindor felt a noble being, regardless of heritage, was most important. Obviously, Salazar lost that debate. The later years of his life were less informative. Supposedly he went insane. Some said it was from practicing the "Dark Arts," while others said his visions possessed him. Oh, and he was the only recorded Parseltongue in history.

I sat still once my gaze saw that, the noise of Acadima piling books falling deaf to me. The similarities between Salazar and me were growing more surreal. I pushed the book away from me, brooding. One of my hands absently spun my wand on the table, my teeth lightly biting my bottom lip in frustration. I was missing something; I could feel it. Finally, I ripped a blank parchment out and wrote down everything that came into my mind in my lopsided scrawl.

Salazar Slytherin
Birth date - Halloween
Physicality - tall, bony, black hair, black/blue eyes
Character - Visions (of Merlin, unknown symbols, his own death), left-handed, good at Transfiguration, Parseltongue, ambitious, feared, revered, founded Slytherin, Muggle-hater, and insane

Mother - member of Salazar's cult. Married a Muggle. Died in childbirth/right after I was born. Didn't receive help. (That I know)

Tom Marvolo Riddle
Birth date - Halloween
Physicality - tall, bony, black hair, blue eyes
Character - Visions (unknown symbols, phoenix, flying, laughter, skeletal man in cloak, green-eyed boy with scar), left-handed, good at Transfiguration, Parseltongue, in Slytherin, ambitious, sanity questionable

Left-handed - sinister, unusual, powerful
Phoenix - resurrection, change
Parseltongue - communicate/control snakes
Snakes - wise, powerful, symbol of temptation, potent
Visions - associated with dark magic, sign of great danger/power

After I had finished, I looked over what I had written, then sighed again loudly in frustration. Acadima gave me an annoyed look, which I ignored. If only some of the loopholes could be filled in. Who was my mother? Why would she, if a supporter of Salazar, marry a Muggle? How could I have been put in Slytherin if I wasn't pureblooded? What was that guardian angel of which Snicks had spoken? Or the man at the orphanage? Was Salazar finally repaying my mother for her request by allowing me into Slytherin and preventing me from killing Trevor? Was that why I so closely resembled Salazar? Was he the one controlling me? That didn't seem right; no, it wasn't that -

"Congratulations, Mr. Riddle." An unwelcome voice made me jump. Standing beside me was Dumbledore. I scurried to close all of my books and turn over all papers, while Dumbledore merely looked curious.

"What, sir?" I asked, trying to appear unsuspicious. My hand jumped for my chain.

Dumbledore looked hard at me, then said, "Your paper on the Morality in Magical Education was the only O I gave. It was the finest work I've seen to date on the subject by a student. Superior to some supposed scholars, even." His look was caught somewhere between admiration and vigilance. "You have obviously done outside research."

"Is that wrong?" I asked. The parchment with my thoughts on Salazar was teetering on the edge of the table, fluttering from the wind outside the window next to me. I wanted to snatch it to safety, but that might draw too much attention to it in front of Dumbledore. I forced my eyes off the paper I had written.

Dumbledore seemed in no hurry to move on. He rested his hands on the back of the dark, wood chair, his long fingers running over the carved designs on its back. "Not at all, Mr. Riddle. I admire such initiative. Of course, the paper was just supposed to be three to five pages, and you submitted ten."

"I had a lot to say. I couldn't fit it into five pages," I answered mechanically, all the while thinking, go away! The paper was now trailing the edge of the desk, almost on the windowsill.

Dumbledore sighed. "Well, I could see that. And it was a fantastic bit of work. But, Mr. Riddle, when a professor asks you for something specific, they might have a reason they don't give you. The assignment was for three to five pages."

The paper was dipping, the wind grabbing it. My eyes darting, I barely got out, "I wanted to be thorough, sir. I don't see the problem with giving you more pages than you asked - it's not like I cursed it or anything. I'm sorry if I caused trouble."

"No, Mr. Riddle, you didn't - Tom, are you quite all right?" Dumbledore asked me.

My eyes never met him. "Yes - NO!" My worst fear answered; the paper had suddenly flown out the window. I jumped up, threw all the books into my bag and ran out, saying to Dumbledore, "I have to go NOW!"

I hadn't a clue if he responded. My legs pounded, I skidded down the halls, ignoring the angry cries from the people I accidentally shoved. All I could think about was what if someone like Damien, or Dippet, got hold of that paper. Even though I didn't know what it held yet, I knew letting it get out would cause me large troubles. Randy met me at the door, his smile turning into hurt confusion as I pushed past him into the darkening sky. I raced outside, my heart pounding in my ears. I looked everywhere outside the library window, then around all of the school grounds in case the wind had carried it. I couldn't go to groundskeeper Zwipp, because I couldn't tell him what it was about. I searched fruitlessly, as the sky darkened into night. Finally, after hours of searching, I slumped down next to the side of Hogwarts, my eyes filling with tears of frustration. I was no closer to an answer to my questions, and I had possibly jeopardized my entire future at Hogwarts. I sat there through dinner, dwelling in my misery. Only hours later, stiff from the cold, did I venture back to the Slytherin Commons.

"Troubles?" Randy's voice pierced my thoughts, his lisp aggravating to me at the moment. He and Simon were seated on the floor with the other first years. Second years sat nearer the fire, and upperclassmen had taken over the sofas and tables. It was an unspoken rule during study times where people positioned themselves. Simon was actually nearer the fire then normal, as he was assisting a third year on some history. His knowledge of the history of magic made me desire to get closer to him, while at the same time I jealously wanted to think nothing of him. Outwardly I remained civil, though. Simon was the closest to having a trace of Ravenclaw in him, besides myself, among the first years. I tolerated - possibly even liked - him best after Dash.

Everyone paused in their work, the word trouble automatically bringing everyone's heads up. Upon seeing it was in relation to me, most of the elder students put their heads back down. Randy finished writing his name on a piece of homework suspiciously not in his handwriting, adding, "Did someone not receive an O?"

"Nothing wrong with crying over that," Simon commented absently, giving me a faint smile I weakly returned.

"I heard Mudblood tears stink," Cathleen called out loudly. She was seated at one of the tables. As Damien's girlfriend, she could take such a spot.

Randy turned around, made sure Damien wasn't about, and then said, "Not nearly as much as that retort, luv. Go see the unicorns again, and maybe they'll swipe some wit into your head this time." The room fell into snickers, and Randy beamed with pride. It was clear that showing his wit was probably more meaningful than defending me. Turning back to me, he said innocently, "It's probably best to take your mind off whatever it is bothering you."

My smile did become a bit wry, though my insides were still jittery. I replied back, "By tutoring you, right?"

Randy's grin became sheepish, but he nodded. "You're annoyingly good at just about everything. I'd hate to see it, should you develop a complex." He turned to Simon as if to concur with him. Simon's smile seemed a bit tight at Randy's words, but he gave a shrug in the affirmative.

"Little chance of a complex," I commented, more grumbling to myself. I hadn't accomplished anything of late, merely botching things up. But my ego was still strong enough to enjoy his words and find truth in them. I sat down on the floor and began to help him. It only took moments, and with my insincere compliments of "well done" and such, he walked away pleased with himself and thanking me. Slowly, a few other students came over with requests. I was immensely tired, but I wouldn't turn anyone down. I'd be insane to reject the chance to assist an upperclassman. Shifting closer to the fire, nearer than Simon, I prepared myself for a long night. My concerns of earlier didn't fade, however.

They only grew as the days went by.

*

"Halloween is my favorite holiday!" groundskeeper Zwipp informed me for the thousandth time. I nodded, whipping sweat from my eyes. It was now the day of the annual Halloween feast, and I was helping Zwipp make preparations. We were moving impossibly large pumpkins into the main rooms and decorating all of the bushes and trees with oddly shaped ornaments. All the while I was mounting goblin grease and bats' wings to the evergreens, I was searching for my parchment in vain. It had now been missing for six days. I had barely been able to concentrate on anything I was so terrified. Anytime Damien approached me or made a snide Mudblood comment, I froze, ready for him to whip it out. So far, no one had said anything, and I was beginning to have hope that it simply disappeared into no one's hands.

"Know why Halloween is my favorite holiday, Tom?" Zwipp asked me. He was from just north of Newcastle, where the orphanage had been. Ever since he found that out about me, guessing it from my accent, he had become much friendlier to me. I smiled and shook my head at him. I was in no desire to lose the friendship or acceptance of anyone who offered it to me now.

Zwipp's cagey eyes twinkled. "Because Dippet's wife always comes! Have you seen her, Tommy?"

I laughed at the look on his face. "No, sir."

"Ah, you won't be able to miss her!" Zwipp was practically salivating. "She's a beautiful creature, she is."

Amusement caused me the first bit of relief I'd had in a long time. Trying to keep a straight face, I said, "I'll look out for her, sir."

"Ah, you do that, my boy! But remember, it's only the men she recognizes." Zwipp winked at me knowingly. I nodded back, leaving him to his lustful fantasies.

We worked well into the afternoon, when I came inside and helped Professor Charisma Vallandora, my Charms teacher, decorate the inside grand hall. It was actually a great chance for me to work on my levitation charms, as we both lifted the pumpkins and decorations high into the ceiling. Then she taught me the spell to get them to maintain levitation without our having to keep watch or hold our wands at them. It was apparently learned in the third year, but I easily picked it up. Both she and Professor Thistle, who was also helping, were astonished, and I smiled proudly. Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, and the Baron, who were floating around in excitement, applauded, though their hands made no sound. In the few hours remaining before the feast, I finally relaxed. I had not had any visions since the unicorn incident, no one had brought up the missing parchment, and I had boosted my mark in my Creatures class to the highest in my year.

I even maintained my smile as Dippet and Dumbledore entered. Professor Vallandora excitedly told them of my success, and Dippet clasped me on the shoulder proudly. I hid my flinch, for I still disliked being touched, but the gesture made me feel even more satisfaction.

Dumbledore gave me a genuine smile, as he said, "There doesn't seem to be any class that can fully challenge you, Mr. Riddle. I hope we aren't boring you."

"No, sir, of course not," I replied.

Dumbledore and Dippet exchanged looks, and then Dumbledore said, "Well, that's a bit unfortunate, Mr. Riddle, since we thought you might be in the mood for a bigger challenge."

My interests perked. "What challenge?" I asked eagerly. Dumbledore and Dippet laughed at my enthusiasm, and then Dumbledore asked me to follow him to his office. I hurried to keep up, as he threw back at me, "I have a proposal for you. While we discuss it, and other matters, perhaps you could help me with some tasks."

"Of course," I agreed. We reached his office, the small square dwelling with the numerous paintings and maps moving in the background. A phoenix, his phoenix, sat behind him squawking. I had encountered his bird, with its crimson coloring and gold tail, when I had first worked for Dumbledore sorting his magic rulers. Its name was Fawkes, and he didn't seem to like me very much. He always tried to bite me while I worked around him. Internally I told him I'd let him rot in the smoke if he were in my vision. Maybe it was because Dumbledore had him as a pet which had made him so interested to know about that part of my vision.

When we reached his office, I was dying to know what the challenge was. I felt like a little child - my age, really - in the way I couldn't stop smiling and shifting. Dumbledore must have noticed the change in my demeanor, for he seemed pleasantly surprised. He teasingly told me that first I had to do my work for him.

He pointed to a table, where a grid sat suspended in the air. I walked over to it curiously. Dumbledore followed, explaining how it worked. The grid supposedly contained information on animal, or Animagus, transformation. He said that to open the information, the code must be broken. Then he stepped away, leaving me staring at it blankly. I looked back at him, received no help, and then turned forward. Staring at it, I walked close toward it. It was covered in strange symbols I couldn't understand--if I couldn't read them, how was I supposed to break the code? I was about to voice my complaint when I noticed a pattern that kept shifting. The third block of red on the top row repeated in the ninth. It was followed with a blue one, which then reappeared on the sixth row. The third one was blank, and the pattern kept jumping every three squares. It took me watching it once through before I calmly reached out my hand, pressing the first red, third blue, second red, fourth blank, sixth blue, third red, ninth blue. At that moment, a thin reed reached from beneath my thumb, poking through my skin. I jerked my hand back, too curious to complain. After the needle receded, the grid spun for a moment, shone bright gold, and then opened, revealing...nothing, it seemed to me. Air.

I smiled, turning back to Dumbledore, who shook his head and said slowly, "Do you know what you've done?"

I shrugged, smiling nervously and with a hint of excitement. "It was just a logic math puzzle. This is my lucky day, I think." My self-deprecation was in direct contrast to the true feeling of my ego, though I wasn't entirely sure what I had accomplished. But it was clearly something quite large, and for that, my smile increased.

Dumbledore came close to me, his eyes shining but his face serious. He started to grip me, saw my shrinking, then settled for just stooping down to look at me. "It is more than that, Tom. Figuring out the puzzle itself isn't the most amazing part - well, no, I take that back. You figured it out quicker than anyone, which is most impressive. I timed you - you beat the quickest score, mine, by seven and a half minutes. But that is not what is so astounding." His look indecipherable to me, he said, "That grid has been here for a long time - since the founders of Hogwarts, actually. It is said to have been created by them as a - testing - device, though it never was implemented. I just needed to be sure -"

"Sure of what?" I asked, almost jumping and shouting I was so anxious.

Dumbledore had risen and was now pacing, his hands locked behind his back. He took a moment and then turned to me, putting me out of my misery. "You are the finest student of Transfiguration I have ever seen, Mr. Riddle. However, it remains that you are still a first year. I was debating the benefits of quickening your studies, though everyone is pushing me to do so. Scholastically, yes, you are plenty advanced. But still, the idea of pushing any eleven year old is unsettling to me."

He paused again, and I couldn't take it anymore. Taking a deep breath, I said tentatively, "Professor?" He turned, and I quickly got out, "Please, sir, I'm not following you. Could you explain what happened?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly, then said, "Well, that would only be fair, wouldn't it, since I put you through that? All right. That grid is an Animagus test - the only one in existence, I believe, though some might be covering up others. It normally is not necessary - a student, through years of training, comes to realize their capabilities and talents. In fact, just because someone does not pass the test does not mean that they will never be an Animagus. Their potential might not be realized yet. Therefore, the test, only if positive, proves whether someone is an Animagus or not. I suspected with your acceleration at Transfiguration that you were one, and now that has been proven." He searched me while saying, "Congratulations, Mr. Riddle."

I felt confused, slowly saying, "Then what was with the puzzle? Is that the test?" The blood taking seemed the important part to me, though why it came after the logic game, I wasn't sure. Perhaps to test cognitive development. Well, I had no worries there.

Dumbledore laughed. "No," he said. "The blood prick tests if there is the innate gift of Animagi magic within the person. The puzzle itself was supposed to tell if the student in question was ready to be trained as an Animagus mentally. You see, though, it only tests analytical skills, nothing whatsoever of the emotional or psychological level of the student. Therefore the founders, especially Godric, felt it was an insufficient test. I took it after I came to teach here, well after I was an Animagus, and felt it was an insufficient teaching tool. You are the first - special - case I have used it on, though I still doubt its usefulness. Of course, the one who is said to have designed the puzzle felt it tested all that was necessary - that was Salazar."

At the mention of his name, I went numb again. Dumbledore immediately noticed this with his keen eyes and called me on it. "That name strike something in you, Mr. Riddle?"

"N-No, sir," I lied hastily. "I am just wondering why you feel I can't learn to be an Animagus."

Dumbledore sighed, then patiently said, "I did not say that, Mr. Riddle. I said that you definitely have the potential and ability to become an Animagus--in time. Technically, could you start learning now? Most definitely, I'd say. But is it in your best interests to be pulled out of your regular Transfiguration class and be pushed--that I am questioning. And I am afraid the decision rests with me. I question my judgment in bringing this up to you at all, but I don't want to hold you back either." At this, he gave me a troubled look. "It isn't easy having a student like you, Mr. Riddle."

"Well, it isn't a walk at the park for me either," I said. Then I added, shifting, "But I want to do it, sir. If I can, if it's in me, I have to go for it. I don't mind being pushed--I can handle it. I have to do it."

"Have to?" Dumbledore pressed his hands to his temples. He laughed hollowly, its echo seeming strangely out of place. Finally he looked back up at me. "Mr. Riddle, have you been having visions?"

That turned my stance to stone. I paused, collecting myself, before saying slowly, "Where did you find it?"

Dumbledore at least gave me the credit not to play ignorant. He motioned to Fawkes, replying, "Fawkes brought it to me - I wasn't sure at first whose it was, but then I recognized your writing. I thought someone was just taking notes for an assignment. But once I realized whose it was--Tom, is there something going on?"

I tried to find my voice. "It's mine. May I have it?" Dumbledore walked to his desk, took the crumpled paper out from a hidden drawer and handed it to me. Shaking, I took it, as he continued. "Tom--I am here to help you. If you have any questions or problems, I want to help you."

Yes, you'd like that, wouldn't you? I thought angrily. If I came crawling to you, asking you for help, like a good, little, Mudblood orphan should, right? I said tightly, "Can you tell me who my mother is?"

To that, Dumbledore had no answer. "I'm sorry, Tom. I have no records of who your mother was. You see, we, the magical community, only knew you existed when you were sixteen months. That is when you first used, unintentionally I am sure, your magical ability. That is quite early - we were interested in you from then on."

"So you watched me from then on, living in that orphanage?" I couldn't believe it. Had he, Dippet, and the lot of them just sat and watched me be taunted, ignored, and tortured for all those years and done nothing?

Dumbledore shook his head. "It doesn't work like that," he insisted. "You were not part of our community yet - we had no means to know all the particulars of your living situation. What little we did know about you, we only learned after you accepted our admissions. All we knew of was your talent. Before that, we left you alone - it would be too dangerous to have exposed you in the open like that until you chose this life."

"Then what about the people who came to the Christmas party?" I accused. My temper was running high, and I was too sick of being left in the dark unknowing to think before spurting this out.

Dumbledore, naturally, jumped on it like a cat. "What people?" he demanded. When I balked, he forcefully grabbed me by the shoulders and commanded, "Tell me, Tom. What people?"

His voice scared me. I felt like I was under the Blunts' accusing glares again, and whispers of demon filled my head. In a whisper, I said, "There were two people who came to the Christmas party at the orphanage last year. One was a man, with eyes like yours, and the other was a woman." I couldn't take his intensity anymore. I softly said, "Let me go."

Dumbledore, realizing he had been gripping me to the point of bruising, immediately withdrew. Drenched, he slumped in his chair, rubbing his temples. In the same odd voice, he said, "With eyes like mine."

I looked around wildly, searching for a way out. I too was drenched, and I felt stifled under my robes in his small office, smothered in some sweet smelling perfume. Lamely I said, "I have to get ready for the party now."

Dumbledore still had not moved, so I began making my way out. Right before I left, he stopped me. "Tom--I have to think about this. Is there anything - anything - else you can tell me? Even if it doesn't sound important?"

I winced and turned, bidding the fleeing visions to leave me. Empty and defeated, I said dully, "Nothing, sir." Then I opened the door and slid out, grateful beyond words he did not call me back.

I had not been looking forward to the Halloween party before, and now it definitely wasn't on my to-do list. I stood in the corner of the grand hall, having just made an inconspicuous arrival. The Slytherin common rooms had been empty when I returned from Dumbledore's. My bed had looked inviting after the hellish day I had, my aching head begging for simple respite. But I knew Dumbledore would be there, so I had to make an appearance. I had quickly taken a shower, freezing as usual, since no warm water ever reached the drafty dungeons. I had slipped into some of the old clothes Dumbledore had given me, somewhat respectable after they had been washed a few times. Throwing my dress robes over my head, I gave an envious goodbye to Snicks, who was curled up on my bed, and headed out.

The hall was beautiful. I might even have said that if I hadn't basically decorated the whole thing. It had been fun, actually, since I was never allowed to partake in any of the festivities back at the orphanage. Rudolph had nothing on me. I was busy looking at the food the elves prepared. There were cakes that had been enchanted to change into looking either scary or frightened, and drinks that screamed if someone tried to sip from one of them. I was trying anything to avoid thinking about what my mind was really focused on - my talk with Dumbledore.

"And here's our most promising first year!" The voice of Headmaster Dippet pulled me back into reality. I turned and stock smiled at him, noticing the woman hanging on his arm. She was a tall, thin woman, looking mature but not old. Her hair was pure white, and her eyes glowed gold. She was dressed in a clingy gown that revealed all one wanted, according to Wynn. I stared at her; she clearly was not completely human. I wondered if she was a witch.

The woman smiled dazzlingly and then cooed, "Oh, Armando, he's adorable."

I felt my face turn red with embarrassment and delight. No one had ever called me adorable looking before--tall, I got, and too thin, and often conceited, but never anything good. I said smoothly back, "Thank you, ma'am."

She threw her straw-colored hair back and laughed. "Oh, what an accent, as well! Your voice is very musical. Do you sing?"

"Erm - well, a bit," I started to tell her, when my attention was grabbed by something to my side. A dark shadow was growing out from under one of the food tables. I tried to turn my attention back to Dippet and his wife, but I couldn't pull my eyes away. Slowly the shadow took shape and color. I saw myself being formed on the ground, but I was slowly morphing. My hands grew scales; my eyes turned blood red. My shadow self was looking at me in horror--but the horror was slowly fading into acceptance--and then delight. A cruel smile drew up the white lips, and a horrible, cackling laugh sang from the lips of the image. I heard Dippet speaking to me, but it was as if I were under water.

My image beckoned to me, and I drew close against my will. My image was pointing, and I looked up in time to see the skeletal man with the oozing symbols I had seen at the Leaky Cauldron. His only human feature was a thick beard, which struck me until his movement forced my attention away from that detail. He was standing with his hands grasped around the neck of a small child. The child was reaching out to me, pleading like the phoenix. I heard the hissing laughter above me, as my image self cackled and told me to join the skeletal figure. I looked at the boy, feeling remorse and guilt--but incredible hatred and anger at the same time. The laughter increased, as the image taunted me to move. I had to--I couldn't stand the guilt--but I wanted to join the strangling of the boy as well. It was as if each of them represented something I wanted to destroy, something extreme within me out of which I had to break. Finally I could take it no longer. I rushed in frantically, pulling out my wand, trying to separate the two figures--but whether I wanted to then kill them myself, I did not know. I turned to the boy, and I reached for him, for the hands wringing his neck--

"Riddle!" The shock drove me back to consciousness. I realized that I was on the floor, still convulsing. Froth came out of my mouth, and I saw the looks of terror on everyone's faces. I heard yells of, "He's possessed!" and "No, he's Muggle; he's having an epileptic fit!" "Maybe it's a spell!"

I felt dizzy and sick, as waves of darkness swept over me. I couldn't speak coherently, but I tried to push all the blurry faces crowding me away. Breathing was too hard, and the trembling increased. I whimpered, the only sound I could make, as I heard Dumbledore command, "Everyone, back away! You! Get the nurse! Dippet, some water! Tom, Tom, can you hear me?"

For once, I felt nothing but relief that he was there, actually knowing what to do. His hand was over my forehead, his voice soothing to me and telling me to relax, trying to calm me. It was beyond comforting, probably because I never expected it. Trying to speak, I weakly coughed out in tremulous words, "I - saw - some - where they...really..."

The compassion in Dumbledore's eyes glazed over with somber concern. Grimly he said, "No visions?" And I had no reply, the warmth he had been giving me slowly dissipating under the weight his words carried.