Rowena's Quill

After a few days of careful thinking, Tom decided that taking the quill would be the simplest task before him. He'd been perfecting his skills in re-appropriation for as long as he could remember. The quill was the most valuable thing he'd ever sought, so it would be very closely guarded, but at least he had some experience to guide him. As to finding the hidden chamber and creating a Horcrux, he had nothing guiding him at all, but he hoped the quill would help.

Tom knew that if he was going to take the Ravenclaw quill, he would have to get close to Starkle, and as more than just a student. He needed a friendlier setting, so when he saw signs around the castle announcing a Rack 'n Rune club, Tom made sure to attend.

The meeting was not in Starkle's office, but in a small classroom. When Tom arrived, Starkle and a gangly-looking girl were the only two there. Starkle was already setting the game up between them.

"So happy to see you, Tom," she said, looking up. "This is Oddwalla Lagglast, a seventh year Hufflepuff."

Tom and Oddwalla nodded to each other. And for the next ten minutes, the three of them sat alone. Starkle prattled on endlessly, desperate to fill the silence as she waited for more students. Only Dumbledore arrived. Tom needed no prompting; he was on his feet as quickly as Starkle.

"Good evening," said Dumbledore. "Ah, four of us, perfect for a round of Rack 'n Rune."

"Perhaps we should wait. There may be others coming," said Starkle.

"I doubt it," said Dumbledore gently. "Tonight is the opening of the new Quidditch stadium in London. I daresay all the student are huddled in their common rooms, listening to the broadcast of the match."

"Oh, was that tonight?" asked Starkle.

Tom did not know how she could have missed it. For the past week, every student he passed seemed to be in deep discussion of the upcoming match. Of course, Starkle's mistake worked well for his plan. The only hitch so far, and a big one at that, was Dumbledore. Perhaps some well-placed flattery might wear down his guard.

"I understood, sir, that the stadium copied many of the spells used in the Great Hall."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, "it takes more than a few enchantments to simulate outdoor weather indoors. Who's your favorite team, Tom?"

Tom fidgeted. He did not trouble himself to follow sport or root for any team. That was for trivial minds and he considered himself above it. But he sensed in Dumbledore's question a criticism, as though not following a team was some sort of shade in his character.

"The Wasps," said Tom. It was Avery's favorite.

"My brother likes the Cannons," said Oddwalla, "but they're not playing tonight."

"Nor is my favorite, Puddlemere United," said Dumbledore, "but talking of teams, shall we play in teams now, boys against girls?"

"Yes, let's," said Starkle, and they all sat around the board to play.

In any other arrangement, Tom might have enjoyed himself. He actually liked Rack 'n Rune; it was a challenging game of wit and speed. If he'd been playing on his own, in competition with Dumbledore and the others, it would have suited him perfectly. But working toward a common goal with another person was never to his liking. Tom preferred people to work toward his goals. And at the moment, Dumbledore was the biggest obstacle to his goal of taking the quill.

Because the teams were so evenly matched, the game seemed to last hours. For Tom, it was excruciatingly tedious, and he dared not even look at the quill lest Dumbledore see what he was after. When Oddwalla yawned, Dumbledore suggested they call it a draw.

Starkle sighed and reluctantly agreed. "Well, thank you so much for coming. It was a good game."

"I'll help you put the game away, Professor," said Tom.

"Why, thank you, Tom," said Starkle.

Lagglast left, but Dumbledore remained. He and Starkle began to speak in the most bizarre language that Tom had ever heard. It was unearthly; they sounded as though their heads were submerged underwater. But from the emotional cues, Tom understood that Starkle was disappointed in the low turn-out, and Dumbledore was comforting her. Tom was relieved he couldn't understand their conversation; nothing was as boring as emotions.

After a while, though, it seemed interminable. How much comfort could Starkle possibly need for something so trivial? When would Dumbledore finally shut up and get going? Tom didn't want to grab the quill with him present. He could not forget their first meeting when Dumbledore sent his cupboard up in flames.

But Tom's fingers were itching. He had to do something with that quill. He touched it with his wand and in a low voice commanded it: "Write 'Tom Marvolo Riddle.'" In mere seconds, it wrote each letter of his name on a different Rack 'n Rune tile. The tiles scrambled themselves, and as though he were playing a solitary game, Tom pulled out three tiles and placed them on a rack, spelling, "I AM." Then, looking at the remaining tiles, he came up with another word: "LORD."

"I AM LORD," he read. The phrase dazzled him. It befit his noble ancestry and flew in the face of the Bible verses he'd been forced to learn at the orphanage.

"I am Lord," he whispered to himself.

He glanced up at Dumbledore and Starkle, but they were engrossed in their own conversation. He looked down at the game. Finally, he would rid himself of that despicable Muggle name. He placed the tiles in different combinations. He first spelled "MORT" which pleased him because it hinted at immortality, and then shuffled around the remaining tiles.

He considered then rejected "DEVOL." Mrs. Cole sometimes called him "devil" when she was drunk or in temper, but that was mere Muggle mythology. A wizard was much greater.

"Mix," he told the tiles, and seemingly on their own, they formed the word, "LOVED." Tom glared at it. He loved nobody and nobody had ever loved him. He again shuffled the tiles, this time by hand, settled on "VOLDE," and sent it up to the rack.

"I AM LORD VOLDEMORT." Tom stared at his creation. It was a name that commanded respect, even fear. It was perfect.

"Well, at least one student enjoys Rack 'n Rune," said Starkle. Tom looked up and saw that both Starkle and Dumbledore were smiling at him.

"Very much," said Tom, quickly gathering the tiles and placing them in their box. The quill, which had just been sitting beside him, was now in Starkle's hand. Tom's loss of concentration had cost him again!

"Oughtn't you be getting back to the dorm?" asked Dumbledore. "A prefect cannot miss curfew."

"Yes, sir," said Tom, trying desperately to keep the hatred out of his voice. All he needed was a few moments alone with Starkle. Why was Dumbledore always in the way?

"I'm so glad you enjoyed the game. I'll call the next meeting for after the winter holiday," said Starkle.

"I'll be there," said Tom.

For the next few days, Tom was bitter. Though he had a new name, he had no quill, no Horcrux, and no plan. Students were all buzzing about going home for the holiday, but all he had to look forward to was the orphanage. He tried to relieve himself by wielding his power as prefect and having students punished for merry-making, but the pleasure was short-lived.

Slughorn lifted him out of his doldrums. He was boasting to Tom about the Ministry officials he'd invited to his annual Yule party. Slughorn had been relentlessly pushing Tom in the direction of the Ministry since first year. Tom nodded politely and pretended to listen until Slughorn said the words "Unspeakable" and "Department of Mysteries."

"An Unspeakable is coming to the party?" asked Tom incredulously.

"Yes, dear boy, and I must say, it is a pleasure to see you excited about something. I should think my connections at the Department of International Relations were right up your street."

"I am sorry, sir, but please, will you introduce me to the Unspeakable? I am fascinated by the Department of Mysteries. "

"As are we all, my boy, but you must know that the Unspeakables take vows of secrecy. As a person, Rowan Rockrimmon is as friendly a chap as you'd want to know, but when it comes to the Department, he's as tight-lipped as the rest."

"If they are so private, how did you get this - Mr. Rockrimmon - to agree to come to your party?" And realizing the clumsiness of his question, he hastily added, "After all, everyone knows it's the place to be seen."

Slughorn grinned, pleased with the compliment, and said, "Let us just say that there are certain attractions for him at Hogwarts."

Tom did not know what those might be, but an Unspeakable was certainly an attraction to him. They studied matters relating to death, the soul, and immortality. If anyone could tell him about Horcruxes, it was an Unspeakable. But the thing would have to be planned with a great deal of cunning. He couldn't simply ask directly, and especially not of a perfect stranger.

"I'd be much obliged if you would introduce me, sir."

"To be sure, my boy, but if you ask my opinion, the Department of Mysteries would be a waste of your talents. You're a born leader! Unspeakables are powerful wizards, no question, but with a personality like yours, Tom, you belong in the spotlight."

And true to his own plans for Tom, Slughorn directed his introductions his own way. When he arrived at the party, Slughorn seized him in a one-armed hug and boomed, "Come, my boy, let me introduce you to these lovely people!"

Tom allowed himself to be pulled along. He would go through the motions until Slughorn finally presented him to the Unspeakable. He envisioned himself charming Rockrimmon, extracting secrets that all of wizadry longed to know. But for the moment, he found himself facing a thoroughly lackluster pair.

"This is Tom Riddle," said Slughorn, "the most promising student I've seen in all my years here. He's in his fifth year, but he'll get my recommendation for Head Boy in seventh! Tom, let me introduce you to two rising stars of the Ministry." Bowing slightly to the couple, he said, "Ladies, first." The wizard bowed and the witch nodded. "This is Miss Minerva McGonagall of the Auror Department. Surely you must have read about her in the Prophet. She's the youngest animagus in the registry!"

"Youngest in the registry, yes," thought Tom, with a private surge of pride. Animal transfiguration was beyond NEWT level, but he had already mastered it. He doubted whether the law-abiding Auror before him had achieved it at so young an age. But then she was contemptible altogether. Indeed, he had read about her, the blood traitor. She was known for transforming into a common housecat and hiding in Muggle neighborhoods to fight the so-called crime of Muggle torture. Tom numbly shook her hand.

"And this is Barty Crouch, Department of International Relations. If ever you plan to travel abroad, dear boy, he's the man to speak to. Helped Sophie with her itinerary, didn't you, Barty?"

"A little," said Crouch. "She stayed much longer than even she expected."

"Where is Sophie?" asked McGonagall, craning her neck. "Oh," she added sheepishly when she spotted her. Starkle was standing near a dark-bearded man who pointed out some mistletoe above them, causing her to blush, giggle, and jump away.

"Too soon, Rowan, too soon," said Slughorn. Puffing himself up proudly, he said to his companions, "Quite a good connection, eh? I must admit, I wasn't entirely sure about them myself - the age difference, you know - but it looks like she doesn't mind. Rowan is certainly keen."

"Branching out into matchmaking, Horace?" asked Crouch.

"Yes, indeed. It's my second-favorite pastime, after career building, of course. Speaking of which, let me tell the two of you two more about Tom . . . "

Tom listened to Slughorn rattle on about him, and he nodded and protested in all the right places, but he had no interest in conversing with either Crouch or McGonagall. Starkle was monopolizing the Unspeakable, and it didn't look as though he had a chance of getting him away from her. Slughorn, too, seemed to have conveniently forgotten his promise to Tom.

"I will stalk her in London this holiday," Tom decided. "Better off the Hogwarts grounds anyway."

He smiled as thoughts of cruelty filled his mind. For keeping him from the Unspeakable, he would do more than just take her quill. He vowed revenge at the Heiress of Ravenclaw.