Voldemort: The Mastermind of the Dark Mark: The Hogwarts Years

Chapter Seven: The Serpent's Code

The Great Hall was customarily noisy and crowded by the time Tom and his associates arrived. The Slytherin table was marginally more empty than the others (most of the Slytherins were still ogling the hourglasses), but even there, finding a set of seats in the same place proved to be something of a challenge. Eventually, the four of them found themselves seated near the very end of the table, next to a pair of giggling first year girls who gave them angry looks when they sat down and apparently interrupted what was a resentful discussion of how mean Professor Dumbledore was for taking points away from both of them.

Tom rolled his eyes at this, remembering his superlative score at the hourglass. If these girls couldn't produce Dumbledore's ludicrously easy spell, he was sure they didn't deserve to even set foot in the school, much less complain about the points he'd taken away. Abraxas and Mulciber also seemed forcibly unimpressed, and set about helping themselves to steak and chips before turning to Tom, who noted that Abraxas was wearing a distinctly satisfied grin.

"Y'know, Tom," he said softly, apparently not wanting their squabbling neighbors to hear him, "I reckon that if those girls knew who you were, they'd probably shut their mouths. You did a bloody good job in class today."

Tom felt exceedingly gratified to hear this, and gave Abraxas a slight and gracious nod before starting to eat his own food. However, as he began eating, he saw out of the corner of his eye that the two girls they'd just sat down with were eyeing him with interested trepidation, as if he were a particularly graceful creature which could also eat them. One of them, a slender, pale, burgundy-haired girl, seemed to notice he was looking because she addressed Tom in a rather-too-abrupt voice:

"Hey, aren't you that kid who got about a hundred points from Dumbledore?"

Tom raised his eyebrows. "One-hundred?" he asked dryly. "I don't think so - you must be thinking of someone else. He only gave me fifty."

"Whatever." said the girl, waving her hands impatiently as if Tom's words were flies she was batting off. "Point is - do you get off making other people look bad?"

Tom's eyes narrowed. "And if I do?"

The girl, who clearly had not expected this answer, paused for a second, and then shrugged. "Then you're lucky, I guess," she said, a small note of resentment entering her voice, "because you're really bloody good at it."

Tom, not knowing what else to say, coldly responded:

"Thank you."

"It's not a compliment," the girl said sharply. Tom's first instinct was to respond with a cutting remark, but considering there had been no overt declaration of hostility, he settled for sneering at her and going back to his plate. A look of outrage crossed the girl's face, and she turned to Antoine, who was staring at her with an expression so bewildered it almost made Tom burst into hysterics.

"And what about you? Do you hang out with him because you like making people feel bad?"

Antoine's eyes momentarily widened to the size of dinner plates and he hastily shook his head. "No," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but sounding slightly intimidated. The girl shook her hair back huffily and turned back to her food. Tom, all-too-pleased to end this conversation, turned to Abraxas to begin talking to him, and--

WHAM.

What felt like a very slippery black rock impacted Tom's face, and he turned angrily to see what it was. The burgundy-haired girl had pulled out her wand and waved it, causing a small portion of the black pudding to hit him. Tom furiously pulled out his own wand and fixed his robes with it before turning to the girl. Before he could wave his wand, however, he irritably noticed that Antoine was blocking his vision.

"Antoine," snarled Tom, "move out of my way."

"Come off it, Riddle." Antoine said in an overly smooth voice, as if Tom were a dangerous animal he was trying to coax into submission. "Let it go. It wasn't anything dangerous, or anything."

"You expect me to just let her attack me, unprovoked and..."

"Come on, Tom, it wasn't exactly unprovoked - I mean, you didn't exactly go out of the way to--"

"And if you don't go out of my way," Tom hissed, letting every word come out of his mouth as slowly as possible, "I'll see to it that you share what I'm going to do to her. Now move, Antoine."

Antoine shook his head. "No," he said stubbornly, a small hint of false bravura entering his voice. Tom's eyes narrowed.

"Move," he repeated. Antoine didn't respond, but just crossed his arms and glared at Tom, while making sure to keep one hand on his wand.

"What's gotten into you, Lestrange?" came Mulciber's bewildered voice. "What, d'you fancy her or something?"

Antoine rounded on Mulciber furiously and waved his wand at him, causing Mulciber's overflowing plate to shoot straight up into his face. Tom, ignoring Mulciber's howls, took advantage of Antoine's distraction to raise his own wand - feeling hot with rage as usual - and try to slice it at the girl. However, she was apparently cleverer than he'd thought, because she ducked, causing Tom to frantically attempt to adjust his aim and lose his balance in the process, which meant that instead of hitting the girl, the wand shot a jet of light randomly up at the Slytherin table, where it stuck Antoine's head.

Almost instantly, Antoine's long black hair seemed to come alive, pulling him closer to the girl he'd been trying so hard to defend. At the same time, Mulciber's spell ricocheted off of Antoine's plate and hit the girl's hair, which also began to pull her towards Antoine. Slowly, the strands of the girl's hair tangled themselves with the strands of Antoine's and, over the protestations of both students, pulled the two into something which would've looked, to anyone who hadn't seen the previous exchange of spells, like a very hairy lover's embrace. The entirety of the table around them erupted into laughter at this spectacle.

That is, until Tom noticed that one of the teachers - a portly, overfed-looking man with a walrus moustache and straw-colored hair - was crossing the room towards the table, a concerned look on his face. Tom hastily waved his wand at Antoine and the girl, who broke apart gasping, both deeply red in the face. The teacher apparently saw this, as he crossed to Tom and frowned down at him.

"It's Riddle, isn't it?"

Tom nodded, injecting a little contrition into the gesture in the hopes that this teacher was more tolerant than Dumbledore. He was relieved to see that the teacher relaxed a bit at this.

"Do you know who I am, Master Riddle?"

"No," said Tom honestly. This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as a flash of disappointment crossed the teacher's face.

"Hmm...quite odd, quite odd...I would've thought...the Prefects...ah well! No harm done. I'm your head of house, Professor Slughorn, m'boy."

Tom, despite his feelings of abject contempt for Slughorn's false joviality, feigned a wondering gaze up at his head of house, who smiled slightly seeing this.

"Yes, impressive, I know, but no time for extended introductions. I suppose you know why I'm here, m'boy?"

Tom took a moment to answer - he was busy weighing the costs of feigning ignorance against the benefits. Deciding it wasn't risking it in case Slughorn had seen too much, he nodded.

"We're not supposed to use magic in the halls and corridors, sir."

"That is right, Master Riddle," boomed Slughorn, still sounding jovial despite the chastisement inherent in his words, "and especially not on our fellow Slytherins, which is why you're very fortunate you did this before our little meeting tonight, or I'd have to be harsher. As it is, I'll just take a point from Slytherin and ask you to be very attentive tonight. Unless you have a reason I shouldn't punish you?"

Tom could tell that Slughorn was prepared to listen to whatever answer he might give, and he was tempted to complain that the girl had started it. However, something told him that this was the wrong thing to say--

Take the punishment, Tom. This way the little brat is in your debt, and didn't your professor say it's wrong to embarrass your fellow Slytherins?

Despite his feeling of humiliation, Tom couldn't think of a way to counteract Voldemort's logic, so he shook his head at Slughorn, who, mysteriously, smiled before striding back up to the high table. Once Slughorn was back at his seat, Tom turned to the girl who'd assaulted him and grinned nastily.

"So...I just saved you one point, didn't I?"

The girl scowled. "Oh, don't get any ideas, it was only one point!" she snapped.

"I'm aware of that," Tom said silkily, "which is why I took it. I've got 64 more where that came from, but you were complaining about how mean Dumbledore was to you...who knows? If I'd let you lose one more point, you might have outscored Crabbe in negative points."

The girl's eyes narrowed, but Tom could see that there was a touch of understanding in them despite their anger. "Fine, Riddle," she hissed. "I guess I owe you one."

"Right," Tom smiled unpleasantly at her, "so let's stay cordial from now on, in case I decide to redeem that. What's your name, by the way?"

The girl bit her lip. "Rookwood," she said. "Grace Rookwood."

"Well, Grace Rookwood, keep your ears open." Tom sneered. "And you," he turned to Antoine, "don't get in my way again. Otherwise, you might just find your spine..." Tom snapped his fingers for dramatic effect, causing Antoine to go white momentarily before nodding resentfully. Satisfied he'd made his point, Tom turned back to his food, keeping his eyes open for any other attackers.

However, the only threat he could detect was Walburga Black, who he saw was at the far end of the table, eating dinner and laughing with an assortment of students who looked as though they couldn't possibly be as bright as their house badges, which appeared to have been shined professionally. Tom mentally made a note of every one of their faces so he would know to pull out his wand if any of them came near him. Then, fishing inside his robes, he pulled out the copy of the Daily Prophet which he'd received that morning and opened it, looking for any other references to Salazar Slytherin, or to the name "Riddle." Nothing except for the loathsome Bagshot article seemed to reference the word "Salazar", but as he scanned an article on the 5^th page about something called the "Auror Office", he came across the word Slytherin:

"Senior Auror Septimus Weasley said the changes to Auror Office Hiring Directives would 'Help to combat the centuries-old reputation which the Auror office has enjoyed as a holdout of heartless, Slytherin-focused thinking.'"

Tom, already knowing he didn't want to read the article, flicked his eyes idly at the rest of the page. As he did so, his eyes alighted on a small postscript at the end of the article:

"Melanie Riddle contributed reporting to this article. She can be reached by owl at the Daily Prophet Office, the fourth floor corner office. London. England."

Tom hastily pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket and wrote down the address, resolving to write a letter to Melanie Riddle as soon as he could, asking if she knew anything about his father. After all, he thought, the last name couldn't just be a coincidence, especially considering the article's subject matter...

A blast of light ricocheted off the table just inches from Tom's plate, and he hastily jumped backwards, avoiding the jet by an inch. Staring furiously in the direction it came from, Tom saw that one of the boys sitting near Walburga was holding a smoking wand, and was being patted on the back by an assortment of his friends. Tom, suppressing the painfully insistent urge to blast the boy's face in, simply pushed his plate away and yawned, as if the attack hadn't even registered. A quick look told him that this was not the reaction his assailant had been hoping for, as the boy was now scowling. Tom suppressed the urge to sneer and simply made a mental note of the boy's face, so that he would know against whom he ought to exact revenge, once Walburga had gotten her due.

The rest of dinner went smoothly, unless one considered shoving down an entire chicken in fifteen minutes to be a disturbance, in which case Tom was sure Mulciber had to have caused at least three disturbances. However, the only disturbances appeared to have occurred in Mulciber's stomach, as the latter looked slightly sick when they were getting up from their chairs. About an hour remained between the end of dinner and Slughorn's meeting, and though Abraxas and Antoine tried to persuade Tom to join them playing something called Gobstones, Tom didn't even have to think before refusing. He knew exactly what he was planning to do - search the library for anything on Salazar Slytherin, or anyone called "Riddle."

But he would have to do it fast, because it took Tom about twenty minutes to find the library after he had gotten assaulted multiple times by the school poltergeist, a bothersome apparition by the name of Peeves. So it was with about half an hour to spare (it took ten minutes to walk from the library to the Slytherin common room) that Tom walked up to the desk of the librarian - a smiling old woman named Madame Sindle - and asked if he could look at anything pertaining to Salazar Slytherin, or old pureblood family lines. To his surprise, the second part of his question made Madame Sindle's smile become quite stern.

"I can show you the books about Hogwarts' founding," she said sharply. "But as for pureblood geneology, I'm afraid you'll have to get permission from a Professor to look at those. They're in the Restricted Section, and that's strictly for fifth years and above."

"What?" Tom had not expected to sound so frustrated, but it came out anyway. "Why can't I look at those?"

"Young sir," Madame Sindle said with a sniff, "here at Hogwarts we are committed to an equal learning environment for all. If every student was allowed to come in here and see whether their families were part of some arbitrary pack of elitists, we would never be able to preserve that. Unfortunately, some pureblood families - the most privileged - have kept copies of their own, but that does not mean we can't keep access forbidden to the less meticulous."

"But that's ridiculous!" Tom protested. "What does it matter if my family had rich purebloods in it? Aren't I supposed to learn things here?"

"You most certainly are," the librarian huffed. "But - and you are obviously too young to understand this - there are some things which students at Hogwarts should not learn, because it would make progress in the wizarding world go far slower. Of course, judging by your choice of house" --she glanced at the Slytherin crest on Tom's chest-- "I suppose you'll never care about that anyway, will you, Master..."

"Riddle," Tom said angrily. "Tom Riddle. See? Not a bloody pureblood, am I?"

The librarian looked at him resentfully. "Well then, master Riddle, you can put the genealogical charts of your mind unless you get permission. They wouldn't help you anyway - Merlin knows how many 'Riddles' got dumped on doorsteps by purebloods to avoid the shame..."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked eagerly, despite his irritation at Madame Sindle's self-righteousness. The latter looked slightly uneasy, but she went on anyway.

"Well, Master Riddle," she began, "until about four hundred years ago, it was common practice for pureblooded families to dump illegitimate children anywhere that those children couldn't be traced back to them. The naming convention for such children back then was to call them by a first name, and then substitute 'Riddle' for their real surname. Of course, the name is also fairly common among muggles that live in the Greater Hangleton area, but you see, even if you do have some pureblood relations, it would be almost impossible for you to find them, since many of the oldest wizarding families might still use that barbaric practice among themselves, if not on public birth records anymore. Now are you satisfied?"

Tom, feeling quite deflated at this information, thanked the librarian and took her directions to the shelves reserved for the books on Hogwarts's founding. However, he had only fifteen minutes to look, and nothing he looked in spent more than a paragraph on Salazar Slytherin. He also noted irritably that there were large gaps in the section, as if someone had purposefully removed books. He later discovered that someone had, because when he asked the librarian about it, she sniffed that the books had been removed to the Restricted section because they were unsuitable for young minds, and it was a good thing too because there was nothing whatsoever worth reading in any of them. Tom thanked her curtly, fighting back the frustrated questions he wanted to ask, and then spent the next five minutes thumbing through some of the other books, all of which he slammed back onto the shelf in exasperation before heading back to the Slytherin common room so that he would arrive in time for Slughorn's meeting.

It was not until after Tom had panted the password and practically run into the common room that he noticed that a large crowd had gathered. A large, ornate podium had been set up at the center of the room, and an adult figure who he recognized as the portly Professor Slughorn was standing near it, eating large quantities of some sort of sugar-coated fruit. A few minutes of scanning the room later, Tom spotted Antoine and Abraxas, whom he breathlessly made his way towards, only barely acknowledging their greetings as he sat down next to them. He was spared the chore of explaining where he'd been by Slughorn clapping his hands loudly, to indicate the event was about to begin. When everyone had quieted down, Slughorn pointed his wand at his throat and muttered something, which made his voice boom just loudly enough for Tom and every other first year in the hall to hear. Slughorn cleared his throat, which Tom privately thought sounded more like a sonic boom, and then began speaking.

"Well, first years, I know I am not the first to say this, but welcome to Hogwarts. But more importantly, welcome to Slytherin. You will not hear this enough from other teachers, and never from other students, but Slytherin is in fact the best house at Hogwarts insofar as this is the one house where you will never have to worry about your future. Oh, I know the other houses all have wonderful virtues as well, but they're so terribly impractical and myopic, don't you think? We Slytherins understand the importance of using all our virtues in pursuit of that one cardinal virtue - our native ambition. Salazar Slytherin, our august founder, once said that ambition was, and I quote, 'the golden eggshell against which we are all frantically beating our wings, trying to escape the yolk of mediocrity and let our greatness hatch.' I was never one for flashy metaphors, so it's no surprise I couldn't put it better myself."

This last sentence brought an appreciative laugh from the students, though Tom noted that most of them seemed to have forced the laugh. Clearly, they all wanted to get into Slughorn's graces. Slughorn seemed to enjoy all this attention, because he beamed before continuing.

"Yes, yes, I surprise even myself with my own wit sometimes. Ah, but enough about me. You will have a chance to hear more about that later in my little presentation. First, I must tell all of you about something far more sacred than my own person - something that has been passed down for the thousand years this school has existed, and instilled in every Slytherin student since then by their house head. I am talking, of course, about the one thing unique to Slytherin - our code of conduct. You see, Salazar Slytherin was a very smart wizard. He knew that pursuit of excellence and genius was the sort of behavior which makes one the most enemies. He also knew that when everybody in a house is pursuing excellence and genius, a little healthy competition is sure to exist. So after thirty years of being head of his own house, Salazar Slytherin wrote out three tenets of conduct which every Slytherin student should know if he or she wants to succeed. These three tenets have not failed yet, and they are known collectively as the 'Serpent's Code.' I have them written down here, and I will read them to you just as soon as I put on my glasses."

Slughorn fumbled in his robes for a few minutes before withdrawing a set of ornate, golden reading glasses from an inner pocket, which he put on in a stately fashion before clearing his throat again.

"First, never admit equality with a member of another house. It is your right to rule them, and if they succeed in ruling you, then you have nobody to blame but yourself. To this end, do not ever open yourself up to a member of another house. Keep them at a distance, as a Lord keeps his vassals at a distance. Your secrets are safe only in the hands of another Slytherin, and only if you know his secrets as well."

Slughorn paused and gave the crowd an impressive look before continuing. "Second, never admit animosity with a member of your own house in the presence of the other houses. You may compete with them as shepherds compete over who can raise the greatest flock of sheep, and you may grow to hate them or love them depending on how fiercely you compete, but if one shepherd is overrun by the flock, the others risk having their focks dissipate. Similarly, you Slytherin shepherds must remain unified against the sheep which congregate in the other houses. If sheep attempt to overrun one shepherd, the rest must take revenge."

Tom was getting quite bored. These first two tenets seemed like common sense to him, and he didn't see why Slughorn would have to call them all to a meeting to read common sense. Still, he supposed he had violated the second tenet somewhat in his overt attacks on Walburga and Grace Rookwood, so he must've needed reminding. As such, he looked up at Slughorn with dutiful attention as the latter cleared his throat and prepared to read the third tenet.

"Third, though all of you are trying to rule, be wary of advertising your rulership should you gain it, and do not hesitate to exercise your rulership in order to keep it. You must possess an iron fist, but a velvet glove does not suffice to hide it. Rather, you must use the ultimate weapon of a ruler - the invisible iron fist."

Having concluded this final tenet, Slughorn gave one more impressive smile to the rest of the hall and then replaced the piece of parchment from which he'd been reading. Then, clearing his throat (and causing several students to clap their hands over their ears) again, he continued.

"Now, that code is fairly comprehensive, but I'd like to add one more principle to it: always make the right friends. So, to that end, allow me to explain about another hallowed tradition which is slightly younger than our great founder's code. I refer, of course" --Slughorn beamed around the room-- "to what some of you may have heard others referring to as the 'Slug Club.' It's no secret that I like to collect the most promising students as friends, and to allow them to associate with each other. Please note" --Slughorn's voice assumed a stern note-- "I do this without regard to the house one belongs to. Just because you are a part of Slytherin does not guarantee your admission to my little circle. You will have to earn a spot along with everyone else. Which brings me to these."

Slughorn waved his hands at the hourglasses. "Some of you may be wondering what these are here for, and the answer is simple - they are here to record the number of points each of you win or lose for Slytherin individually. Now, having very high numbers won't guarantee you a spot in my club, but be assured" --Slughorn paused for dramatic effect-- "it cannot possibly hurt. I look for many factors, but being a dunce at your schoolwork is not one of them - of course, I don't expect any of you to be dunces, but relative mediocrity won't help either. And for those of you who are wondering whether it's worth the bother" --Slughorn gave a very impressive smile-- "let me assure you that, unless you think it is a random coincidence that former members of my club include three of the last five ministers of magic, as well as the current editor of the Daily Prophet and the Captain of the Chudley Cannons, you may be sure that membership in this group is certainly worth the bother."

Tom sensed a change in the air around the room. Students were looking sidewise at each other in a none-too-friendly way, as if to gauge how difficult it would be to land each other in the hospital wing. A couple of other first year boys glared at Tom for about fifteen seconds before realizing that he wasn't intimidated. Slughorn seemed to also sense this change in the air of the room, because he sternly added:

"One thing I should warn you about, however, is that membership in my club is not attainable solely by tearing others down. You will have to do something yourself. Every year a few students get sent to the hospital wing because of excessive desire on the part of Slytherins to cull the competition. If I ever catch any of you doing that to each other, you may rest assured the perpetrator will be out of the running. Now then" --Slughorn turned to the first year row of hour glasses and scrutinized them before doing a visible double take-- "where is Master Riddle?"

Tom, suddenly conscious that the air of the room had gone quite still, raised his hand slowly, not minding at all that several dozen pairs of predatory eyes turned towards him as he did so.

Slughorn, apparently the only non-hostile presence in the room, gave Tom a very large smile and said appreciatively, "Master Riddle earned 64 points in a single day - a record number for a first day in my 70 years at Hogwarts. Congratulations, Master Riddle."

Slughorn began applauding. The rest of the room followed suit, though Tom saw that many students were clapping their hands slowly and menacingly, as though every clap was meant to squash something unpleasant. He wasn't the least bit frightened, however, and to show this, he took the opportunity to flash a nasty grin at some of the surrounding students while inclining his head graciously at Slughorn, who raised a piece of the sugar-covered fruit he'd been eating towards Tom in a mock toast before going on.

"So, since you already have to deal with such stiff competition, I hope all of you will up the ante significantly, and make this one of the proudest years Slytherin has ever had. Congratulations on your house choice, and welcome to Slytherin!"

As the students broke out into applause again, Slughorn muttered, "Quietus," at his throat and stepped down from the podium before sweeping out of the common room, the Prefects in tow. Tom noticed that as soon as Slughorn was gone, each of the other students started giving him meaningful looks as though trying to come up with what curse would be most efficient to use on him. Abraxas, Antoine and Xavier seemed to notice as well, because they all stood closer to Tom as if to shield him from the other students. Xavier's bulk seemed to intimidate a few, but the really predatory ones were still glaring, and continued to glare as Tom, Abraxas Antoine and Xavier all made their way back up to their room.

Once Antoine had shut the door behind them, Abraxas gave Tom a look which plainly said that he expected Tom to die in a few days, and said in a resigned voice, "Well then, Lord V, I hope you've got a nice plot of earth picked out for your headstone."

"Oh come off it, Abraxas, he's not going to die," said Xavier, though he sounded worried anyway. "Or at least, he's not going to die, but he might wish he were dead."

"I think there's a very easy way around all this," said Antoine in a manner that suggested a highly pessimistic joke. "Just get the Lord here to nearly snap a few dozen people's spines, and they'll leave him alone right quick."

"Right, because that won't get Slughorn angry at me at all," Tom said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, I don't know what you lot are so worried about. If I can do 7^th year level spells already, I don't really think there's any reason for me to be scared."

"Tom. They're a bloody mob out there," Abraxas said sharply, his voice getting higher as he said it. "Do you really think you can take on our entire year, much less our entire house?"

Tom scowled. "Firstly, Abraxas, I told you to stop calling me by that filthy muggle name," he said acidly, "and secondly, no, I don't think I could take them all right now, but that's what I've got schoolbooks for, don't I? If I can learn enough spells in the next few days without being murdered, I should be completely fine. In fact, I'd like it if they did try and kill me, because then Slughorn could catch and disqualify the really stupid ones, and I'd have less competition."

Abraxas opened and closed his mouth, sighed and shrugged resignedly. Xavier, for his part, raised his eyebrows but gave Tom a slight salute with his fingers as if to say, "It's your funeral." Antoine just grinned nastily, which made Tom feel slightly better, since it meant at least one of his friends had faith in his ability to take on the rest of his house. Then, before anyone could argue with him any further, Tom threw himself onto his bed and buried himself in his Transfiguration book, fully intending to learn all the nasty human Transfiguration spells he could when...

While your bravery is admirable, Tom, we will need something more substantial than your academic prowess this time.

"My academic prowess? Voldie, why do you think I'm reading the sections on how to turn my housemates into frogs?"

Those spells are hardly innocuous, Tom. Also, if you haven't noticed, they leave a mark which is far too visible.

"Well, what am I supposed to learn, Voldie? It's not as though any of my books have curses or dark magic in them, now is it?"

Don't they, Tom? Bear in mind, you haven't exactly looked at most of the books Lady Black bought for you. And she did buy more books than the list required, didn't she? Why don't you check your Trunk?

Tom sighed, put down his book and shoved himself off his bed, pulling his trunk out from under the same object. He undid a few of the beaten old locks on the trunk and opened it, searching through the pile of books he'd gotten from Lady Black, this time paying strict attention to the titles for the first time. There were far more of them than he recalled being on the list. Along with "Transfiguration and its Essentials", there was a book called "Offensive Transfiguration: Controversial Transformative Incantations for the Advanced Wizard", and along with "Magic: Theoretical Considerations" by Angus McKinnon, there was a book called "Magic: A Theoretical and Practical Guide" by someone named Lerk Bechasp. Tom pulled this latter book out of his trunk and opened it, looking for a table of contents. As he did so, however, he saw that on the title page, a small note had been written in red ink.

"Specialis Reveleo - the discriminating wizard's best friend."

Wondering what this meant, Tom drew his wand from his pocket and, not knowing what else to do, pointed it at the book and muttered, "Specialis Reveleo."

Almost instantly, the name "Lerk Bechasp" began to change. Letters shifted out of place and rearranged themselves, and the signature on the book became more slanted, until five seconds later, Tom saw that the name on the title page had shifted from "Lerk Bechasp" to "Hesper Black" and that the word "Dark" had superimposed itself next to the word "Magic." The title now read "Dark Magic: A Theoretical and Practical Guide." Tom grinned widely at this, wondering how Lady Black had known to pick this book out particularly, and settled back in his bed, preparing to read it.

The introduction to the book began on a sharp and somewhat caustic note:

"It is the intention of this piece to introduce to the discriminating reader a branch of magic whose meaning has now been almost lost to the ages. However, unlike the term 'Dark Wizard', which has been completely deprived of meaning due to its colloquial use to describe a wizard with insufficiently progressive political views, the term 'Dark Magic' still has some level of meaning. Originally, 'Dark Magic' referred to the branch of magic devoted to causing harm, but as this branch of magic originally only contained life-threatening spells and now contains harmless pranks like the Jelly Legs jinx, the term has now been limited almost exclusively to those spells which can actually induce physical and/or mental instability in their targets."

Tom, feeling quite satisfied with the fact that he was learning dangerous spells, read on quickly, skipping large portions of the introduction until he got to the actual spells. However, he had plainly underestimated what the book meant when it said, "Physical and/or mental instability." These were very complicated, very nasty spells. One of them, the octopus heart jinx, actually induced a minor heart attack in the victim, whereas another, the "more minor" Scelesti Sanguinium (wicked blood) spell, heated the victim's blood until it boiled. There was also a sizable section on creating one's own curses, which included lengthy and unnervingly clinical passages on the beneficial effects of training oneself to enjoy inflicting pain. Tom, for his part, was highly amused by the book and kept skipping through large sections to see what else looked interesting. It wasn't until he came to the end of the book, however, that he found something that really piqued his attention.

"The Unforgivable Curses

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The use of any of these curses on a fellow human being has been illegal since 1717 and is sufficient to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. The following pages are presented solely for academic purposes and the author in no way suggests that anyone ought to try these curses in a duel, or in any other setting that involves other humans."

Tom, feeling especially excited now even though he didn't have the faintest idea what Azkaban was, began reading the section very quickly, practically devouring the pages as he memorized fact after fact about the three curses. He especially liked the idea of the Imperius Curse, and regretted deeply that the usage of any of these curses would earn him a life sentence in Azkaban, which he imagined was not a good place, wherever it was. It wasn't until he looked around and noticed that his three housemates had gone to sleep that he realized how late it was and how long he'd been reading the book for. Tom began to close the book, but as he did so, he noticed that a bit of red scrawl had appeared along the top of the page he'd been reading:

"Specialis Abscondo - The friend of every secret seeker after knowledge."

Realizing what the book was trying to tell him, Tom pulled out his wand again, muttered, "Specialis Abscondo," over the book, and watched it transform back into "Magic: A Theoretical and Practical Guide." Then, shoving the book under his bed, he felt his head hit the pillow and he drifted off into sleep again.

Of course, if Tom had stayed conscious for another five seconds, he might have noticed his mouth involuntarily opening to emit a quiet, high and cold laugh.