Chapter 9 - Poinsettia and Lili

Written by Nemesis

The Slytherins were all late to breakfast the next day. They arrived tousle-haired and whispering, rosy and bright-eyed as though they had not slept a wink but did not care at all. Indeed, none of them had slept. They had stayed up all night, searching the common room for the culprit and puzzling over what the message meant. Tom had observed this but had not taken part, not because he did not have ideas but because he was too stunned to speak his mind. "What happened to you lot?" a Ravenclaw boy asked. The Slytherins exchanged glances, laughed nervously, and sat down. None of them wanted to explain the situation to the Ravenclaws.

Tom sighed inwardly. They had drawn straws, and somehow he had got stuck with the job of telling the Headmaster everything. To make matters worse, Professor Dippet was talking to Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore would hear everything from Tom instead of from Dippet later. Tom had no idea why this made his legs feel like jelly, but it did. Once all the others were seated, Tom took a deep breath, gritted is teeth, and walked up to the staff table.

"…really quite an amusing situation," Dippet was saying cheerfully to Dumbledore. "So then I told him--"

"Headmaster Dippet?" Tom piped up, his face rather pink. He truly hated to talk to Dippet in front of Professor Dumbledore.

"Yes, Mr. Riddle?"

Tom's face went even pinker. In a rush, he described the events, staring at the floor so he could not see all the eyes that were resting on him, particularly a set of blue ones. There was complete silence at the staff table, and Tom forced himself to look up. Professor Dippet was looking quite nonplussed, as were most of the teachers. Professor Dumbledore, however, looked shocked and furious. There was no trace of a sparkle in his eyes now, and he was gazing at Tom in disbelief.

"Why didn't you come to a teacher right after it happened?" Dumbledore asked finally, fixing the younger wizard in a penetrating stare. His voice was soft, and Tom thought it would have been better if he had shouted it.

"I--" Tom quailed under Dumbledore's stare. "It wasn't my fault!" he whispered. "It really wasn't--I didn't know it was anything important, really, I would have come straight away if I'd known it was something critical!" Tom could tell that he looked as guilty as sin, chewing his lower lip and staring back at Professor Dumbledore, clearly terrified. There was something about the way Dumbledore was looking at him that made him want to shrivel up and die. Tom never cried, but right now he felt very near tears.

Dumbledore seemed to be pondering this. "I see. Do you have any idea who sent up the message?" he demanded. Perhaps it was paranoia, but Tom was sure his teacher was accusing him.

"No--please, I didn't have anything to do with it! I swear I would never do that!" As though observing from one of the nearby tables, Tom could see himself, visibly shuddering and quite near hysterics. He told himself to snap out of it, but he could not. "I would never do anything of the sort, Professor, I promise I wouldn't! It wasn't me! Please believe me!"

Some of the anger left Dumbledore's eyes, replaced immediately by concern. "I wasn't suggesting that you did it, Tom," he said hurriedly, seeing the look on Tom's face. He had gone from flushed to extremely pale, and his eyes were like blue-green tea saucers. Dippet chose this time to cut in.

"Er--thank you, Mr. Riddle, we'll send some people to your common room to find the cause of the trouble," the Headmaster said. "Get back to breakfast, now."

Instead of going to breakfast, Tom made for the entrance hall. He sank to a seat on the marble staircase and slapped himself hard, still breathing very fast. His face felt wet, and it took him a few seconds to realize he had tears coursing down his cheeks. Tom hurriedly wiped off his face with a handkerchief, but it did not do much good, for the old tears were replaced by new ones.

"Look at you," cackled a nasty little voice in his brain. "You're acting like a little girl. Better not let Francis or Philip see you like this, they'll die laughing."

After a minute or two, the double doors of the Great Hall flew open, and Professor Dumbledore stepped over the threshold. Tom did not notice; he had given up on restraint and was sobbing whole-heartedly into his hands. Dumbledore spotted him and walked over. Tom only looked up when the teacher sat next to him, and when he did, he noticed that Dumbledore did not seem remotely angry with him now.

"Tom, I'd like to apologize. I realize I probably made it seem like I was mad at you."

"You were," Tom snapped, rather more coldly than he would have liked.

"I was not. The news you brought--it was startling, and not at all good. That was what upset me, not you. Perhaps I asked my questions too sharply?" Tom nodded, and Professor Dumbledore gave a small smile. "For that, I am sorry. As long as you understand that I did not accuse you of anything, I'll leave you alone now." Dumbledore got to his feet and started to leave.

"Professor?" Dumbledore paused. "That message--what does it mean, exactly?"

Professor Dumbledore stared at Tom for a moment. "I won't say it doesn't pertain to you," he said slowly, "but if I were you, I'd let the adults worry about it."

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Later on in the week, Zuhayr's older sister (a Hufflepuff, and this year's Head Girl) Akiva Sahabjira took down the names of the people who wanted to stay at Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays. Tom made sure to get his name onto the list, but he was one of the few who did. Only two other Slytherins put down their names; Annie Lewis and her elder brother, Matthew, a sixth-year prefect. Tom strongly suspected the siblings had done this so that he would not be lonely.

He had signed up to stay at Hogwarts for two reasons. The main reason was obvious. Nobody in his or her right mind would voluntarily spend time back at the Whitechapel Home for Orphans, particularly not Tom. His Christmases there had always been horrible. The best one by far had been when he was nine. Hannah had scraped up enough money to buy him a box of his first-ever chocolates, and Mr. Carney had been ill with the flu. Tom's worst day at Hogwarts would be twelve times more enjoyable than his best back in Whitechapel.

The other reason Tom was staying at Hogwarts was that he had some things he needed to study other than schoolwork, and he was sure he could not find the correct books in a Muggle library. From the tone of Dumbledore's voice, he could tell that the message in the common room had meant something very important, and Tom was dying to know what. In his free-time, Tom could usually be found in the library with an enormous pile of books in front of him, flipping through the index and searching for the words "circle" and "games." None of the books had the right answer, and what Tom needed was some time to search the whole library, away from the worries of homework and classes.

It seemed to Tom that the only hitch in the plan was that Dumbledore was staying at the castle as well. Tom had grown prickly toward the Transfiguration teacher since the episode back on the thirteenth, and though he continued to act perfectly normally around Professor Dumbledore, Tom's feelings were usually bitter. Tom had not cried since he was three years old, and that was when he had had his first-ever beating.

The thing that infuriated Tom was that Dumbledore had managed to bring him to tears just by looking at him. In nine years, he had trained himself never to cry, and all that had collapsed--just because Professor Dumbledore had looked angry. There had been something in his eyes, something that made Tom want to stay on Dumbledore's good side if he liked the way his face was shaped. Though Tom did not know it, during Dumbledore's brief career as an Auror, that very glare had brought many fully-grown, hardened Dark wizards to their knees. Nonetheless, the truth stood that Tom had been terrified into hysterics, just because Dumbledore had looked at him. It made him feel like a weakling, which enraged him.

Indeed, it appeared to be a problem. After vacation began, Tom started spending all of his time in the library--and so did Dumbledore. He seemed to be trying to keep an eye on him, as though making sure Tom did not do exactly what he was doing. On the twenty-second of December, Dumbledore abandoned all pretense and walked right up to him. Tom was sitting at one of the tables in a squashy armchair, flipping through book after book but finding nothing.

"Tom?"

"What?" Tom looked up sharply, and his face drained of color when he saw who was talking to him. "P-P-Professor! I--erm, I was just--uh--researching…"

"The meaning of the message?" Dumbledore finished for him, eyes twinkling. "However pleased I am that you are taking interest in something besides schoolwork, I would prefer you not to research this particular subject. Is that understood?"

"I wouldn't have to research it if you told me," Tom said slyly. Dumbledore's mustache twitched.

"Quite shrewd, aren't you? Nice try, Tom." Tom narrowed his eyes. "You should be in your common room, Mr. Riddle. I bid you good day." Reluctantly, Tom got to his feet and started for the door.

"Accio!" Dumbledore said. Tom felt the book he had been smuggling out fly out of his bookbag. "This wouldn't have helped you, anyway," his professor smiled, holding up the history book. "I think we'll make it ten points from Slytherin," he added sternly. "And don't try it again."

Fuming, Tom stormed out of the library. When he got to the Slytherin common room, he saw Annie and Matthew playing wizard chess at a nearby table. "Checkmate!" Matthew cried triumphantly.

Annie gave him a withering look. "Some accomplishment," she said, "beating someone five years younger." Matthew laughed, and Annie spotted Tom lingering near the portrait hole. "Hi, Tom," she called. "Did you find out what that message meant yet?"

"Dumbledore stopped me," Tom replied with a groan. "In any case, I'm starting to think that maybe the--er, open section of the library does not have the answer."

"What d'you--"

"Think about it, Matthew. That message was obviously some form of Dark magic." Tom noticed that the siblings shuddered slightly at the thought. "They don't have any books on Dark magic in the library except for the Restricted Section. I think that's where I have to go."

Annie looked panicked. "Oh, Tom, don't, you'll get yourself into trouble," she said. "Mr. Lamont would probably have a fit if he caught anyone in the Restricted Section." Mr. Lamont was the librarian, and a very ill-tempered one, at that.

"I know. I'll have to figure out a way to get in there legitimately. If all else fails, I can always sneak in there at night."

Annie started to protest again, but her brother stopped her. "Let's go for a fly," Matthew said. "It's okay for students to borrow school broomsticks and ride around the grounds."

"You boys go ahead," Annie said irritably. "I'm staying right here." The boys nodded and pulled on their cloaks over their robes.

As they left the common room, Matthew beamed at Tom. "Good thing she's not coming," he said. "She can't fly worth beans. We'd be spending half the time rescuing her." They headed down to the entrance hall, which looked terribly large without its usual mass of students. The air outside was colder than anything Tom had ere experienced, and he was very thankful for his cloak.

After trudging across the snowy grounds to the broomshed, Matthew seized a Comet Twenty, and Tom selected a Nimbus One Hundred. It took them a good two minutes to realize they were not alone in the shed. "Hello," a voice said. Tom whirled around to see Lili Po standing in the corner, a broomstick over her shoulder.

"Hi," Tom greeted. "Lili, right?"

"Yes. And you're Tom Riddle." Lili grinned. She had satiny black hair that fell down to her waist, and very dark brown eyes. If Tom had had any interest in girls, he would have thought her extremely pretty. "We have Herbology together, remember?"

Tom nodded. "Matthew and I were just about to go for a fly around the school, so I'll see you around."

"Actually, I was about to do the same thing. Maybe we could go as a group."

"Okay," Tom replied immediately. "Let's go." The three of them headed out onto the snowy grounds once more.

"Tom," Matthew said in an undertone, "she's a Ravenclaw. Slytherins and Ravenclaws don't hang around together. They're all mean to us."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Not all of them are bad, Matthew, honestly. Lili's one of the nice ones." He turned around and helped Lili up; she had tripped on the hem of her too-large purple cloak.

When they reached a nice hard patch of ground, all three hopped onto their broomsticks and kicked off from the ground. Tom was immediately overtaken by the sense of euphoria, and he did a couple of loop-the-loops before jetting after the other two. Lili was watching, apparently impressed. "So it wasn't beginner's luck, after all," she called.

"What do you mean?"

Lili blushed. "Well, I have Transfiguration on Thursdays at nine o'clock. The Transfiguration classroom looks out over the lake, and one day I happened to look out the window, and I saw you flying. You were really good."

"Really? Thanks."

"Anyway, it seems you haven't lost your touch." Lili was not all that bad herself, Tom thought. She managed hairpin turns like they were nothing, and her balance was flawless.

The threesome did a few laps around the castle, then flew over the Forbidden Forest. Tom and Lili were chatting all the while, and Tom could tell that Matthew felt left-out. After a while, Matthew told them he was going to go back to the common room, and Tom felt a pang of guilt. He truly had not meant to exclude the other boy, but Lili was undeniably a more interesting companion.

"Fancy a game of catch, Tom?" Lili asked a few minutes after Matthew had gone. She pulled a small orange out of her cloak pocket and tossed it to him. He dove a few feet and caught it superbly, quickly hurling it back in her direction. This game lasted about an hour, until Tom caught the orange and tapped it with his wand. When he sent it in Lili's direction, it peeled itself by magic and fell apart into sections in her hands.

Without really knowing where the time had gone, Tom spent the rest of the day having a snowball fight, which was even more fun on broomsticks because there was the possibility of bombarding one's enemy with snow bombs from one hundred feet above. Before either of them knew it, dusk was falling.

"Oh dear… we should be getting in to supper now, shouldn't we?" Lili said, her face rosy.

Tom nodded. "They had better be serving something hot," he replied, landing on the snow-covered lawn. "I don't know why I didn't notice it, but I'm freezing." They returned their brooms to the broomshed, still talking animatedly, and by the time they got to the entrance hall, both were doubled up with laughter over one of Lili's jokes. They entered the Great Hall, still chortling, and the other students turned to stare at them. Besides the Lewises, Tom, and Lili, only three people were left; Lucy Chubb, Philip Cedric, and Rankin Prewitt, a burly fourth-year Hufflepuff. Because of the small number of students, the House tables had been abandoned and all of the students and teachers sat at the staff table, which had been enlarged to accommodate.

"So you finally got hungry after all," Professor Dippet said, staring at the two flushed, happy newcomers. "Have some of the pot roast, Mr. Riddle, it's utterly divine."

Tom accepted the pot roast, though it did not mean much. He was still conversing with Lili, and he barely noticed what he was eating. He also did not notice that Matthew looked slightly hurt, that Philip was whispering excitedly to Rankin, or that Lucy and Annie were both glaring at Lili with looks of utmost loathing on their faces.

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

On Christmas morning, Tom woke up to find that the dormitory had been decorated. There was holly bound to the posts of the four-posters, and a ribbon of gold ran along the ceiling. After about ten seconds, Annie and Matthew burst in. Both of them were wearing brand-new dress robes, and Annie had a red and green ribbon in her blood-red hair. "Hi, Tom!" the Lewises chorused. "Merry Christmas."

"You too," Tom said groggily. He stepped into his slippers and got up, but at that moment, he noticed a moderately sized pile of presents next to his trunk. "Uh… what're those?"

"Presents, silly," Matthew laughed. "All the Slytherins bought you stuff. Well, almost all of them." His blue eyes flicked over to Francis and Richard's empty beds.

Tom immediately panicked. He had not bought anything for anyone besides all of the first-year Slytherins and Lili. He had even gone so far as to send Francis and Richard presents… though, Tom thought mischievously, extra-grumpy copies of The Monster Book of Monsters could not exactly be considered gifts. "Oh dear," he sighed. "Matthew, I'm sorry, I didn't know I ought to get you anything. I'm really bad at Christmas."

Matthew shrugged. "Annie agreed to split that box of Chocolate Frogs you gave her with me," he said. "That'll do."

"Well, what're you waiting for?" Annie said, flopping down onto Adrian's bed. "Let's see what you got. Open the one from Matt and me first."

Tom rummaged through the pile and extracted a parcel labeled, "To Tom, from the Lewises." Inside was a small, black crystal spinning top filled with pearly white liquid. Annie explained that it was a Sneakoscope, and that it whistled and lit up when it detected treachery. Tom deliberately thought of the prank he had pulled on Richard and Francis, and the little spinning top suddenly began to spin very quickly. The pearly liquid glowed and screeched shrilly.

"It works," Tom grinned. "Thanks a lot."

The next package was from Larkin. She had sent him a bag of Gobstones. Zuhayr's contained a set of chessmen, and Adrian sent a box of moving, miniature model dragons. After a while, Tom spotted one that was wrapped in plain brown paper, and was addressed (incorrectly) in pencil as opposed to ink. Upon closer examination, he realized it was from the orphanage. He withdrew his usual grey sweater and a note from the new housekeeper telling him to behave himself at Smeltings. He supposed that Smeltings was the boarding school Hannah had told Mr. Carney that Tom attended.

"Is that from the Muggles?" Matthew asked, examining the sweater. "Why didn't they get you anything interesting?"

Tom shrugged and turned to the last two packages. One was from Lili, he could tell from the small, loopy penmanship. The other was not addressed at all. The present from Lili consisted of a book about the various types of ghosts and their characteristics. Tom gave a small smile, remembering how he had told her how fond he was of ghosts. It might have been Tom's imagination, but Annie's face fell slightly when she saw that Lili had bestowed him a gift.

Finally, he got to the unmarked parcel. It was wrapped in very dark brown paper, and Tom wondered if it was some sort of dangerous "present" from Francis. No, that did not fit. Anything from his rival would have been labeled "To the Mudblood" or "To Hamlet." This was not labeled at all.

"What's that?" Annie asked curiously, as Tom lifted it onto his bed and sat down beside it, staring at it.

"I'm not sure… Only one way to find out." He took hold of the edge of the paper and ripped it off. A black, leather-bound book fell onto the counterpane, accompanied by a poinsettia flower and a small note. He picked up the note first, and read aloud.

Tom Marvolo Riddle:
Messages are hard to interpret, aren't they? This could be the answer to your question… The answer to most of your questions, as a matter of fact. Oh, and this book and this note will evaporate if you try to tell a teacher, so I would not try it if I were you.

The note was not signed. Tom looked down at the book again, and nearly fainted when he read the title. An Amateur's Guide to the Dark Arts. "Oh my God," he said softly.

"What is it?" the Lewises asked in unison, too far off to see the words on the book's cover. Tom held up the book, and both of them gasped in shock. Tom's first impulse was to run and seek the help of the first teacher he came to, be it Professors Chapman, Dippet, or (God forbid) Dumbledore. Another glance at the note drove this from his mind promptly. He would look like an idiot or be accused of lying if he told them without evidence.

Tom crumpled the note and hurled it and the book into the fire, but they came right back out, smoking slightly but unburned. The original note had vanished, replaced by another one.

Nice try, Riddle.
You won't get rid of it that easily. I'm telling you, this book has the answer you have been searching for, the answer you have been craving ever since the thirteenth of December. We are giving you the interpretation. All you need to do is read it. Read it.

Tom was feeling distinctly ill now. He decided that he would take disbelief from the teachers over reading a book about the Dark Arts any day. Without explaining to Annie or Matthew, Tom tucked the book under his arm, clenched the note in his fist, and dashed away toward the Great Hall.

He burst through the double doors, and the book still had not gone. So far, so good. The only person at the staff table yet was Dumbledore, but for once Tom did not care. "Professor!" he cried desperately. Dumbledore looked up from his hash browns and fixed Tom in that penetrating stare he knew too well. "Professor, I just received this note and this book in a parcel!" He placed the book and note before his teacher.

To his shock, Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, yes… I see you are interested in Herbology?" Tom stared at Professor Dumbledore, wondering if he had gone mad. The book was clearly not an Herbology book. "And the note is from your friend Larkin, telling you to have a nice holiday. Why are you so worked up over this, Mr. Riddle?"

"No, Professor, it's a Dark Arts book! See the cover?" Dumbledore looked down, but all he could see was a blue-covered book about advanced Herbology and a short message in Larkin Mallory's sloppy handwriting. It was Professor Dumbledore's turn to look at Tom as though he had gone mad. Tom told Dumbledore everything, including how the note had warned him that this would happen if he told, and the rather sympathetic half-smile left Dumbledore's face as quickly as it had come. Grimly, Dumbledore took out his wand and held it to the two articles.

"Reveal yourselves," he commanded. The blue book turned black, and the crisp parchment note went all wrinkly. He flipped through the book and read the note, and what was left of the twinkle vanished from his eyes. He swore softly and looked up at Tom, still in his dark blue dressing gown and looking very apprehensive. "Tom, I… where did you… who…" Dumbledore could not seem to find the right words. "Tom, listen to me. This is very important. If you ever get another anonymous parcel, bring it straight to me. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Professor Dumbledore, still staring at the articles, swept out, leaving Tom alone in the Great Hall.

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