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

Chapter Nine: Professor Merrythought

As Tom exited Binns's office, an unpleasant chill flew up his spine, and he suddenly felt dizzy, which meant that Voldemort, having "helped" him for a prolonged period of time, had decided to return control of his body. However, this did not make Tom feel remotely better, as a vague sense of unease was building in his head. There was no doubt that Voldemort had rescued him from a very unpleasant situation on time, but it struck him as an uncomfortable reality that Voldemort was so capable of commandeering his mind and free will. His friend had always had to tell him when he'd planned to do that before, but now Voldemort seemed quite comfortable just taking over without so much as a by-your-leave. Tom knew better than to complain to his friend, but it struck him as just a little odd that Voldemort was behaving so overzealously in the aftermath of his studies of the dark arts, and suggested a connection between the two which Tom had to admit to finding slightly unpleasant.

Nevertheless, Tom knew that he couldn't dwell on this problem forever. He was late to Defense Against the Dark Arts, and given the massive number of points he'd already lost, it would probably be a very unwise move to give another professor an excuse to dislike him on the first day. So he put his thoughts of Voldemort's enthusiasm out of his head for the moment and dashed as fast as he could in the direction that felt vaguely like West, trying to find the tower where Defense Against the Dark Arts was held.

To his gratification, he was not as late as he'd thought, for after about two minutes of sprinting, he caught sight of a line of pointed black hats and green and silver scarves disappearing into a large mahogany door. Tom sprinted forward, managing to stop the door from closing on him (a dangerous prospect, as Tom was afraid that the doors at Hogwarts would lock themselves on purpose), and entered the classroom, fully prepared for whatever gruesome image or dark arts-related material that might be waiting inside.

And was quite certain he had entered the wrong class. The room looked nothing like a place that should be used to teach Defense against anything. Rather, it was decked out rather like an old-fashioned sitting room with high-backed chairs centered around a cozy-looking armchair where a kindly looking old woman sat knitting scarves with two knitting needles. Tom would have turned around and walked out if he hadn't suddenly noticed Abraxas waving at him and mouthing "over here," and so realized that whatever his senses told him, he was apparently not in the wrong classroom. Making his way to the empty chair next to Abraxas, Tom flicked his eyes at the woman who was knitting and asked:

"Is that...the Professor?"

"Yes. Already asked," Abraxas said calmly. "That's Professor Merrythought alright - although" -he lowered his voice here--"I thought she'd be a lot scarier, given what Dad told me about her."

"If she taught your dad, Abraxas, then that means she must be ancient," Antoine said calmly from an adjoining chair. "Probably going to her head a little. Nothing to worry about, though, I'm sure. I've heard she's the only teacher in this school who still knows how to teach from my parents."

"Well, I suppose both of you can satisfy your curiosity in a second, then," Tom said, now flicking his eyes at the clock on the wall. "It's time for class to start."

"Right you are, Mr. Riddle!" cackled a suddenly authoritative and highly mischievous sounding voice from the center of the room.

Tom, who would not have expected a voice as commanding from such an old woman, turned to look at Professor Merrythought, only to find himself ducking as she shot a jet of light at him from her wand. A few shrieks of panic went up from the class, a few of whom tried to make for the doors, which Merrythought quickly waved shut and locked with her wand before sending jets of light at a few more of them. This caused the entire group of Slytherin first years, Tom included, to take refuge behind the previously comfortable high-backed chairs, hoping they could get out of the way if Merrythought decided to try a new angle.

Merrythought gave another high-pitched cackle and exclaimed, "Alright, then! Don't want to come out and face me properly, eh? Guess I'll have to force you out of there, then! Expecto Patronum!"

Once more the sound of panicked shrieks filled the air as a gigantic, translucent silver hawk burst from Professor Merrythought's wand and swooped around the room, pecking at the students viciously as it went and forcing them from their hiding places. Tom, deciding not to put his faith in Merrythought's merciful nature, started wracking his brains for a spell he could use on the professor. His first thoughts were dark incantations, but then he remembered that he was in a Defense Against The Dark Arts class, and it would be very stupid indeed to reveal that as a first year, he knew things that most fifth years weren't allowed to study.

This left him with only one option - a Transfiguration spell. It would be risky, and probably highly complicated, but he would have to attempt to do something to Merrythought's translucent silver hawk. Frantically trying to think as he ducked to avoid a jet of light that narrowly missed his ear, Tom whipped out his wand and pointed it at the offending bird, bellowing the first thing that came to mind as he did so:

"Abeo subscalpo!"

To his surprise, the spell did not have the intended effect (turning the bird into a needle). Rather, its impact blasted the bird into a thousand little shards of light which ricocheted off the classroom walls briefly before subsiding. He could hear panting and tentative movement, as it seemed that Merrythought had stopped blasting people every which way she could.

After a few minutes of silence, it became apparent that this was not a temporary recess. Merrythought had really finished with whatever she'd intended to do, and the students started to slowly shift back towards their seats, giving frightened but curious looks at the Professor, whose eyes were sparkling so fiercely that she might as well have been emitting guffaws of laughter. Slowly, she let her wand arm fall and glanced around the room.

"Well, I think that makes for a nice, pleasant warm-up, don't you?" she said kindly, as if she were asking them if they'd liked her homemade hot cocoa. "I always find that a nice bit of dueling gets me nice and ready each day - not that that was much of a duel, mind you. I'm surprised it took Mr. Riddle the full five minutes to figure out that I wanted you to fight back."

The students exchanged resentful looks, as if this was hardly the most obvious thing in the world, until one of them piped up, "But professor, how...how were we supposed to know? I mean...you're the teacher, aren't you? We're not supposed to attack you! It's--it's against the rules!"

"It's against the rules?" said Merrythought, scowling as though she had swallowed something very unpleasant. "Against the rules? Tell me something, Miss Prince. Suppose that sometime between breakfast and this class, I suffered an attack of lunatic rage and decided that I really was going to kill all of you. Or suppose that I had been placed under a curse by someone who wished Slytherins to be harmed and was forcing me to attack you? Would the remains of you that would have been taken to the hospital wing in an ash bin have been better off for not fighting back because it was 'against the rules'?"

The girl who had blurted out the question closed her mouth stupidly, looking ashamed. Merrythought clicked her tongue. "Let's get a couple of things straightened out," she said sharply. "Firstly, there are no rules in this class, just as there are no rules in the real world. If you encounter a dark wizard, you will have no idea how he will attack you, when he will attack you, what he will attack you with and why he will attack you. The only rule in this class is that as long as I am better with a wand than you are, you are expected to respect my authority because you will get hurt very easily if you don't. I have never believed in the sort of coddling that tends to take place in classes like this because some meddlers think you're too young to understand how to fight back, and I don't intend to do it. If you lose an ear in this class, you may rest assured that I will ensure that the school nurse reattaches it in the most perfect replication of its original position possible."

Several students laughed at this, but their laughter died in their throats when it became apparent that Merrythought was not joking. This made quite a few students look sideways at each other nervously, as though they thought that Merrythought might have suffered an attack of lunacy between breakfast and the class. Tom, for his part, found Merrythought's bluntness very refreshing after the patronizing nonsense which he'd been forced to endure from Binns, and despite his anticipation, he thought it was very likely he would enjoy this class.

To the surprise of the rest of the class, Merrythought's first action after issuing this dire warning was to take roll. But it quickly became clear that this was not like any roll call they had ever experienced. Merrythought randomly would send jets of light at students, seemingly with no pattern, and would click her tongue and mutter, "Paranoid" if any students ducked pre-emptively to avoid the expected spell. Then, if that student stood up to protest, she would force them to duck again by blasting them with an actual jet of light, muttering, "Not paranoid enough," as she did so. By the time roll-call was over, the students, Tom included, felt thoroughly exhausted.

Thankfully, Merrythought seemed to have an extra bit of lecturing to do, which meant that they would have a chance to rest. At least, that's what Tom took the professor resuming her seat to mean. After another quick look around the classroom, Merrythought gave a soft smile and clicked her tongue expectantly again.

"Now then," she said, "before I start teaching you how to defend yourselves, I think it's important that I explain why I will be teaching you certain tactics. Now, I don't see any point in lecturing you unnecessarily, so let me first start by asking you all a question - why is it that when a dark wizard attacks you, you will have no idea what he is about to do to you? Yes, Mr. Puck?"

"Er...well, is it...is it because Dark Magic is...really unpredictable? Like say...say you wanted to use a Dark curse, you'd have more trouble controlling it?"

Merrythought gave a knowing smile, clicked her tongue again and shook her head. "Dear me, dear me, Mr. Puck, what a fascinating assumption you just made. You assumed when I said 'dark wizard', I meant a wizard who uses dark magic. That is not what I mean at all. If that is what I had meant to ask you, I would have asked you why facing dark magic is often just as dangerous for you as for the person wielding it. However, have five points for Slytherin preemptively, as you answered my next question without meaning to. But on this question, anyone else have any ideas? Yes, Mr. Lestrange?"

"Well, I could be wrong," began Antoine, "but maybe it has something to do with the fact that we don't know who Dark Wizards are, and--"

"Stop right there and take five points for Slytherin before you say something wrong, Mr. Lestrange," crowed Merrythought, cutting Antoine off. "Indeed, we don't know who Dark Wizards are, and that's of interest, but not for the reason you think. Any other ideas?"

Tom, suddenly remembering a passage from the book he'd read the night before, raised his hand.

"Mr. Riddle?"

"Because the ministry keeps changing the definition of a Dark Wizard," Tom said. "It used to mean a wizard who used dark magic, but now it just means anyone the ministry doesn't like."

Merrythought raised her eyebrows. "That's a rather strident way of putting it, Mr. Riddle," she said thoughtfully, "but definitely of interest. Ten points to Slytherin. Now, has anyone spotted the moral of this fact--yes, Mr. Riddle, you think you have the answer again?"

"The moral is that there is no light and dark," Tom said quickly, remembering what Voldemort had told him in the apothecary shop, "just as there is no good and evil. There is only power and those too weak to seek it, and--"

Merrythought cut him off, and for the first time, Tom heard wariness in her voice. "That's very contentious, Mr. Riddle; do try and remember you're in a Defense Against the Dark Arts class, not a class on the Dark Arts themselves. What you just said is almost a textbook restatement of the case for teaching the Dark Arts and as such, is a dangerously impolitic view," Merrythought's face softened, "even if it is still correct. Have another five points for raising the level of controversy. Yes, the distinction between 'good' and 'evil' spells is often blurred to the point of nonexistence, especially when it makes its way into wizarding law. I don't think that proves that there is no line, but it proves something more important: the same spell that is a respectable form of self-defense today may become an unacceptable dark curse tomorrow, and even so-called light wizards use so-called dark magic from time to time."

Merrythought paused, as if anticipating objections to this idea. Then, seeing that they weren't coming, she continued. "Now, I do not have a career in wizard law, so this does not concern me as much. My job is to teach you how to defend yourselves against the dark arts themselves, and that term almost always refers to spells whose express purpose is the infliction of psychological or physical damage, and to creatures which can only survive by inflicting similar damage on wizards. Unfortunately, the fact is that many of the most effective defenses against these spells and creatures have been restricted in their use by the ministry for political reasons, but as a teacher, I'm allowed to teach you them as last resorts. Which is why if I want you to take anything away from this first lesson, it's that the best defense is a good offense."

Tom could tell that most of the class had trouble absorbing this. A few hands shot up and Merrythought clicked her tongue impatiently before calling on the girl named Prince again.

"So, professor, maybe I'm not understanding you properly, but...does that mean you're going to teach us the...Dark Arts?"

"I'm going to teach you whatever keeps you safe from harm, Ms. Prince," said Merrythought with a mischievous grin. "If that includes spells which some idiot ministry bureaucrat calls 'dark', then so be it. I'm not interested in helping the ministry perpetuate their own power. I'm a teacher, and my job is to teach you magic, not how to be a conformist. Now, if that's all the questions I have to deal with, shall we begin?"

The rest of the class seemed ready to begin, and Merrythought quickly put them into pairs and told them to practice the basic disarming charm - "Expelliarmus" - on each other. Tom, already having studied more complicated dark magic, found this ridiculously easy and, having been partnered with the boy named Puck, managed to disarm his opponent three times in a row, turn Puck's wand into a pin and back again, and then force Puck to perform a ridiculous midair dance by strategically targeting his disarming spells at particular limbs, causing his unfortunate partner to flap around in the air for a few seconds before crashing into the wall. Needless to say, while Merrythought awarded Tom with twenty points for his intuitive grasp of the spell, his partner was not happy, and spent the rest of the class trying to cast anything he could at Tom to trip him up, which caused him to forget to practice the one spell they were supposed to practice and get told off by Merrythought for being a distraction.

Still, despite the unfortunate fate of Tom's partner, most of the class felt extremely happy with Merrythought's teaching, and from the sounds of the conversation upon leaving the class, most of the students seemed to expect that Defense Against the Dark Arts would become their favorite class. Tom, for his part, saw why Abraxas and Antoine had both been told Merrythought was the only competent teacher. She was the only one who'd not only rewarded them for improvising, but forced them to do it - something he enjoyed particularly because the other students were so much less imaginative and it made him laugh to watch them try to succeed.

After Defense Against the Dark Arts, it was down to the dungeons for potions with Slughorn, and then back up to the Great Hall for lunch, and then a day of repeated classes and a night at the astronomy tower. Tom wasn't much looking forward to the last subject - he doubted he could dazzle the professor quite as much in a course whose sole purpose was to gaze up at stars.

But he also had something else on his mind. The conversation with Binns had rattled him, and reminded him very much of the irritating attitude that the school librarian, Madame Sindle, had shown about getting access to the pureblood family records. Tom suspected that the two were connected somehow, given that both people used similar language, but he hadn't any idea what the purpose of their obsession with these words was. And the way Binns had stared at him when he'd said muggles should be considered suspect relative to wizards...something felt very wrong about the whole thing, and he wanted to know what it was, almost as much as he wanted to know who his family was. Almost.

His reverie was abruptly interrupted as he found himself and the other Slytherins filing down a long, steep staircase, down a dark and dreary hall and finally, emerging in a slimy dungeon classroom, whose door clanged shut ominously behind them as they passed through it. As Tom entered, he caught sight of another group of students glaring at them from across the room and felt a slight spasm of disgust as he recognized the red and gold on these students' robes. They were sharing Potions with the Gryffindors.

Once Tom had recovered from his disgust at this state of things, however, he actually found the Potions classroom quite interesting. Every single one of the long desks at which he and the other students were seated had a bubbling cauldron containing some sort of magical liquid in it, and all of these liquids were sending out exotic and unexpected fumes. The one at Tom's table seemed to be the least attractive, as it smelled strongly of sulfur and rotted meat, and had a large sign on it that read, "Warning! Do not Touch! Swelling Solution." Tom wrinkled his nose at this and turned enviously to the Gryffindor side of the room, where he could see a group of students examining a potion that was sending out bright orange sparks. One of them noticed him looking and cat called across the room, "Hey Slythy-pooh! What's the matter? Your potion smell as badly as you do?"

The effect was instantaneous and, Tom thought, suitably intimidating. Almost as though they had rehearsed it, about half of the Slytherins, Tom included, pulled out their wands and pointed them at the offending Gryffindor, who promptly went the color of stale porridge and muttered something that sounded very much like, "msrry." Tom heard the neighbor of this unfortunate figure hiss something at him.

"Bit jumpy, aren't they? Bloody purebloods..."

"He's not pureblood," said Mulciber loudly, pointing at Tom. Another one of the Gryffindors snorted.

"Well, that's a relief. And here was me thinking that all of you are born evil. I guess some of you actually get that way on purpose."

"That will do," came Slughorn's voice from the back of the room. Tom wheeled around in his seat and caught a glimpse of Slughorn's stocky, emerald-bedecked form weaving its way through the desks and approaching the front of the classroom. He noticed that Slughorn was eating more of the same sugar-coated fruit - pineapple - that he'd been eating the night before, and was wearing an expression which managed to mix playfulness and severity almost perfectly. For some reason, Tom found himself making a mental note of Slughorn's choice of food almost immediately, as though he instinctually knew it would be useful in the future.

The Gryffindor student who had called the Slytherins evil, meanwhile, had practically vanished under his desk after hearing Slughorn's admonition. However, the latter did not appear to have any intention of pursuing the matter, as he was busily walking among the desks now and perusing the labels on the different cauldrons which he had set out.

"Hmm...." said Slughorn, peering into each cauldron intently. "Yes, let me see...very good, very good indeed" -he stuck his head into the cauldron nearest Tom and abruptly had to back away, waving his hands in front of his face to dispel the odor-- "and then not so good. Dear me, I don't envy you lot, I'm sorry to say. Ah well. You'll find a nicer place to sit next time I expect, boys."

He gave a roguish wink at Tom, Antoine, Abraxas and Mulciber and then strode to the front of the classroom. Tom raised one eyebrow as he watched Slughorn stumble slightly on the hem of his robes and vaguely wondered (not for the first time) how Slughorn had been sorted into Slytherin at all, much less become to be their house head.

Slughorn coughed impressively once he got to the front of the room, causing the class to go especially silent.

"Well then," he said cheerfully, "welcome to Potions. I'm sure that many of you are aware of who I am already," -he gave another roguish wink at the Slytherins-- "but for those of you who aren't, let me introduce myself. I am Professor Horace Slughorn, and I will be teaching you the art of potion making. Now, I expect you're all a little skeptical as to whether this class is going to be fun. After all, there's no wand work involved, and none of the sort of instant gratification you get in other classes. Rest assured," -he gave the class a mischievous smile--"I am not wasting your time. Potions may not be as flashy as other magical disciplines, but I promise you that once you've bottled up your first potion, whatever its effects, you will not care. You see, more than any other course of study at Hogwarts, this class rewards innovation. Competence in the realm of potion-making is, of course, necessary, but it is hardly the end goal you ought to strive for. Many of the most powerful and effective wizards have been specialists in this discipline, for the simple reason that, unlike the other courses taught at this school, there is no set procedure for how to make potions. No fixed magic word. No easy gesture to emulate. There are guidelines, to be sure, but they are not set in stone. Much like what you will be producing, the basic elements of this class are fluid. You may be able to invent exceedingly effective ways to brew the potions I teach you, or you may end up producing something entirely different from what you intended. Needless to say, I will reward those who follow the former course a bit more frequently than those who follow the latter course, but not always. After all, in making mistakes," -he smiled at the class again-- "you may have discovered something which other wizards could not produce deliberately. Now, you may have noticed that I have placed several potions at each of your tables, with only the names as a guide to what they do. Does anyone have any idea what these potions do do? Let's start with the Gryffindor side, in the back..."

Slughorn proceeded to call on several different students at this point, most of whom got the question wrong, if they tried to answer it at all. This pattern persisted as Slughorn kept going through the Gryffindors, though it was occasionally broken by a full-throated, boisterous correct answer which made Slughorn jump a bit, but smile and commend the speaker for his/her "enthusiasm." Tom scrupulously noted the faces of these students, making a mental note that they were potential competitors for inclusion in the Slug Club and, as such, would have to be either shown up or dealt with in some other way. This was made somewhat difficult by the fact that Voldemort seemed determined to hiss instructions about just how to incapacitate each student to Tom after he'd made a note of their faces.

Thankfully for Tom's distraction, Slughorn eventually finished with the Gryffindors and moved onto the Slytherins who, Tom was a bit chagrinned to see, didn't have much better luck with their potions, though some made heroic efforts at guessing about truly outlandish effects. Grace Rookwood, for instance, guessed that a "Grandiloquence Potion" would make one grand merely on the basis of its first syllable, while Demetrius Puck thought something called "Veritaserum" was a rodent repellant because it sounded like "ferret serum." Naturally, this pattern of outlandish guesses was promptly halted when Slughorn reached Tom's table and was told on no uncertain terms by Tom himself that a swelling solution was exactly what it said on the tin, and would make anything it touched grow, including human body parts. Tom was halfway through an explanation of how the potion had been created by an alchemist who was so hopeless at charms that he couldn't even perform the "engorgio" spell when Slughorn cut him off with fifteen points for Slytherin and moved on to the last table, whose members promptly guessed that their potion, a calming draught, had some sort of effect on the wind, causing Tom to snicker uncontrollably.

After this highly humorous episode was completed, Slughorn instructed the students to open their books to page 200 and begin preparing a "Soothing Solution," with the note that all the ingredients they would need were in the store cupboard. It soon became apparent that this was a more complicated task than Tom had previously imagined, as there was only one cauldron to each table, and this meant that he would not only have to do everything right himself, but somehow induce the rest of his partners not to make any mistakes. And judging by the looks of mild bewilderment and confusion on the faces of his partners, this probably would not be a foregone result. Tom, deciding he'd rather be prepared to correct a mistake just in case, quickly whisked his eyes over the instructions in the book, folded the edge back so as to have them handy, and then started flipping backwards through the book to quickly refresh his memory on what each of the ingredients' magical properties were, and how to counter them.

After about ten minutes of reading, he thought he had a reasonably good grasp, only to look up and discover that the other three were starting without him. And judging by how slowly and awkwardly they were moving, this did not look like a promising state of affairs.

"No, no, no. It says counterclockwise! Stir counterclockwise!"

"I think there's a few extra newt's eyes in this scoop. D'you think it'll matter?"

"Has it been five minutes yet? My hand's getting tired."

"Your hand shouldn't be doing anything, Antoine, it doesn't say to start stirring until after you've added the porcupine quills," Tom said sharply. Antoine, looking both surprised and stung by Tom's impatient tone, hastily dropped the ladle he was holding - right into the boiling cauldron.

"Bloody hell, Tom, look what you've made me d--"

But Tom wasn't listening. Knowing what an excessive amount of amount of wood would do to the potion's balance, he had already dashed for the ingredients cupboard to find some hog tails, which would slow the dissolution of the ladle just long enough for him to find a way to get it out. After grabbing a handful of these, he made his way back to the table, dumping them into the cauldron while ignoring the objections of Abraxas ("The potion doesn't call for those!"). Then, as quickly as he could, he sorted through his book bag, searching desperately for his charms textbook. This being found, he began frantically flipping through the contents, scanning each line frantically until he found an entry for something called a "Summoning Charm," whose entry he barely skimmed before whipping out his own wand (which chilled his hand a little as it fed off his panic), and crowing:

"Accio Ladle!"

The surface of the potion splashed loudly, sending gobs of hot potion into the swearing faces of Mulciber and Antoine as the ladle soared out. Tom reached out his hand and grabbed it as it surfaced and then, ignoring the angry protestations of his partners, began quickly pouring in the variously chopped ingredients (some of which he had to alter with his own knife) and stirring the potion with the unpleasantly warm ladle as quickly as he could without upsetting the cauldron. After about two minutes of such behavior, the potion turned the scarlet color it was supposed to and Tom whipped the ladle out, dropping it on the table with a satisfied sigh, ignoring the prickling pain in his hand and arm from holding it so hard while stirring.

It took him a few minutes of single-mindedly massaging his hand to make the pain go away entirely, but once he had finished, he noted with some amusement that Abraxas. Antoine and Mulciber were making no effort whatsoever to disguise their stares at him. Feeling awfully proud, he let his face assume a triumphant sneer as the potion cheerfully simmered in the cauldron. Then, hearing the sound of rustling robes behind him, he turned to see Slughorn making his way up the row of tables, commenting on what appeared to be at best halfway completed potions.

"A little more newt's blood, Whittlesley. Counter-clockwise, Mr. Puck. No, no, no, Ms. Rookwood, you add the newt's eyes after the blood so they stay viscous. Stir a little faster, Ms. Prince...Merlin's beard!"

Slughorn had stopped, and he was peering down at Tom's potion. Tom, fighting an urge to let his sneer widen, forced his face into a politely puzzled expression and asked Slughorn, in the most innocent voice he could muster, "Something the matter, Professor? Did I - we - do something wrong?"

Slughorn's eyes left the potion as he looked up at Tom, and for a short moment, he only stared. But then a roguish smile flitted across his face and he clapped Tom on the shoulder.

"Nothing wrong at all, Master Riddle, nothing wrong at all! Well, unless you count finishing the Potion in record time! Dear me, I see how you managed to get 65 points in one day - did all this yourself, I suppose?"

Tom's first instinct was to nod, and just as he was about to do so, Voldemort's voice hissed in his ear.

Not in front of the Gryffindors, Tom!

But it was too late. Tom had given a slight incline of his head, at which Slughorn raised his eyebrows with obvious admiration but which caused Antoine, Abraxas and Mulciber to look sideways at him with something resembling hurt (though it was, of course, more cleverly masked than that). For his part, Tom didn't understand why this should happen, but he kept his eyes fixed on Slughorn. The latter was motioning for attention to Tom's potion.

"Now see, this is what I was talking about when I said that this field rewards innovation. Master Riddle has just successfully managed to not only brew his potion, but to correct the mistakes of other with a few well-placed ingredients. Now, I am sure all of you understand that--"

"Excuse me, Professor," --Tom barely registered that it was his own voice saying it, and his body twitched awkwardly in surprise as a result--"But I don't think it's quite fair of you to assume that this skill is unique to me. I'm sure any of my housemates could have figured it out in time, and the simple fact that I was able to elbow my way to the potions ingredients faster than my partners hardly seems to merit this sort of admiration. Then again," -Tom shot a sidelong glance at the Gryffindors--"the cabinets weren't exactly crowded by skillful potioneers."

There was barely a sound in the room, but Tom felt the tenor of the students around him shift noticeably from one of grudging admiration on the Slytherin side to one of gratitude, while the tenor on the Gryffindor side shifted from passive resentment to active loathing. He caught a few whispers from the Gryffindor side ("Git" being the most prevalent word), and smirked a little at how much his actions (or Voldie's, he couldn't tell which) had infuriated them.

Slughorn, meanwhile, was positively beaming down at Tom. "Well, yes, yes, Master Riddle, I suppose you're right. It is only fair that I take into account that your quickness doesn't necessarily prove that your classmates were incapable. However, you were the first to react, and in my mind that deserves a reward. So you may have 15 points for now, and also my trust that your housemates could do the same. So," --Slughorn looked around the room-- "Any Slytherin that finishes the potion correctly before the class is over will receive five points, and any Slytherin that does not will see those five points get added onto Master Riddle's fifteen. Go to it."

There was a miniature cacophony for a few seconds as Tom heard every Slytherin around him give excited whispers to each other over this, and every Gryffindor on the opposite side increase the volume and frequency of the words "Slimy git" with more than a few rude words about favoritism on Slughorn's part. For their part, Abraxas and Antoine were giving Tom very appreciative, if slightly guarded looks. The real indicator that Tom had done something right, however, was that Antoine even went so far as to mouth the words "Well played" when Tom met his eyes.

The rest of potions passed in grudging, resentful silence from the Gryffindors and ecstatically busy activity from the Slytherins, who were setting themselves to the task of getting the promised five points with everything in them. Even so, by the time Slughorn came around the classroom for final inspection, the results of this were dubious, which led to Tom seeing an extra forty points added onto his fifteen as only about six of the Slytherins in the class had managed to produce the correct mixture. Still, even if there was disappointment in the air, Tom got the sense that most Slytherins took solace in the fact that about half as many Gryffindors had gotten the potion right.

Having finished his inspection, Slughorn swept to the front of the room, where he fired off a few quick assignments for the students ("Read the chapter on the usage of toadstools in the swelling solution and write six inches on why spotted toadstools must never be used!") and then dismissed the students. However, as Tom was getting up to leave, he heard Slughorn's voice call out.

"Master Riddle! A word, if you wouldn't mind?"

Tom wheeled around, only to be badly shoved by two large Gryffindors on their way to the exit, each of whom muttered the most insincere "sorry" imaginable before exiting the classroom. This briefly sent a flash of irritation through Tom, who had to hastily pull his hand away from his wand as it burned with rage. Still, he kept his eyes on the front of the room, where Slughorn was looking at Tom with an expression of almost fatherly affection. Slughorn beckoned.

"Come up here, my boy, nothing to be afraid of."

Tom hesitated for a split second and then crossed to the front of the room, hoping his legs weren't too stiff, and putting on what he hoped was his most charming schoolboy smile. As he got closer, Slughorn motioned to a seat opposite his desk, and Tom took the seat, keeping his expression of polite bemusement on his face. Slughorn sat down opposite him, whistling jocularly as he did so, and gave Tom a roguish wink before speaking.

"Master Riddle, your performance today explains a great deal to me about why you were able to attain 65 points in one day yesterday. In fact, it's now clear to me that you are not only clever, but also quintessentially politic in your thinking."

Tom had no idea what to say, so he said nothing, but inclined his head in what he hoped would look like bashful modest. Slughorn's grin widened.

"Chin up, my boy! No reason to be embarrassed by your skills! Now, I take it a clever young man like you would know why I did with your house points a few minutes ago?"

Tom raised his head and tried to look at Slughorn intensely without showing that he was doing it. This was obviously a test question, and he wanted to make sure he got it right. So, trying to keep one eye focused on Slughorn's face, and the other on his body language, Tom tried to answer in the slowest, most hesitant way he could without seeming stupid.

"You...well, I think you wanted the Slytherins to have a reason to keep trying at the potion for one thing, Professor," he said slowly, noting that the tension in Slughorn's arms had relaxed slightly at this. He was getting at least part of it right.

"And judging by your reaction to my plea, you probably also wanted to give me more points initially, but knew it wouldn't make my classmates respect me as much as if they lost their points to my fair and square."

Slughorn's shoulders sank. He was still right. Now if only he could figure out the last piece...

"And you didn't expect them to succeed, so you knew I'd get all those points back."

Slughorn's face lightened a bit, but not completely. Tom was missing something, and nothing fit. He threw caution to the wind.

"And you must have wanted me to get a lot of points for some reason beyond simple merit, because otherwise you wouldn't have set the stakes as high as five points per person."

Slughorn's jaw dropped, and Tom knew he'd hit the full answer. Slughorn closed his mouth hastily and gave a highly relieved laugh.

"Well, Merlin's beard, Master Riddle, you don't disappoint at all! Yes, precisely right on all counts - and as to why I wanted to give you back your points, that is actually precisely why I called you up here," Slughorn's brow furrowed and Tom could sense that something was weighing on his mind.

"Master Riddle," Slughorn began slowly, "I have told you I sense that you are a natural at playing the politician. And with that comes a reasonable expectation on my part that you are not the type to do impolitic things or antagonize people. So imagine my surprise when I looked at my daily tally of your points..." Slughorn's voice was taking on a puzzled and (Tom thought) almost hurt quality "...And saw that you had lost all of them in one session of History of Magic? And imagine my further surprise when I learn that the reason for your loss is because you actively defied and mocked Professor Binns, and did so on the grounds that you, an orphan, apparently believe the same things as the most controversial and outspoken pureblood families in Britain! Now, Master Riddle, I think Professor Binns was probably a little overexcited, and didn't quite understand how things work here at Hogwarts, and there's no doubt that 65 points from a single student for a little cheek is excessive. However," -Slughorn's voice was taking on a chiding note that made Tom feel both resentful and nervous-- "I also have to question the wisdom of challenging Professor Binns in the way you did, and why you would do it at all. I am not reprimanding you - As your house head, I simply want your side of the story."

For some reason, this question made Tom feel a wave of anger rise up and spill over him. He fought it down and considered his options. On the one hand, Slughorn was a Slytherin and probably didn't approve of everything Binns was trying to do. On the other hand, Binns and Slughorn were both faculty members, and Slughorn probably wouldn't react well to the idea that one of his charges saw himself as superior to a teacher...

"Well, Professor," Tom began, choosing his words very carefully. "I suppose the reason I challenged Professor Binns as I did is because I honestly believed he was being just as unfair to us as he was accusing Slytherins of being to muggle-borns. Not to mention, I'd read both his book and the one we used to have, and I didn't think it was fair that he was penalizing us for reading a book that I thought was better."

Slughorn raised his eyebrows at Tom, as though he were not quite sure what to make of him. "Ha," he said pensively, "Well, Master Riddle, I have to confess to being no less confused. I myself don't find Bathilda Bagshot a particularly engaging read, but to lose all your points over that...well, let's just say it's the sort of thing I'd expect from one of Albus's rather than one of mine. And, to be quite honest, the idea that a student like you would do such a thing is especially difficult to grasp. From what I have seen of you, you seem to know the right thing to say almost every time, and yet, if I may say, this seems to be a peculiar blind spot for you. After all, you don't even know who your parents were, do y--"

"My parents' identities aren't important, Professor," Tom said, rather more quickly and sharply than he'd meant to. "What's important is the truth, and Professor Binns isn't telling it in his class, or in his textbook."

"Oh really?" asked Slughorn, whose voice carried a hint of sharpness besides its air of amusement. "And what exactly qualifies you to say that, Master Riddle? You're not a magical historian - in fact, so far as I can tell, you've only read one book on the subject, and it's a very controversial one. Now, I don't object to you holding the opinions you do. Well, Merlin knows I held them too, and I suspect most of our house does as well. But that's not the point, Master Riddle."

"With respect, sir, I think it--"

"The point, Master Riddle," Slughorn continued, his voice rising a few notes, "is that I will not always be able to give back points that you lose because of your temper. In fact, if you leave your temper unchecked, one of these days you may do something that is beyond my power to remedy, or maybe even Hogwarts's power to remedy. And speaking both as your teacher and as your house head, I think you can understand that I do not think our house can afford for that to happen, nor can I stand to see you behave in a way that will make it likely to happen. Is that clear?"

Tom had a faint fantasy of upsetting the cauldron on Slughorn's desk onto the professor's foot, and was forced to spend the next few seconds stopping himself from doing it. Indeed, it was all he could do to choke out the appropriate response.

"Perfectly clear, Professor."

"Good," Slughorn said, seemingly oblivious to Tom's icy tone. "Then off you go, Master Riddle, and...well, at least try to give the appearance that you're staying out of trouble."

Tom didn't smile. Instead, he wheeled around, picked up his cauldron and walked out of the classroom quickly and wordlessly, trying to keep his fury down. As he did so, a low, angry hiss came from the depths of his mind.

We will give the appearance, Professor. We will give the appearance of being model students. But not for your sake - no, we will use you to get what we want, and one day, we will do things that are not just beyond the power of this school, but the power of any living wizard.

And with that, Lord Voldemort felt his stomach growl with hunger and headed to the Great Hall.