Vera
If it was one thing that being an orphan had taught Tom, it was that nothing was forever. Possessions, people and emotions were all fleeting phenomena that came and went with alarming frequency. Any rational mind would infer that the best one could do was enjoy the moment and resign themselves to the idea of the world as a temporary and fickle place.
Tom was not above admitting that he was not entirely rational. He'd taken an entirely fictitious name to consolidate a growing cabal of loving followers and fully intended to have the world at his feet by the time he was forty. There were various flow charts, rubrics and blue prints that laid out the exact progression of this plan with excruciating attention to detail.
He could hardly wait for the last year of school to end so he could set tumbling into action all the many dominos he'd spent the last seven years lining up in perfect precision.
And what of after forty? Could he simply allow his own life to be another transient mark on the world? Even if he accomplished all he planned, cleansing the wizarding world and ascending to his rightful place as ruler, mere years would eventually be his undoing, rendering him hopelessly senile and eventually killing him.
That was why he was out far after curfew, experimenting with the youth potion he'd discovered in one of his many illegally smuggled books. Theoretically he could have mixed it in his own private room with no one the wiser, but he was admittedly not aces with potions and the last thing he needed was the blasted thing exploding and raising all sorts of interesting questions.
So instead here he was adding the last ingredients with a few of his own improvisations which should not only compound the outside physical characteristics, but be tweaked enough to make the organs and brain younger, faster and better as well. Just as he added the last pinch of rosemary and watched the cauldron turn a satisfying purple, he heard footsteps in the hall. Cursing his ill luck, he rapidly decanted the potion into five waiting vials and scrambled for the closet door, managing to close it only as two men entered.
"You need to get some sleep." The light giddy tones of that nitwit Potions Professor filled Tom with irritation. Sometimes he was sure she couldn't be as stupid as she pretended to be, others he became convinced that she was.
"I do not have time to sleep, Vista though I thank you for your concern."
"Well, at least have some of this nice relaxation potion I brewed just this morning."
Dumbledore. Tom gritted his teeth and counted backwards from one hundred beating down the flush of rage and challenge that always rose to the fore when the Transfiguration teacher appeared on the scene. His only worthy adversary in this whole miserable school and he was too busy fighting some distant enemy to pay him the slightest bit of attention.
There was a sound of clinking glass and slightly lower mutterings from both teachers. While they gossiped, Tom searched his pocket for the mouse he had found in his room earlier in the morning. He'd already keyed it for experimentation, ensuring that anything in consumed would cycle through the full effects in a matter of hours rather then days or years. It was a neat trick that unfortunately didn't work on humans. Which Evegline Gritta had found out for him when he'd tested it on her three weeks ago. Loyal servants were so useful.
His fingers closed around one of the vials and he carefully dosed the stupid thing as his teachers prattled, oblivious to the illicit experimenting going on only meters away. The mouse fell into a deep sleep almost immediately. Satisfied, Tom returned the vial to his pocket, securely tucking it away with the other three. Three.
"Here it is! Now drink that all down, Albus..."
Cursed, rotten luck. Bugger all. Had anyone ever been given worse luck just when they were on the verge of success? If his experiments came to light they could easily tie him into all the other odd incidents that had been going on in the school for years and there could be some very real and bothersome consequences. Not that they could link him to the youth potion, but it would start up a serious investigation that could unearth some things best laid safely buried.
As soon as the teachers had gone again, Tom burst out of the closet and back to his room, though not before rechecking his work surface for any incriminating evidence. He did rapid calculations in his head. The mouse had fallen asleep instantly, but Dumbledore was human, not dosed with an accelerator and was a particularly strong wizard. He might be able to fight off the fatigue long enough to get back to his rooms and actually get into bed. Given that the mouse was still sleeping that gave Tom at least an hour to get in and somehow fix the whole cock up.
Back in his room, he tested the mouse and found it still snoozing. Two hours then or more. He turned to his books and started to laboriously go over everything he knew about the potion, including what his alterations should have effected. And how he was going to make the proper antidote, get Dumbledore to swallow it and all within the next hour or so. The mouse started to twitch awake just as he closed the last book. It looked good, it's coat sleeker and its eyes very bright. It run around it's cage with verve, stopping only briefly to nibble at a seed. Success! Tom allowed himself a contented smirk before he returned to his notes and attempted to do some calculations on paper.
Only the cessation of the near constant noises from the cage forced his head up. The mouse had fallen back to sleep. Confused, he moved closer and nearly cried out in frustration. Where the fur had been sleek, it was once more molting. The effects he'd captured were only temporary. On the one hand, it was very good news because it didn't look like he was going to manage an anecdote any time soon.
But this was his sole work for two weeks now! He had labored over every calculation, consulted reams of parchments and scrolls. And this was only one of a series of failed experiments. He resisted the urge to give into the rage boiling just under his skin. Throwing a fit would be a waste of time and right now there was none to spare. He had to be in the room when his de-aged professor awoke and find a way to keep him in his rooms until the potion had worn off. Luckily, it was Friday night. He had to bank on the fact that even Dumbledore took Saturdays off though a nagging voice suggested that the war effort didn't encourage cozy weekends in.
Had any watched him as he schemed, there would be little to suggest he was even alive, let along moving the great turbines of his mind. Like his snake like ancestor, he had a tendency towards deceptive stillness that was almost a movement in and of itself. Sometimes, he would adopt it in class or at a meal table out of habit and only discover he had done so when those around him fell silent one by one and regarded him the way a mouse does the swooping owl.
Now he moved into action, deciding that he would be undecided. He would do what it took to keep Dumbledore from spilling his secret. By sending a lackey, he would have to admit his own massive blunder which could undermine the still fragile loyalty of his people. It would be easy enough to slip into Dumbledore's rooms and from there perhaps dose him with Dreamless Sleep that he kept on his person or even dabble in a little Legimancy. Who knew what interesting things lay fallow in the recesses of the professor's admittedly sharp mind?
Moving with silent of grace, he made his way up through the castle. Here and there he nodded gravely at a portrait that was awake unusually late. Most of them ignored him entirely, some even looked at him disapprovingly, but one or two smiled at him. It had been one of the fifth years idea to become friendly with the paintings to allow easier passage through the halls. For Tom it had a convenient side benefit which he could now use to his advantage.
No door painting worth it's frame would ever give up a password, but wall portraits were far less circumspect. With a lot of flattery and some faintly embarrassing acts that no one would ever be privy to, Tom had won over a sweet looking young girl that sat on the outskirts of Gryffindor territory. For him she had elicited many choice tidbits of information, not the least of which was passwords to nearly every warded room in the school. Apparently Gryffindor portraits were just as given to impulse as their living brethren.
He approached said portrait and kindly touched her painted cheek so that she stirred a little in her sleep and woke to see him.
"Hello, Tom." She smiled at him sleepily. "What are you doing here so late?"
"I came to see you my sweet." He told her gravely, stomach roiling in distaste.
"Oh, you're so good to me, but I am awfully tired."
"Then I shall let you rest. Only tell me, are all the passwords still the same as last week?"
She nodded faintly as she lay back down and Tom took the stairs two at a time, all too aware that time might be running low. The portrait that lay outside Dumbledore's door was typically both simple, quaint and loaded with meaning. The man was of no particular distinction, but was quite obviously a solider, who stood on a hillside over looking a flock of sheep. Even in sleep he stood, leaning against a tree. The slightest sound of Tom's step in the hall roused him to full awareness, hand going to his sword.
"Who goes there?" He hissed.
"Gardenias."
"But..." The portrait leaned forward. "I do not know you..."
"I have given you the password, now open."
Reluctantly, the man leaned back against his tree and a pedestrian wooden door papered to swing open invitingly. Mentally preparing himself to enter the lion's den, Tom clenched on hand around his wand and the other around a pouch of disarming powder.
The living area was done in oak and dark maroon. There was no doubt that between the book lined walls, the overstuffed chairs and the delightful fire that burned merrily in its place that this is where Dumbledore would tend to his precious cubs, sitting them down for a hot cup of tea and a gentle parable to clarify the difficult situations of teenage life. Tom wanted to raze it to the ground. There was a short hall with three closed doors. He approached the first, still clutching his wand, opening it slowly.
If the living room was exactly what Tom had expected of Dumbledore, then the office was exactly the opposite. In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have been surprised. After all, the very thing that made Dumbledore formidable was his nearly Slytherin like ability to manipulate and prove adaptable. The office was utilitarian. The bookcase was just as crammed, but these were not books that were being lazily perused at will. Instead they lay in piles as well, filled with markers, spines broken and pages stained. Long parchments decorated the walls with what looked to be complicated Arithmancy problems coupled with transfiguration processes. Tempted to study them further, Tom shook himself and glanced over the desk. Even more complex formulations covered the sheets there. These Tom could not even hope to recognize for they were obviously very heavily coded. Most likely messages to the front.
Curiosity would have to wait. He closed the door and crossed the hall, repeating his slow entry. The bathing rooms. Generous, but not overly so. A large enough bathtub with some bizarre fixtures was the primacy focus. The stone floor was covered with a warm carpet and the one window overlooked the Quidditch Fields. He left that room behind and moved steadily to the last door.
With great care, he eased the door open.
The bed was slightly to the right of the door, flanked by two floor to ceiling windows overlooking the vast landscape. For someone used to the unnatural light of the dungeon dorm it was actually overwhelming. Tom had an acute sense of vertigo for a moment, before he turned to the bed. The professor was a thick lump in the middle of the large four poster bed. The light spilled on the dark blue of the coverlet, falling short of the man's face. A huge armoire dominated the far side of the room and a small overstuffed couch took over the other.
Cautiously, Tom approached the bed. He barely had time to register the glitter of opened eyes before he was pinned to the floor with the heat of another body pounding through him. A wand was poised at his pulse.
"Who are you?"
"Tom Riddle, sir." He kept his voice even.
"Sir? Polite assassin."
"I'm a student." Tom said softly.
"Lumos!"
A soft light diffused over the room. The man currently levered above him was worlds away from the professor Tom had known through his entire Hogwarts career. The bone structure was the same of course, but the skin was smooth and the color of cream rather than wrinkled and flushed with worry and age. Hair that had been a coarse auburn pulsed with thick vibrant red. Not the repulsive orange that the Weasleys sported, but a dark blood red. The shade was naggingly familiar. Blue eyes that should have twinkled and winked were chips of ice that were already trying to gain contact with his own. The only thing tempering the threatening picture were the baby blue flannel pajamas with smiling moons and passing clouds moving sluggishly in circles.
"You are a young assassin."
"I am no assassin."
Tom tried to go as limp as possible, trying to make himself appear vulnerable and frightened without making eye contact. Of course, he probably should have been scared and would have been if he wasn't so intrigued. Could it be that Dumbledore's memory had receded with his age? The original potion wouldn't have done that, but his additions might have made it possible.
He tried to remember what Dumbledore had done before he became a teacher and came up blank. He'd never thought to investigate any of his teachers. He had certainly never imagined that they would have spent their youths in any type of situation that would keep them on alert for assassination attempts.
"That remains to be seen." The older boy, for he looked no more then 20, leaned back and seemed to take in his surroundings. "Where am I? Where have you brought me?"
"I can explain." His mind raced trying to find something that would be close enough to the truth that it wouldn't jar with what Dumbledore's fledgling Legimancy could pick up. "You were accidentally given a potion that made you young again. It seems to have taken your memories with it. The effects should be temporary."
He allowed eye contact, trying to ignore the slimy feel of invasion that only another legilimens could feel.
"If that is so then why was I not left to sleep off the effects?"
"There was some concern that you would leave your quarters and disturb some of the stu..."
"No. I don't want to know. It's like peeking into the future, tempting, but generally a bad idea. So you are to be my guard?" The older boy had not yet gotten up and the pressure was starting to build uncomfortably. "But you seem...young."
"Not that much younger then you." He shot back, starting to get irritated.
"Yes, but I have proven myself."
"What makes you think that I haven't?"
"You wouldn't still be wearing student robes." One long spindly finger tapped on the student badge. Frowning slightly. "Head Boy? I thought Everetts...of course. This is no longer my time. Very distressing."
But the other boy didn't look particularly disoriented or upset. Instead, he had the same impenetrable, smug look that made him so irritating as an adult. But this smugness was undercut with a darkness that Tom never thought possible in the cheery professor. Even under the strains of war, he remained upbeat and warm, except when pressed to his limits. Were those flashes of cold that Dumbledore was capable of a very real reflection of what roiled beneath the surface?
"What do you do?" Tom finally asked.
"Surely you know?"
"I only know you as an adult." He reminded and the older boy smiled, showing a row of straight pearly white teeth.
"I am the youngest full fledged Auror in the past millennia."
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