Chapter 5: Parallelism
"Cursing is much easier than enchanting, even if technically they're one and the same." Riddle explained as I twirled one of the hourglasses we habitually used for our matches in my hands, "the easier method to enchant an object is through..."
"Runes." I guessed, interrupting him before he could show off even more than he already did. I looked around the mostly empty Great Hall, making sure that we weren't been overheard. It was a Saturday, and most students were sleeping in until they could hop to Hogsmeade.
I guess that all the muggle-borns will remain here during the holidays. I grimaced as I remembered, not for the first time, that WWII was in full swing.
Tom Riddle lowered his book about Ancient Runes, in order to take a sip from his tea. Once he put down his cup, he simply stared at me, arching an eyebrow while he nodded, confirming my speculation about Runes.
"Well, I could guess that much on my own." I explained my reasoning: "The first lesson of Charms was about symbolism, and the first one of Transfiguration was all about Ideal-Forms, which is something we refer to through symbols. Enchanting, charming, cursing, call it however you like, it sounds more and more like you're 'imprinting' a combination of Ideas on an object."
"I don't know if your approach is simplistic or if the school made this more complex than it needed to be."
"A bit of both I suppose." and I grinned at the frown on Riddle's face: "You can't think of a single reason why in a world where knowledge is power the government would make sure to set hard limits to what wizards and witches think they're capable of? Besides, the very respectable Purebloods could hardly lord their ancient grimoires upon the less fortunate if everyone could figure them out through trial and error."
"You're saying that 'trial and error' is... what exactly?... outlawed and that we are subtly influenced towards not even trying?"
"You tell me." I shrugged, "I find it curious that something as aleatory as magic is strictly separated into categories. Charms, Transfigurations, Curses, Potions. And what about the fact that there isn't a single class about making up your own magic?" I tilted my head as I curiously studied Tom. He had been... well, not invaluable, but useful. Cramming through years of Transfiguration theory was exhausting, but from time to time I managed to needle Riddle enough to receive a tip that spared me hours of headaches.
Sure, he did it only because he had heard about the true nature of my 'detentions' with Slughorn, and because I let him copy my recipe for 'Dawnbrew', which was the official name for my liquid dawn break. It was an exchange of sorts. I found the whole situation hilarious. I distractedly planned Tom's death, and he would one day end up killing me unless I stopped him first. At the same time, I chose to stay close to him because he was extra-useful for my studies, and he was doing the same.
The parallelism was hard to ignore.
"Advanced Arithmancy can be used to predict the effect of..."
"Yeah, but Arithmancy comes with a bucketload of rules, doesn't it? Math is useful if you're building something that needs to follow a set of rules, namely Physics." I interrupted him once my attention was returned to the conversation.
Riddle grimaced at the mention of muggles, and a sly smile fell upon my features: "What, don't like muggles?"
Before he could answer, a fluttering of wings announced the arrival of owls carrying mail. The surprise was great when one landed near us at the Slytherin table, its orange eyes fixed on me.
With a frown, I freed its leg from the letter he was carrying, and I briefly read the shaggy script on the outside. Who the hell would write to me?
"Are you going to Hogsmeade today?" I asked Tom, who was busy appearing uninterested by burying his nose into his book.
"I'd better get going before the crowd swarms the village." he answered while he rose from his seated position, a slight frown on his face. He was obviously conflicted between roaming a magical village on his own and pocking his nose into my affairs, maybe looking for some leverage to use against me.
It was the 26th of October 1940, we were nearing my first All Hallows' Eve in Hogwarts. I spent almost two months at Hogwarts, occasionally chatting with Tom Riddle, and I would soon enough attempt to bring Minerva McGonagall into the fold, all the while enjoying my 'detentions' with Slughorn. To be blunt, I generally lived fucking around with magic.
While I accompanied Tom to the Hogwart's entrance that led towards the village, I was holding the letter in my hand with trembling fingers, and a feeling like bile rising up from my stomach.
After I watching Tom trickle along with other students to Hogsmeade, likely to spend what they could in preparation of All Hallows' Eve, which would fall on Wednesday during the next week, I returned into the castle, not bothering hiding my heavy frown.
I had been thinking about magic, not really focusing on my preventive mission of killing Tom, deciding that it would be much easier to simply break his neck in the summer and toss him somewhere during the bombing of London. And to my great dismay, I had somewhat forgotten that shit was going around beyond the stone walls of Hogwarts.
In particular, I had completely forgotten that Hagrid had a father.
I walked briskly across the mostly empty halls of the school, ignoring the words written on the parchment. It's not my fault I've taken Hagrid's place.
But even while I was thinking that, and I actually believed it, it was undeniable that the small wizard that had guided me through Diagon Alley not only believed me to be his son, but he had already, effective since my decision to actually grasp this second chance at life with all of me, lost Hagrid completely. I had no idea about the experiences that the original me had shared with his family, no measure of love for the minute wizard.
And I didn't want to. I didn't want to feel any sort of twisted obligation towards someone that I effectively didn't know. I didn't want to be... Rubeus Hagrid. Not as he was. There is nothing wrong with being a kind, if dumb, soul. What I knew of the character was hilarious for the most part, but... I wanted to be me.
And I could hardly do that by pretending to be Rubeus. Or, better yet, I could, but I felt like shit already because of the effective death of original me's personality, which effectively had robbed Hagrid Senior of his son, the idea of stringing the absent-minded wizard along was... necessary?
I gritted my teeth in distaste as I finally reached the 7th floor of the castle and started looking around, the unread letter still clutched in my hand. I needed a drink. I needed a drink Badly.
It was almost ironic stumbling upon the Room of Requirement in my mental state, but if there was something that I knew for sure, was that Fate didn't lack in irony.
The Room of Requirement appeared to me like a long stone hall, with cauldrons lined up on one wall, countless books on wooden shelves, and an impressive sequence of cruets and ampoules.
Might as well learn how to brew my alcohol, I'm sure as hell going to need it. I thought with a shuddering breath as I dropped 'my father's letter on the nearest bench, letting once more the wonder for magic take me over so that I could ignore the very real problem that wasn't going to disappear with a wave of my wand.
I could even loot the room of hidden things before Tom uses it to hide... My mind spluttered and my thought died down before I could open the first book about brewing alcoholic beverages.
"He hasn't recovered the diadem yet." I spoke out loud, my eyes staring unseeingly into the Room.
I have a concrete objective now. I nodded to myself. That Tom would end up a Dark Lord was impossible, since I was going to kill him in this or the following summer at the lastest. But in any case, a priceless artefact that nobody knew anything about was somewhere in a forest in Albania, ready for the taking. Nobody would hunt me if I succeded, and whatever enchantment it held, it should make any and all my efforts in learning magic much easier.
Minerva McGonagall was a proud Gryffindor witch. Singularly talented in the field of Transfiguration, and extremely capable in all of her subjects at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she was curious and had a temper that matched her Scottish roots. She forced herself to suppress her instinctive Gaelic insults when her temper rose, and carefully chose her words in order to not let out her Scottish blur when she spoke.
Minerva McGonagall was a no-nonsense person, and thusly she tended to ignore both the rumour mill and any other insult that did not reach her ears directly. Sure, when she was provoked, she didn't hesitate to make her stand clear, either by trading insults with her dimwitted opponents or by her wand.
Yet, she remembered how the school had talked about her in her first year, and she had been righteously proud of that. Then, in her second year she heard the same talks about another 'prodigy', this time a first-year Slytherin. And with that turn of the rumour mill, she stopped paying attention to whispers about 'supremely talented' students, realizing that there was one in every year.
At the end of the first week, after she had managed to settle into a tentative rhythm now that she had to follow the directions of the new Quidditch Captain, and only after she had prepared a study plan in order to be ready for the O.W.L.s the following year, she had allowed herself to read the first topic that caught her interest in the Library. From time to time, she found relaxing to sit in the quiet of the Library, enjoying her research and the almost 'holy' ambience of the vast hall. The smell of books, the creaking of parchment, the heavy presence of the wooden shelves.
When her solitude was broken by a pesky first-year, and Slytherin at that, she had no intention whatsoever to let him associate with her. Then, while he showcased a skill that most certainly didn't belong with someone of his age bracket, she remembered that the rumour mill of the school was already aflame with mentions of yet another prodigy.
Minerva McGonagall was easily the most talented witch of her year. But she didn't let that little tidbit of information go to her head, there were many others just as talented, if not more, than her. In fact, she had in insight realized that there was a 'best student' of the year every year. And that had killed much of the hype in her eyes.
Still, that didn't mean that she was letting an eleven-year-old child hang around her coattails just because she had once been in his shoes. He had looked her up specifically for her skill with transfiguration, it was obvious with his blatant praise of her skill, but she didn't have time to waste. She had reached the top on her own, if the unnaturally tall kid wanted the same, he could use his own two legs to walk that path.
So, she casually distracted him from his silly Slytherin scam by promising what he wanted in exchange for him to not slow her down. Which, considering the years she had on him, was an obstacle impossible to pass.
"This is a waste of time." the exasperated hiss came from just beyond the row of shelves, only to be dismissed by a nonchalant snort.
Minerva blinked, trying to figure out where she had already heard that particular voice, which seemed to have lost its usually smooth veneer in order to turn scathing.
"It's not. Besides, if I didn't drag you around in order to experiment a bit, you'll never make any friends." the quiet tenor of the eleven-year-old Slytherin that Minerva had sent chasing the end of the rainbow in order to be left alone sounded across the shelves.
"I don't need friends!"
Minerva's lips turned down when she understood that the voices were sounding closer and closer to her usual spot in the library, and her brow furrowed since she hadn't actually considered what would happen if the talented first-year actually took her up on her challenge and barreled through the theory of the first 4 years of Transfiguration.
"Nobody is born to be alone." the reprimand came in a rumbling tone that did nothing to hide the amusement that Minerva knew was shining into Hagrid's eyes, which were likely to shine even brighter when the other Slytherin muttered some uncomplimentary words under his breath.
Preposterous. Since their first meeting at the end of the first week, in which she had admittedly been fascinated by the cerebral application of transfiguration, Rubeus Hagrid hadn't bothered her even once. She had hoped that using his own pride against him would be enough to be left alone. Never she had actually considered the possibility that a first-year could catch up with her, never mind in... less than three months?
"Spare me your bottom-of-the-bottle wisdom, Hagrid."
"I'll have you know that at the bottom of my bottles there is much more than conventional wisdom, thank you very much." the lower voice turned almost taunting then, "I'm still envious of your surname by the way. 'Riddle' sounds much more wizardry than 'Hag-Rid'. What the hell is my surname supposed to mean? Does it indicate some sort of occupation of a clan long lost? Did my forefathers hunt hags as a sport? It's demeaning."
"Well, hello Minerva!" a not so hushed whisper made the witch raise her head with exasperation already written on her face.
Her lips thinned into a single line when she spotted the owner of the voice, and if possible, they thinned, even more, when her eyes landed on the other wizard that accompanied the unusually large first-year Slytherin. Oh no, now there are actually two of them.
A tall stack of books was casually dropped on one side of the table, not making a sound. Minerva's eye cached the flash of a white wand being holstered once more by the hands of a well known third year, who was rolling his eyes at Hagrid's carelessness: "Try to not get us thrown out of the Library by mistreating the tomes."
The reprimand was grossly ignored. "Well, allow me to introduce you two!" the not-so-hushed whisper came with a beaming smile from Hagrid: "Tom Riddle, this is..."
"Miss McGonagall," Riddle cut off his companion with a stiff nod, "I'm aware."
"You know each other?" Hagrid's question caused Minerva to huff in irritation.
Of course, they knew each other. Or at least, of course, she knew of Tom Riddle. The only third-year allowed into the Slug-Club, where he conducted himself with a brilliance that left people looking for an important ancestry. Not that she enjoyed the Slug-Club whatsoever, she tried to avoid it anytime she could, brow-nosing and boot-licking obviously wasn't for her.
But she couldn't always say no. Lest she offended Professor Slughorn, and not stepping on the toes of her elders was only reasonable.
The third-year capable of O.W.L. level magic was known. That the younger years looked up to him was known. Even that his features had caused more than a few crushes here and there.
"Oh! I guess that Slughorn couldn't leave talented people alone." Hagrid initially confused rumble turned in a snort, while Minerva pursed her lips again, turning them into something almost invisible.
"Professor Slughorn." she corrected him.
"That's what I just said." the far too large first-year blatantly lied as he sat down at her table, slowly followed by his companion.
"I apologize for his rudeness." Riddle inclined his head towards the Gryffindor witch in an empty gesture of platitude.
At least one of the two has the good grace to attempt to be courteous. Minerva thought sardonically.
"Bah, we've got no time to waste on formalities." Hagrid's large hand waved irritatedly in the air: "Sorry if it took so long to get to 4th year Transfiguration, but we got sidetracked with enchanting."
"You got sidetracked with everything your eyes landed upon, I swear you're a Ravenclaw." Riddle sniped at the first-year, who shrugged unrepentantly.
"You had some catching up to do too"
"I most certainly did not."
"We both know that you wouldn't be near me if you didn't find my approach to magic interesting." Hagrid snorted dismissively, returning his attention to the Gryffindor witch.
During that exchange, Minerva's eyes landed on the stack of books, and her eyebrows rose into her forehead: "Animagus? You want to become an Animagus?"
"I want to research how it's done." Hagrid shook his head while Riddle's lips curled in distaste: "I have no interest in becoming an animal."
"And it's largely useless unless you have a form that makes you capable of blending in, like a tabby cat." Hagrid nodded his assent, "And distinctive signs carry over with the transformation, so whatever animal I'd end up being would be too large to be natural."
"Can we get on with it without having to listen to your rambling?" Riddle redirected the conversation before Minerva had a chance to protest. Becoming an Animagus is extremely difficult, and the magic is fascinating! How dare they dismiss it so easily?
"Does this tome come from the Restricted Section?" Minerva asked while she flipped open a leather-bound tome titled The Shape Within. She had never found it in her previous casual attempt to learn something about the Animagus Magic.
"Sluggy does so love a driven student."
"Professor Slughorn." Riddle corrected the far too tall student with a tired sigh, letting Minerva free to have her eager eyes roam over the pages.
"An Animagus can turn into a single animal form without a wand or other instruments, retaining his wits despite the obvious inability of the animal to house a human brain. My first question is this: where do the wizard's clothes go when he's an animal?" Hagrid's voice made Minerva's head tilt towards the two wizards that had boldly invaded her private space.
"That's why you want to study this? You want... what exactly? A personal pocket only you can reach?" Riddle's expression went from one politely hiding irritation to pure eagerness. His head snapping towards the stack of books like they held the key to everything he had ever wanted.
"I knew that you'd be interested. Minerva is a genius at Transfiguration and does well all across the board, you're... well, you, and my approach to magic is almost always new. This friendship will bring us far."
Minerva's eyes snapped up at the mention of friendship while Riddle was suddenly busy skimming the books, his eyes moving quickly from one line to another.
"Does your presence here imply that you have covered four years of Transfiguration theory in less than three months?" she asked, suddenly remembering the condition she had placed in order to free herself from being pestered by the first-year Slytherin.
"Understanding the theory and doing are two different things. My mind grasps concepts faster than most, and Tom's brilliance can hardly be denied. He pointed me in the right direction the few times I've stumbled. But in my defence, studying only theory makes it challenging to understand everything without having confirmation from my spells."
"He makes the most beautiful daggers out of needles." Riddle, no, Tom commented as he turned a page, his eyes never stopping from seeking anything worthy of note.
Minerva's eyes widened despite her attempt to appear unfazed. She studied alone. She always did. From time to time she joined other people from her House to write essays, but that was it. Most Gryffindors could hardly be bothered with research in the library for the sake of research. And while she had a few acquaintances in Ravenclaw, she found their constant dedication to study... dull. They followed the curriculum almost obsessively, and while that allowed them a leg up in class, it hardly made sense in Minerva's eyes. They were going to learn the curriculum from a professor, why spend your free time on something that you'll get to learn anyway eventually?
And now that she was a fourth-year, her role as the best chaser on the Gryffindor team undisputed, her place at the top of her year unquestioned, only now she met people to share her passion for research with?
AN
I am CloudNineStories on ff.net and AO3, check them for updated stories, I've only begun crossposting here, and it takes ages. Also, for some reason Webnovel doesn't support bold or 'cursive' settings, so you might get occasionally lost when I use one or the other to express extremely loud sounds or inner thoughts respectively. Sry, but I can do nothing about it.
About the MC:
There is only so much original shit I can pull off when there isn't a mad fucker roaming the School. So most of the conflict going on at this level will be about... ugh, I can't believe this, 'feelings'.
No matter how determined you are, after a life spent as a muggle you'll get swindled by magic too, so no, Hagrid hasn't figured out a plan to kill Tom yet. But Voldy is just 13 years old here, what could go wrong by waiting a while still?
It's hard to properly convey how the MC actually feels: he's happy for this chance at a life of magic, but he knows that he basically killed the real Hagrid. For all intents and purposes, Hagrid's dad has lost a son, and being somewhat 'looney' (that's the only reason I can find for someone to have sex with a giant), he has not noticed in their month of convivence.
In his shoes, you'd be more than willing to simply distance yourself from a family member that you don't know as such. But that doesn't mean that you don't feel bad for such a family member.
Anyway: first concrete objective= finding the diadem.
About McGonagall:
From canon, it is said that she was a hat-stall, like Hermione, the hat was torn between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.
Unlike Hermione, Minerva had no dark lord obsessively trying to kill her best friend. And without adventures attempting to kill her, she's actually relaxed enough to let her brilliant mind wander freely in the library. Bravely dismissing the curriculum and following whatever interesting snippet of magic she finds.
About Tom:
He wants magic. All the magic, all the power. On that, we can all agree.
So yes, he tends to stick close to Hagrid. Obviously, Tom also wants to use Hagrid for his own purposes, which as we've already stated, for now are about ruling Slytherin, not unleashing a 30 meters long deadly snake in the halls.
There is only so much a 13 years old psycho can do in order to hide exasperation, and our MC is somewhat enjoying pushing all of his buttons. So, with the promise of magic, he forces Tom in situations in which he's uncomfortable.
So Tom grits his teeth and bears the weight of the MC's quirky behaviour.
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