There is Only Power
Tom Riddle didn’t want to leave his Harry Potter behind when he turned 11, but he simply couldn’t refuse the knowledge and power the Hogwarts School of magic offered him. Harry would be fine without him, Tom knew, since the boy had managed to wheedle his way into the hearts of almost everyone in the orphanage. Except Brodie, but Brodie was an idiot. Even still, Tom clutched his Harry in his arms on the last night before school started. The two of them stayed up late, whispering promises to write and read and practice whatever little tricks Tom had taught Harry.
At 10 years old, the little Potter was very small indeed for his age. His messy black hair had grown longer and curled rather mischievously around the child’s sweet face. Harry wore glasses now. Tom liked them because it meant the only person who could see Harry’s luminous green eyes was him. Harry liked them because he thought it made him look older, which it really didn’t.
Tom, on the other hand, was tall for his age. His sharp features and striking dark eyes had brought him plenty of followers that his mysterious power did not. Over the years, Harry was still the only one who would stand up to Tom and walk away completely unscathed. Several kids teased Harry that he was the “Boy who lived”. Tom preferred to think of Harry as His. And he needed to build the best future for his Harry.
The morning Tom was to leave the Orphanage, a Professor named Albus Dumbledore seemed to simply appear on Wool’s front doorstop. Harry liked Albus a whole lot, and Albus seemed to return the favor amicably. Albus was delighted to watch Harry produce a dandelion out of thin air, having not gotten a chance to meet the child the last time he visited Wool’s orphanage. He was less delighted to see the way Tom looked at Harry, and how he plucked the dandelion out of Harry’s hand before Albus could touch it.
“You’ll come back for me, won’t you Professor?” Harry asked excitedly. Tom was still holding Harry’s hand.
“I’ll see you next year,” Albus said, eyes twinkling. Harry whooped and hugged Tom, and then he was being called away by Ms. Cole and Tom disappeared with the magic professor into the foggy morning street.
Hogwarts was impressive and quite possibly sentient. It rambled over cliffs and valleys with a jumble of towers and battlements. There were stairs that moved and rooms that switched places every few days because they could. Tom was sorted into Slytherin, but that didn’t mean too much to him. Albatrax Malfoy told Tom that Slytherin was the best house for purebloods. Tom just sneered.
The first month proved to be easier and harder than Tom thought it would be.
He had never been so challenged or overwhelmed with the magical world - until Dumbledore had brought Tom to Diagon Alley to purchase his school supplies, Tom’s knowledge of magic was limited to the experiments he had done with Harry. And yet, it quickly became insufficient. Tom began reading and experimenting far ahead on his own.
Slytherin was bloodthirsty in ways Wool’s Orphanage never was. Tom could appreciate the cunning reflected in his peers' eyes as they backstabbed and undermined their way to the top of the food chain. However, Tom had very real experience that these soft children never would. While first years fought to be the top first year and second years fought to be the Alpha second year, Tom went straight to the top: Head Boy Albatrax Malfoy.
Tom was smooth and clever. He was different from the others - special even in a world where everyone was special. He was a natural at legilimency, a complex magic that allowed the caster to see into others’ minds and draw out thoughts, feelings, or even fears. He looked much older than he was, and acted with a greater maturity than his eldest classmates. And halfway into the year, Tom discovered with no surprise that he was a Parslemouth, proof that he was the Heir to Slytherin.
Albatrax Malfoy took interest in Riddle from the start, quickly turning him into his own protege. By Christmastime, Riddle had Malfoy’s ear completely, whispering weaknesses of Malfoy’s opponents. Riddle even knew Malfoy’s weakness, but Albatrax knew Tom’s too. They had an unspoken agreement - Albatrax would give Tom the throne as he justly deserved after he’d completed his reign, and neither of the Slytherins would reveal the other’s secret.
Tom didn’t mind. He had much more important things to focus on that year.
And then it was Christmas.
The holidays were an explosion of energy. It was all the professors could do to keep the students focused on their lessons, and they were not managing well at all.
“Look out!”
“Bloody Hufflepuff, if I see you launch a hippogriff firecracker one more time…”
“Hi, Riddle, um, these chocolates are for you…”
Sheep, the lot of them. Soft and pathetic, enchanted by the mystical idea of Christmas love. Tom had received no less than twelve presents that week from doting girls and pink-cheeked boys. He accepted them eloquently, though inwardly he fumed. Useless, air-headed imbeciles. Happy only because there was snow that fell and they longed to be surrounded by their weaknesses - family.
“Riddle, another?” Cordon Billabong asked, coming to sit next to Tom in the Slytherin Common room. Tom inclined his head in acceptance and took one of the Christmas Toffees Billabong offered. Billabong was one of the rare mudbloods in the Slytherin house, but he never let that get him down. He was a tall, head-shaven 4th year, and fairly well-liked for his lineage - perhaps because he was also one of the most ambitious students of his year. He reminded Tom a lot of Harry.
Billabong leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. “Say, Riddle. What are your plans for the holidays?”
Tom shifted uneasily. “I’ve put in a request to Dippet to stay at Hogwarts.”
Billabong smiled cooly and unwrapped one of the toffees in his hand. It was a vibrant green. Tom had a sudden flash of Harry’s bright gaze, unrelentingly hopeful and kind. “You know, in certain circumstances, you could convince the headmaster to bring a family member to Hogwarts.”
Tom looked up sharply. Harry’s gaze disappeared behind a hard wall to his thoughts. Tom was not the only proficient legilimency caster in Slytherin, and he’d be damned if Malfoy had more insight into Tom’s sole weakness than he did already. “I’m quite alright, thank you,” Tom said stiffly.
Billabong shrugged and hopped off the couch. If he was put off by his companion’s swift change in attitude, he didn’t show it. Tom returned to the dog-eared pages of his book but it was suddenly much more difficult to concentrate.
He missed Harry like a caged bird missed the sky. He missed curling around Harry after a long day and falling asleep to the sound of Harry chattering away in his ear. He missed the challenge in his boy’s eyes when Tom did something presumably immoral. He knew if he tried to bring Harry here, he’d never be able to let him go.
Instead, Tom did a very selfless thing and put down his book to scribe a letter. Using some old newspaper, he wrapped his gift and asked one of the owls to bring it to Wool’s Orphanage.
---
My Dearest Harry,
Hogwarts is everything Professor Dumbledore told us and much, much more. I cannot even begin to tell you the things I’ve learned and which you surely will as well when you arrive. I know I promised to write each month, but I’ve been unfortunately otherwise occupied. But at least, I kept my promise and have not beheaded any of my fellow students or their pets. I told you killing Bronie’s pet rabbit was a one time thing.
I enjoy every class here except Transfiguration. Dumbledore isn’t as susceptible open to my charms as the other professors are. I feel as though he can see right through me, and that is unnerving. I have been getting along well with the other students, though. Alabrax Malfoy and I have begun to gather a little group of followers friends, if you can imagine. None of them are you, though.
How are you? Are you eating enough? If I come back to find you weigh even one ounce less, I shall bring you to Hogwarts and stuff you until you’re as round as a ball. And for God’s sake, do your Arithmetic Homework on your own or you really will fail and I will certainly not be pleased (see, I do read your letters).
I would have liked to visit you for Christmas but I’m afraid I’m simply too busy. Nevertheless, I have gotten you a gift, for you would haunt me if I forgot. Merry Christmas Harry.
Yours truly,
Tom
Harry sniffed.
It was his first letter he had gotten from anyone, even Tom. That idiot - he had promised to write every month. But Harry supposed Tom, magnetic as he was, had a whole hoard of friends and was kept very busy with them. It made Harry ache a little.
Tom had neatly wrapped a little gift for Harry in old newspaper papers and ribbon, but Harry was as excited as if it had been enveloped in gold. Carefully, Harry undid the ribbon. It was a very vivid green. He tied it around his wrist. Then, as gently as he could so as not to rip the papers, Harry pulled out the little gift.
It was a handful of toffees in a clear plastic bag, and a note.
This is charmed so that only you can pull from it. Stop sharing all the treats I send you. Yes, I know that you share them.
Harry put one in his mouth and chewed, allowing the empty hurt to fill him and spill out in huge, hopeless tears.
Even at Hogwarts, the words of war were unmistakable. Muggle parents had taken to sending their children more and more frequent updates of the global war and assurances that they were fine. Wizard parents sent equally troubling news of the parallel war with Grindelwald, a fanatic dark lord who wished to overthrow the balance of the wizarding world in his favor.
One day, Headmaster Dippet strode into the Slytherin common room, face pale. His dark eyes scanned the living quarters until they landed on Billabong, laughing with Malfoy and Riddle. Striding up to Billabong, Headmaster tapped on his shoulder and beckoned him to come with him. Riddle could recognize an expression like that anywhere.
A bomb had exploded in Billabong’s mother’s town, leaving him all alone. Just another victim of war.
Riddle narrowed his eyes at Billabong’s shell-shocked face. He was to pack his things and move in with his Aunt and Uncle in Belgium to attend the magic school there. He had already lost his family - a large one, he’d heard. A mother and father and two sisters and a grandmother who would press handmade toffees into Billabong’s hand when he was down. And now his Aunt and Uncle were forcing him to leave all his friends behind as well.
“Billabong - ah, Cordon!” Tom called as the head-shaven student wheeled his trunk to the common room entrance. Billabong paused and looked at Tom, his wide brown eyes confused and miserable. Tom pressed the toffee he had received from Cordon for Christmas into the boy’s hand. “I’m sorry.”
The words felt empty, but Cordon looked down at the toffee and nodded. He gave Tom a half-smile. “I’ll be okay,” Cordon said.
Later that evening, Malfoy and his group of Slytherin’s sat around the fireplace, staring speechlessly into the flames. Malfoy tapped Riddle’s ribs with his elbow and levelled a serious look straight into his eyes. “There is no good and evil, Riddle,” Malfoy said. “There is only power and those too weak to seek it. If meant to be, Cordon will overcome this.”
Riddle wanted to be angry. He wanted to curse the muggle war - the heartless strategists who would break the innocents in their chase of victory. But seeing Cordon in such a pathetic state after losing what could only be baggage in his quest for power, Riddle had to agree.
For once, he was glad Harry wasn’t here to see this.