AN: The opening of the story is from HBP, pp 496-499 ( US version), with a few alterations on my part. Just so you know—disclaiming ever creating it. I also changed Tom Riddle from a sixth-year to a seventh year because it works better in my story, so don't yell at me! And also, don't have a heart attack if Tom Riddle isn't 100 evil. This is how I imagined him.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling created this whole world and most of the major characters, though some are mine. I'm not earning any money from this. Yup. Here goes!
"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."
Slughorn turned around to see a tall, dark-haired boy standing behind him. A jovial smile spread across his face; Tom Riddle was one of his favorites.
"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away. . . ."
"Sir, I wondered what you know about . . . about Horcruxes?"
Tom watched Slughorn carefully, taking note of the quick flash of white in the professor's face. With a half-hearted attempt at a smile, thick fingers caressing the stem of his glass, Slughorn replied, "Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?"
Contempt for Slughorn's supreme idiocy darted into Tom's mind, but he maintained an earnest smile. "Not exactly, sir," he said. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."
"No … well … you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom. That's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed."
"But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you—sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously—I just thought if anyone could tell me, you could—so I just thought I'd ask—"
He had done it very well, Tom thought. For all his hesitancy, his flattery, his pauses—one might almost think he wasn't even that concerned with the Horcruxes. Almost.
"Well," said Slughorn, not looking at Tom. "Well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which person has concealed part of their soul."
At last! It took all of Tom's self-control to mask the excitement that sprung to his mind. "I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," he said.
"Well, you split your soul, you see," said Slughorn, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, on cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a state …" He paused, doubt flooding into his face. "Few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."
Damn the fool! Tom's hunger for knowledge of the Horcruxes had just begun to be satiated. Why was Slughorn taking so long to explain them? He no longer tried to hide the longing.
"How do you split your soul?" he asked.
"Well," said Slughorn uncomfortably, "you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."
"But how do you do it?"
"By an act of evil—the supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage. He would encase the torn portion—"
"Encase? But how …?"
"There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!" said Slughorn, and Tom realized that he had overstepped. "Do I look as though I have tried it—do I look like a killer?"
"No, sir, of course not," Tom said quickly. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to offend …"
"Not at all, not at all, not offended," said Slughorn gruffly. "It's natural to feel some curiosity about these things. Wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to that aspect of magic."
"Yes, sir," Tom said obediently. "What I don't understand, though—just out of curiosity—I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you split your soul only once? Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven …?"
"Merlin's beard, Tom!" yelped Slughorn. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case … bad enough to divide the soul … but to rip it into seven pieces …"
Tom could see plainly the troubled look on Slughorn's face, but some part of him—that dark, hungry part—wanted to know more—so much more.
"Of course," Slughorn muttered, "this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic …"
"Yes, sir, of course," Tom said quickly.
"But all the same, Tom … keep it quiet, what I've told—that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know … Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it."
"I won't say a word, sir," Tom replied dutifully, but the hunger had consumed him so much that he wanted to whisper those words that caused the ultimate pain and force Slughorn to tell him more about Horcruxes. The dark longing filled his vision; he scarcely remembered bidding Slughorn good night and stepping out into the cool dank halls of the Hogwarts dungeons. He let the air cool his hot face—hotter still from the blood that had rushed excitedly through his body at the mention of Horcruxes … splitting his soul into seven pieces … he could do that.
He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice another person in the hall, walking swiftly towards him, until the other figure was almost at the door to Slughorn's office.
"Oh, hello, Tom!"
His head swiveled around so quickly he could almost have heard it crack. Standing before him, Potions textbooks pressed tightly to her, a roll of parchment balanced awkwardly atop the stack, was Dana Sutherland. Instantly, his mind went numb.
"Erm … hello, Dana," he said. She smiled at him, her hazel eyes crinkling at the corners.
"You're certainly up late," she said. "Past ten, isn't it? I thought the Slug Club had stopped their meeting. Otherwise I wouldn't've come."
He stared blankly at her. Bloody hell! Why couldn't he think of anything to say?
"Oh! Yes, it's late. I just had to talk to Professor Slughorn about a—about a bit of reading I've been doing."
She shifted the books in her arms, a quill dangling dangerously from between the parchment, and suddenly Tom became aware of her situation.
"Here, let me help you with those," he said, trying to take some books and parchment from her teetering stack. As if laughing at his pathetic efforts, the books managed to take a dive for the floor, scattering Dana's books and assignments all over the floor. Tom felt his face heat up uncontrollably.
"Oh, bloody hell, I'm sorry!" he stammered, dropping to his knees to help her clean up the mess he had made.
"It's all right, Tom," Dana said; he could hear the laughter in her voice and wanted to hit himself. Why could he never be even a tiny bit composed when Dana was around?
He heard Slughorn's door creak open and looked up to see the Potions master staring down at him with a mixture of surprise and amusement on his face.
"Well, well, Tom, what are we doing here?"
Tom's face had turned a delightful shade of crimson. "I was—I thought that—I mean …" He stood, feeling more and more foolish.
"He was helping me pick up my books and things," Dana said easily, getting to her feet with items firmly in her arms. "I took a bit of a nasty fall, and Tom was being the gentleman." Her eyes met Tom's and he could see a smile starting at the corner of her mouth.
"Yes, of course! I should have expected it, Tom," Slughorn said, beaming at his favorite. "But what cause do you have for being down here so late, Miss Sutherland?"
"I had a few questions with the homework assignment, Professor," Dana said. "About the Addiction Potion and its ingredients. I'm not quite sure if I understand …"
Slughorn heaved a massive sigh, looking as if he longed to be somewhere else. Tom looked at Dana; she was staring determinedly at the professor as if she meant to tell him she wouldn't leave until she got an answer.
"You know, Miss Sutherland, how delighted I am to help any student of mine. But questions every night?"
The tiniest blush spread across Dana's cheeks. "I don't understand the assignments, Professor. I'm—I'm a bit slow when it comes to Potions."
"I haven't noticed," Slughorn said drily, examining his fingernails. Tom's eyes narrowed; he flexed his wand hand unconsciously. He saw Dana blush again.
"Well, Professor, I don't think you explained the effects of extract of vampire venom and how it works in the Addiction Potion," Dana said, barreling on ahead.
"Refer to your textbook, Miss Sutherland. No doubt that will help you in your quest for knowledge."
Tom was itching to shove a spell in Slughorn's face. What gave him the right to treat Dana like that?
"I looked, sir," Dana was saying. "But the language is hard for me to understand; I was hoping you could clarify it for me." It was obvious, though, from the half-hearted look on her face, that she didn't expect much help from Professor Slughorn.
"Your textbook is written in English, is it not?" Slughorn said, eyebrows rising.
"Yes, sir, but …"
"Then I believe you should be able to decipher what it's trying to say. Unless, of course, you have as much trouble with English as you do with Potions."
Dana's face was burning bright red. She looked as if she wanted the ground to swallow her, but still she stared resolutely at Professor Slughorn. Tom's hand clenched around something hard; he looked down to see his wand had made it into his hand.
"Perhaps it's time for us to consider other options, Miss Sutherland," Slughorn said, leaning his massive frame against the cold stone wall as if he intended to be here a long time.
"Other options, Professor?" Dana asked.
"Yes, Miss Sutherland. Have you ever considered being tutored?"
"Tutored?" Dana looked surprised.
"Yes. I'm sure I could find a tutor for you. And then, perhaps, you wouldn't have to come down here every night"—he looked down his large nose at her—"and ask me for help when we both know I have better things to do with my time."
Dana's cheeks flushed darker, but she still kept her eyes fixed on Professor Slughorn. In order to stop the fury that rose within him at Slughorn's barely concealed contempt of Dana, Tom let his eyes drift across her face, resting a little too long on her mouth. She must have felt him looking, for her eyes flicked over to him; it took a supreme effort to force down the warmth that rushed to his cheeks.
"Who would tutor me, Professor?" she asked.
Slughorn looked around as if he expected a tutor to leap from the walls; his eyes fell on Tom and suddenly lit up, as if he had forgotten Tom was standing there.
"Tom!" he said delightedly. "How would you like to tutor Miss Sutherland? You're the best Potions student I have; it's perfect!"
"Erm …well …"
"Then it's settled!" Slughorn said, clapping his hands together in satisfaction. "Miss Sutherland, Tom will tutor you. You may have the use of the Potions room if you need it, Tom, although you also might want to use the library. Whatever you prefer." He beamed at Tom. "How good of you to volunteer. Just the Tom I know." And then, bowing to the both of them, he proceeded to shut the door.
Dana stood staring at the door for a long moment, her head tilted to the side as if she didn't know quite what to make of Professor Slughorn.
"I'm sorry, Tom," she said finally, turning to him. "I didn't mean to get you dragged into this. No doubt you have better things to do in the evening than tutor me. I'm absolute rubbish at Potions."
The meetings with the Death Eaters could be postponed, Tom mused. No problems there. They didn't contradict him when he gave them an order.
"Can't think of a thing," he said, allowing himself to smile at her. It felt oddly comfortable—not like the smiles he was forced to give to the professors.
"Oh! Thank you, Tom. This means the world to me," she said, shifting her books to shake his hand earnestly. The pile looked as if it were about to take a tumble. "Thank you so much!"
And with that, she gave him a smile that brightened her whole face and made him feel strangely lightheaded.
"Tomorrow at seven?" he asked, pulling himself back down to Hogwarts.
"That would be great," she said. "Shall we meet in the library or the Potions room?"
"Erm … The library?"
"All right, then," she said, smiling up at him. "Tomorrow in the library at seven."
Thanking him profusely, she turned and walked down the hall. He watched her brown hair, pulled back into a braid that hung all the way down her back, bounce against her back as she walked down the hall. She turned the corner and was gone.
Slowly, he turned the opposite direction—the direction leading to the Slytherin common room. He was out way past curfew, but it didn't matter. No one would get angry with him—the teachers because they all loved him, the students because they all feared him.
Tom's brow furrowed. Well, all the teachers loved him—except Dumbledore. For some reason, the old wizard distrusted Tom. Tom could see it in the level blue eyes every time he looked at the doddering old fool. Except, Tom thought, Dumbledore wasn't really a doddering old fool. He may seem pleasant and a bit senile, but Tom knew the power that lurked behind that long beard. In some corner of his heart, though he would never admit it, he was afraid of Dumbledore.
Shaking his head to clear his mind of all thoughts of Dumbledore, he found his mind instantly turned to someone who had begun to occupy his thoughts quite frequently nowadays: Dana Sutherland. What was it about her—a Hufflepuff, too!—that made him lose his train of thought and stumble over simple phrases like "hello"? She was pretty, no doubt, but not extraordinarily beautiful like some of the girls who tried so hard to flirt with him. Those girls, he could handle easily by merely pretending they didn't exist, but he couldn't even talk to Dana without ending up feeling like a total idiot—and wanting to talk to her some more.
He arrived at the Slytherin common room door and muttered the password—cadaver—before climbing through the huge metal grate that led to the Slytherin common room. His dark eyes surveyed the room with satisfaction, finally resting on the small group of seventh-year boys who sat in the center of the room, looking up at him with a mixture of fear and awe.
"We were waiting for you, Lord Voldemort," a burly blonde boy said, stepping forward and inclining his head toward Tom.
"Nott," he replied, moving neatly past the blonde boy and into the circle of boys. They all moved back a little; he could see the respect in their eyes.
"Our meetings," he said, his eyes meeting each of the boys' in turn, waiting for them to shrink from his gaze, "will have to be postponed to later in the evenings. I have—certain responsibilities to take care of earlier in the evenings. I trust"—his voice plainly said there would be no arguments—"that this will be satisfactory to all of you?"
They nodded eagerly; not one of them would dare contradict Lord Voldemort. They knew he was powerful (far more powerful than any of them could dream), but they weren't willing to find out exactly how powerful he was.
"Very well, then," Tom said, his voice silky and low. "That's all."
Nott took the hint and stood up first, bowing low to Tom before heading to bed. Each of the others assembled followed Nott, bowing to Tom before they went their separate ways. Tom was left alone in the center of the common room, watching where the last had left, his eyes cold and thoughtful.
Horcruxes, he thought. He needed to find out more about Horcruxes.
He murmured a spell under his breath, his wand flicking just slightly; the fire opposite him went out, leaving nothing but blackness in the room.
"Luminos," he said, and his wand sprang to light. Pausing slightly, Tom looked around the room one last time before disappearing into the apartment he shared with Nott, Jacobs, and Waverly.
Horcruxes, he thought as he climbed into bed. Who would know something about Horcruxes?
The next day dawned cold and grey. As usual, Tom was up long before the sun had cast its faint, watery light over the Great Hall. Making little noise, he got dressed, looking disdainfully at the three others snoring in their beds. They would never make great wizards; they weren't even willing to make an effort to get up a little earlier than normal.
The sun was just beginning to rise when Tom arrived at the owlery, a letter in his hand, written neatly on faded parchment. Nott's owl flew down the moment it saw Tom, holding out a leg. Tom tied the letter securely to the owl's leg.
The owl uttered a low noise and then was winging through the air, soon lost in the grey sky.
Satisfied, Tom made his way downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. He took his time, knowing that he would be early anyway. He hated being down there for too long by himself; it meant that he would have to talk to too many of the teachers.
As he passed, a painting of three girls giggled, wiggling their fingers at him. He didn't even bother to turn. Real girls were bad enough.
With a sigh, he entered the Great Hall. It was fuller than he had expected, which was lucky for him. He must have taken longer than he had guessed walking down from the owlery. He scanned the Slytherin tables for any sign of his Death Eaters; Nott and Waverly were sitting at a table, looking rather bleary. Tom's mouth twisted a little in contempt. He hated these inadequate boys who cared more about pretty girls than becoming great wizards.
He walked confidently down the aisles, ignoring a few sighs that reached his ears as he passed by small herds of Slytherin and Ravenclaw girls. He slid into the bench beside Waverly, neatly procuring bacon and eggs as he did so. Waverly jumped a little—guiltily, Tom saw. No doubt he had been whispering about Patricia Nimh, a rather attractive Slytherin sixth year whom Waverly had liked for the last three weeks.
Nott nodded toward Tom—the customary greeting. Tom inclined his head, then started on his bacon and eggs. They tasted particularly good this morning.
Soon the Great Hall was filled with the buzz of hundreds of voices. Tom watched amusedly as students bent their heads over each others' parchments, quills scratching frantically. Even Waverly turned to the plump seventh year girl beside him, drawing out parchment as he did so—yesterday's Herbology assignment, Tom noticed. His eyebrows rose ever so slightly; no one saw, not even Nott.
"I heard today's Transfiguration exam is supposed to be deadly," a scrawny third year down the table said, loud enough for Tom to hear.
"I can't get the teakettle to turn into a cat for anything!" the girl opposite him replied, near tears.
"How do you like my new earrings, Tommy?"
A whiff of strong perfume, and suddenly, Patricia Nimh had forced herself to the seat by Tom, shoving an unfortunate fifth year out of the way as she started shaking her head at Tom. He caught a quick glimpse of emeralds set in silver, and then Patricia had leaned into him, batting her eyelashes frantically.
Tom heard Waverly's breath come faster; he felt overwhelming disdain for the boy beside him and profound repulsion for the girl in front of him, who was twirling her black hair around her finger.
"Lovely," he said coolly. Patricia smiled flirtatiously. Bloody hell, wouldn't she just go away?
"I thought you would like them, Tommy. They're snakes, you know." He gritted his teeth. Tommy? Why did she open her mouth?
"How delightful." Did she expect him to leap up for joy? They were earrings—little pieces of insignificant jewelry.
"I think they're gorgeous, Patricia," Waverly said in Tom's ear.
"I didn't ask you, Cadis," Patricia shot at him, the sugary sweet expression she saved for Tom vanishing in a snarl. Tom was only faintly amused at her sudden transformation. Disgust at her stupidity reigned more prominently in his mind. And anyway, he had had enough listening to idiots like Patricia Nimh. Without warning, he stood, gathering up his books, parchment, and quills. Patricia stared up at him like an adoring fan, her mouth hanging open. He thought vaguely of a spell that would seal her mouth closed forever but dismissed the thought.
"Where're you going, Vol—Tom?" Nott asked, finally looking up from his breakfast.
"To the library before class starts," Tom said shortly. Patricia leapt to her feet.
"Oooo, wait for me! I'll come with you!"
Tom's dark eyes swung around to meet hers, dark fire burning within them. She stood transfixed, a mixture of horror and awe on her face, shrinking before him.
"I think," Tom said coldly, "that you should stay here."
Patricia nodded instantly, a dazed look on her face as she sank onto the bench. Waverly slid beside her, eyeing Tom rather apprehensively. Tom felt Nott watching him; he looked up, and Nott's eyes instantly moved to the plate full of sausages.
"I'll see you in Herbology," Tom said, and he was gone, moving confidently down the aisles.