Chapter 12
TOM CALLED A MEETING of a select group of students the day after his promotion was announced, which was conveniently a Saturday. All this was in unison with the other Heads of Houses beforehand: Sprout would call for loyalty, Flitwick would appeal to common sense, and McGonagall would state that hiding behind shadows and hexing fellow students from behind was one of the most cowardly things one could do.
Tom’s statement? Well, he was still figuring that out: Salazar Slytherin had many values for his students to live up to. As far as Tom was concerned, anyone who’d acted out over the last couple months had betrayed all of them.
He watched those requested assemble in the Slytherin Common Room, torches still lit by midday as the lake had frozen over and blocked any sunlight, giving the impression that they were in some sort of trial. They were mainly Pureblood Nobility, Prefects, and other influential Slytherins, all in or above 5th Year. (He couldn’t stand collective punishment; it reminded him too much of Mrs Cole back at Wools.)
Tom gave them all one good look before speaking.
“Our House’s founder set out a number of tenets for us to follow in times of uncertainty in this school,” he began. “Would someone be virtuous enough to enlighten me on one of them?”
“Ambition,” Lucius Malfoy said confidently as he rose to his feet, as if to prove his legitimacy as Slytherin Heir. “It’s what makes us superior: Nothing else we know could be done without it.” A few others nodded their approval, and no one seemed to challenge him. Many Slytherins would’ve considered Lucius as their de facto Head of House, provided Slughorn hadn’t licked their boots enough about ambition and superiority already. Though no one had ever really had to think about who they were superior to…
“That is not a wrong answer,” Tom continued, “but the one I would prefer is intelligence: Ambition will lead you nowhere if you do not know where you are going.” He gestured for Lucius to be seated, and the 6th Year just barely complied. “And that brings me to my point,” he alluded, and he was thankful that the rest of Slytherin House was absent for what came next.
“What the hell have you been thinking!?”
The outburst took them by surprise. Some studied the floor, others stared back in contempt, if not outrage, but no one challenged him directly. Tom took it as a sign to continue.
“For two months, I and my fellow teachers have had to put up with you acting like animals, like lemmings following four Gryffindor First Years off a cliff and bringing more shame to Slytherin than we’ve had in thirty years!”
Lucius, perhaps spurred by Tom’s reference to Grindelwald, rose to his feet once again.
“There is no shame in protecting our young from impudent mudbloods!” he shouted unprompted, a scattered noise of approval rippling through the crowd.
Tom just stopped himself from letting loose entirely: Thirty years since Tom had been here; thirty years, and nothing about these rich, puritan, bigoted people had changed. Nothing.
Just like Morfin.
“Resorting to those words, Heir Malfoy ,” Tom soldiered on, “shows much more about your intelligence than anyone’s blood! Where were you - any of you - when young Tracey Boldt got hexed outside this Common Room? Did you not know, or was she just too helpless? Or, as I have it on good authority, were you planning some impudent fight with a fellow prefect?!”
The purebloods seemed to freeze in rage. The concept of impudence, acting without respect, seemed to be lost on them: That status was usually only granted to lesser beings and race traitors.
“And thanks to that impudence,” Tom went on, “I and the staff feel obliged to inform you that any transgression resulting in the loss of more than ten points will immediately disqualify your House from winning the Quidditch and House Cups!” The grumbling returned, more trivial matters to argue over presenting themselves.
Tom just shook his head and gave up: These ones would never learn; they never needed to.
“For those of you who’ve only started listening now, read my lips: The favors. End. Now!”
***
After three days of what could only be described as peace, the inspection began: All the staff gathered in Dumbledore’s office that morning to greet the Minister as he arrived. Tom still hated his Merlin costume: He was still amazed how someone could look so moronic in one world, yet so powerful in another. Everyone else just ignored him; they all understood that he brought this on himself.
Two flashes of green flame, and no one bothered to regard their employer: Abraxas hadn’t changed much over the years other than a few more gray hairs where there should’ve been gold, and so had Dumbledore, in that regard. He appeared nonchalant, inspecting the details of his gloves and only gave the briefest of greetings towards Dumbledore, not even addressing Tom. The new Head of Slytherin hoped, however vainly, that that was a good sign.
Crouch, on the other hand, appeared cold, lined features and sharp eyes not helping. He wore an Auror retiree uniform, red with gold trim and medals, and every time he looked in someone’s direction he seemed to be giving them a once-over. He reminded Tom of General Montgomary from the War, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Crouch could’ve been allowed any authority over a school.
“Minister,” Dumbledore greeted simply, turning his gaze away from Abraxas, “it is good to meet you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Crouch retorted, boisterously cutting to the point. “You’ve made a battleground of a school, but I expect Hogwarts treated with the respect it deserves by the end of our time here!”
Dumbledore froze for a moment before regaining his composure. “Very well,” he sighed. “We can all concur that Hogwarts has seen better days.” (Tom found himself studying the ceiling at that.) “Anything else before we head to breakfast?”
A brief grin seemed to poke at the edges of Crouch’s mouth before he pressed on. “From now on, the Department of Education will approve any change in Hogwarts’ Administration. This is it’s Undersecretary,” he announced, stepping aside to reveal a short, square-jawed woman whose only place seemed to be the Minister’s shadow. “Dolores Umbridge.”
“Good morning,” was all she allowed herself, before she glanced back down at her clipboard and stepped into the center of view, bringing attention to herself without having to try.
Dumbledore nodded in recognition. “Ms Umbridge. If I recall, you were the one to inform me of this event?” The woman gave a scarce nod, and Tom roughly remembered Rufus mentioning something about a friend in that Department. Apparently, they’d been cozying up to Dumbledore . . . .
He shook himself back into focus. The Ministry pair were going down the line of staff, making introductions.
When Umbridge reached him, she paused.
“Professor Riddle,” she asked in her tinny voice, keeping the grip on his hand a moment longer than necessary, “I hear you were a supporter of the former Minister?” She had a kind-eyed look, but Tom could just notice the veiled threat behind the question.
“I had an Auror acquaintance, but I never knew the Minister personally,” he answered vaguely.
Umbridge raised her chin, tutting. “Regardless, I’ve heard you hold some opinions that some might find controversial. Especially among your own House,” she alluded, and Tom could just see Abraxas peering over her shoulder, like a vulture.
Tom hid his grimace as a smile. He would bet every galleon he had that Umbridge got her job just like Crouch had.
“If my political views slip into my teaching, Ms Umbridge,” he responded, trying his best to hide his already mounting exhaustion, “just let me know.”
Umbridge paused for a moment before smiling with the appearance of a cat looking at a mouse. “Very well,” she said sweetly, and Tom could already feel that he made a mistake. “I’ll hold you to that standard, Professor Riddle.”
As she moved on and reminisced with Slughorn about the latter’s club, Tom locked eyes with Abraxas: He could just notice a slight smile on his lips, and the look in his eyes practically said You can do it; I can do it better .
Tom was going to have to ask Rufus who he considered his “friends”.