“Good afternoon, Professor,” said Tom Riddle, standing and extending his hand as Albus neared the table. “It is good to see you again.”
Albus inclined his head with a smile. “And to see you, Tom. May I join your table?”
Tom nodded and indicated the chair across from him. “Of course, Professor.”
Albus sat down and studied the boy in front of him; he suddenly realized that Tom was no longer a boy, but a young man fully graduated from Hogwarts. He carried himself with the same arrogant poise, though he currently checked the disdainful expression he had worn at school. Albus noticed he still wore the heavy gold ring, set with a black stone, that he had begun wearing during his sixth year; Tom saw him eyeing it, and offered an answer to Albus’s unanswered question.
“It is a family heirloom,” he shrugged with a casual indifference that seemed somewhat forced.
“I wasn’t aware you had found any family,” Albus replied politely.
“I haven’t,” countered Riddle, narrowing his eyes. “I didn’t say it was my own family’s heirloom.”
“Of course,” murmured Albus. He remembered how Tom had enjoyed playing word games, verbally sparring with clever turns of phrase whenever he could. Albus decided he would not pursue this particular round, knowing that Tom was sensitive about his family, and moved on. “So what have you decided to do after graduation?” he asked, curious about the path this remarkable yet cunning young man might decide to follow.
Tom paused and took a sip from the glass in front of him. “I’ve accepted a position at Borgin and Burkes,” he finally admitted, watching his former teacher closely.
Albus made sure no sign of surprise reached his face. “And what will you be doing for them?” he continued, his voice pleasantly interested.
“I have been assigned to assist in procuring those rare and valuable artifacts that the shop specializes in,” replied Tom, still waiting for any sign of a reaction. Albus gave him the smallest reward by raising his eyebrows, and Tom smiled, his eyes glittering.
“Congratulations are in order, then,” said Albus, and was himself rewarded as a look of surprise passed across his former student’s face. He raised his glass in a small toast. “To your first employment.”
“Thank you, Professor,” acknowledged Tom, his face an unreadable mask once more. “Though I am surprised to find you so encouraging.”
“I support my students, Tom, in all their endeavors.” Albus paused, waiting for his words to sink in, and once again the barest hint of a reaction passed across the young man’s face. “I do admit, however, that I am somewhat taken aback by yours. I had anticipated your going into the Ministry. I believe Professor Slughorn had his heart set on it, in fact. He likes to send them his best and brightest.”
Tom shrugged, ignoring the compliment. “I am not cut out for the Ministry. I don’t believe it would be the right place for me just now.”
Albus laughed, and enjoyed the slightly irritated look on Tom’s face as he did. “That’s what I told them myself,” he said with a wink. “It appears the Ministry has lost two good wizards this summer.”
“The Ministry offered you a position?” asked Riddle, and Albus could hear the curiosity in the boy’s voice. He nodded, waiting for his former student to ask more; Tom may have decided against joining the Ministry, but he was still ambitious. He sought knowledge almost as much as he sought power. “May I ask what position they hoped you might accept?”
“Minister for Magic, of course,” replied Albus, and Riddle’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly before narrowing. He tilted his head and frowned.
“Why did you turn it down?” he asked bluntly, then added, “Sir.”
“As you said, I did not think it would be the right place for me just now,” Albus answered lightly. “There are still many things I should like to do at Hogwarts.”
Tom’s face briefly darkened at the mention of Hogwarts, and Albus filed the reaction away for later thought. The boy was silent for a long moment. “Hogwarts is fortunate to have you sir,” he finally said. His voice lowered the smallest bit. “I will miss the castle.”
Albus raised his eyebrows at Riddle’s uncharacteristic admission. He had watched the young man’s career at school very closely, and wondered what Tom would miss about Hogwarts other than the group of followers whom he controlled with an almost dictatorial relish. Then again, it was probably more of a home to him than the orphanage where he had grown up, and it was possible he was truly sorry to be leaving. Perhaps that was the reason he had approached the headmaster about staying on as a faculty member. Albus decided to pursue the topic, not expecting a solid answer but hoping to garner some insight into Tom’s enigmatic character.
“Is that why you asked Headmaster Dippet about the Defense Against the Dark Arts position?” he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.
Tom narrowed his eyes at Albus, as if immediately aware of the older man’s purpose in questioning him. He titled his head again and gave Albus a mysterious smile. “One reason, perhaps. I have learned much at Hogwarts, and would enjoy the opportunity to pass it on to those most deserving of my knowledge. However, the headmaster declined my offer.”
Albus thought about his answer before he spoke. “Perhaps he felt a bit more experience would be prudent before venturing back into the muddy waters of teaching others what we think we have learned.”
“I’ve had plenty of experience,” Tom snapped with a rare display of open hostility. “I’ve done things no man has done for years.” Albus couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows once more at the young man’s irritation, while also wondering what experiences the gifted young wizard might be referring to. Tom Riddle had a great deal more skill than most of the other students at Hogwarts; he also held an uncommonly high view of himself and his talent. His ego and ambition, however, had not learned that temperance and wisdom which came from a lifetime of experience, and this more than anything had lead Albus to strongly advise against the recent graduate returning to Hogwarts to teach.
“I understand the headmaster advised you to inquire again in a few years. Perhaps your new position will enable you to gain the experience which will grant you a position with the staff at Hogwarts.” Albus watched Tom closely for another uncharacteristic outburst, but he had clamped down on his momentary anger and merely nodded his head.
“Of course, sir. I fully intend to return, and I hope that when I do I will have your support. I want nothing more than to continue the legacy of great teaching at Hogwarts.” Tom spoke these last words as if issuing a challenge, and Albus smiled. He hid his concern over the boy’s almost alarming sense of entitlement and self-confidence; Tom Riddle was a Slytherin, after all, and his ambition could still be channeled toward greater achievements than his own personal gain.
He was about to reply when he noticed that Tom was staring blankly into space, his eyes unblinking. “Tom? Are you all right?” he asked, concerned. The boy did not move, and Albus was startled when Blenkinsop Waterbut suddenly appeared beside him, watching the frozen young man with his shrewd black eyes.
“He’s lying, you know,” said the innkeeper. “Every word out of his mouth is touched by it. Can’t you sense the Dark Magic in him yet?”
Albus frowned, and reached out with his magical perceptions to see if he could find what Waterbut was referring to. It was faint, but it was there: the boy had certainly learned how to control Dark Magic, though he hid it well. “Is that why he’s here?” Albus asked, disappointed in Tom and somewhat confused by the strange turn the conversation had taken.
“This one needs to be kept under watch. Mark my word: he’s evil in the making.”
Albus shook his head, stubbornly refusing to accept such a thing. “I’ve been watching him for years. He may be ambitious, cunning, and even cruel, but he’s not evil.”
“Look in his eyes, you fool,” snapped the gruff old man. “Fear and hatred. It consumes him, it drives him, and it will twist him. It’s already started.” The innkeeper stomped back toward the bar. “Keep your eye on him, Dumbledore. When he comes looking for a job, don’t let him near your school. Even now he’s no longer the untrained boy you found at the orphanage seven years ago, he’s a powerful young wizard named Lord Voldemort, and everything you’ve fought so hard against these past years will pale next to the death and destruction that Lord Voldemort will bring upon the world.”
Albus stared at the frozen figure of Tom Riddle, stunned. Surely the innkeeper was exaggerating: Tom Riddle was many things, but he was not a killer. Waterbut gave a barking laugh from where he stood. “Sure he is. How do you think he got that ring?” The innkeeper waved his hand, and Riddle faded away, leaving Albus alone at the table, speechless: had Tom committed murder already?
“How bad will it be?” he finally asked.
“Bad enough,” replied Waterbut as he returned. He placed a cup of tea in front of Albus and shrugged. “Voldemort will go down in history as the most feared wizard of the century, not Grindelwald. Your duel with the German pretender will be child’s play compared to your battles with Tom Riddle.”
“Battles?” Albus took a sip of steaming hot tea, letting the warm liquid fill the coldness in his chest as he contemplated the bleak future Waterbut was revealing.
“He’ll be a tough one to bring down, just so you know. It will take many years. Be prepared.” Waterbut turned and stomped back to the bar once more. “Fortunately, you’ll have help.” He waved his hand behind him toward the doorway, and Albus was not surprised to see someone enter; he did not, however, recognize the new visitor to the inn.
He was a tall young man, with somewhat messy black hair and startling green eyes. He wore round glasses, and Albus noticed a vivid lightning-shaped scar on the young man’s forehead. The stranger glanced around the inn, his emerald eyes searching for something or someone; suddenly he grinned and hurried over to where Albus was still seated.
“Hello, Professor!” he exclaimed as Albus stood to greet him. The young man threw his arms around Albus in a crushing embrace. “Welcome back.”
Albus stepped out of the embrace and stared inquiringly at the young man, who obviously knew him though they had never met.
“Albus Dumbledore,” called Waterbut from the bar, “meet Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.”
* * *
A/N: My continued thanks to myownmuggle for her quick beta work on this chapter!