Innocent Eyes

I did not heed their warnings.

In fact, the warnings succeeded only in arousing my curiosity. Call me a Gryffindor.

~2~

The first week passed in a flurry of strange activity and complex spells, and amounts of homework I had never fathomed. Through those days Tom and I spoke very little, though we were in each other's company most of the time. In classes, Gryffindors and Slytherins were always grouped together. My spare time I spent with Tom, in the library, scanning thick, dusty volumes, some with sprawling black handwriting, others with horrendous pictures and Latin subscripts. We spoke little, though his presence gave me confidence. I fear without him there I would have landed myself in the hospital that week: he quietly pointed out answers, and helped with spell work.

It was on the first weekend, after I had owled my mother a long letter [I will not bore you with the details; much of it was just rambling anyway] that I voiced something which had been humming in my bonnet, as it were. I found him sitting in the library, behind a large volume, named Hogwarts: A History. I tapped him sharply in the head, and settled myself in a chair beside him.

'I thought you've done all you homework,' I said.

'This isn't homework,' he said, lowering the book to show me what he was reading. Hogwarts Legends: The Chamber of Secrets was bannered across the page. Accompanying it was the Slytherin plaque. 'The Chamber of Secrets,' he told me, 'was allegedly built by Salazar Slytherin, one of the founding fathers of Hogwarts. I've been reading it all week.'

'Sounds interesting,' I said, shrugging lightly.

'Yes,' he murmured, gazing at the page. 'But they don't think so,' he said suddenly, clearly, looking up again. He was frowning.

'Whom?'

'The other - other students here. The other Slytherins, more specific.' His gaze was unreadable. 'The other houses think he was a loony, Slytherin. And Slytherins aren't interested in his history. They don't understand.'

I didn't know what to say. He was speaking quietly, but for once there wasn't a guarding tone to his voice, as if he were biting his tongue. He was being bluntly honest.

'Don't understand what?' I choked out.

'Him, among other things. They understand very little.' He glanced at the book, then snapped it shut. His gaze returned to me. 'They don't like this either,' he continued. 'Us being friends. They say a Slytherin and Gryffindor have no place in this school, being friends. If they had read this,' he said, his voice quiet with hushed fury, tapping the book, 'they would also have known that - in their day - Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor were greatest friends. They are completely ignorant.'

'Oh, we are?' A Muggle-born Slytherin I recognized as James Doyle came lumbering from behind a shelf. He was a thickset character with blue eyes and a weak chin. His hair was dirty-blonde. Following him were his fifth-year friends, Gordon Zabini and Alexander Parkinson. 'Little Tommy thinks he can call on Slytherin's principles. He thinks he's superiorly intelligent.'

Tom surveyed them coolly, not moving. I, however, surged to my feet. 'Note, he can think, unlike you,' I spat.

The grin slid from James's face, and Alexander and Gordon moved forward to flank him, hiding Tom and me from view of the Librarian. I took a step back; they were twice my length and had four years' more experience in magic than me. I reached for my wand, though I doubted whether I would be able to do something if they attacked. Alas, temerity kept me standing.

'I think we should teach Miss Gryffindor here what real Slytherins can do,' he sneered. 'We're not all harmless!' His wand was pointing at me. Before I could lift my own, or even move, a spell crackled past me. A ball of red hit James in the midriff. He doubled over, wheezing - and Tom was standing beside me, his own wand raised. Gordon lost his wand in a second, but Alexander was faster and hit Tom with a spell. It send him crashing into the bookcases.

'PARKINSON!' a voice roared from the door. The Transfiguration teacher came storming in. Tom had pushed himself to his feet, and was glaring at the Slytherins. They were glaring at Dumbledore. I shrank back to stand beside Tom. Though scared I was, I wasn't to let him take the blame for everything.

'Explain,' he said simply. He was looking at me.

'It - I - they attacked us, sir.' I swallowed. 'We were talking, sir, and they came from behind the cases and drew wands. Tom acted out of self-defense.'

'Are you alright?' he asked me.

'Yes, sir.'

Dumbledore nodded curtly, then addressed the Slytherins: 'Mr. Zabini, Parkinson, take Mr. Doyle to the Hospital Wing. I will deal with you later. Mr. Riddle, if you are alright, I would like a word with you. Now.'

'Yes, sir,' he replied, dully. He straightened his robe and returned his wand to his pocket.

'Miss Moon, assist Mr. Franks with the cleaning of the library.' I nodded, and Dumbledore swept from the library, Tom stalking after him. He glanced back at me, and I saw something in his dark eyes. A haunted look. I was puzzled by this, but made it out to be fear, reproach, anger perhaps. I didn't concern myself with it.

If I had then, I would've know what I know now: on that afternoon, in that encounter, Lord Voldemort was born.

~

That was the first time I glimpsed something deeper, darker, in Tom, although I didn't recognize it then. And, even if I had, I would have ignored it. I was determined to remain Tom's friend, though more out of selfish reasons than anything else. Adam and Eve were told not to eat the apples. This attracted them to the apples. So it was with Tom and I; they told me not to grow this friendship, but just like Eve, I faltered - and the snake (in this case, Tom) convinced me that there was no harm in it.

~

I spoke to Tom again the next day, Sunday. It was a stormy day, the Great Hall's ceiling a mass of steel-gray clouds churning as the winds hushed them across the castle. I had spent the entire morning in the library, repacking the books, polishing the bookcases, helping Mr. Franks restore order. I had gone to the Great Hall with the intention of having breakfast, only to discover I was too late. Before I could turn to go, however, Tom silently joined me.

'You missed breakfast,' he said.

'Yes, I had to clear up the library.' There was a pause, then I asked: 'What happened, with Dumbledore - ?'

'He took me to his office. We spoke.'

'Are you in trouble?'

'No,' he said, shrugging, 'he only wanted to talk about the spell I used.'

'Why?'

'Apparently it's very advanced. Sixth year standard.'

I gawked. 'Really?'

'Yes,' he said, nonchalantly, 'I didn't know, I ran across it in a book.'

There was a hesitant pause, then I blundered what had been nagging at me: 'Do you still want to be friends?'

He looked surprised, then he frowned. 'Of course,' he said, seriously. 'Don't you?'

'I do, I just - I though you wouldn't, since you're having trouble with the other Slytherins.' I looked up at him expectantly.

'They're leaving me alone now. They know about the spell.'

'But it must be bad, being an outcast - '

'Not really,' he said, 'I only went for Slytherin because it seemed to fit me best. Not for the other students' sake, not to be accepted.' He shrugged. 'I saved you a muffin,' he said, suddenly, 'Chocolate chip. Your favorite.'

'How d'you know?'

'I saw you sneak them into your bag last week,' he said, with a slight smile.