Collecting power
The sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, slicing through the shadows that clung to the ancient stone walls. The golden rays cast long, intricate patterns on the worn floor, but to Tom Riddle, they only served to highlight the sterile emptiness of the room. His robes were immaculately arranged, each fold sharp and perfect, every movement executed with the precision of a man who had spent years honing his control. This day, he knew, was yet another calculated step in the grand scheme he had spent his entire life preparing for.
As he adjusted his tie, his gaze lingered on the chair before him—the one he had once occupied as a student. The memory of the day he had carved into it the words Here sits the future Dark Lord flooded his mind. He smirked, the image of his younger self laughing at his own audacity now almost laughable in its naivety. But now, those words no longer seemed like the delusions of a boy; they fit him perfectly. He was what he had always known he would become.
Returning to his desk, Tom ran his fingers across the parchment of his schedule. His first class was set to be a volatile mix of Slytherins and Gryffindors—always a dangerous combination, but one that would provide ample opportunities for testing his control. His dark eyes scanned the names, his fingers tapping absently on the desk. One name caught his attention, and his gaze lingered on it with a depth of interest that was foreign even to him. Violet Alas.
Her name stood out among the usual mix of students. Violet. A curiosity. There was something about her—something both unsettling and captivating. She didn't quite fit into the mold of the typical Slytherin, her defiance hidden beneath a layer of politeness that made her all the more intriguing. Tom hadn't expected her presence, but now that she had made her mark, he found himself unwilling to ignore it.
He tapped the desk again, lost in thought. Violet Alas. A piece of the puzzle he hadn't foreseen, yet one he would be sure to manipulate. But there was no time for indulgence. The game was far too large to be distracted by one student's behavior.
A soft knock at the door snapped him out of his musings.
"Come in," he called, his voice smooth and controlled, though there was an unmistakable edge to it.
The door creaked open, and there she stood—Violet, holding the black coat he had given her the night before. She was as poised as ever, her presence calm but striking. She stepped forward with quiet confidence, her movements deliberate. Tom watched, his eyes narrowing slightly, though his expression remained indifferent.
"Sorry, Professor," she said, her voice soft but unmistakably steady. "I wanted to return this. And... thank you for lending it to me last night."
The coat was placed on his desk, the fabric cool and smooth beneath her hands. When she withdrew, their fingers brushed. For the briefest of moments, a spark passed between them—electric, fleeting, yet intense. Tom caught himself before his breath hitched. His hand remained still, fingertips brushing the fabric, as though he was savoring the brief touch.
"Think nothing of it," he said coolly, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed a different story. He could feel the lingering warmth of the contact in his veins, but he didn't allow himself to acknowledge it. It was nothing, just another passing distraction. He was in control.
Violet moved to sit in the front row, her back straight and her eyes scanning the room. She unwrapped her books with casual grace, but Tom's attention never left her. There was something magnetic about her—something that begged to be understood. The way she held herself, the way her eyes flitted between the others and him, as if she was always aware, always calculating. It was precisely that quality that drew him in.
"What are we learning today, Professor?" Violet's voice cut through the tension, playful but with an edge of defiance.
Tom leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. The soft smirk on her lips told him that she knew she had his attention. And she wanted to keep it. "Inferi," he replied, his voice quiet, low.
She chuckled softly, though there was a flicker of discomfort in her eyes as she looked up at him. "Such a cheerful topic for the first lesson."
His smile widened ever so slightly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "This is Defense Against the Dark Arts. It's not meant to be cheerful."
Violet raised an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on him for a beat too long. "No, I suppose not," she said, her voice softening as she turned her attention to her books. But her eyes—her eyes stayed on him for just a moment longer than necessary, her thoughts unreadable.
Tom could feel the pull of her gaze, the unspoken challenge in it. She wasn't like the others. She wasn't easily manipulated. And that made her all the more interesting.
"You'll want to pay attention," he said, his voice quieter now, almost conspiratorial. "Inferi are not something you can simply forget about."
As the students filed into the classroom, their conversations hummed with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Tom Riddle stood at the front, exuding a calm, almost imperceptible authority that quelled the room's chatter as if by instinct. His presence alone commanded attention.
"Good morning," he said softly, but the words cut through the air like a whip. "I am Professor Riddle. This year, we will explore not only how to defend against the Dark Arts, but also how to understand their true nature."
He let his words settle, the weight of his tone hanging in the room. A deliberate pause, meant to remind them who was in charge. They would know his expectations quickly.
"Now, to begin, I want each of you to introduce yourselves," he continued, his voice low and smooth, but deliberate. "Your name. Your house. And something that interests you about this subject."
There was a subtle tension in the air as he surveyed his class, waiting for their responses. One by one, they introduced themselves: some shy, some eager, but all ready to follow his lead. When the time came for Violet, his gaze lingered. She was sitting in the back, arms crossed in an almost defiant posture, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and perhaps a hint of challenge.
"And you," Tom said, his voice effortlessly commanding attention. "The girl at the back. Your name?"
Violet stood, the slightest smile playing on her lips as she looked at him with a mix of amusement and calculation. "Violet Alas, Professor."
The way she said his title intrigued him—too casual for someone who didn't know the weight it carried. His lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smirk, but he quickly masked it, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied her.
He turned back to the board, where the word Inferi was written in clear, flowing script. His wand flicked subtly, and the words became even more prominent, as if demanding attention.
"An Inferius," Tom began, his voice dropping slightly in pitch, adding a layer of mystery, "is not a living creature, though it appears to be. It is a corpse, reanimated through Dark magic. A puppet, under the absolute control of its master."
The students leaned forward, captivated by his every word, though his eyes never left Violet. She was watching him intently, her gaze unwavering as she absorbed every syllable.
"The Inferi do not feel, they do not tire. They do not question, and they do not stop until their creator bids them to. To face one is to be reminded of your own fragility, your own mortality."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. The room was unnervingly still.
"Now, why do you think Inferi were so effective in past wars?" He scanned the room, his gaze briefly sweeping over Bellatrix Black and the others, before returning to Violet. He could sense she was already formulating a response.
Several hands shot up, including Violet's. But he ignored her for now, choosing to call on Bellatrix, whose eager hand was raised high.
"Because they are relentless," Bellatrix said, voice brimming with fervor. "They never stop, never hesitate. They will kill without mercy, and they don't question commands."
Tom gave a slight nod of approval, his eyes flashing with an edge of satisfaction. "Exactly. Inferi are tools, not bound by the moral questions that plague the living. They execute commands with deadly precision. And that makes them valuable."
He began pacing slowly across the front of the classroom, making sure every student could feel his gaze. "But the true terror of Inferi lies in the fact that they exploit our most primal fear—the fear of death. They are the ultimate reminder of our mortality."
The students remained rapt, but Violet's eyes were sharp, calculating. She raised her hand again, this time more insistent.
"Yes, Miss Alas?" Tom's voice was smooth, though there was a subtle undercurrent of mockery beneath it. He enjoyed her challenge, knowing she wouldn't let things go unquestioned.
Violet stood tall, unflinching. "What's the difference between an Inferius and a zombie? Aren't they essentially the same thing?"
A murmur of nervous laughter rippled through the class, but Tom's gaze didn't waver. He considered her question carefully before answering.
"A valid question," he said smoothly, though the way he said it suggested it was anything but. "The difference, Miss Alas, is in control. A zombie is often a mindless creature, animated by crude magic—its actions erratic, unpredictable. An Inferius, however, is a masterpiece of Dark magic. It is completely subservient to the will of its creator. It is the difference between wielding a sledgehammer and a finely crafted blade."
There was a sharpness to his tone as he let the metaphor sink in. He could feel the energy in the room shift—this was no longer a lecture. It was a display of power, of control.
Tom turned to the board, flicking his wand once more. Diagrams appeared, showing the skeletal figure of an Inferius in grotesque detail.
"Now," he said, his voice taking on a matter-of-fact tone, "let us examine their weaknesses. Inferi cannot think for themselves. They are bound to their creator's will. But they are not invincible."
He paused, allowing the tension in the room to build.
"Their greatest vulnerability is fire," Tom continued. "It is the only force capable of destroying the enchantment that binds them."
He turned to the class, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed them, one by one. "Why fire, Miss Alas? Care to enlighten us?"
Violet didn't raise her hand, but Tom called on her anyway. She hesitated for a moment, considering her answer, but when she spoke, her voice was steady.
"Because fire purifies," she said, her eyes meeting his with a defiance that sent a ripple of approval through him. "Fire represents both life and destruction, which are opposites to the unnatural existence of the Inferius."
Tom's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. It wasn't approval. It was something far more calculated, something more dangerous. He inclined his head slightly. "Correct. Fire is the ultimate cleanser. It reduces the unnatural to ash, leaving nothing behind."
He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, before turning to the rest of the class. "But don't be fooled. Inferi are not so easily defeated. They are many, and they are relentless. A single mistake could be fatal."
After the theory session, the room buzzed with nervous energy. Most of the students filed out, eager to leave the unsettling atmosphere behind. But Tom's eyes caught a few lingering figures—Bellatrix Black, Theodore Nott, Evan Rosier, and a few Slytherins.
"Stay," he commanded softly, his tone leaving no room for objection.
They hesitated, but ultimately obeyed, gathering near his desk.
"I'm offering you something," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "What you learn here will not be discussed outside this room. If you choose to stay, you will gain knowledge far beyond what Hogwarts can offer. But be warned, this is not for the faint of heart."
Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with eagerness, the others nodded. Tom's lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile.
"We will meet every Wednesday night," he continued. "Tell no one."
As they filed out, Tom remained seated, his mind already calculating the next steps. He wasn't here just to teach. He was here to build something. To claim power. And Violet Alas? She was just another piece in the game.
