When Professor McGonagall had assigned Draco to write his essay during detention, he’d initially embraced the task as a means to get his mind off of The Plan.
But his mind kept wandering as wrote out his essay on the risks involved with transfiguring humans into animals. In two hours he’d barely written a paragraph.
Transfiguring humans into animals is dangerous. I can vouch for this from personal experience, seeing as how a Hogwarts professor used this against me during my fourth year.
He stared at the ceiling in thought, frowning at the memory. His thoughts drifted back to The Plan.
What if something had gone wrong?
What if they knew it was him?
His quill began to shake between his fingers. He thought that McGonagall would’ve noticed, but she sat at her desk, reading through papers, her glasses having slid down to the edge of her nose.
She looked up to stare at him for a moment, a peculiar expression on her face. “Something the matter, Mr. Malfoy?’
He shook his head absently. “No, ma’am.” He continued to write, trying to apply more force onto the parchment in hopes of focusing better.
It had seemed like days had passed when Potter burst through the doors, his unkempt hair wild about his face, his face red from the winter cold. He held a balled up Gryffindor scarf close to his chest.
He ran straight towards the professor without even glancing at Draco.
“Professor, there’s been an attack on a student.”
Draco’s ears perked up.
McGonagall pushed her glasses back onto her face with one boney finger. She rose to her feet. “What is the meaning of this, Mr. Potter?”
Potter paused to catch his breath. “Katie Bell was given a mysterious, cursed object in Hogsmeade. She’s with Madam Pomfrey right now.” He dropped the scarf onto McGonagall’s desk. It made a soft clunk as it hit the wood.
Draco’s heart sank.
“And I think Malfoy was behind it,” Potter said, heaving his chest out as though he’d won a medal of some sort.
Draco’s head whirled. He was going to be sick. Potter knew!
“But Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy has been with me all afternoon.” She looked at Draco who forced himself to keep his eyes on her, so as to not appear guilty in any way.
Potter’s mouth dropped slightly as he turned to stare at him dumbly. “But-”
“I will see to Miss Bell, but I will not have you making wild accusations before you have a logical story in order.”
Draco felt like giving the old woman a rose. The feeling was quickly quelled when he reminded himself that a student had been seriously injured.
Oh, Merlin, what if she’s been killed!
He felt dizzy and his entire body became heavy. An odd ringing sensation began in his ears.
“Mr. Malfoy, I think that’ll be enough for today,” McGonagall said as she headed towards the door, carrying the balled up scarf.
Draco waited for her to leave with Potter, who was shooting him furtive glares. He didn’t even have the energy to give him a deathly glare of his own. Once the door shut, he slid out of his chair and onto the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked himself back and forth.
It’s okay, Potter said she was with Madam Pomfrey. Surely had it been anything really serious, Potter would’ve said so?
But what of the necklace? What if they knew it was from Borgin’s shop and spoke to him? What if Borgin told them?
One thing was for certain. If the Ministry wasn’t after him about this, the Dark Lord surely would be. His body shook as he rose to his feet.
Draco took a deep breath and left McGonagall’s room. He passed by the trophy case and stopped to stare at the mysterious Special Services award for Tom Riddle. Draco had found that two things eased his nerves lately – clearing his head in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and reading about The Great Muggle Wars.
He decided to head towards Snape’s office. He knocked on the door and entered.
Snape was pouring a lime green liquid from a beaker into a vial. He looked up to stare at Draco.
“Mr. Malfoy, how nice of you to stop by,” he said this without any expression on his face, but his muscles relaxed in relief. “I’d heard about Miss Bell’s accident and thought-”
“That I’d botched The Plan,” Draco said gruffly. “And you thought correctly.”
Snape was quiet for a moment. He corked the vial and slipped it into a pocket inside his robes. “Draco-”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Draco said flatly. “I’m actually here to see you about something else.”
Snape raised an eyebrow at him.
“I was wondering….” He swallowed. Draco wasn’t sure how to bring up his unusual fascination with The Great Muggle Wars with Snape. Surely he’d think Draco had gone mad. “I was wondering if I might be able to meet a former student in Slytherin. I thought perhaps you’d know of his whereabouts.”
“Who?” Snape asked, eyeing Draco carefully.
“Tom Riddle,” he said.
Draco had expected Snape to furrow his brow in thought or perhaps shrug at the unfamiliarity of the name, but he certainly hadn’t foreseen the reaction he received.
Snape’s eyes widened and he seized Draco by the robes.
“What-” Draco exclaimed, taken aback. “Unhand me!”
“Why do you ask of him?” Snape hissed, his black eyes darkening uncharacteristically. He didn’t release his hold on Draco.
“I-I-I saw an…award in the tr-trophy case,” Draco stammered. What was wrong with Snape?
Snape appeared to relax and he let go of Draco. “I’m afraid I cannot give you any information.”
“Bullocks. You obviously know whom I’m speaking of.” Draco snorted.
“Mind your tongue.” Snape sneered at him.
Draco returned the sneer. “I can ask others, you know, since you’re unwilling to cooperate. You’re always asking how you can help me, and I finally-”
Snape’s eyes flashed and his expression hardened. “Help with the task, Mr. Malfoy, not some petty interest in a school trophy. I hope you don't need to be reminded about your fate should you fail.”
Draco rolled his eyes and was about to turn to go when Snape held up a hand to stop him. The harshness in his face had disappeared, but he looked utterly serious.
“Mr. Malfoy, I strongly suggest you drop this...unbecoming…interest you ask of. It will lead you towards dangerous territory that you will soon regret.”
“I think I regret plenty as is,” Draco scoffed. He was beyond frustrated with his professor. He’d come seeking answers and had only been left with questions. What was so bad about Tom Riddle? He’d won a bloody award! How bad could he be?
“Our differences aside, I wanted to ask you one more thing Mr. Malfoy, and we both must get going, seeing as I have to do a bit of damage control on your behalf,” he patted the pocket in his robe. “Let’s hope Miss Bell’s condition isn’t too serious.”
Draco flinched.
“I know that last night’s incident was a bit excruciating. Have you been all right?” Snape was stroking his left forearm.
Draco knew that Snape was only looking out for him and he never relentlessly tortured him the way he did with his other students, namely the annoying Gryffindors. Snape always managed to turn his head the other way when Draco wound up in a spot of trouble and dotted on him like he were his own son. But he found that blaming Snape eased his misery. Sometimes he feared he would end up like Snape – alone, bitter, and teaching at a school he loathed so much.
“Just fine.” Draco flashed Snape an exaggerated smile and left the room.
Draco was now more curious than ever about Tom Riddle. He wondered who else he could ask. Slughorn seemed old enough to have been around the same time as Riddle, but didn’t even like Draco, so that wouldn’t work. He didn’t trust any of the other professors. Someone at the sodding school has to have been here the same time as him!
He considered Moaning Myrtle, but the wretched girl was befuddled as is, she probably would be of no help to him. But perhaps another ghost….
Draco broke into a sprint as he headed towards the dungeons. Sure enough, the Bloody Baron was drifting around the entrance, his expression stoic as always.
“Bloody Baron!” Draco gasped, doubling over slightly to catch his breath. The ghost stared at him blankly. A Slytherin through and through, Draco thought.
“I wanted to ask you something,” Draco said, trying to appear calm and collected. When the Baron still said nothing, Draco continued. “I wanted to ask you about a former student in Slytherin.”
The Baron looked mildly interested. He nodded his head slightly so as to encourage Draco to go on.
“Well…I…he was a student here several decades ago…Tom Riddle?” Draco asked hopefully.
The Baron’s face slowly broke into a humorless smile. “Tom Riddle,” he whispered.
Draco felt a chill go through him. “You knew him?”
“I knew Tom Riddle,” the Baron said, a smirk dancing on his translucent face.
Draco was bubbling with excitement. “And is he still alive?” He realized he’d probably said this much louder than was necessary.
The Baron’s eyes danced in amusement. “That is a difficult question.”
Draco almost groaned in frustration. He had little patience for these cryptic word games now. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The Baron rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If by ‘alive’ you ask whether he breathes, walks, and speaks, then yes.”
Draco frowned. What? “Well, where is he? What does he do?”
“I’m certain you know this already,” the Baron said, the smirk returning.
“Oh, enough with the game of mystery, Bloody Baron,” Draco sighed. ‘What are you trying to tell me?”
“I’m merely answering your questions,” the Baron said, a flash of annoyance crossing his face. “They are simple, and yet the answers you seek are not.”
“And in Squib’s terms,” Draco said, gritting his teeth, “this means that I know Tom Riddle? Surely I would’ve heard the name-”
The Baron interrupted him, his expression completely serious. “Oh, but you have. However, Tom Riddle no longer goes by this name. It is dead to him.”
When the Bloody Baron didn’t continue immediately, Draco was about to give up and admit he’d hit another brick wall. And all this because of my ridiculous urge to know more about The Great Muggle Wars. I might as well try asking another wizard about this. If only everyone wasn’t acting so peculiar about Riddle-
“Yes, you know him,” the Baron said finally, cocking his head to the side slightly. Draco could now see his initial excitement mirrored in the ghostly eyes.
Draco almost shook in anticipation.
“You know him because you carry his mark.”
But his mind kept wandering as wrote out his essay on the risks involved with transfiguring humans into animals. In two hours he’d barely written a paragraph.
Transfiguring humans into animals is dangerous. I can vouch for this from personal experience, seeing as how a Hogwarts professor used this against me during my fourth year.
He stared at the ceiling in thought, frowning at the memory. His thoughts drifted back to The Plan.
What if something had gone wrong?
What if they knew it was him?
His quill began to shake between his fingers. He thought that McGonagall would’ve noticed, but she sat at her desk, reading through papers, her glasses having slid down to the edge of her nose.
She looked up to stare at him for a moment, a peculiar expression on her face. “Something the matter, Mr. Malfoy?’
He shook his head absently. “No, ma’am.” He continued to write, trying to apply more force onto the parchment in hopes of focusing better.
It had seemed like days had passed when Potter burst through the doors, his unkempt hair wild about his face, his face red from the winter cold. He held a balled up Gryffindor scarf close to his chest.
He ran straight towards the professor without even glancing at Draco.
“Professor, there’s been an attack on a student.”
Draco’s ears perked up.
McGonagall pushed her glasses back onto her face with one boney finger. She rose to her feet. “What is the meaning of this, Mr. Potter?”
Potter paused to catch his breath. “Katie Bell was given a mysterious, cursed object in Hogsmeade. She’s with Madam Pomfrey right now.” He dropped the scarf onto McGonagall’s desk. It made a soft clunk as it hit the wood.
Draco’s heart sank.
“And I think Malfoy was behind it,” Potter said, heaving his chest out as though he’d won a medal of some sort.
Draco’s head whirled. He was going to be sick. Potter knew!
“But Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy has been with me all afternoon.” She looked at Draco who forced himself to keep his eyes on her, so as to not appear guilty in any way.
Potter’s mouth dropped slightly as he turned to stare at him dumbly. “But-”
“I will see to Miss Bell, but I will not have you making wild accusations before you have a logical story in order.”
Draco felt like giving the old woman a rose. The feeling was quickly quelled when he reminded himself that a student had been seriously injured.
Oh, Merlin, what if she’s been killed!
He felt dizzy and his entire body became heavy. An odd ringing sensation began in his ears.
“Mr. Malfoy, I think that’ll be enough for today,” McGonagall said as she headed towards the door, carrying the balled up scarf.
Draco waited for her to leave with Potter, who was shooting him furtive glares. He didn’t even have the energy to give him a deathly glare of his own. Once the door shut, he slid out of his chair and onto the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked himself back and forth.
It’s okay, Potter said she was with Madam Pomfrey. Surely had it been anything really serious, Potter would’ve said so?
But what of the necklace? What if they knew it was from Borgin’s shop and spoke to him? What if Borgin told them?
One thing was for certain. If the Ministry wasn’t after him about this, the Dark Lord surely would be. His body shook as he rose to his feet.
Draco took a deep breath and left McGonagall’s room. He passed by the trophy case and stopped to stare at the mysterious Special Services award for Tom Riddle. Draco had found that two things eased his nerves lately – clearing his head in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and reading about The Great Muggle Wars.
He decided to head towards Snape’s office. He knocked on the door and entered.
Snape was pouring a lime green liquid from a beaker into a vial. He looked up to stare at Draco.
“Mr. Malfoy, how nice of you to stop by,” he said this without any expression on his face, but his muscles relaxed in relief. “I’d heard about Miss Bell’s accident and thought-”
“That I’d botched The Plan,” Draco said gruffly. “And you thought correctly.”
Snape was quiet for a moment. He corked the vial and slipped it into a pocket inside his robes. “Draco-”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Draco said flatly. “I’m actually here to see you about something else.”
Snape raised an eyebrow at him.
“I was wondering….” He swallowed. Draco wasn’t sure how to bring up his unusual fascination with The Great Muggle Wars with Snape. Surely he’d think Draco had gone mad. “I was wondering if I might be able to meet a former student in Slytherin. I thought perhaps you’d know of his whereabouts.”
“Who?” Snape asked, eyeing Draco carefully.
“Tom Riddle,” he said.
Draco had expected Snape to furrow his brow in thought or perhaps shrug at the unfamiliarity of the name, but he certainly hadn’t foreseen the reaction he received.
Snape’s eyes widened and he seized Draco by the robes.
“What-” Draco exclaimed, taken aback. “Unhand me!”
“Why do you ask of him?” Snape hissed, his black eyes darkening uncharacteristically. He didn’t release his hold on Draco.
“I-I-I saw an…award in the tr-trophy case,” Draco stammered. What was wrong with Snape?
Snape appeared to relax and he let go of Draco. “I’m afraid I cannot give you any information.”
“Bullocks. You obviously know whom I’m speaking of.” Draco snorted.
“Mind your tongue.” Snape sneered at him.
Draco returned the sneer. “I can ask others, you know, since you’re unwilling to cooperate. You’re always asking how you can help me, and I finally-”
Snape’s eyes flashed and his expression hardened. “Help with the task, Mr. Malfoy, not some petty interest in a school trophy. I hope you don't need to be reminded about your fate should you fail.”
Draco rolled his eyes and was about to turn to go when Snape held up a hand to stop him. The harshness in his face had disappeared, but he looked utterly serious.
“Mr. Malfoy, I strongly suggest you drop this...unbecoming…interest you ask of. It will lead you towards dangerous territory that you will soon regret.”
“I think I regret plenty as is,” Draco scoffed. He was beyond frustrated with his professor. He’d come seeking answers and had only been left with questions. What was so bad about Tom Riddle? He’d won a bloody award! How bad could he be?
“Our differences aside, I wanted to ask you one more thing Mr. Malfoy, and we both must get going, seeing as I have to do a bit of damage control on your behalf,” he patted the pocket in his robe. “Let’s hope Miss Bell’s condition isn’t too serious.”
Draco flinched.
“I know that last night’s incident was a bit excruciating. Have you been all right?” Snape was stroking his left forearm.
Draco knew that Snape was only looking out for him and he never relentlessly tortured him the way he did with his other students, namely the annoying Gryffindors. Snape always managed to turn his head the other way when Draco wound up in a spot of trouble and dotted on him like he were his own son. But he found that blaming Snape eased his misery. Sometimes he feared he would end up like Snape – alone, bitter, and teaching at a school he loathed so much.
“Just fine.” Draco flashed Snape an exaggerated smile and left the room.
Draco was now more curious than ever about Tom Riddle. He wondered who else he could ask. Slughorn seemed old enough to have been around the same time as Riddle, but didn’t even like Draco, so that wouldn’t work. He didn’t trust any of the other professors. Someone at the sodding school has to have been here the same time as him!
He considered Moaning Myrtle, but the wretched girl was befuddled as is, she probably would be of no help to him. But perhaps another ghost….
Draco broke into a sprint as he headed towards the dungeons. Sure enough, the Bloody Baron was drifting around the entrance, his expression stoic as always.
“Bloody Baron!” Draco gasped, doubling over slightly to catch his breath. The ghost stared at him blankly. A Slytherin through and through, Draco thought.
“I wanted to ask you something,” Draco said, trying to appear calm and collected. When the Baron still said nothing, Draco continued. “I wanted to ask you about a former student in Slytherin.”
The Baron looked mildly interested. He nodded his head slightly so as to encourage Draco to go on.
“Well…I…he was a student here several decades ago…Tom Riddle?” Draco asked hopefully.
The Baron’s face slowly broke into a humorless smile. “Tom Riddle,” he whispered.
Draco felt a chill go through him. “You knew him?”
“I knew Tom Riddle,” the Baron said, a smirk dancing on his translucent face.
Draco was bubbling with excitement. “And is he still alive?” He realized he’d probably said this much louder than was necessary.
The Baron’s eyes danced in amusement. “That is a difficult question.”
Draco almost groaned in frustration. He had little patience for these cryptic word games now. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The Baron rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If by ‘alive’ you ask whether he breathes, walks, and speaks, then yes.”
Draco frowned. What? “Well, where is he? What does he do?”
“I’m certain you know this already,” the Baron said, the smirk returning.
“Oh, enough with the game of mystery, Bloody Baron,” Draco sighed. ‘What are you trying to tell me?”
“I’m merely answering your questions,” the Baron said, a flash of annoyance crossing his face. “They are simple, and yet the answers you seek are not.”
“And in Squib’s terms,” Draco said, gritting his teeth, “this means that I know Tom Riddle? Surely I would’ve heard the name-”
The Baron interrupted him, his expression completely serious. “Oh, but you have. However, Tom Riddle no longer goes by this name. It is dead to him.”
When the Bloody Baron didn’t continue immediately, Draco was about to give up and admit he’d hit another brick wall. And all this because of my ridiculous urge to know more about The Great Muggle Wars. I might as well try asking another wizard about this. If only everyone wasn’t acting so peculiar about Riddle-
“Yes, you know him,” the Baron said finally, cocking his head to the side slightly. Draco could now see his initial excitement mirrored in the ghostly eyes.
Draco almost shook in anticipation.
“You know him because you carry his mark.”
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