Chapter 13 - Halloween

Written by Nemesis

However, Tom enjoyed his night classes almost more than he did his daytime ones. Dueling, of course, was fun. Tom kept trying to get to Philip Cedric, but Professor Flitwick, who was well aware of their enmity, was intent on keeping them apart. Tom liked the other classes even more. There was Song Magic, which was concerned with the properties of the voice in conjunction with magical occurrences. For instance, singing certain notes in succession would get different effects. This class was also rather dangerous, because if Tom sang the wrong note, he could end up with an angry turkey on his head instead of transforming a beetle into a button. Rankin Prewitt, to Tom's amusement, found this out the hard way. His next class, the Magical Artist's Guild, was all about making moving paintings. By far, his favorite night class was Ghost Studies, which taught him all about the various kinds of ghosts, and their powers and purposes.

With these classes as well as regular curricular classes, Tom found that he had very little time to himself, save for the weekends. He cherished his free time, but far preferred working to playing. This was not only because of his own personal opinion, but because he thought that he needed as much magical training as possible if he really was to defeat Grindelwald. After he had heard about what Grindelwald did to the parents of several of his friends, Tom was more determined than ever to make the Dark wizard's job a lot harder.

Late in October, there came a whole new challenge that had little to do with academics. At the end of Potions on a gloomy Friday, Professor Chapman addressed the class. "As most of you probably already know," he began, "students in the second through seventh year are allowed to attend the annual Halloween dance in one week's time." There was an excited burst of chatter from the girls, which took a while to subside. "Students in the second and third year are also allowed to take first-years as guests to the dance. The dance will follow the Halloween feast at nine o'clock, and any night classes on that day will be cancelled. All students are required to go, though you are not required to take a partner. You may wear either dress robes or a costume."

Tom's face fell as he realized that a couple of Gryffindor girls were looking pointedly at him and whispering. He winced and turned back to the teacher, but Professor Chapman simply dismissed them. Feeling mildly ill, Tom gathered up his bookbag and his cauldron and made for the dungeon exit. A Gryffindor girl, Marina Edwards, blocked his way, blushing. "Want to go to the dance with me?" she asked eagerly.

"No thanks," Tom replied immediately, trying to push past. Marina, looking very hurt, stepped aside, but at the top of the steps, Tom collided head-on with Ambika Dawes. Ambika tossed her golden hair and smiled at him. "Pardon me," Tom said.

Ambika's luminous smile widened. "Well?" she asked, clearly expecting something. After a couple of seconds, she prompted him. "Aren't you going to ask me to the ball?" Tom frowned darkly at her, wondering how she could be so full of herself.

"I'm not interested," he snapped. He tried to pass her, but Ambika threw out an elegant white arm to stop him.

"Are you sure?" she said, staring at him intently. Tom realized she was trying to use her veela-powers on him, but he felt nothing. A few passing boys were not so lucky; they stopped dead and stared at Ambika as though in a trance. "I think you'll come with me," she said, mistaking his amused look for submission.

"No, actually. Good day to you, Ambika." Tom strode away, leaving Ambika looking furious.

Over the next few days, Tom said "No" more times than he had in his entire life. He had never noticed it before, but almost every girl up to the third year thought that he was attractive, and almost all of them had asked him to the dance by the next Tuesday. Neither Lili nor any of the Slytherin girls had asked him, though on Wednesday, Mandy Birch broke the mold. Unfortunately, very unlike the others, she would not take no for an answer. For the rest of the week, she kept ambushing him in the hallway and asking him for the thousandth time. "You're going to look pretty dumb going there by yourself," she kept saying, until Tom knew her routine so well that he could finish her sentences for her.

"I don't understand why you don't just give in," Zuhayr told him at dinner. It was a Friday, the day before Halloween, and Mandy had just made another unsuccessful attempt at asking Tom to the dance. "I mean, she's quite pretty."

Tom looked along the table at Serena and Mandy, and he supposed that both of the Birches could be considered pretty. "I guess. I just don't like girls that way."

"So? Go as friends. That's what me and Larkin are doing."

"Larkin and I," Tom corrected dully, "and I don't think Mandy wants to go just as friends. She seems to fancy me." He sighed wearily and glanced back over at Mandy. Her silvery hair fell down her back, and her forest-green eyes were flecked with viridian, twinkling in her striking face. She met Tom's eyes and beamed, blushing.

Zuhayr shrugged. "Fine. Dump a good opportunity. Frankly, I think she's gorgeous. But if you don't want to go to the dance with her, there's nothing I can do about it."

"Okay," Tom said, and Zuhayr groaned.

"That is NOT what you're supposed to say! You're supposed to realize that it IS a good opportunity, walk over there, and ASK her!" Zuhayr was clearly growing frustrated. "I'll curse you if you don't." Tom snorted with laughter. Zuhayr could not duel for beans, and was well known for it. "I'll curse you in your sleep," he added, "when you have your guard down."

Tom weighed his options. Though a very slow dueler, Zuhayr could perform curses well. On the other hand, if he agreed, he would have to go with Mandy. Deciding he'd take a curse over having to dance with a girl, he sighed and turned back to his Yorkshire pudding. Zuhayr looked very disappointed.

On Halloween morning, Tom went down to breakfast later than anyone else, though it hardly mattered, seeing as it was Saturday. As it always was when Tom came down late, Professor Dumbledore was the only one left in the Great Hall. He was reading The Daily Prophet, looking grim. Tom set down his things and tried to eat silently, but his fork kept on scraping the plate. Finally, Professor Dumbledore looked up at him. He smiled, though Tom could tell that the teacher was far less than happy. "Hello, Tom," he said, sounding almost mournful.

"Hi. Er…is something wrong?"

"Astute, aren't you?" Dumbledore said. "Well, seeing as you'll probably find out anyway, I'll tell you. Grindelwald attacked a small school of magic in Limerick. He gained several very talented young people as followers, and killed the rest of the children. He's getting closer."

"Closer to whom?"

"To England," Dumbledore replied heavily, folding up his paper. "I'm no mindreader, but I know how these people think. My guess is, he wants to station followers in the countries all around Britain, then attack London."

Tom nodded, feeling the blood drain out of his face. It suddenly occurred to him that he really did need to know all the magic he could, Circle member or otherwise. Even if he did not have to defeat a Dark wizard, he knew he would at least have to defend himself. "Professor Dumbledore, there's something I have to ask you."

"Yes?"

"Can you teach me how to become an Animagus?"

Professor Dumbledore proceeded to give Tom his trademark penetrating stare, eyes slightly narrowed. "Why?"

Tom shrugged. It was really too complicated to explain. He just felt naturally drawn to the idea, as though it was a magnet and he was a chip of metal. "I think it sounds interesting," he said truthfully.

"You're awfully young."

"I know," Tom replied, feeling very self-conscious. "You say I am advanced, though. Do you think I might be able to manage it?"

Professor Dumbledore considered this, and his blue eyes twinkled. "I do not doubt it. I'll have to consult the heads of the Improper Use of Magic Office and the Juvenile Magic Department. If I tell them that you're a model student, they might give me permission to start teaching you."

"Really? Thank you, Professor!" Tom grinned, and Dumbledore's mustache twitched.

"Speaking of which, Professor Xavier has some books that might interest you. I've been asking for them on your behalf. They're ridiculously advanced, so they should suit you just fine."

"What are they?" Tom asked curiously.

Dumbledore sipped his orange juice. "A lot of things about dementors," he responded. "You know what those are, don't you?"

"All I know is that they guard Azkaban, and that Grindelwald uses them for stormtroopers," Tom said.

"Well, you should find these books very interesting. They're at a seventh-year level, each over seven hundred pages long, lots of interesting spells. Right up your alley, I'd say. Anyway, I'll get those to you as soon as I see Professor Xavier."

"All right. Thanks," Tom said, turning back to his waffles. Though Tom did not notice it, Professor Dumbledore gave him a very scrutinizing look before getting up and leaving.

********************

At a quarter to nine, Tom headed back up to his dormitory after the Halloween feast. He was truly dreading what was coming next, for somehow he got the impression that the girls had still not given up on him. Forlornly, he changed into his dress robes, which were pitch-black velvet with silver brocades. Tom knew it was rather gothic of him to insist upon wearing black, but it matched his hair color, and, currently, his mood. He swept down the stairs irritably, hoping against hope that he could avoid Mandy.

Larkin and Zuhayr were standing at the bottom of the stairs, chatting. Zuhayr was wearing dark blue, but Larkin had selected a garment of ridiculously bright canary yellow with lurid purple hems. Tom thought that Larkin, as usual, was not taking this seriously, and he wondered vaguely if she would glow in the dark. Somehow, she had forced that oddly frizzy hair of hers into a ponytail, which was already beginning to fall out. When she saw him, she grinned broadly. "Happy Halloween!" she shouted. "Hey, Tom, can you turn Francis into a lobster again? Lobsters are my favorite animals."

Francis heard this and was none too pleased. He strode over, wrinkling his nose. "Can it, Mallory."

"Don't think I can, I've never heard of canned lobster," Larkin shrugged, a maniacal grin on her face. "C'mon, Zuhayr, let's go." She grabbed Zuhayr's arm and dashed out of the portrait hole, leaving Tom to deal with Francis on his own.

Francis glared after her, then turned to Tom, his usual smirk plastered on his face. He was wearing grey dress robes that matched his cold eyes. "I see you look the part, Hamlet," Francis said, his eyes taking in Tom's outfit. He did have a point; with his heavy black robes and world-weary expression, Tom looked very much like the Shakespearean character after whom Francis had nicknamed him. "All you need is a skull, and you can start reciting 'to be or not to be.'"

Tom scoffed. "You obviously haven't read the play, Francis. The bit with the skull is about two acts after that line."

Francis looked abashed. "Are you sure?" he asked, but he quickly stopped himself, not wanting to look stupid. "Well, anyway, Mudblood, who're you going with?"

Not willing to discuss the matter with Francis, Tom shoved him out of the way and made for the portrait hole. He spotted Mandy and Serena standing close together, both wearing lavender. Apparently, Mandy had found some other boy who actually wanted to go with her. She looked thoroughly depressed. Before she could pick him out of the crowd, Tom hurried down the stairs to the entrance hall.

All sorts of people were milling around the hall, waiting for the doors to open. Ambika Dawes was decked out in frost-blue and was clinging to Philip Cedric's arm. When she sighted Tom, she gave him what she apparently thought was a seductive wink. Tom smiled back sarcastically and had to veer out of the way as several boys behind him swooned.

When the doors did open, Tom immediately dashed in, took a seat in the corner, and drew a few sheets of parchment, a quill, a bottle of ink, and a few Muggle pencils from his pocket. For the first hour of the dance, Tom busied himself with sketching random people. After he had drawn what felt like the entire school and staff, Tom grew tired of drawing. Idly, he unscrewed the cap of his ink bottle, dipped his quill in, and wrote his name on a piece of parchment in block capital letters.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Tom frowned down at the name. He did not mind the name Tom, except for the fact that it had been his father's name, as well. Thomas Riddle had been, from what Tom had heard, a bit of a snob, not to mention what he had done to Tom's mother. Tom decided that he needed a nickname, something besides Tommy Salami, Mudblood, Pun, or Hamlet. He wanted to distance himself from his father as much as possible, and bearing his name made this rather hard. "I could just go by Marvolo," Tom thought. It was the only part of his name he thought was at all respectable. No, this would not do. It was too short, and not very impressive.

"I am… I am…" Tom bit his lip and frowned. What could be a suitable name? He suddenly noticed that the letters for "I am" were in his name. Tom crossed them out, until the letters that were left read, "TOMRVOLORDDLE." Beneath this, he wrote "I am" in the same large handwriting. He stared at this for a while, then glanced back up at his name, which was now missing three letters. After a few minutes, Tom noticed something interesting. With the "I" in "Riddle" crossed out, the last letters of his middle name combined with the first letters of his modified last name, making the word "Lord." Being a Lord certainly inspired respect in people. Eagerly, he crossed out the letters and wrote "Lord" right next to "I am."

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
I AM LORD

Tom reversed the letters of his first name so that they read "MOT." What could he do with this? If he inserted the "R" in Marvolo between the "O" and the "T," he would have the word "Mort." In pretty much any country whose language was derived from Latin, "Mort" meant "death." That would certainly make people respect him, or at least make it so that they would not want to mess with him. Deciding it was a perfect suffix for a name, he wrote it down, crossing off the letters.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
I AM LORD _____MORT

This left him with "VODLE." Vodle-mort? That sounded silly. However, switching the "D" and the "L" made the word "Voldemort," which sounded much better, and was easier to say. Satisfied with the operation, Tom scribbled it down, scratched out the remaining letters, and looked at his handiwork.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Tom smiled slightly. "I am Lord Voldemort," he murmured under his breath. It was really quite clever, when you thought about it. It was not too much of a mouthful, but long enough, spooky-sounding enough, to keep people out of his way. Too bad he could not get a last name in there, but if anyone asked, he could just say that his name was Voldemort Salamair. If he truly trusted the person, he would tell the person that he was Voldemort Slytherin, and make Salamair his middle name. Lord Voldemort. Voldemort Salamair Slytherin.

"Tom?" asked a voice suddenly.

Tom blanched and shoved the parchment into his bag. He saw Lili standing in front of him, her hair up in a bun. She was wearing robes that looked like layered, translucent linen of every color in the spectrum. Her robes seemed to change colors when she moved. Though Tom did not notice it, anyone else would have said she was beautiful. "Hi, Lili," he said.

"Can I sit here?" she asked, indicating the chair next to him.

"Sure." Tom hoped she had not seen the paper. Lili seemed very depressed, and it took Tom a short while to remember that her father had died. "You all right?"

Lili sighed. "Not really," she said heavily. "At least I can function again." There was an awkward pause.

"Er… so, what did you think of the Quidditch match last week?" Tom had not had much interest in this match, as it had been between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

Lili brightened a bit. "It was interesting. Except--you know--when Rankin Prewitt got hit by a Bludger." Tom had to stifle a grin. He and Rankin, though not exactly mortal enemies, disliked each other, and Tom had quite enjoyed watching him get hit by that Bludger. "I think that Tecla Laban was brilliant in that match. Did you see the save she pulled when--" She stopped suddenly, for the candles had suddenly grown brighter, and torches abruptly blazed in their brackets.

Someone entered the Great Hall, a black-haired young woman with dusty-looking robes and a look of pure terror on her face. "Armando!" she cried, dashing over to the headmaster. "Armando, he's here, he's…" She trailed off and collapsed on the flagstones, apparently from exhaustion. Dippet immediately knelt and revived her.

"What's all this? Who are y--Medéa McGonagall? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the Juvenile Magic Department?"

"The Ministry sent me here!" Medéa McGonagall gasped. "I was the only person who could fly fast enough." She indicated a battered broomstick in her hand. "Please, I'm supposed to tell you, to warn you. Grindelwald has invaded England!"

Dippet let go of her shoulders in shock, and Medéa, still weak, fell backwards onto the stone floor again. There was utter silence in the Great Hall, and the dancers were frozen in their positions, all staring at the newcomer. Tom felt strangely blank. It could not be, not now, he was not prepared to face a Dark wizard yet…

"Where is he?" Professor Dumbledore asked her sharply.

"He attacked in some coastal town," Medéa replied. "Channing, I think the village was called. Not a wizard in the place, but he leveled it anyway. Over five hundred Muggles dead--horribly so. He used excessive amounts of the Cruciatus Curse to kill most of them, and did even worse things to the rest." Medéa shuddered. "Had all those little Irish kids doing terrible things to the people. You know, the kids he took from that school in Limerick. Some of them seem really strong. There's no doubt where he's headed once he's done massacring villages. London."

"What can we do?" Professor Xavier asked frantically.

Medéa sighed. "The Minister just needed you to know. He's going to need as much support from you lot as possible." As she stood up, Tom noticed that she was at least six months pregnant. "D'you have a place I can stay the night? I don't much like the idea of going back out there in the wee hours, and I don't think I can take another eight hours on a broomstick."

"Sure, we can set you up in the hospital wing. Why didn't you Apparate to Hogsmeade?" Professor Dippet inquired.

"Can't. You aren't allowed to do it in my present condition." She patted her stomach, and Dippet, noticing it for the first time, nodded. The school nurse, Madam Viola, ushered Medéa out of the room.

"Students to bed," Professor Dippet said, his creaky voice hoarser than usual. "Go on then, chop, chop."

The student body moved silently out of the Great Hall, and Tom headed up to Slytherin Tower with Larkin, Zuhayr, and Adrian. He was so shocked that he did not know what to think. This was too soon, he needed more time.

"Relax," said a voice in his brain. "You're not Tommy Salami. You're Lord Voldemort. You can handle anything." Tom tried to feel better, tried to take the voice's advice. He did not notice that the voice that had counseled him was the nasty little voice he usually tried to ignore.

Chapter 14...

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