Defence and Mayhem

For New Hope To Bloom

Tom was laying on the headboard of his bed in the Slytherin dormitories. He had a book in his lap, open, but left unread. Tom's thoughts were elsewhere.

Now, in the safety of his dorm, he dared to think of the true meaning of the things said in the DADA classroom. Before he could only appreciate the professor's approach to the subject, but now that the information he received truly sunk in he thought of the content of the lesson.

Dark Lords were chosen by magic? Light Lords exist? He did believe the information he was given, how could he not when the man giving it had sources far older than any he knew or had access to and had no apparent motive to give false information? No. Tom was sure that the knowledge was genuine. But Tom's understanding of a subject he held close to his heart suddenly shook, and he just couldn't help but be shocked. Tom was an aspiring Dark Lord himself, having already established a small circle of support and delved far into the Dark Arts than anyone he ever heard of had done by his age before.

But he had no wish to be a fake. He was many things, he was a liar, a manipulator and he was cruel at times, but all his achievements were his own and he would not steal a title that wasn't earned by his hard work. Not a title of this importance, at least. But did he truly want to be a Dark Lord now that he knew what that role meant?

Before, he was sure that Dark Lords were self-proclaimed. That they were just dark wizards who were powerful, charismatic, and had the support of many other dark wizards who served under them. Influential leaders who wanted the dark to be in control.

He was wrong.

He wouldn't deny that. He will move forward with the information he was given and he will re-establish his goals accordingly.

He just needs time to think.

__________________

In the following weeks, the fifth-year defence class was going over the material that was already learned in the earlier years, and even though the class was annoyed at how far back Professor Peverell went with the material, they quickly pushed their annoyance away.

When Professor Peverell asked the class to stand in two lines and perform the Expelliarmus Spell, Tom, like many others, was shocked. Luckily Tom knew to shut his mouth, but one Ravenclaw boy, despite his housing placement, didn't.

"Exactly how old do you think we are? This is a first-year spell!"

"Disarm me then, Mr. Fenwick."

The boy performed the spell, but to his surprise, the red beam of light did nothing to the wand in the professor's hand.

"While you did learn the spell, spells can be forgotten, and even if not, at this age your magical core is undergoing changes, what makes it necessary to repeat the usage of spells you learned before and hadn't used much since in order to keep you in tune with them. I expect you all to be able to perform the spell and for it to actually work by the end of the lesson. It is a first-year level spell after all."

After that lesson, no one dared to question the professor.

The lessons were mostly practical, with the homework being theoretical. That made the pace quicker. The class has already finished most of the material for the lower years, so Tom estimated that they would only have one or two lessons until they would start new material.

Tom was right.

"Good afternoon, I'm sure you'll be happy to know that this is the last revision lesson. And today's subject is boggarts. As mature as you may be, I know that at this age some of you might not have the decency to refrain from laughing at or taking advantage of your classmates' fears. I won't have it. So you will practice in a soundproof room that's protected by wards against spying spells."

He pointed at a door in the side of the defence room, one that was probably transfigured, as it wasn't there before. Tom stood at the back of the line. While waiting for his turn, he recalled his first time facing the boggart. His boggart was a muggle version of himself. A version of himself that wasn't unique, wasn't special. As a muggle, he was nothing. Tom always felt the need to be better, to be more than just an unimportant nobody. The thought of being that nobody frightened him. But he was sure that this time his fear would be something else.

He wasn't a muggle, and he wasn't even muggle-born, he knew that for sure. Parseltongue was inherited from the Slytherin line, and he certainly couldn't have inherited it from muggle parents. One of them had to be a wizard. So, he wasn't a random nobody, he was a descendant of Slytherin.

So no, that was no longer a fear of his. But the true question was what would his greatest fear be now?

Lost in thought, Tom didn't notice that it was soon his turn, and when said turn arrived he still couldn't figure out what his boggart would be. He walked into the transfigured room that had no furniture except for a big closet that must've contained the boggart. Professor Peverell stood at the back of the room with his back against the wall. Noticing his presence, the professor walked towards the closet.

"I will now open the closet. It's important to stay relaxed, or the boggart will gain strength from your fear. I trust you know the spell."

The professor opened the closet, and Tom expected it to take form, but it didn't. Instead, what greeted him was an ear-piercing sound. One that made his breath hitch in terror. It took him a minute to come back to his senses, to remember he wasn't in Muggle London, that he was in Hogwarts, so the sound could not be real.  With a quick shout of the spell, Tom turned the unpleasant sound to a soft tune of classical music. He took a deep breath, focusing on the soft tune to calm him down.

Tom then turned to the professor, expecting a look of confusion, but he was greeted with a look of recognition and sadness.

"That was the sound of an Air-raid Siren. Mr. Riddle, does the headmaster not allow you to stay in Hogwarts during the summer? I read the files on each student, and yours said that you're an orphan but I didn't think they would allow you to stay in Muggle London after the Blitz…"

To say Tom was surprised would be an understatement. 

Until now, no adult from the Wizarding World has ever shown the slightest care over his living conditions in the Muggle World. Even when he begged Headmaster Dippet to let him stay at Hogwarts, or anywhere else, as long as it was not in the Muggle World, he was met with disappointment. To hear someone care, to hear someone express their concern, it was new to him, and it felt oddly warm.

"When a muggle-born or muggle-raised student enrolls to Hogwarts they must have a magical guardian whether or not they have a muggle guardian. It's usually the head of house but it seems like Slughorn forgot his duties to care for the wellbeing of his students. But listen, and listen well. I swear on my magic that unless you wish for it yourself, you're never going back to that orphanage."

And for once, Tom had hope.

Published on Sunday, November 14 , 2021