Legilimency

- 1 -

'I can make them hurt if I want to.'

Riddle’s cold and curious look confronts the attentive, closer look of Albus. 'You don’t understand what you’re asking for, Tom. Legilimency is a real temptation even for an expert wizard. When you invade someone’s mind, you take on a much greater responsibility than you can imagine.' The door to the dimly lit transfiguration office quietly slammed shut: a strict click of the lock, a barely noticeable viscosity of the air due to a spell of muting. Professor awkwardly removes glasses that have not yet had time to get used to. A brief shrug of his shoulder reveals fatigue. 'I’m not a child, sir,' Tom says, enunciating every word. 'Of course, not a child. But am I talking about age?' Albus thinks. Tom senses this unexpressed message and, jerking as if from a slap in the face, answers it with a long-forgotten sharpness: 'You do not trust me.' Dumbledore sits down hard and rubs the bridge of the nose with his index fingers. 'It seems, the trust is a mutual thing, Tom.' 'You know about me more than others.' Albus knows that tone all too well. He smiles conciliatively, leaning back on the high back of his chair, but Tom notices the tension with which the old wizard looks at him. 'I think nothing terrible will happen if you take a few additional classes from me on vacation,' Albus says. 'So easy?' Tom thinks. 'Thank you a lot, sir. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed,' Tom promises distinctively. The door swings open, banging loudly against a stone wall in the hallway. That’s all.

- 2 -

'She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!'

The student benches are prudently shifted to the entrance, which makes the long office seem almost square. 'Last time you said, Professor, that this is a responsibility,' Tom begins to speak at the same time as Dumbledore’s barely noticeable approving nod. 'But you still haven’t told me why.' 'I was waiting for you to ask me about it.' Albus stands in the center of the room, gesturing to invite Tom to follow. 'Why do you think I didn’t say anything to other Professors about what happened in the shelter? And note, Tom, I don’t mean theft.' 'Because you would ruin my life at Hogwarts, sir,' Riddle responds with restraint, deliberately avoiding the old man’s gaze. He frowns: he doesn’t like this conversation, but the desire to practice Legilimency against the only worthy opponent sensibly outweighs everything else. 'That's part of it, but the real reason goes much deeper.' Tom tilts his head slightly to one side: 'I don’t quite understand you, Professor.' 'You remember a person by one of his memories, and he has already changed. For example… As far as I know, you no longer practice magic on those who are weaker than you. Or am I wrong, Tom? ' Dumbledore’s eyes sparkle strangely behind his glasses. It’s as unusual for Riddle to see them as it is for Albus himself to wear them. 'You’re right, sir,' Tom responds slowly, as if walking through a minefield. 'Even now, it’s hard for me to forget my first impression of you.' 'At that moment,' Tom is swallowing nervously, 'did you use Legilimency on me?' 'No,' Dumbledore says severely. 'But imagine if I saw it the way you did?' 'Hm… I realized, Professor.' Albus, nodding, goes to the pulpit to make a review of student essays. 'In that case, I can’t hold you anymore, Tom.' 'But… why?' He glances from Dumbledore to the piles of parchments, already partially marked, and back again. 'I thought we were…' His voice holds no disappointment, only deep resentment. 'Perhaps now that you know all the pitfalls of this field of magic, you will think better about your request.' Tom’s heart falls deep down. With a quick step, he crosses the empty classroom and comes out.

- 3 -

'I don’t need you. I’m used to doing things for myself.'

The phoenix sometimes clutches by its beak the cage’s iron bars. 'Tell me, Tom, what stops me from calling Professor Dippet right now and telling him who is responsible for this incident,' with a real threat Dumbledore says. Tom looks at Dumbledore, proudly throwing his head up. 'I was waiting for you to ask me about it,' Tom thinks. He smiles with only the corners of his lips. A monster mask appears through the imaginary coldness. Is the mask or?.. 'You wouldn’t want to lose the best Hogwarts apprentice, sir.' 'Admit it, Albus. He reminds you too much of himself.' 'You got it right,' reluctantly, Dumbledore agrees with a tangible delay. 'Now, for the safety of the students of this school, I must teach you... be neat.' 'Don't lie, sir. For the safety of the two of us.' 'I just want to know my opportunities, Professor.' 'Of course, Tom.' An outraged bird's screech causes Albus to turn around in dismay. 'Sir, do the phoenix choose their own owner?' Riddle asks at the doorstep. Albus responds with a nod of his head. 'I think your phoenix is too free-spirited for a cage, Professor.' Left alone with the familiar, Dumbledore transfigures the curved grate into a long wooden perch. Phoenix sweetly rubs his head against his shoulder.

- 4 -

'My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died.'

Only the desk separates Tom from Dumbledore. He looks intently at the wizard's blue pupils to slip unnoticed along a defensive line lined up for years. 'Couldn't you remove the glasses, sir?' Riddle responds after a series of futile attempts to penetrate the teacher's mind. 'If that helps you, Tom.' Tom once again casts a spell with his lips alone. And at the same second, his expression changes from usually serious to enthusiastic. A web of memories drags Tom deeper and deeper. He tries to pull one of them into the world, but falls into another, as if their owner chuckles at him. 'I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.' Tom looks at himself eleven-year-old with a breathless interest. How he easily fell for this trick... Riddle wants to get out of someone else's consciousness, but it's like he's facing an invisible wall. 'I'll make you watch.' 'What is it that you can do?' 'All sorts,' breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. 'I can make filings move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me.' 'I don't want to see that!' 'I'll make you.' 'I can make them hurt if I want to.' Tom hits an invisible wall with his hands, choking on his own weakness. 'I can make them hurt if I want to,' repeats eleven-year-old Tom. 'Enough! Stop it! You have no right!' Silence pleasantly envelops, reserving the right to the unreality of what is happening. But very soon it's replaced by blunt pain in the back of the head and someone else's hard steps. 'I hope you'll be encouraged by the latest news, Tom. That girl, in whose consciousness you recently visited, came to her senses. Her life and sanity are no longer in danger,' Dumbledore's firm voice comes to Riddle from somewhere on top. 'Glad to hear that, Professor,' Tom is wheezing. He weakly clutches his outstretched palm, which helps him to his feet. Albus looks at him directly, and for the first time, Tom doesn't hide from a tenacious, close look. 'Power is not concluded in the ability to hurt, my boy,' Dumbledore says. Tom feels pleasant, almost tickling warmth spreading at the place of impact. 'Power is the ability to heal wounds.'

- 5 -

'They find me, they whisper to me.'

Tom is angry: he sees only what Dumbledore lets him see. 'You're jerking me around, Professor.' 'Maybe you should have chosen an opponent simpler?' Riddle sits down exhausted, wiping his face with wet, sweating hands. 'But in what you said, there is truth' says Albus. He is cunning. 'I have not yet told you that you have become skilled enough in mental magic not to harm your friends,' ─ he singles out "friends" as something unacceptable or abusive. 'They trust me, Professor,' Riddle pronounces with pressure, looking at Dumbledore. 'Trust is a mutual thing, Tom.'

- 6 -

'Are you a wizard too? Prove it.'

Thin wisps of smoke rise up from tea. 'It still surprises me that you didn't show any desire to learn Occlumency.' Albus is overcome by interest. The attack is the best defense, of course, but he is confident that the closed and suspicious Tom won't miss the opportunity to create his own impenetrable block. 'Indirectly, you have already taught me to it, sir' Tom says politely, and Dumbledore nods. 'And I wouldn't want to... someone knew how my defense was built,' Tom adds teasing. 'Do you think I'm going to take advantage of that, Tom?' 'Gellert Grindelwald also underestimated his ally, he doesn't, sir?' For a moment, only for a moment, Riddle notices that Albus's pupils are dangerously constricted. And then again - deceptive softness. 'I'm not the enemy to you.' 'I know, Professor,' Tom lies with innocent wide-eyed. The tea leaves on the porcelain are woven into a bizarre, ornate pattern: the magic wand is turned to the bottom of the cup. Grinning, Riddle puts her on the table. Dumbledore's cautionary tone stops him at his doorstep: 'The case that you started is unlikely to end well, Tom.' 'I don't believe in foretellings, Professor' Tom says, without turning back. 'I am making my own destiny myself'. In the distance, the rumble of an approaching thunderstorm begins.