Tom Riddle woke late on Christmas morning. The third-year boys' dormitory was as gloomy as always, lit only by a guttering candle above the bed of his friend Barabbas Lestrange.
–About time.†Barabbas greeted him. –The others made enough noise to wake the dead, but you slept right through it. Want to see what presents you got?â€
–Hang on, let me dress first.†Tom hated being less than fully dressed. Only after donning his school robes - he never wore mufti, even on holidays - did he give his attention to the parcels at the foot of his bed.
A large box from Barabbas proved to contain Every Flavour Beans. Tom immediately tried one - glycerine soap, apparently - and offered one to Barabbas, who reported it to be spinach-flavoured. –Thanks for yours, too.†He waved the box of Chocolate Frogs Tom had given him; some of the contents appeared to have been consumed already. –I got a rare card, too, look: Henri de Mal-Fois.â€
The next present was from Beatrice Avery, a fellow third-year. The package contained a brown strip of new leather, with an explanatory card hand-written by Beatrice: –The Begin-Again Bookmark. Place in a book after you've read it. By the next day, the bookmark will be at the page you need to re-read, not having understood it properly the first time.†A very Beatrice-like present, that: useful, but not flashy or expensive.
–What did you get from Slughorn?†Barabbas wanted to know. Professor Slughorn taught Potions, Tom's favourite class, and was in the habit of giving presents to students whom he particularly liked.
Tom unwrapped the small flask with Slughorn's card around its neck. It contained a clear, syrupy liquid with a faint bluish tinge. –Motor-Mouth Essence†read the label. –Enables conversation at TWICE normal speed.â€
–He gave me the same.†said Barabbas, holding up a similar flask. –I reckon we have to drink them at the same time, so as to be able to keep on understanding each other.â€
–Probably.†Tom stashed the presents under his bed, then extinguished Barabbas' candle with a wave of his wand. –Come on,†he said, as he left the dormitory. –Let's see who's about upstairs.â€
With the lake above frozen over, the greenish illumination in the Slytherin common room seemed even dimmer than usual. The low-ceilinged room was empty except for Beatrice, who sat at one of the tables idly perusing a fortnight-old Daily Prophet. On seeing them, she looked up.
–Merry Christmas, Tom. Fancy a bit of Quidditch after breakfast? Some of those fifth-years in Gryffindor have challenged us to a game. If we take in a Hufflepuff or two we'll have enough for a team.â€
–Hmph.†Tom's grunt showed what he thought of that idea. –Bit too cold for flying, isn't it? We'll freeze.†In truth he had little idea what the weather was doing, but the Quidditch pitch had been deep in snow the day before.
–It's an indoor game.†Beatrice grinned at the prospect of surprising Tom Riddle, the boy who thought he knew all the secrets. –We're playing inside the castle.â€
Tom groped for another excuse, but it was Barabbas - who was even less keen on Quidditch than Tom, and sensed his lack of enthusiasm - who supplied it. –Nah - that's no good. You've got to have loads of manoeuvring space for Quidditch - it's a basic requirement. There's no room at Hogwarts anything like big enough. We'll think of something else to do instead.â€
–Please yourself.†Beatrice seemed disappointed, but knew better than to try coaxing Tom to do something he didn't want to do. As they climbed the stairs to join the other students for breakfast, the conversation lapsed, and Tom felt no desire to re-start it. For him, a morning exploring Hogwarts Castle would always be preferable to one spent flying around the Great Hall or wherever.
It would have been better still alone, but he couldn't think of a way to get rid of Barabbas. Instead, Tom decided to start by visiting some box rooms on the third floor that he knew Barabbas had been to before. The time would not be wasted - Tom suspected that some of these rooms were not nearly as disused as they appeared to be. The dust in one of the cupboards had been brushed aside at some point in recent years, and a month before he had found a small clod of fresh earth on the floor. Today, though, there were no further signs of disturbance.
Where next? In more clement conditions, the Forbidden Forest might have beckoned. But the view in that direction from a corridor window showed a determined sleet falling, and Tom shivered. The Forest could wait for another day.
No, there was nothing for it - if the rest of the day was not to be a complete loss, he would just have to show Barabbas the cupboard where the keys to the dungeon cells were kept. At least the Avery girl wasn't with them - there was no telling how many of her friends she might have spilled the secret to.
Barabbas, as usual, was slow on the uptake. –These keys all work? We can get into all those cells?†His face was alight with imagined possibilities, even though he had seen on the way down that most of the cells were empty.
–No - look. The cupboard has a false back that the keys hang on.†Tom flicked his wand into the cupboard. –Alohomora.†He managed to look calm and knowing as the stone wall behind the cupboard vanished to reveal a space beyond, even though he had not been any further than this himself. He made sure that Barabbas was the first to climb through.
They found themselves in a dingy corridor. Barabbas was all for finding out where it led to, but Tom was more interested in the heavy oak doors close at hand. Upon investigation, they all proved to be locked - except one.
The room beyond was not large, but Tom knew it was a find the moment his wand-light washed over the furnishings. Two large green armchairs, a smooth wooden table, a faded carpet - all thick with dust, but not rotten or mildewed as things tended to be in the abandoned parts of the castle. Too, there was a fireplace, with a fire laid and waiting only for some witch or wizard to ignite it with a quick spell. A few bookshelves held thick and dusty tomes - Tom almost hugged himself at the sight of them, and resolved instantly to be alone on the day he looked beneath their covers.
But the greatest prize of all lay on a narrow shelf. A dozen or so fist-sized glass orbs, lying in a row. They had something odd inside them, a curious whitish mist just substantial enough to dispel the possibility that they were empty. There were no labels to indicate what the objects were.
–I say - what on Earth are those?†Barabbas had spotted the mysterious objects too. Both young wizards moved closer. Recalling the procedure taught in Potions for the investigation of unknown substances, Tom first sniffed - no smell - then placed his ear next to the shelf to listen closely.
Professor Slughorn's words had apparently been wasted on Barabbas. He had already picked up one of the orbs, and was holding it in front of his face to stare intently into its depths. –They're warm.â€
–Listen.†Tom commanded. –They make a sound like - like the sea.†Both could hear it, a faint susurration that came and went. Momentarily there would seem to be words in it, but always the murmur faded before any sense could be made of it. Tom insisted on hearing each individual orb, carrying it to the far side of the room where the others would be inaudible, but could distinguish nothing.
He heard something else, though. As he reached for one of the glass vessels, a footfall sounded in the corridor outside. The boys froze for a moment, then Tom extinguished his wand-light and ducked behind one of the armchairs, gesturing to Barabbas to do likewise. Only a moment after they were concealed, he heard the door handle squeak as it turned.
In the darkness, he heard what sounded like one person enter the room. Whoever it was, they didn't seem to need much light to see by - only the faintest glimmer seemed to have been brought into the room. Emboldened, Tom risked a look from behind his chair. He saw the outline of what appeared to be a tall, heavy-set figure standing by the shelf with the strange glass orbs, unmoving. After a few moments, Tom realized that the intruder was listening, just as Barabbas and Tom had been doing a short while before.
Minutes passed. The dark figure was as systematic as Tom himself: Tom could see its head move a little every so often, as it moved on from one orb to the next. Finally, it spoke.
–Nichts. Schon gut, you may come out now, and introduce yourselves.â€
The room became brightly illuminated, though the newcomer had not drawn a wand. The light revealed a large man in a black fur coat, with a fur cap and a luxuriant moustache of the same colour. He was of indeterminate age, but had a long scar on his left cheek, and was looking expectantly at Tom's suddenly inadequate place of concealment.
Tom scrambled to his feet and approached with his right hand extended. Whoever this man was, he was not a teacher, so a pretence of innocence seemed the most promising policy.
–Tom Riddle.†The hand he shook bore a ring set with a large green stone.
–Barabbas Lestrange.†Barabbas had emerged from hiding now, and followed Tom's lead.
–Dimitri Egorov. And what are you two doing here? A small job for Dumbledore, perhaps?â€
–Er - no. We were just listening to ...†Tom waved loosely at the shelf of glass orbs.
–The prophecies, ja? And did any of them speak to you?â€
–Not really. Do you think it likely that they would have?†The stranger did not reply, but adopted a quizzical look, and Tom decided to admit his ignorance. –Ah - what are they, actually?â€
–They are prophecies. By ancient law, such things rightfully belong to the person that the prophecy is about. Sometimes, that wizard can hear them ...â€
–So, none of these are about you, then?†Apparently Barabbas had been watching, too.
–No. But this I knew before I set foot in England. Some prophecies are quite cryptic about whom they concern. Or perhaps they do not speak of anyone in particular at all, which makes their ownership - uncertain, for those who are scrupulous about such things. For some, we know only that they mention a place, rather than a person.†Egorov ran his ringed hand above the glass balls, touching each one. –These are such.â€
–Hogwarts,†Tom breathed. –These are all prophecies about Hogwarts.â€
–Very good. Yes, they are kept here in the hope that one day, someone who is touched by the prophecy will stop to listen, and vielleicht, perhaps, perhaps, it will reveal itself to him. But who that wizard might be, no-one knows. So, I make a habit of paying attention to collections of this sort, whenever I visit a place I have not travelled to before.†He smiled pleasantly. –It was good to meet you. Perhaps we will see each other again tonight, ja?â€
He strolled out of the room, leaving the door open behind him. The illumination he had somehow conjured remained, showing Barabbas' slightly worried face. –Do you think he'll tell any teachers we were here?â€
–Unlikely. Here, let me listen to the rest of them before we go.â€
Barabbas was loitering by the door, eager to be gone. Tom faced away from him, the better to concentrate on the tiny whispering sounds from the last two prophecies that he hadn't got to before. Every so often, the faint murmurs would become something tantalisingly close to speech, then fade before imparting any meaning they might have held. Then, he heard it:
The school, imperishable
Ancient stone in the souls ... of the cunning and the wise.
Puissant waters in the hearts ... of the valiant and the true.
Only he knows all its secrets,
Yet should he stand here ... defiant, amidst friends
Then shall he be thrown down ... vanquished
By the fragment of his very self ... within the victor ...
Mind racing, Tom kept the ball to his ear, but the voice did not speak again. What did it mean? Why should the prophecy speak to him, of all people? He glanced around to check whether Barabbas had heard - he hadn't, it seemed - and for the first time noticed, among the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, what appeared to be a few tattered pieces of thick, vaguely flesh-coloured string. He frowned in recognition. This mystery, at least, was one that he could solve.
–What is it?†Barabbas pestered. –What're these things?â€
–They're Aural Augmentors. You put one end in your ear and you can hear what's going on at the other end. Sometimes they shrivel up and die afterwards, so no-one knows you were listening. There used to be a book in the library that explained how to make them.â€
–Used to be?â€
–That sort of magic is more useful if other people don't know about it. I kept the recipe, though.â€
Barabbas shivered. –Let's get back. I think I've had enough of this.â€
Tom followed him, thinking. Someone had wanted to hear what transpired in the prophecy room. But, if the eavesdropper had wanted to know whether any of the prophecies would speak to Egorov, why hadn't they simply accompanied him? And, had they heard the soft voice that had spoken to Tom, or was this secret his alone? Who was Egorov, anyway, and who even knew that he was here in the castle?
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When Tom wandered into the Great Hall for Christmas dinner that evening, he saw that Professor Slughorn and the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, had abandoned the dais to sit with the few students who had remained at school over the holidays. With no great surprise, he also observed Dimtri Egorov sitting next to Dumbledore. The two seemed deep in discussion.
–Merry Christmas, Tom.†Slughorn called. –There are so few of us, the formalities hardly seem appropriate.†He made a friendly gesture towards an empty place across from him, but Tom ignored it and sat opposite Egorov instead.
–Ah, Mr. Riddle.†said Dumbledore. –Allow me to introduce my friend and colleague Dimitri Egorov, who arrived this morning. Professor Egorov teaches at the Durmstrang Institute For Magical Learning.†And Egorov solemnly shook Tom's hand, just as if their earlier encounter had never taken place.
–Indeed,†he was saying, –although politics has consumed most of my time of late. It is tiresome work - but worthy, of course, nothing more so.â€
–What subject do you teach, Professor?†asked Beatrice, who was next to Tom.
–Defence Against Dark Arts, isn't it?†Tom put in quickly, before Egorov had a chance to answer.
–Ja, so you would call it at Hogwarts.†Egorov shot a glance at Tom, while the fingers of his left hand brushed against the ring with its green stone. –You are perceptive, Mr. Riddle.â€
–And how is our mutual acquaintance getting on, Dimitri?†Dumbledore spoke casually, but Tom sensed that the question was not an idle one. –Surviving the cares of the world? Keeping you busy with the affairs of Muggles?â€
–Herr Grindelwald prospers, as you know, Albus. And I, I seldom leave his side these days, unless I must. When I told him you had invited me here, he said I should be sure to enquire whether you mean to visit him next year. However busy his days become, he will always be available to welcome the great Dumbledore in a style befitting the occasion.â€
–He is too kind.†Dumbledore paused, and for a moment looked unsure of himself. –For my part, I had been wondering whether I should offer to renew our old acquaintance here at Hogwarts instead.â€
–Had been? You have become decided, then?â€
–Yes, quite recently.†Another uneasy pause. –It seems to me now that the circumstances are not propitious for us to receive Grindelwald at Hogwarts at present. These are troubled times for us all, you know, and ... â€
–Ach, I understand. But, he will be able to come one day. That you need not doubt.â€
Another of Egorov's knowing glances was cut short by the arrival of the first course - a pair of glazed hams bedecked with oranges. Speech faltered as everyone began to eat.
–Well, enough of our doings.†said Dumbledore after a decent interval. –How did you spend the day, Tom?â€
–I've been pondering my future, Professor.â€
Dumbledore's eyebrows were raised; Egorov was watching with an amused expression. –To any conclusion?â€
–Yes. It's only lately that I've really become aware of how privileged I am to be at Hogwarts. You and the other professors really give of yourselves in the classroom; when we leave this place, we'll have a part of you within us, really, and I'm determined to make all that I can of it. After all, you won't be here forever - you'll need younger wizards and witches to take over from you someday, won't you?â€
–Well said, young man.†Egorov was smiling with approval. –If Mr. Riddle here is typical of the next generation, then the future of the wizarding world is in good hands.â€
After dessert - a magnificent confection of blackberries and cream - Beatrice and some of the other students began to drift away. Tom stayed, determined to hear as much of the teachers' conversation as they would permit him to.
Slughorn and Egorov were discussing the preparation of some potion or other. –Yes, henbane and bowtruckle eyes, that would surely work - why don't we open up one of the classrooms and give it a try tomorrow? How long will you be staying, anyway?â€
Egorov looked briefly at Dumbledore. –Oh, I think I can prevail on your hospitality for a few more days, at least.â€
–Well, I should think so,†Slughorn beamed. –Why else did you invite him, after all?â€
For a moment it seemed to Tom that Dumbledore was not entirely pleased, but after the briefest possible hesitation he replied. –Certainly, Dimitri, stay as long as you like. There aren't many students around to talk to, but I daresay Horace and I will be company enough. Come up to my office now, though - there are one or two matters I'd like to put to you, while I'm thinking of them.†He led Egorov from the Hall.
Professor Slughorn looked around at the handful of students remaining. –Well, I shall turn in too, I think. Merry Christmas, all. Goodnight, Tom. Not getting bored, are you?â€
–Oh, no†Tom replied. –There is always plenty to do at Hogwarts, even in the holidays.â€