Chapter 4
THE DAY AFTER HIS visit to Diagon Alley, Tom received a letter:
Mr Tom Riddle:
As of your recommendation to the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor by the head of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, Lord Abraxas Malfoy (Lord of Slytherin, Gaunt, and Malfoy Houses respectively), your presence has been requested by Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin (1st Class), Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock and Grand Sorcerer, for the 20th of August this year at 9 o’clock, to discuss your future career. At that date, please floo to the Headmaster’s Office and await his arrival.
Sincerely,
Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall
Tom remembered the name at the bottom immediately: Brax had complained to him nonstop about “that damn mudblood” becoming Transfiguration Professor some ten years ago, now. She must have been pretty good to have become Deputy Headmistress so fast; Hogwarts promotions usually went at glacial speed, especially now that every possible change was being stonewalled by either Abraxas or Dumbledore, depending on who needed leverage over the other.
Tom did as ordered, and one slightly nauseating whirlwind later, he found himself inside the castle that he was sure he’d been done with twenty years ago. Judging from the office, nothing seemed to have changed: Fawkes was on a perch near Dumbledore’s collection of trinkets, which only seemed to have grown over the years, and the portraits of long gone Headmasters and Professors turned their gaze upon him. It felt like he’d been transported back to the time he’d had to speak to Headmaster Dippet about the moral character of Hagrid. Where was he, anyway?
The only thing he didn’t recognize was the black-haired, bespectacled witch standing by the desk. “Headmistress McGonagall, I presume?”
The witch nodded. “The Headmaster had some business to attend to, but he’ll be with us shortly. He sent me to greet you in the meantime.” She paused for a moment, pondering something. “If I’m anyone to judge, he seemed especially - cold about you, Mr Riddle. You wouldn’t happen to have any reason why?”
Tom thought for a moment, then shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t have the slightest idea. How’s the school been anyway?” he asked, changing the subject. “I heard things have become significantly warmer between . . Lord Slytherin, and the Headmaster.”
McGonagall shot him a doubtful look, but answered anyway. “If you mean to make comments about the relationship between the Headmaster and the Board of Governors, then I recommend you keep them out of my earshot, Mr Riddle,” she snapped. “I have had quite enough of listening to it myself.”
Tom smiled: He was starting to like her already. “Trust me, Ms McGonagall,” he said tiredly. “I know exactly how you feel.”
Before the Deputy Headmistress could ask what he meant, the door opened to the oval shaped office. The first impression Tom had of his future employer was that of an overgrown garden gnome, and the resulting mental image nearly had him burst out laughing: Dumhledore’s beard had only continued to grow, and it now shone silver with only a few specks of the ginger Tom remembered. On top of that, he wore a set of robes that looked straight out of a children’s book about Merlin, purple dunce-hat and all. To most Wizards it would look intimidating; to Tom, he looked like a walking circus.
Upon entering, the Headmaster shot him a searching glance, no doubt using Legilimency, before seating himself at his desk. “Tom,” he said simply, allowing himself a small smile. “It’s been a long time.”
“Twenty years,” Tom supplied.
“Yes, indeed. Minerva, you can go now.”
“If you need me, just ask,” McGonagall said. She gave one last questioning look at Tom before leaving the room.
The moment she did, the smile came off Dumbledore’s face. He gestured for Tom to be seated and waited until he was before speaking.
“I’m sure Abraxas has already gone over the necessary hiring process with you, so let’s just cut to the point. Why are you here, Tom? The last time I heard you, you said you were done with this place.” He leaned back, as if baiting Tom to strike at him.
“I thought I was too,” Tom answered. “But certain circumstances have compelled me to return to what I do best.”
“What you do best?”
“I mastered the curriculum Abraxas just gave me by my fourth year. If it weren’t for your meddling and Slughorn’s favoritism, I could have been moved up a couple years. Oh, and how is Horace, by the by? Still running that club of his?”
Dumbledore stiffened at that. “If you mean to imply that a former head of the Wizengamot has abused his power, then I won’t stop you: There’s only so much you can do to hide your own transgressions. Ones that Lord Slytherin may have some apparent interest in.”
Fuck.
He knew about Little Hangleton. Somehow, he knew.
Well, this changed things.
Dumbledore continued. “There’s nothing I can do to stop you teaching here, and to be quite honest, nothing I would do. As you mentioned, you have quite a talent, and I’ve heard that you’ve taught before. But if I find out you do anything else besides your immediate responsibilities that goes against my wishes, then there will be very little Lord Slytherin could do on your behalf, and I imagine even less that he would be willing to do.”
Tom closed his eyes. He thought desperately of Severus, the wide eyed boy who’d just had his first taste of the Wizarding World. He remembered his promise, and he would do anything to keep it. Even if that meant taking orders from a man just as much a snake as he claimed to be a lion.
He refocused himself. “Anything else?”
“You may have been told by the Head of the Board about their extra requirements for this position concerning the Dark Arts themselves. Know that no matter what, you will follow my will, and only my will. Is that clear?”
Dumbledore looked upon him with a piercing gaze, and Tom felt just a feather of a touch against his mental shields. He was searching for commitment. Almost unknowingly at first, Tom forced the memory of Severus seeing Diagon Alley to the forefront of his mind, before easing slightly off on his shields.
The look of confusion on the Old Man’s face made everything here worth it.
It only lasted a second before the door opened again. “Albus, I heard you were meeting with the new DA professor and- Tom!” Tom turned around to see the old, shabby form of Horace Slughorn in the door, a look of shock - and a little bit of what Tom thought was fear - plastered across his face.
“Horace!” Dumbledore’s confusion was masked with an endearing smile, the stark opposite of the man Tom had seen only a few moments ago. “Me and Mr Riddle were just catching up on a few memories. Or should I say ‘Professor’ Riddle?”
“You could say that,” Tom interjected, standing up, “but, though Professor Slughorn and I would love to do the same, I have other business to attend to. Good day, gentlemen.” He walked toward the fireplace and took a pinch of floo powder, giving a final look towards the other wizards before leaving.
If Tom ever wanted to have a chance of fulfilling his promise, he needed to act soon.