The weight of Possibility
Antonio entered the dimly lit room, his footsteps echoing on the cold stone floor. Tom Riddle sat in the center, his back straight, an aura of authority and menace hanging in the air. Around him, his followers loitered, some leaning against the walls, others seated in various states of tension, all waiting for the scene to unfold. The air felt thick, as if something was about to happen—something that would change everything.
Antonio bowed slightly, though it was more out of habit than respect, and remained standing. Tom’s dark eyes flicked up to him, a slight smile playing at his lips. "You're late," he said, his voice smooth and chilling. "But it doesn't matter. We're about to witness something far more... interesting."
The followers murmured, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Antonio couldn’t help but feel uneasy, his nerves bristling under the weight of their gaze.
Tom rose from his seat with slow, deliberate movements, and then with a subtle flick of his wand, the room seemed to distort. Shadows stretched unnaturally long as the walls around them began to shift. The dim light from the candles flickered as if it were struggling to stay alive. He raised his wand, his voice low and commanding. "Spectare memores—"
The spell cut through the air, its Latin syllables like a death knell. The words rumbled with an ancient power, and for a moment, the room felt suffocating. The followers' eyes glazed over as if some invisible force had latched onto their minds, pulling them into the spell.
"Memoriae tenebris," Tom whispered, completing the incantation.
The world seemed to blur for a moment, and then, the room dissolved entirely, replaced with the horrific images Harry had just shown to his class. The followers blinked in shock, eyes wide as they stood on the charred remains of Hiroshima. The bomb had just fallen—its horrifying blast lighting up the sky in a violent explosion. The world shook, and they could feel the blast wave rush through them, even though they weren’t really there. The sound of the explosion was deafening, filling their ears with a suffocating roar.
The room was silent, the flickering memory hanging in midair as Tom Riddle and his followers stood, their gazes fixed on the vision that played out before them. It was a classroom, filled with students, some of them older, others younger. The voice of Harry Evans, cold and emotionless, echoed through the memory, explaining things most of them didn’t want to hear.
The image shifted—students, caught in a dark, twisted version of reality, looked to the front where Harry stood.
He didn’t flinch as a man, his ‘heels’ clicking against the hard ground, rushed into the scene. But when the students turned to look, they found the figure had no feet, only stumps at the ends of his legs. He was still running, the echo of his stumps sharp and quick, but the body was wrong, horribly wrong, as though the world itself had tried to erase him.
Abraxas Malfoy, ever composed, gave a slight, almost imperceptible frown. His eyes were narrowed, calculating. He watched as Harry continued, his voice unfazed by the horrific scene. “This,” Harry’s voice was steady, “is Hiroshima. A Muggle city that could be destroyed by a bomb. There is no magic in the world that could have stopped this.”
For a brief moment, there was a crackling pause in the memory, as if the energy of the moment itself had unsettled even the magical projection. Then the scene continued, and a dull roar of an explosion filled the air.
Tom didn’t react. His piercing eyes remained fixed on Harry, watching his every move, his every word. Was this truly a lesson on Muggles, or was it something deeper? He couldn’t decide if Harry was trying to unnerve his students or making a bigger point—though Tom suspected it was a bit of both.
Lucius, who had watched with his usual quiet intensity, leaned slightly toward Tom, speaking in a low tone. “Is this necessary? To shock them like this?”
Tom didn’t answer right away. His eyes never left the scene unfolding in front of him. Instead, he studied Harry’s detached demeanor. He was showing them devastation, yes, but he wasn’t showing fear. He wasn’t showing emotion at all, and that intrigued Tom more than anything. A mere Muggle bomb, something he could dismiss, yet Harry presented it with the same weight as a powerful dark curse.
The image shifted again—buildings collapsing, the world literally tearing apart under the explosive power of the Muggle bomb. A woman’s shrieks echoed through the memory, muffled as the devastation consumed her. The scene was raw, harsh, and without mercy.
Tom observed quietly. His followers, including Lucius, were watching with a mix of disbelief and wariness. They couldn’t decide if Harry was simply trying to scare the children into compliance or if he truly believed Muggles were capable of such destruction.
Harry’s voice cut through the chaos once again, chilling and calm. “This is the danger we face. A single bomb dropped from the Muggle world and everything we know would be gone. No spells, no charms. Just death. So yes, Muggles are a threat. They may not have magic, but they have other ways to destroy us.”
The memory faded, leaving the classroom still again, the students’ faces in stunned silence.
Tom’s lips tightened, but his expression remained neutral. There was something off about this—something far more unsettling than simply teaching about Muggles. Was Harry warning them of some coming danger? Or was he just using fear as a tool, as a means to an end?
“I think he’s just trying to scare them,” Antonin Dolohov said, breaking the silence. “This isn’t the type of thing one teaches in a school.”
“Perhaps,” Tom replied softly, his eyes still locked on the now-vanished memory. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t help but wonder what Harry’s real intentions were. He wasn’t just a teacher, Tom knew that much. There was more to this man than met the eye. And Harry had made it clear: Muggles weren’t the only threat to the magical world.
Abraxas, ever the skeptic, said nothing for a long moment before speaking, “He’s methodical. Too methodical. This wasn’t just a lesson. There’s something else he’s trying to convey.”
The Slytherin common room was unusually subdued that evening. The air buzzed with an undercurrent of tension as small groups whispered in corners, glancing warily at one another. Tom Riddle sat at the center of his usual circle, his expression calm, though his dark eyes gleamed with a calculated curiosity.
Abraxas Malfoy was the first to speak, his voice low but edged with unease.
"Did anyone else find Professor Evans... unsettling? I've never seen a professor speak about magic—or Muggles—that way. He made it sound like we’re all playing a game we don’t understand."
Orion Black, sitting stiffly in a high-backed chair, nodded. "Unsettling is an understatement. The way he spoke about magical cores—light, dark, grey—it was like he was mocking everything we've been taught. And those Muggle weapons... If he wasn’t exaggerating, then we’re more vulnerable than we think."
Lestrange scoffed, though there was a nervous edge to it. "Muggle weapons? Really? He’s probably just trying to scare us into respecting them. No Muggle could ever outmatch magic."
Tom’s voice cut through the chatter, quiet but commanding. "And yet, he made his point quite clear, didn’t he? Magic can blind us. Arrogance can blind us. We dismiss Muggles as insignificant, but their inventions... If even a fraction of what he said is true, it warrants consideration."
Antonio, pale and visibly shaken after returning from witnessing the lesson firsthand, spoke hesitantly. "It wasn’t just his words. It was the way he made us feel. He wasn’t teaching. He was... warning us. Like he knew something we didn’t."
"Of course he knows something we don’t," Tom said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "The question is—how does he know it? And why is he so invested in making us believe?"
The group fell silent for a moment, the crackle of the fireplace filling the void. Finally, Abraxas spoke again.
"Do you think... he’s hiding something?"
Tom’s lips curled into a faint smile, though his gaze remained cold. "Everyone is hiding something, Malfoy. It’s a matter of finding out what—and why. Evans is no ordinary professor. His knowledge, his indifference... he’s a man who has seen far more than he lets on."
Orion frowned, crossing his arms. "But if he’s so dangerous, why would Dippet hire him? Surely Dumbledore—"
"Dumbledore is blind," Tom interrupted sharply. "He sees only what he wants to see. Evans, however, is different. He’s a mystery, and mysteries are dangerous. But they can also be useful."
Lestrange raised an eyebrow. "What do you plan to do?"
Tom’s smile deepened, though it never reached his eyes. "Observe. Learn. And when the time is right... unravel his secrets. Everyone has a weakness, and Evans is no exception."
The room fell into uneasy silence as the firelight cast flickering shadows across Tom's face. His followers exchanged glances, uncertain but unwilling to question him further.
In the depths of his mind, however, Tom Riddle couldn’t shake the feeling that Professor Evans was more than just a mystery. He was a threat—and Tom was determined to uncover the truth.
Tom’s eyes flicked over to Abraxas, his mind turning. Abraxas was right, of course. Harry had shown them more than just a horror story. There was a message underneath all that destruction, a message wrapped in fear and detachment. But the truth—Tom wasn’t sure what that truth was yet.
“Let’s keep watching,” Tom said softly, his voice low and calculating. “There’s something more here, I’m sure of it.”
The memory shifted again, the charred remains of Hiroshima fading into darkness. A faint glow emerged, and soon, another classroom scene unfolded. The students appeared tense, their eyes fixed on Harry as he stood at the front of the room, his expression devoid of emotion. He held up a small glass vial, but it was not a liquid inside; instead, a fine powder clung to the bottom of the glass, faintly shimmering under the light.
“Cyanide,” Harry said, his voice even and unyielding. “A Muggle poison. In its powdered form, it can be easily mistaken for something harmless—like sugar or salt.”
A murmur rippled through the students. Some leaned forward, others recoiled slightly, their faces a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
Harry continued, holding the vial up carefully. “This powder is almost undetectable. It can be spread quietly, without anyone knowing until it's too late. A small amount—less than the weight of a grain of salt—can kill you in minutes, and it often does, when it’s hidden in food or drink.”
The students exchanged uneasy glances, the severity of Harry's words sinking in.
“This is a weapon of subtlety,” Harry went on, his tone flat. “Muggles have no need for explosions or dramatic displays of power. With poison like this, death comes quietly, silently, and often before the victim realizes what’s happening. And unlike magic, there's no easy counter to it. You won’t know it’s there unless you’ve been trained to look for the signs. No spell will reveal it.”
The silence in the room was thick, broken only by the faint sound of one student shifting in their seat.
“This lesson isn't to instill fear,” Harry said, his eyes scanning the classroom. “It’s a lesson in awareness. You will encounter people who underestimate Muggles, who think their reliance on magic makes them invulnerable. But the truth is—anyone can be touched by poison. And if you’re not vigilant, you’ll never see it coming.”
The memory froze, the image of Harry standing before his students lingering in the dim light of the Slytherin common room.
Tom’s gaze remained fixed on the frozen projection, his expression unreadable. His followers, however, were less composed. Abraxas Malfoy frowned deeply, his lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s dangerous,” he muttered. “This isn’t a lesson—it’s a warning.”
Orion Black nodded slowly. “He’s teaching them to be aware of every danger. Muggle or magical. And he’s showing them that even the smallest thing, like a grain of sugar, can be the end of them.”
Tom finally spoke, his voice low and measured. “Harry Evans is no fool. He’s testing them—showing them the fragility of their power. He’s not teaching them just to survive. He’s teaching them to never underestimate what can harm them.
As the last of Harry's lesson faded from the projection, the room remained heavy with the silence that followed. The image of his stern, unyielding face still lingered in the air, his voice echoing in their minds. A profound stillness settled over the group of Slytherins, each person lost in thought.
Tom's eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the faces of his followers. Abraxas Malfoy looked unsettled, his brow furrowed, while Orion Black wore a pensive expression, his fingers tapping lightly on the arm of his chair. It was clear that none of them had expected the lesson to be so... chilling.
"Fascinating," Tom finally spoke, his voice smooth and controlled. "Harry Evans knows how to command attention. But it isn’t just his skill with words or his unorthodox methods—it’s his understanding of fear. Of power, too."
Abraxas shook his head. "He doesn’t just teach them how to survive, Tom. He’s showing them how vulnerable they are. How fragile their world really is. A grain of poison, a hint of sugar, and everything can fall apart."
Tom's lips curled into a thin smile. "Exactly. That’s the point. Harry Evans is no fool. He understands that true power doesn’t lie in the grand gestures, the explosions, or the loud displays. It lies in what goes unnoticed, in what can slip by undetected."
Orion spoke up, his voice quieter. "He’s... not just preparing them. He’s conditioning them. Conditioning us. To question everything. To be always aware. No weakness. No assumptions."
"Indeed," Tom said, his gaze growing distant for a moment as if contemplating something far beyond the walls of their common room. "But remember, awareness is not enough. Knowledge alone doesn’t give you power- it is how you wield it."
He turned to face them fully now, his eyes gleaming with a calculated intensity. "We must learn from Evans' approach, but we must do more than simply learn. We must act. We must take what he teaches and turn it to our advantage. Where he teaches caution, we will teach boldness. Where he shows restraint, we will show strength."
Abraxas’ eyes narrowed as he met Tom’s gaze. "And what do we do with Harry Evans, once we’ve learned everything we need from him?"
Tom’s smile deepened, cold and knowing. "That remains to be seen. For now, we will watch. We will wait. But when the time comes, we will make sure that it is us, not him, who controls the game."
The room fell silent again as his words sank in. The air buzzed with the electric tension of ambition, power, and the unspoken understanding that they were all bound together in their pursuit of something greater.
Tom Riddle stood, his posture regal and confident, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that danced across his sharp features. "The pieces are in motion. Now, we simply have to wait for the right moment."
As the group slowly began to rise, the weight of the lesson still heavy in their minds,a final thought lingered in the minds of all who had witnessed the lesson of Harry Evans.