Ab aeterno

“It’s… it’s magic, what I can do?”

“What is it that you can do?”

“All sorts.”

Lessons with professor Dumbledore were never boring. He had this ability to control class without any visible difficulty and, most importantly, without the class even noticing they were being controlled. He also had no favorites unlike Slughorn, for instance, whose attention seemed to be unequally divided between the ones who were worthy of it and others. Tom liked being liked and he mostly was by other professors and students. It was not hard. He knew he was being pitied by many adults – such a talented and polite young boy, an orphan! – and used that to his advantage. He didn’t see anything wrong about that either. He had to use the things he had at his disposal, it would have been simply stupid not to. And he regretted that day, at the orphanage. The day he was unwillingly open and honest, too straightforward with the man now listening with visible interest the five reasons why, according to Emily Jenkins, transfiguration of an animal should be deemed as immoral. Emily Jenkins was a bright and hardworking Gryffindor, not very good-looking but pleasant enough, and she had a huge crush on professor Dumbledore. “Daddy issues much?” whispered Theo in his ear, and Tom snickered. Not bad. Dumbledore was liked as well, and Tom could tell why. A powerful wizard who seemed to genuinely care about his students, never angry even with the stupidest of the mistakes, always ready to appreciate a good joke and pretty relaxed with the discipline in his classroom. And he listened, and asked questions, and shared his opinions only when he was asked to. A precious gift for a teacher! But, surely enough, it was mostly his auburn hair that Emily Jenkins was swooned by. And maybe his eyes.  Tom remembered that awful velvet suit Dumbledore was wearing the fateful day he came to the orphanage to tell Tom was special. The plum velvet suit… that somehow matched the deep and rich color of his hair and beard. Albus Dumbledore was without any doubt the brightest spot in the gray walls of the orphanage Tom had ever seen. When Tom touched his hand offered for a handshake, he felt… “I positively can not anymore!” hissed Theo, and Tom raised his hand. “Yes, Tom?” “While we are discussing the moral complexity of an animal being transfigurated against its will,” Tom offered innocently. “I would also want to propose another topic for a discussion, as it seems to me Emily has a good understanding of the… animal-related issues.” Nott tensed next to him, trying to hide the fact that he was almost shaking with carefully controlled laughter. “And that is?” Emily looked at him almost bewildered. “Should animagi be made to wear pants while in their animal form?” The classroom roared with laughter, and the girl joined after a moment of consideration. Tom noticed with cold amusement that she didn’t realize she was being laughed at, not with. “That is certainly a very peculiar thing to discuss,” Dumbledore’s smile was faint and vacant, not really there. His eyes weren’t smiling, though. “Alas, it seems that time has got the best of us. Don’t forget that Thursday is a due-day for essays.” Students started packing their things and leaving slowly, one by one. Tom waited in the back of the class to let everyone pass, so that he wouldn’t have to thrust at the door. Dumbledore started cleaning the classroom with swift movements of his wand, and Tom suddenly had a flash of understanding – he didn’t want to be talked to.  “Are you coming?” Theo asked, and Tom nodded. “You go ahead. I need to… finish something.” When Nott left, Tom approached the professor who was now quickly looking through a parchment that seemed to be someone’s homework. “You want something, Tom?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, and somehow Tom remembered the day when this ever polite man had set his wardrobe on fire. And it wasn’t the fire that had frightened him but what happened later.  “Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?” Now, standing next to Dumbledore, his fifth year in Hogwarts, Tom thought that the thing that truly made him frightened was the possibility he wouldn’t be getting into the school of magic after all. Because of those little tokens of appreciation he had in his box. That Dumbledore would leave, his auburn hair somehow shiny and rich in color in that old gray building, his odd plum velvet suit a bright spot in the dull stream of time, and Tom would stay where he was.  “Yes, sir. I actually do,” he offered a polite smile that never felt fake on his lips but for the moments it was meant for Dumbledore. “I wanted to ask your opinion on the essay I was working on. The rise of Dark Arts in the early 20th century.” “Sounds promising. Do you have it with you?” “Oh, actually, I do. Would you mind…” he didn’t finish the sentence and put his essay on the desk. “But of course,” Dumbledore nodded, and Tom started walking to the door. “I do mind, though…” “Pardon me?”  That was unexpected, and a genuine expression of surprise appeared on his face. “I do mind when students are being mocked, Tom. Please, keep that in mind.” “But, sir, everyone was laughing. And Emily was as well.” “There is a difference between laughing with and being laughed at. And I believe you to be perspicacious enough to know that difference.” Tom’s face became expressionless. “I will remember that, sir.” “You do that.” “Animal-related issues!” Mulciber almost shrieked. They were sitting next to the fireplace in the common room, and Nott just finished telling about the whole thing. “That’s too good to be true! And what did Dumbledore say?” “That is certainly a peculiar thing to discuss!” mockingly imitated the teacher Theo. “Most certainly so, sir!” “Right up yours, professor!” “To mutual satisfaction!” Tom sneered but said nothing, letting them ridicule Dumbledore to their finest. It never got old. “He knows, though. He knows that Gryffindor chick to be a mudblood… might think a lot of himself but if he got you, Tom, he knows.” Oh, he got me, alright, Tom thought, and I will get him as much. “Professor Dumbledore, sir!” Tom waited for everyone to clear the classroom. He came closer to the teacher’s desk, the essay in his hand. He got it on his bed the other day, with a note saying “You did a good research here, well-done”. Dumbledore just sent the essay with one of the house-elves, effectively ruining the whole plan. “How can I help you, Tom?” “You didn’t give me your opinion on my essay, sir, as I hoped.” “Did my note get lost?” “Oh, no, the note was there. But I was hoping for… a more personal opinion on the matter, I guess,” now Tom was staring at the older man with cold and hungry eyes. “I mean… it’s not a secret you knew him personally. And…” “I think that is enough on the matter, Tom,” the man spoke politely but Tom had a sudden glimpse of fire in those cold blue eyes. And it felt good. It felt good poking the sleeping dragon. It felt good setting on fire something that Dumbledore cared for.  “I think…” Tom said it slowly, carefully choosing his words now. “That you have some trust issues, professor Dumbledore.” The urge to call him by the name was almost unbearable. Tom was starving for his pain from the very beginning, and now it was blossoming in those blue eyes, in the corners of his mouth. How would it feel to say “you have trust issues, Albus”? How would it feel to actually name the reason for them? Dumbledore leaned to him, just a little, and there was a smile on his lips, a smile Tom had never seen on him before. The deadly one. “And I think,” he said with awful politeness reeking from every syllable his lips mouthed. “Among the two of us I will not be the only one to have them, Tom.” The smell gets him. The auburn hair smells of velvet, late sun and poppies. Tom realizes the class is dismissed when Dumbledore leaves the room first.