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

Chapter Eight: Aristocratic Difference

Tom almost slept through breakfast the next day and had to be forcibly woken by Abraxas, who, much to Tom's anger, had made sure to remove Tom's wand from the bedside table before shaking him awake. It was only after Tom had been forcibly calmed down by Antoine and Xavier that Abraxas gave him back his wand, which Tom still felt sorely tempted to use on him despite being conscious of the fact that he'd be deprived of the wand if he did. As it was, he had settled for a sullen glare at Abraxas before pulling his robes on and fixing the disgraceful mess his hair had tangled itself into while he was asleep. Voldemort didn't seem to appreciate Tom's forcible wakening either, but kept reminding Tom infuriatingly that it was necessary for great figures like them to attend classes and learn as much as they could for the sake of power. Tom had trouble deciding whether he ought to point his wand at Abraxas or his own head first, but ultimately decided on neither, since he didn't want to risk a fight with Voldemort at the minute, and was too tired to deal with further aggravation from Abraxas.

The Great Hall was noisy and packed as usual when the four Slytherins arrived for breakfast, though Tom noticed that the first year section of the Slytherin table became substantially quieter when he walked past, and one or two students fingered their wands threateningly at him. Knowing that he had more than enough magic memorized to deal with any potential threats, Tom just smirked back at the offenders in these cases, before sitting down at the far end of the table with Abraxas, Antoine and Xavier and helping himself to bacon and eggs.

But unfortunately, the breakfast did not pass entirely without incident, as Tom learned while helping himself to porridge. A jet of light flew at the bowl he was using and shattered it into several pieces, causing Tom to eject himself from the table to avoid the boiling porridge which was threatening to drip into his lap. As he did so, he cast a surreptitious glance around the table and noticed that one first year student's wand appeared to be smoking slightly. Knowing that full retaliation in public would be out of the question as well as in violation of the Serpent's Code, Tom pointed his wand under the table, muttered a few words, and watched his antagonist's face blanche as red sparks appeared over his head. This made things very easy for an irate Slughorn, who had seen the attack and was busily looking for who to punish. Tom smiled as he watched Slughorn upbraid the boy responsible and remove five points from him, with the promise that he had done himself "substantially more harm than good, my boy, substantially!"

Now that this bit of revenge had been accomplished, Tom took to mopping up the mess that had spilled onto his robes, privately wondering why it was always the bloody porridge, though he didn't plan on troubling himself about this question. He turned to pick up his copy of the Daily Prophet, which Garuda had conveniently dropped in his lap (narrowly missing his head). While he didn't expect to find anything relevant in the paper, which made reading it almost completely pointless, Tom didn't want to leave something he was getting for free untouched - after all, the fact that he got the paper meant that someone else hadn't, and something pleased him about deliberately enjoying the deficiencies of his classmates, especially fools like Augustus Nottingstom and Charity Burbage.

Unfortunately, Tom couldn't help wondering if this hypothetical other person whom he had deprived of the paper wouldn't have more use for it, since a casual glance at the headlines showed him that everything in this issue of the Prophet was going to fly right over his head. "Ministry Considers Revisions of Statute of Secrecy," "'British Wizarding Society At Stake', says Anti-Grindelwald Pamphlet," "Auror Corps Considering New Hiring Practices," most of it seemed to be written in another language entirely. Tom, who was naturally irritated to discover anything he didn't understand immediately, was about to put the paper away, when he remembered the name, "Melanie Riddle." Knowing this wouldn't require him to understand anything he read in the paper, Tom started thumbing through the pages, looking for a reference to the name. He found it at the bottom of an article entitled, "Anti-deGnoming Group Lobbies Ministry For New Regulations." Not having the faintest idea what the article was about, but hopeful that he'd get some sort of relevant information, Tom began tearing through the article with his eyes, scanning each line intensely.

He was disappointed. The article only discussed the efforts of some eccentric group of wizards called the Gnomish Insurgents for Tolerance (or GIT) who were trying to get a new ministry ban on the deGnoming of gardens, which they alleged was an "inhumane procedure", not to mention an "abuse of centrifugal force." Tom, not being aware that gnomes even existed, had no idea what to make of the whole thing, though he felt instinctually opposed to the activists in question because their antics reminded him far too much of the sort of children at the orphanage who would try to get Mrs. Cole to make him be friendlier. It didn't help that Bathilda Bagshot's column was printed on the opposite page, which made Tom feel all the more predisposed to slam the paper shut out of principle.

But thankfully, Tom was distracted because just as he finished reading the last line of the article on GIT, both Abraxas and Antoine simultaneously gave audible groans and Tom looked up from the paper. His two roommates were staring incredulously at the class schedule, their eyes suggesting that someone very close to them had died. Tom raised his eyebrows at them.

"Is something the matter?" he asked pointedly. Abraxas, his eyes still fixed on the schedule, nodded grimly. Tom sighed angrily.

"Are you going to tell me what or just sit there staring at the bloody paper?"

"We've got History of Magic first," said Antoine, putting his head in his hands.

Tom, sensing that his feeling of incredulous indifference was the wrong one, but not caring, raised his eyebrows a bit higher and asked:

"And why does that make you two act as though someone just died?"

Antoine inhaled slowly before turning to Tom and saying, in a voice rather reminiscent of someone explaining something to a small child, "Tom. Do you know why we had to have a new History of Magic Professor this year?"

"No," said Tom, shaking his head, "but I can guess. I'd say it has something to do with the fact that we have to read Bathilda Bagshot's book."

Antoine looked a bit surprised at Tom's knowledge, but he nodded. "That's...actually, that's right," he said, "but it's not all. My father's on the school board of Governors, and he told me that even though he and his mates voted almost unanimously to keep the Malfoy book, the headmaster had to refuse. Nasty business. Something to do with the Ministry interfering..."

"The Ministry interfered with the textbook we were supposed to read?" Tom asked curiously. "Why?"

"Something about wanting to encourage more inclusiveness at Hogwarts," Antoine said bitterly. "Said Brutus Malfoy was too old-fashioned and that because Hogwarts needed the Ministry's approval to keep running, we'd have to switch books."

"But the Ministry can't do that!" Abraxas said loudly from behind Antoine. "That's got to be against at least fifty provisions of Wizard law! You have any idea how many times my dad told me that if the Ministry interfered at Hogwarts, the minister'd get dragged before the Wizengamot and..."

"And who do you think is on the Wizengamot?" Antoine asked. "It's not the proper purebloods - no offense, Tom - anymore. They've got a lot of these ex-Hufflepuff and Gryffindor types like Dumbledore on there now, and Merlin knows he's no friend of purebloods..."

"Hold on a minute." Tom said sharply. "Before you two start getting into some sort of row, would someone please explain to me just what the bloody hell the whizzergammon..."

"Wizengamot." Antoine said slowly. "It's the wizard court. It's mostly favorites of the Minister of Magic who get put on, and you've got to do something really, really stupid to get thrown off. Used to be made up of a lot of old Slytherin graduates who got put on by the last Minister, but most of them have kicked the bucket now, so it's changing. And for the worse, if you ask me."

"And this has to do with History of Magic how?"

Antoine opened his mouth to answer, but as he did so, the sound of chairs being pushed back from the table filled the hall. Tom rolled his eyes angrily at this, but something in Antoine's expression told him that if he'd just wait and see, he'd get more of an explanation than he bargained for. So, following Abraxas and Antoine out of the Great Hall and grasping his copy of "History of the Wizarding Race," Tom made ready for whatever unpleasant surprise was waiting for him in the upcoming class.

The History of Magic classroom was in the east end of the castle, up about five flights of stairs, the sight of which made almost all the Slytherins, most of whom seemed to be as bleary-eyed as Tom, groan with resigned disgust. For his part, Tom found himself thinking longingly of his bed back in the Slytherin dungeons as he climbed the stairs and hoping that, whatever surprises History of Magic had in store for him, they would at least be interesting enough to keep him awake after the ordeal his legs were enduring. It didn't help that Abraxas kept stumbling on the staircase or accidentally stepping in trick steps and having to be pulled free, and by the time Tom sat down in his chair in the classroom, flanked as usual by Antoine and Abraxas, he felt quite ready to let his arms and legs fall off. He wasn't alone. Abraxas was massaging a few bruises he got from the trick steps, and Antoine was panting rather ungraciously. Indeed, most of the room seemed to be in an irritable state by the time the door at the back of the classroom opened and Cuthbert Binns strode out.

Tom was forcibly unimpressed. Binns was dressed in an assortment of shabby robes which were so thoroughly patched that one might reasonably wonder there was any of the original robe left, while his hair (prematurely gray, despite Binns' apparent youth) was disheveled and just long enough to appear bedraggled. A few stray hairs poked out of his chin, and when Binns looked around the classroom, Tom could tell from the professor's bleary gray eyes that he was doing so with the most intense form of scrutiny possible. However, Binns's gaze lacked the intensity of Dumbledore's and only made Tom feel strange. Even though the room was silent, Binns cleared his throat softly but decisively, causing a few of the Slytherins in the front row to jump in their seats.

"Right then," said Binns softly. His voice, Tom noted briefly, was similar to Dumbledore's in its kindness, but lacked the implicit power. "Welcome to History of Magic. I suppose that since I'm replacing your last teacher, a few words of welcome are in order. As I'm sure most of you are aware, this course is being taught differently this year. For one thing, there's a new - and in my opinion, better - textbook, and while many of you might feel worried about a new textbook and a new teacher, I assure you, there's nothing to be afraid of. I'm as new at this as I'm sure many of you are, and so I hope we can begin a mutually beneficial move towards communal learning."

Tom already felt himself dozing off, and the rest of the class seemed to be doing the same. Binns's voice, kind as it was, was not a terribly exciting noise. The latter, seeing this soporific effect, cleared his throat.

"Er-hem! At any rate, since I'm sure none of you want to stand around and listen to an old fart lecture for hours, would someone turn to page 13 and--yes, Mr...?"

"Black," came Alphard Black's voice from the back of the room. "Professor, not all of us have the Bagshot book. We were hoping we could negotiate--"

"Ah yes, I thought we'd run into this little problem," said Binns, a regretful note entering his voice. "I'm sure some of you bought Malfoy instead. For the sake of argument, indulge my curiosity. How many of you did that?"

Tom raised his hand, along with Abraxas, Antoine, Mulciber, and about ten other students. Binns's face fell at this.

"I see," he said in a very disappointed tone. "Dear me...much more than I expected. Well, I'm afraid, Mr. Black that I must insist on the Bagshot book, though please don't feel badly about buying the Malfoy book by mistake. I'm sure many of your parents made the mistake of thinking we were using the old set of books. It's an easy mistake, so...yes, Mr. Puck?"

"My father says Bathilda Bagshot's not worth cleaning the lavatory with!"

A wiry boy Tom didn't know had yelled the words from the back of the class. Binns looked up in shock for a moment, but then appeared to settle.

"Your father is not teaching this class, Mr. Puck. I am. And he can't very well refuse to stock books for your education--I'm sorry, Ms. Rookwood, you had a question?"

"My mum told me she'd sooner see me in Azkaban than buy that book!" came Grace Rookwood's voice from the back of the class. Binns chuckled.

"I'm sure your mother was joking, Ms. Rookwood."

"I don't care if she was," shouted Rookwood, "I'm not buying a book by some muggle-loving..."

"Stop right there, Ms. Rookwood," said Binns, and Tom could tell that he was beginning to lose patience. "I can't abide hateful remarks in my classroom - it's one of the reasons I did not assign Brutus Malfoy."

"Hateful, pish posh!" yelled Abraxas. "That's my ancestor you're talking about, Binns!"

"Professor Binns, Mr. Malfoy!"

"You're no such thing," came Antoine's voice. "The only reason you're here is because the Ministry forced us to hire you!"

"That is not true, Mr. Lestrange!"

"Yeah, you're not even a proper teacher!" came another voice.

"Please, stop this disrespect--"

"I'm not buying your crank mudblood book!"

"THAT WILL BE QUITE ENOUGH!"

The class went silent. Binns, whose calm had been visibly deteriorating during this open rebellion, was now livid with emotion and staring around the class like some sort of caged animal. A manic note of pure fury was entering his voice.

"I tried," he spat. "I tried to be reasonable, to be civil with you, even though I wondered whether a pack of self-selecting, amoral elitist Slytherins could ever understand the idea of community! But I see it won't work, so I'll use the only method that nasty little monsters like you respect - force! For every one of you whose parents felt so entitled to explicitly disobey the welcome letters, I will take 5 points from Slytherin. So congratulations" --Binns's voice had hit a booming crescendo--"Your bigotry has just cost your house 70 points!"

There was a loud gasp of outrage at this, in answer to which Binns pulled out his wand and shot sparks into the air, silencing the class. Then, in a voice of slow, deadly and forced calm, he continued:

"You may think that because you are favored by every institution the wizarding world has, you can trample all over those who dare to speak for the dispossessed, but I will not allow you to preserve that illusion. I know not all of you enjoy the exorbitant, obscene privileges of a Malfoy or a Lestrange, but please disabuse yourselves of the notion that I will care if your family has a manor instead of a castle. I'm not like your other teachers, and I can't be bought, though I wouldn't put it past you lot to try, and it is my job - nay, my social responsibility - to teach you one thing in this class: that whatever your personal backgrounds, you have all been unjustly given entitlements in a society that views purebloods as unfairly superior, and so as purebloods, you have a civic responsibility to--"

"I'm not pureblood!" Tom said loudly, unable to bear this sermon anymore. Binns jumped and abruptly looked in his direction as the room went completely silent. Tom, feeling a little unsure that he'd made the right choice but determined not to back down, kept his eyes fixed on Binns's face. It wasn't an easy task, as the latter's eyes were literally boring into Tom's, as if searching for a weakness. Tom was tempted to look away, but it just seemed wrong...

Make him blink, Tom. Make the fool blink. He's no Dumbledore. He's not even Slughorn's caliber. He's no match for you. Make him blink.

Binns approached Tom's desk, keeping his eyes focused on Tom's face as he did so. Tom didn't know how he knew it, but something on the edge of his consciousness told him that Binns was rattled, almost as if there were invisible letters in the professor's eyes which were spelling out a message of retreat, despite their outward certainty. As a result, Tom kept his eyes level with Binns's until the latter was completely level with Tom's desk, at which point Binns blinked and put on his spectacles. It took everything for Tom not to smirk at this.

"What's your name, young fellow?" To Tom's revulsion, Binns's voice was much more sympathetic than before, almost as if he was extending pity in Tom's direction. Tom, determined to rebuff this treatment, allowed himself a small, slightly mocking smile and answered:

"Tom Riddle. I'm an orphan from Southwell."

"Riddle, eh?" Binns's tone had shifted to being sickeningly indulgent, much the same way Septimus Weasley's had when he had met Tom. "And how did you come by Brutus Malfoy's text, Mr. Riddle?"

"A friend of mine - Lady Irma Black - sent it to me," said Tom, knowing the idea of Lady Black giving presents to an orphan would confuse Binns. "She was under the impression it was a superior text to the one you assigned. And judging by the columns which your textbook's author writes in the Daily Prophet" --his smirk widened ever-so-slightly-- "I agree."

Binns's face resumed its livid character for a second at this, as though Tom had just said something offensive about his mother, but then his face reassumed the same calm, patient stare. "Well, I wouldn't put too much stock in the ideas of Irma Black, Master Riddle," he said calmly, though there was a noticeable hard edge to his voice. "She's one of the cruelest, most elitist wizards I can think of. No respect for marginalized voices. No concern for the oppressed. Nothing but that bloody obsession with merit and precedence, and let those who can't make it starve..." Binns, seeing the unsympathetic look on Tom's face, shut his mouth quickly and gave Tom a sharp sideways look. Tom again had to fight down a smirk, and from the few scattered sounds of laughter around him, he could tell that his restraint was quite admirable. Binns flashed his first truly dangerous look around the room before turning back to Tom, and Tom could tell that the laughter had only goaded Binns into more anger, despite the overly-calm tone which the Professor used as he began to speak again.

"Er-hem. Anyway, I'm sure that by sending you that book, Lady Black had only one intention, Master Riddle, that non-purebloods like you should know their place. And if she had her way, that place would not be here in this classroom sitting with people of the same heritage as her children. I suppose you mistook that cruelty for kindness. Ah well, no harm in it, I suppose. It'll be only 65 points, Master Riddle. You don't deserve to lose yours because of the unscrupulous nature of Irma Black."

The rest of the class had gone bitterly silent, and Tom could tell that all of them wanted to strangle him for his outburst. Not caring terribly much, he made to settle back in his chair, but instead he felt himself stand up, point an accusing finger at Binns, and say words he had never even thought of saying.

"What makes me different from any of my fellow students, who got the book because their parents bought it for them? Don't bother answering that, professor. I know the answer. It's because I'm a half-blood orphan and that's supposed to make me better than them because they're purebloods, isn't it? Well, I'm sorry, professor, but unless you're willing to give all of them back their points, then just take those 65 points from one of your precious half-bloods instead and let them alone."

"Tom, are you mental--" Abraxas began, but Binns cut him off.

"Silence, Mr. Malfoy!" Binns's face had assumed an odd look as he stared at Tom, almost as if he was seeing something whose existence he didn't want to believe. After a few seconds of staring, he opened his mouth and continued, in a voice of stony calm.

"Very well...I see you don't want to make this easy for me. I wouldn't have believed you'd choose to defend the likes of Lady Black against someone who treated you as patiently as I have, but as you did, I suppose there's only one thing to be done with a student like you, master Riddle. Since your kind only respects success, I suppose I will have to make it clear that standing in the way of progress is always an unsuccessful venture, no matter who's doing it. So as punishment for your outburst, I will not only grant your wish, but I will improve upon it. Not 65, but 70 points will not only be taken from Slytherin, but they will all be taken from you personally!"

There was a gasp from around the room and Tom felt the color drain from his face. Abraxas's mouth was hanging open next to him. "But...but Professor..." Abraxas began, but Binns had had enough. A ranting anger was beginning to infect his voice, and his hands were twitching with agitation.

"Don't 'but professor' me, Mr. Malfoy! Half-blood or no half-blood, I won't stand to have some appeasing aristocratic difference theorist in my classroom. In fact, I wouldn't stand someone with that medieval point of view, even if his parents were both muggles! Mr. Riddle's attitude is highly regrettable, and I wish I could have made this point more gently, but he left me no choice. Now, if you please" --Binns's tone had now completely changed to one of strident command-- "open your books to page 13 and don't let me hear another word about it!"

Binns's composure had been obviously shattered by the time he finished this outburst, and he was visibly shaken, his finger still perched in the air as if expecting to be brought down again in Abraxas's direction. The entire class was completely silent, almost as if they didn't want to provoke another attack, though Tom could tell that each and every one of them weas ready to rebel. However, seeing that his unwilling outburst had cost him enough points as it was, Tom decided not to stir this resentful feeling any further, instead opting to look around for someone to share with. He spotted a pair of other first year boys who were pulling out their books. Motioning for Abraxas to follow him, he forcibly interposed his way between them and began reading over the taller one's shoulder - an act which encountered almost no resistance from the students in question, one of whom even ventured an admiring look at Tom.

But any pleasure Tom might have felt at getting this sort of attention was instantly wiped away when he began reading Bagshot's book. It was the most infuriating text he'd ever read. By contrast with Malfoy, whose writing displayed a ruthless desire to prove his arguments true, Bagshot explicitly demanded in the first few paragraphs that her reader "reject the stale, cruel and repressive pureblood historiography of the past" not because it was wrong, but because it was "insufficiently socially conscious." Moreover, rather than excluding historical methods on the basis of evidence, Bagshot devoted long, rambling paragraphs to the negative political assumptions which underlay those methods and why those political assumptions alone were good reasons not to even consider using the methods themselves. This variety of argumentation led to several moments when Tom wanted to slam the book shut in disgust and had to force himself to keep reading so as to not attract Binns's attention and lose more points. He wished he could say something, or at least vent his anger...

Stop behaving like a spoiled child, Tom.

"What?! In case you don't remember, Voldie, you're the one that just lost me 65 points!"

Points? I see. You are prepared to sacrifice your ambition for a few marbles in a jar...

"More like I want to preserve my ambition by not embarrassing my house singlehandedly!"

Don't be stupid, boy. Nobody in this classroom will blame you. You just saved all of them five points. They owe you now. Besides, you had enough left that you can still end the day with a positive number.

"Still, the other years won't know, will they, Voldie? And someone'll notice 65 points have gone missing."

Yes, and then they'll hear the story about how one Half-blood took all the points that a vindictive old coot wanted to take away from purebloods. What member of your house will be angry, Tom?

Tom was infuriated by Voldemort's contrariness, but he was even more infuriated at how easily Voldemort was winning the argument. Whatever his resentful feelings, he had to admit that his friend (though the reason for this designation was rather elusive to him at the moment) had a point and that at the moment, it was difficult to imagine even Walburga being angry at him for what he had done. However, it angered him that he had to get on the bad side of a professor to make this happen. It also angered him that Binns had been able to call his bluff.

"Well, alright, just say you're right. Did you see--"

Yes, I saw what the insane old fool did, but do you really think you should take that sort of behavior at face value, Tom? Didn't you see how terrified he looked? Why, he was ready to curse you into pieces, and then that stupid Black boy acts nobly and Binns forgives the entire class! He's obviously shaken.

"But we don't know that for sure, Voldie."

Yes, we do, Tom. Didn't you see his face? He was terrified at the thought that someone from your house could reject his charitable, condescending nonsense. And it wasn't a pureblood either, was it, boy? No, it was a poor, orphaned half-blood. The sort who it is impossible to get angry with if you believe what he does. This means that he has to deal with someone who disagrees with him on principle! Imagine how scared that makes him. He's desperately trying to reinforce his authority.

"Again, we don't know that, Voldie."

Yes, we do, Tom! If you don't believe me, watch the bloody fool.

Tom , pretending to be intently reading the book, allowed his eyes to drift over to Binns, who was patrolling the aisles making sure that the students were reading. At first it seemed that Binns was behaving in a bewilderingly erratic fashion - one second, he would gently wag his finger at a student, and the next he'd sternly reprimand another student for daydreaming. There was no apparent pattern to the way Binns was doing this, but then Tom noticed something. Every time Binns behaved in a kind fashion, a few students relaxed in their chairs and seemed to be reading faster, almost as if they were skipping portions of the text. This sort of skimming behavior would persist until Binns behaved more strictly toward a student, at which point they would all lean forward in their chairs and begin reading very intently. Wondering what the reason was for this, Tom let his eyes slide between Binns and the text, which he began combing for clues.

After a few minutes of this double vision, Binns's behavior began to make sense. In fact, it was utterly obvious what Binns was doing, and Tom was all the more incensed by it. Binns was clearly trying to influence which passages of the book the students paid more attention to. Whenever Bagshot would actually tackle questions about historical events, Binns would suddenly become much less severe, kindly brushing off a moment of daydreaming among the students. But when Bagshot began discussing the political implications of a particular historical period, Binns would instantly become harsh, as if to force the students to spend special amounts of time absorbing the political messages. Understandably, this did little to make Tom's resentment go away. Still, knowing that he couldn't afford to lose any more point, he simply settled back in his chair and began scanning the pages of Bagshot's book, without really bothering to take in any of the information. Instead, he thought about the books he had back up in his room, and the many curses he'd love to try and fling at Binns if he ever got the--

"Learning anything, Mr. Riddle?'

Tom jerked out of his reverie. Binns was looking hopefully down at him from the aisleway. Grinning back nonchalantly, as though Binns's attempt at reconciliation was making him feel profoundly amused, Tom said loudly, "Yes, Professor. I am. For one thing, I'm learning that if I ever have an idea that doesn't make sense, I can just make up for it by calling my enemies names."

The heads of the entire class shot up at this, and there were a few groans of horror. However, Tom could see that at least as many students were smiling mischievously, as though they were relishing his defiance even more than he was. He also noticed, to his immense satisfaction, that Binns now looked unnerved, as though he had expected Tom to be more contrite. Now that this expectation had turned out to be false, it was obvious that he was quite baffled as to what to do. Finally, he choked out a few words.

"Mr. Riddle, I am really very disappointed. I thought perhaps ignorance might explain your distaste for the more enlightened views of Bathilda Bagshot, but I see I was wrong. I must confess that I...I..."

Binns's voice had none of its original anger, and Tom was quite amused to note that it seemed to have been replaced by overwhelming confusion. The professor opened and closed his mouth a few more times before he finally decided that he had nothing else to say, and moved on, leaving Tom to return to his daydreams, this time with an almost palpable sense of victory.

After what seemed like hours, Binns cleared his throat loudly and informed the class in a rather-too-kind voice that their session was over, and that most of them (he laid extreme emphasis on the word "most") had been exemplary students in "allowing their consciousness to be raised with so little fuss." Then, tapping his own copy of A History of Magic sharply with his fingers, Binns announced the end of class. There was a scraping of desks and the students began to stand up, making their way to the doors with a speed which Tom had no doubt was intended to propel them away from something dangerous. For his part, he began to follow Abraxas and Antoine out, when he heard Binns's voice behind him.

"Mr. Riddle? A word please."

Tom froze. This could not possibly be good news. In fact, given how anxious he was to get as far away from Binns as possible, talking to the Professor again was the last thing he wanted to do. However, he bit his lip, told Antoine and Abraxas to save him a seat in the next class, and walked up to the front of the room, where Binns was busily putting away some books.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Tom asked softly, causing Binns to look up sharply. The instant his eyes alighted on Tom, Binns's face assumed an expression of deep sadness, and his voice sounded fraught with disappointment.

"Mr. Riddle, please don't be anxious. I have punished you enough for one day. I only wish to ask you a question - to understand something. You will not get in trouble for your answer; all I ask is that you permit me to try to understand you. Will you do that?"

Tom considered the plea for a moment, decided there was little harm in it, given how weak Binns seemed relative to his other professors, and nodded slowly. Binns inclined his head and began - in halting tones - to ask his next question.

"Mr. Riddle, why do you--how can you prefer Brutus Malfoy to Bathilda Bagshot?"

Tom frowned slightly. He knew why he disliked Bagshot, but it hadn't occurred to him that the idea of such a preference would be this confusing to anyone, let alone a Professor.

"Well--I'm not sure how to put this, Professor, but I suppose I like Malfoy better because he actually has reasons for what he says, whereas Bagshot just says that what she thinks is nicer than what other people say."

For some reason, this made Binns look highly relieved. In fact, the Professor chuckled a bit, as if he'd escaped from what he thought would be a horrible ordeal. "Ah, so that's all it is," he said calmly. You don't like Bathilda's argumentative style. Alright, that's fine, Mr. Riddle, I understand if Brutus Malfoy's prose has spoiled you. In fact, if that's all it is, then I think there are other authors I could give you who you'd find more accommodating, but tell me--even if you don't like the way she says it, do you think that Bathilda's ideas are actually nicer than Malfoy's?"

Tom didn't even have to think about the answer. "No sir, not at all."

Binns's momentary flirtation with relief passed swiftly, as he now looked crushed. "No, I suppose that would be too easy," he said softly, more to himself than to Tom. "And why don't you think so?"

"Because it's not true," said Tom, feeling encouraged. "I've read most of Malfoy, and you're wrong about him not liking half-bloods. He even says it in his introduction - sometimes pureblood families get redeemed by half-blood children who come along generations later. It's only muggle-borns he has a problem with--"

"Only muggle-borns he has a problem with?!" Binns's voice was incredulous, almost as if Tom had said the sky was red. "Mr. Riddle, think about what you are saying! Why should it be alright if he has a problem with muggle-borns? For that matter, why should it be alright if he has a problem with muggles? You've grown up with muggles, haven't you? You know they're not so different from us! Aren't we all human, Mr. Riddle? Aren't we all--"

"No," Tom snapped, cutting Binns off. "No, Professor. I'm sorry. You haven't seen what muggles are like to what they don't understand. It's disgusting. And when they get caught being horrible, they get off for it because other muggles don't think the same rules apply to strange stuff as to normal stuff, so they blame the strange stuff. If you let them anywhere near this school, they'd probably try to kill the lot of us..."

"Mr. Riddle," said Binns in a sharper voice than Tom had ever heard him use, "you are aware that you are making the very same arguments which Salazar Slytherin, arguably the most craven, evil and prejudiced wizard who ever lived, used against admitting muggle-borns to this school?"

Tom shrugged at this. "So what if I am? From what I can tell, your idea of 'evil' applies to people like Lady Black, and she bought me my wand and spellbooks, whereas the supposedly 'good' people haven't done anything but humiliate me in front of my house and take away points. Sorry if I don't believe you. And why should it matter to you what I say? What, do you want to control how I think?"

Binns looked wounded. "Mr. Riddle, I believe I said none of this was a threat?"

"And I believe I'm late for Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Tom sharply. "So if you didn't bring me in here to threaten me, I don't see the point in making me late."

Binns sighed and folded his hands before looking at Tom imploringly, as if he was an old friend who Tom had forgotten. "Mr. Riddle, please. Just hear me out. It's obvious that you're an exceptionally bright student. I can't say much for your sense of justice, but your intelligence is not questionable. I'm just trying to make you see--to make you understand--why should you use that brilliant mind of yours arguing for a wizard in whose world you'd be only a second-class citizen?"

Tom felt himself laugh - a high, cold cruel laugh that he had not intended to emit. Then, he heard his own voice, speaking words that he had not thought of.

"I will not be a second-class citizen, Professor. I will never be a second-class citizen. In fact, by the time my life is over, I intend that not even Brutus Malfoy himself could call me a second-class citizen."

"It's not up to you!" Binns gasped, a note of panic entering his voice. "You could outmatch Slytherin himself at Dark Magic and Malfoy would still think of you as a mongrel because of your last name! Don't you understand--can't you understand--?"

"Then perhaps, Professor," Tom heard himself say, "the answer is to find a new name. One that is not traceable by blood. May I go?"

Binns, who looked more confused than he had before the conversation had started, opened and closed his mouth a few times in bewilderment before finally giving Tom a last pained look and saying:

"Fine, Mr. Riddle. Just one more thing, and you can go. I am still the Professor in this classroom, and I expect a certain level of respect--"

"I will be sure not to sneer at your precious Bagshot unless she deserves it," Tom heard himself say shortly. "Is that all?"

Binns, who momentarily looked to be on the verge of arguing, gave a final sigh of resignation and waved his hand impatiently. "Yes, Master Riddle, that is all."