Chapter Text
A few weeks into Tom Riddle's first year at Hogwarts, Headmaster Dippet did something unusual. Meals were generally a noisy disarray of students coming in and out of the Great Hall before running off to class, but that evening, Dippet asked that everyone remain silent for a moment. Once the students had taken their seats, he announced that there had been a change in staff. Due to unforeseen circumstances, Professor Merrythought had to take a permanent leave of absence. He offered no further information before inviting the young man sitting beside him to stand up and bow.
The new professor did more than that. “Hello everyone,” he said, his overly cheerful voice magically enhanced to carry through the hall. “My name’s Professor Potter. I’m looking forward to learning more about Defense Against the Dark Arts with you all.”
And then he bowed, and sat back down, and a rush of whispering spread across the Great Hall.
“Learning more with us. He’s barely more than a student himself. What school did he go to?” one of the Slytherins sneered, and several others nodded, including Tom. “And has he even heard of a hairbrush?”
“I think he’s gorgeous,” a sixth year girl sighed. “And he’s a Potter. That’s an excellent family. I wonder if he’s single.”
Tom wasn’t amused. It would be irritating to put up with an incapable Defense teacher. He had quickly learned that while there were only a few Dark Arts textbooks in the library—and they seemed to be intentionally poorly organized and set to randomly change shelves on a regular basis—Defense Against the Dark Arts was just as useful. At least for now. Defense by itself was obviously an essential skill, and by studying how to defend, he was learning about what he was defending from. And he very much wanted to learn more about that.
So far, Professor Merrythought had focused on teaching the First Years about dangerous creatures and simple magic detection, but their textbook promised they’d explore defense against common curses before the year was over. Potter would likely follow the same agenda. Hopefully he wasn’t too skittish and would let the students practice casting on each other.
Luckily, Tom didn’t have to wait too long to find out, since Defense was his second class of the day. The group of first year Slytherins and Gryffindors gathered outside the classroom until the door unlocked and Professor Potter called them inside. He had cleared all of the tables out of the center of the room, and invited the Slytherins and Gryffindors to stand in a circle.
“I want to try something, just to get an idea of where you all are so far. Have any of your teachers covered the basics of spellcasting, or what it really means to cast a spell?” he asked, standing inside the ring of students.
“Yes!” one of the Gryffindor boys declared. “We’ve talked about it in Charms a lot.”
“Perfect. Have you all learned Lumos and Nox yet?” Tom had, but he didn’t say anything as everyone else shook their heads, so Potter continued, “If I were to demonstrate both of them, how many of you think you could cast them in a couple of tries?”
Tom raised his hand, as did a few others, but most just shuffled their feet or shrugged.
“That’s perfectly fine. Well, I think our first lesson is going to be on improving our mindset when it comes to spellcasting. I expect some of you might be overthinking it, or you don’t know yet what you should be thinking. But don’t worry, it’s actually very easy. You,” he nodded at Tom and smiled. “What’s your name?”
Tom's chest lurched at the sudden attention. He was surprised to be singled out so quickly. Why was he being targeted? Had Dumbledore said something to Potter to warn him? He clenched his fists and forced a pleasant tone as he replied, “Tom Riddle."
“Do you know how to cast both spells?”
He held Tom’s eyes in a steady gaze, and Tom stared back. At that moment, Potter struck him as a surprisingly genuine person. He was looking at Tom with mutual respect, instead of the typical condescension most adults gave children. It was almost startling.
“I do.”
Potter regarded him for a moment. “You taught them to yourself?” Tom nodded. “Can you describe your thought process before you successfully cast your first Lumos?”
Tom felt every eye on him as he considered the question. “Well, I memorized the incantation and wand movement, and I thought to myself that I wanted light as I performed it.”
“Excellent. Very impressive.” Potter looked at the rest of the class, slowly turning in a circle to meet all of their eyes as he spoke. “A simple, straight to the point mindset is the best way when attempting a new spell. Go ahead and cast it, Mr. Riddle.”
With a precise swish of his wand and a clear “Lumos”, the end of Tom’s wand burst alight.
“Well done. Ten points to Slytherin. Now then, you,” he nodded to a Gryffindor, “Do you think you could cast it now?”
He moved on through the full group, coaching them one at a time until they all had it down. “My apologies to your Charms professor, who I have yet to fully meet, but hopefully he’ll be delighted to see how well you all know this. Alright Mr. Riddle, go ahead and describe your Nox and then cast it.”
“I think to myself, I want to remove the light. Nox.” And with a swish and a jab, the lights extinguished in the room.
A few of the students cheered and made scary sounds as Professor Potter returned the lights. “Well done, Mr. Riddle. Take another ten points for Slytherin.”
This time around, most of the students cast their spell correctly on their first or second attempt. As the lights flickered on and off, Professor Potter moved next to Tom. “Thanks for your help. I think we’re going to make a great team.”
He gave Tom a friendly grin, then turned around to help one of the Gryffindors with their wand motion before Tom could think of a reply. The lights shut off again, and then turned back on, and Tom realized he was smiling.
As the weeks went by, Tom found no reason to complain about Merrythought’s replacement. Professor Potter clearly had some experience outside of academic environments, and Tom could appreciate that. It was clear that he was not only a talented magician, but he was openly in love with magic in a way Tom rarely saw among others. He had a passion for it, the same way Tom did. It was evident in how much consideration he put into each of his spells. He enunciated clearly, and his motions were always deliberate, but his eyes would light up with almost childlike glee each time he observed his spell’s effects. It was refreshing when so many treated each magical act as a commonplace, boring thing instead of the wonder that it was.
Potter laughed a lot, and always tried to bring a bit of humor to his lesson. Even when they were facing down potentially dangerous creatures and curses, he seemed to be a bundle of positive energy. It would almost be annoying if he wasn’t so competent. Their lessons focused on being ready for anything. While Potter taught them an assortment of spells, what he really wanted was for his students to feel capable of understanding any spell well enough to cast it. According to him, it was a matter of willpower and empathy. He essentially referred to individual spells like they were people, with stories and personalities. Once the students really wrapped their heads around the individuality of each spell, he believed they could master it.
Tom wanted to think he had never heard anything more inane in his entire life, but he would be lying to himself. It was actually quite accurate, when he thought about it. Magic was like a song, and each spell was an individual note. It was comforting knowing someone else could hear the music.
Tom also appreciated the interesting assortment of enchanted items Professor Potter kept on his person at all times. They were jewelry, mostly. Rings carrying a subtle magical glimmer. Stacks of necklaces, including a lion-headed serpent amulet dangling off of a thick gold chain. Boots that made his footsteps a little too silent. An earring, of all things—an earring on a man. That wasn’t entirely unheard of, but on a Hogwarts professor? Tom had never seen such a thing. The thought of piling together so many wearable enchantments was intriguing. Tom couldn’t help but seek out the professor to ask about them. And besides, he had been waiting for a chance to talk to him one-on-one.
So Tom found Potter one evening in his classroom. He was sorting through a pile of essays, humming some unfamiliar song as he tapped his quill along to the beat. He didn’t seem surprised at all when he glanced up and saw Tom standing in front of his desk.
“Hello, Mr. Riddle. Is there something I can do for you?” he asked, setting aside his quill.
Tom took a seat in the chair opposite Potter. “I wanted to discuss today’s lesson, sir. If you have a spare moment, that is.”
“I always have a spare moment for one of my most promising students,” Potter replied, and Tom’s stomach did a strange thing. It twisted somewhat, as if terribly pleased.
Alert eyes regarded Tom. Very thoughtful, studying his face and everything else in their environment. And yet, Potter had a languid grace about him. His shoulders were relaxed, his mouth turned up into an easy smile. Like a predatory animal observing an interesting creature stumbling into his domain. Tom wasn’t sure what to make of this change in demeanor. It was different from how Potter held himself in the classroom. More respectable. This was a man with a history, a man with secrets hidden behind smiles and laughter.
Potter continued, “I take it you’d like to discuss the Boggart. As much as I hate to admit it, I was hesitant to introduce one to the first years. I hope it wasn’t too upsetting.”
The Boggart had in fact been quite upsetting, but that wasn’t what Tom wanted to discuss; it was only an ingress to a better conversation. “Yes. I wanted to apologize for the disturbance I caused.”
Potter grinned. He leaned forward, one elbow propped up on the desk, chin on his hand. The sudden change into such a casual posture was staggering. “That did cause a bit of a reaction, didn’t it? I can’t imagine many students have seen a dead body before, illusionary or not. But it’s no matter. They’ll get over it, as I’m sure you already have.”
As if anyone could get over the sight of their own corpse, sprawled out on the floor. That image had been seared into the forefront of Tom’s mind. But Potter didn’t need to know that.
“You don’t think it’s… foolish of me, to fear my own death?” Tom dropped his voice to an appropriately low tone, acting as if embarrassed. He was embarrassed, actually, but Potter didn’t need to know that either. Tom needed to change the subject quickly.
“No more foolish than I, fearing fear itself.”
“Oh?” That caught Tom by surprise. Potter had gone out of his way to not step within the Boggart’s range, only sending it away after the class had dispersed. “May I ask what form they take on for you?”
Potter’s grin diminished somewhat. “A Dementor.”
Possibilities whirled through Tom’s mind. A Dementor? That was… He realized he was staring at the man like some kind of idiot. “Had many encounters with Dementors, then?”
As far as Tom had learned, there was only one place where a person could meet a Dementor, and only one reason why that meeting would be significant enough to influence the shape of a Boggart. But there was no possibility that Headmaster Dippet would hire a former Azkaban inmate.
“Enough to make a lasting impression,” Potter replied. He sat back and flattened his hands on his desk, and light reflected off the series of rings on his fingers, reminding Tom why he had come in the first place.
Tom studied his professor for a moment, and decided to say what was on his mind before Potter asked to return to his work. “I’m glad to know the Boggart wasn’t an issue. I had a question, while I’m here. I couldn’t help but notice your jewelry. Are they enchanted in some way?”
“Keen eye, Mr. Riddle. Yes, they all carry spells meant for various defensive purposes.” Potter picked up his lion-headed serpent amulet, fiddling with it as he smiled at Tom. Its chain jingled softly against a few other stacked necklaces.
“Just defense, then?” Tom’s eyes lingered on one ring. It looked loose enough where he could just…
On a rush of impulse, he reached out, grabbing the ring and slipping it off Potter’s finger. There was no harm in it—he was just a child, as far as Potter was concerned. Just a curious child who didn’t know any better than to snatch up curiosities as they struck his fancy. He’d apologize and give it back, and then his professor would—
Potter was gone.
Tom stared at the ring in astonishment. Then back at Potter’s empty seat. Then back to the ring. He set it down on the desk and hurried out of the classroom.
Thankfully, his dorm mates were all in the Common Room as he frantically gathered up all of his more incriminating possessions. Books, stolen trinkets, journals. It all went into his trunk, which he shrunk down and dropped into his pocket before stashing it in one of his many hiding places in the Slytherin dungeon. It wouldn’t do to have anything dangerous laying about, just in case anybody realized Tom had been alone with Potter before the man disappeared.
He wished he had kept the ring.
Class resumed as usual the following day, and Potter was there, as if nothing had happened. Burning with curiosity, Tom found him in the Defense classroom after hours once again, and demanded to know where he had gone.
Potter set down the book he had been reading, turning it so the title on the spine faced away from Tom. He looked a bit tired. “I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Riddle. One of my secrets for one of yours.”
Tom sat down and braced himself, ready for anything, ready to have some hidden thing exposed. Surely Potter knew something, to make such a proposal.
Potter continued, “Where is your favorite place in all of Hogwarts?”
The Chamber of Secrets, of course. Tom hadn’t even found it yet, but he already treasured that hidden place above anything else in the castle. Potter couldn't have known anything about that, though. Tom was insulted by the levity of the question, and his curiosity diminished instantly. Obviously whatever secret Potter was hoarding was inconsequential after all.
“The Astronomy Tower,” he replied, his tone measured and polite. “I enjoy the view.”
“I see.” Potter considered him for a long moment. “To answer your question, I traveled forward in time to 2001. That ring is the only thing keeping me here in 1938. Getting back again was… annoying.” He sighed, dragging his hand through his hair, looking genuinely exhausted.
Tom stared. What an absolutely preposterous lie. “Why are you here, then?”
His professor looked at him thoughtfully. Smiling. “Well, I’d tell you, but we’d need to exchange another secret first.”
“Fine. Ask me anything.” Tom folded his arms and waited, watching as Potter picked up his book and thumbed back to his place. Secrets of the—fingers covered the rest of the title.
“I’ll be sure to let you know if I think of something,” Potter replied, before turning a page. “Good night, Mr. Riddle.”
Tom had been dismissed before. Oh, yes. He had been turned away from many, many places, due to various circumstances over which he had no control. Mostly businesses, as a child. Restaurants and shops, where their proprietors took one look at his disheveled state and knew he had no money, no reason to be there. And his muggle surname gave him no easy ingress into the Pureblood world, of course. The Slytherins were learning quickly enough, just as those muggle shopkeepers would.
But he had never been so well and fully dismissed by a professor. He was accustomed to winning them all over—except for Dumbledore, but it wasn’t as if Tom had any reason to befriend that man, given his abysmal taste and holier-than-thou methods. But not only had Professor Potter sent Tom away in the middle of a conversation, he had implied that he couldn’t think of a single thing about Tom that he wanted to know.
Or maybe, just maybe, he had so many different questions, he had to decide on the right one first.
Surely that was it. Tom was the most clever and interesting student in his year—in the entire student body. But then, why the question about Tom’s favorite place in Hogwarts? It was so completely mundane. Did Potter have reason to suspect Tom’s true answer? That was impossible.
And why did he lie?
Time travel. How utterly absurd. Tom decided he had no patience for whatever game Potter was playing.
Three nights later, Professor Potter found Tom in the Astronomy Tower.
“I thought I’d catch you here.” The full moon streamed silver ribbons through the window, glinting off Potter’s glasses and pooling over his face. “What are you reading?”
Tom snapped his book shut. “Is that the secret you settled on?”
“Just making friendly conversation.” Potter turned to look out the window, resting his arms on the narrow wood ledge to lean outside. “But I have settled on my question. What are you doing up here? I know this isn’t your favorite place in Hogwarts. It’s far too public, isn’t it?”
“Answer me first,” Tom replied, burning with suspicion. Why did Potter care? He didn’t know about the Chamber of Secrets. He wasn’t insinuating anything, and even if he was, it wasn’t as if Tom had actually been there. Not yet. “What brings you over sixty years into the past?”
“I’m making a study on the upbringing of a notable historical figure,” Potter replied, as lightly as if remarking on the weather.
A historical figure? Who? “Why are you lying?”
“It’s your turn to answer a question, Mr. Riddle. What are you doing up here?” Potter turned around, the moonlight casting a glowing halo against his wild hair.
“I like the quiet. Few people bother to climb all of those stairs just for the view.”
Potter hummed thoughtfully. “I had assumed you came up here to give me the opportunity to track you down.”
There was no safe response to that. Tom had, in fact, hoped to find Potter in the tower eventually. Why else would Potter have asked him about his favorite place, if not to find him there later? Tom needed to finish their conversation, no matter how inane and useless it was.
“Are you here to study me?” Tom asked, and Potter only laughed softly, turning back to face the window. “Well, it couldn’t be anyone else. Dumbledore is the only other magician of note on this campus, and if his upbringing was the object of your interest, you would have gone back further.”
Potter stepped away from the window without saying a word, and moved toward the stairs. Tom jumped to his feet, calling after him as Potter began to descend back into the main castle, “I don’t believe you.”
“Of course you don’t, Mr. Riddle. I’d have been shocked if you did.”
The conversation had been infuriating. Tom knew, he knew beyond all doubt that Potter had made up some lie. Had likely done it just to get under Tom’s skin. And yet, the slightest possibility that somebody had traveled through time just to get a better look at his childhood was… concerning. It made him even more cautious of his actions than he had been before.
They didn’t speak again. Not for years. Yes, Potter often called on him in class, but he mostly left Tom to his own devices. He seemed utterly disinterested. Congratulatory of Tom’s success in the classroom, but otherwise, Tom seemed to be just another face in the constant tide of students.
Life had improved significantly for Tom at the end of his first year at Hogwarts. Apparently his accomplishments at school had earned him a grant from some anonymous benefactor. Every summer, a generous sum of money was deposited into a personal Gringotts account, to which he had limited access. He was also given free lodging in a rather nice hotel in Hogsmead. It meant he never had to return to the orphanage ever again.
It might have saved his life. The muggle war raging across Europe had turned an especially nasty eye on London. Tom wouldn’t have to suffer through summers huddled under the orphanage’s creaking ceiling with a dozen terrified children as enemy planes shelled the city. He would know where his next meal was coming from, every single day. All he had to do was keep studying.
Not knowing the identity of his benefactor was troubling. Tom wasn’t comfortable feeling obligation or gratitude toward anyone, let alone some faceless donor. Headmaster Dippet claimed he was under an Unbreakable Oath and couldn’t give any further information, but he assured Tom that it was likely that the benefactor would step forward someday; would likely even offer a career opportunity at the end of Tom’s time at Hogwarts. Tom would just have to wait.
Every autumn, Tom returned to Hogwarts feeling even more secure about his place in life. And every autumn, Potter was up there at the professor’s table in the Great Hall, just as obnoxiously cheerful and disinterested in Tom as before.
So Tom made his own study of Potter, and before long, he came to a troubling revelation: He had a great deal of respect for the man. Even worse, he found him… intriguing.
Being a professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potter had a professional obligation to understand that which he set out to defend against, but his interest seemed to go beyond that. He obviously respected the Dark Arts. His voice would take a considerate, almost reverent tone when discussing various curses and their origins and effects and proper counter-curses. Sometimes, when describing the details of various Dark spells, his eyes would flick to Tom. As if taking note of Tom’s reactions. As if looking for something.
And of course, Potter was strikingly handsome. That was far more troubling. He didn’t drive Tom to wistful sighs, or drawing little hearts in the margins of his textbooks like so many of the other Slytherins, but Tom caught himself looking at Potter more and more as the years passed by. It made him reconsider some notions he had once held true about himself.
Maybe Tom was capable of holding somebody in high regard. Perhaps he was even capable of physical attraction.
It was deeply irritating. Tom had work to do—he had so many things to learn before his years at Hogwarts and his access to its extensive library came to an end. Getting caught up in some pointless teenage crush was the last thing he needed. He hated how often Potter’s infuriatingly handsome face popped up in his mind, how when he finally found the Chamber of Secrets, one of his first thoughts was how sweet it would be to rub that knowledge in Potter’s face.
So Tom kept his distance. He watched, and observed, and wondered what a potential Dark magician was doing teaching at Hogwarts.