“Son, don’t let those boys rattle your cage,” Professor Dippet said.
Tom stared at his feet. With his arms at his side he balled and opened his fists over and over as if he was grasping at something in slow motion. He breathed through his nose almost snorting with each breath. Looking up only with his eyes he said, “I can’t help it. People bug me.”
“People bug me too, but you don’t see me casting curses every which way.”
Tom’s fists closed tight. He carried his anger in his jaw. Dippet went on, “I made you head boy because I know all the potential you’ve got. You’ve got a lot of potential. I don’t want to see you wasting it. You could lose your position if you keep this up.”
“I know I got potential,” Tom shouted, “I’m going to be somebody! But not like you man. Not like those squares in the Ministry. I’m going to do things my way.”
“Tom, you’ll never be anything if you keep up your behavior. Perhaps you should go back to your dormitory and cool down.”
Tom spun around and stormed out of Dippet’s office. He slammed the door and made all the noise he could stomping down the stairs. He came to an abrupt stop at the bottom, sighed and rolled his eyes. Myrtle was waiting for him. Hugging her books she ran to him, “Tommy is everything ok?”
“I’m fine,” he began to walk away hoping she wouldn’t follow even though she always did.
“What did he want, Tommy?”
“Just to give me a big lecture about my potential. You know his usual lines.”
“What lines are those, Tommy?”
Tom rounded on her, “Look, just beat it ok? I ain’t got time for your questions.”
“But Tommy-”
“And don’t call me Tommy either!”
He jammed his hands into his pockets and began to walk away, but the sound of Myrtle’s quiet sobs pulled him back. He hated it when she did that. He couldn’t ignore the way she tried to choke back her sobs and how each one that escaped sound like little hiccups. It tore at his heart to hear it, and he knew that was why she did it. Without turning around he said, “Hey…listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell like that.”
“Really?” she wiped her eyes.
“I mean it,” he searched for something else to say, “You want me to…walk you back to your dormitory?”
"Sure," she giggle as she hurried to catch up with him. Myrtle linked her arm around his; another thing he hated. He didn't have the heart to shrug her off though. He just sulked beside her with his head down.
Outside the Ravenclaw dormitory, Tom rubbed the back of his left hand over his cheek. “At least she doesn’t wear lipstick,” he said only for himself to hear.
“What’s that now, Riddle?” called a voice from behind.
Tom looked over his shoulder to see four of his housemates perched on the stairs. A tall, skinny, sickly seventh-year leaned against the wall. His shoulder rested on a painting, but that bothered him far less than it bothered the man in the painting. Sitting on the railing with his legs dangling in the air was a mass of fifth-year flab, or muscle if the boy’s claims were to be believed. The railing creaked as it strained under his weight. In the tense silence, each snore-like breath the boy took seemed to echo. A weasel-looking boy crouched on the steps. He scowled, trying to look as tough as he could, but his pimples betrayed him. As light reflected off his greasy complexion, he looked like nothing more than a scowling geek. The leader smirked at Tom. He was the only attractive one in the bunch. He had those broad shoulders, that strong jaw line, and the perfectly molded hair. He folded his arms across his chest, “So you got a thing for ugly nerds?”
“She’s not my girl, Gordy.”
“Oh, it don’t look that way.”
Tom searched for some way to assert his authority over them, “You just run with those losers so you look cool by comparison.”
Gordy chuckled in condescending amusement. “Hear that,” he threw his voice over his shoulder, “Riddle fancies himself clever. That must be the real reason he’s hanging around the Ravenclaw common room.”
Tom wanted nothing more than to reach for his wand. He wanted to blast these creeps straight to the infirmary. But he couldn’t, not with the threat of losing head boy looming over his head. He adjusted to look Gordy in the eye and stood with confidence. “I assume you must have something more pressing to attend to.”
“Whoa, Riddle, cut the official speak man. You know we’re pals. We can talk like pals right?”
Tom glared at him. Gordy began to descend the stairs, and his gang followed. Tom racked his brain for a solution, but he couldn’t think fast enough. Instead he grabbed his wand and drew it towards Gordy. Before he could speak a syllable of any spell, Gordy’s forearm smashed against his chest. Tom instinctively squinted and tumbled backwards. His wand flew from his hand as his back smacked the floor. Streams of light burst across his eyelids as his head collided with the floor. He felt water swell in his eyes. He couldn’t open his eyes, or if they were open he couldn’t see. Tom wasn’t sure which.
He felt someone, he thought it was Gordy, grab him by the lapels of his robe and haul him off the floor. He heard him say, “Get up. Come on, you limp-wristed freak.”
As sudden as the forearm to the chest, Tom felt Gordy let go. He heard the boys swear and their shoes against the stone floors as they hurried away. Two warm hands took him by the shoulders and guided him to the stairs. “Go on and sit down, Tom.”
Tom’s vision began to return and he could make out the blurry figure of Professor Dumbledore standing over him. “Professor-“
“No need for explanations. I saw enough to know the events.”
“I was just-“
“Trying to defend yourself. Always an honorable course of action.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“No. Unless you’d like to be?”
Tom shook his head. He ran his fingers over the spot where his head hit the stone.
“Do you feel well?”
“I’m fine. How come I’m not in trouble?”
“Four against one is hardly fair. I’m willing to assume the odds, which were not in your favor, drove you to take drastic measures. Is that not why you drew your wand on them?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“If you’d had drawn your wand earlier, it would have evened out the odds. You’re bright Tom-“
Tom leaned back and looked up at him, “This isn’t going to be another lecture about my potential, is it?”
“No, of course not.” By merely extending his empty hand, Dumbledore summoned Tom’s wand from across the hall. It glided to his open palm. “I’m sure you’re quite aware of your talents and skills.”
“Then what’s this lecture for?”
“It’s not a lecture, Tom. It’s nothing more than an observation. Perhaps a bit of praise.”
Dumbledore held Tom’s wand out to him. Tom took it and watched the old wizard ascend the stairs. He stuffed the wand into his pocket and sauntered down the hall. He paused, anger and self-loathing swelled in him again. He lifted his foot and with a yell of hate drove it into a statue. It shattered on the floor. Tom pressed his heel on top of one of the pieces. Slowly he ground it into dust.