Harry Potter : Chapter 40: Changes I

Sudden changes tended to unsettle Tom Riddle, if only briefly.

Oh, he was more than simply able to rise to the challenge of adapting to a new situation, but he disliked the first, brief moments of uncertainty: when his own worth and position in the different circumstances weren't safe or secure.

When new children were dropped at Wool's and he had to waste his time to put them into their proper place.

He also didn't quite enjoy remembering when he first arrived at Hogwarts and he had to figure out how to become strong quickly, in a manner that wouldn't bring Dumbledore's crooked nose onto his affairs.

The other students in Slytherin weren't the welcoming sort, not that he would have wanted them to. He didn't need them, he didn't need anyone.

Tom Riddle had enjoyed being told that he was special, who wouldn't? He was a wizard, that was why the other children at Wool's Orphanage were so meaningless after all! He wasn't quite sure he liked not being the only wizard, but he'd be special even among others that claimed to be like him.

He had thought so when Dumbledore had informed him of the truth, so many years before, and his ability quickly made clear just how far above the others he truly was.

Tom knew how to be careful: after all, before becoming capable of controlling his magic, he had to be wary even at Wool's Orphanage. And so he had been cautious once he arrived at Hogwarts, blatantly outshining only those incapable of striking back.

And his perception of self had been confirmed once more, hadn't he been able to outperform and defend himself against three second years barely a month after his own Sorting?

Even so, the Slytherin wizard appreciated the unstable nature of sudden changes, of novelties. And more than that, he realized their potential. 

Some changes, one could prepare for: new students didn't need to be hammered in line like at the orphanage, not while Dumbledore roamed their same halls... BUT there were better, subtler methods.

Rescuing the lonely from some dull older years, for example: the alone students that nevertheless held the potential of being useful, either by virtue of their station or out of sheer skill.

Rubeus Hagrid had been one such case: in less than a week, he had shown openly his talent in several subjects, he was withdrawn, and didn't look like he cared for making friendships. Influencing him at the time would be so easy, after an opportune catalyst to showcase Tom's superiority, of course.

Distractedly mentioning near a group of selected ears how uppity the freakishly tall first year was, how unworthy he was of outshining some students whose blood was pure... That was all it took. And older cousins, usually the dumber ones, were always ready to show his place to the lonely first year.

And Rubeus Hagrid, with less than one week of magical education, hadn't even felt the spells impacting over him, while silently incapacitating the duo attacking him, disarming them, and humiliating them by placing their wands where they'd be seen were the attackers to retrieve them.

Then, of course, it came down to the utterly banal challenge at chess, even if with a twist: timed chess, who played with less than a minute for each player? Then again, Tom immediately spotted that the game was an excuse to watch an enchantment.

Not only Rubeus Hagrid had managed to barrel through an ambush, but he also had known somehow, that Riddle would be capable of magic the tall first year hungered for. And Tom knew that kind of hunger, didn't he? Wouldn't it be child's play, to feed it while reeling in the suddenly much more valuable piece that everybody else was so willing to leave alone?

The ability and talent of Hagrid had been an unexpected change, but one that was relatively easy to adjust for. His personality, however, was a wholly different kettle of fish.

While he thought all of these things and more, Tom Riddle strode purposefully across the dimly lit corridors of Hogwart's dungeons, his rather exceptional brain awhirl with considerations about the recent events.

Hagrid had always been... different. Since Riddle first observed Rubeus casually shrug off the standard hazing during his first year (in which he might or might not have had a hand in), and the following power-play, he had been intrigued, and rightfully so.

The more he peered into the younger Slytherin's methods and theories, the more there was to observe and learn. And the less he understood of the unnaturally tall student.

After crossing yet another empty corridor, Tom slid behind a suit of armor and stilled, his eyes roaming carefully over the smooth stone until they caught on the smallest crease: just where the flickering light of a faraway torch faded into the persistent shadows, a coiled snake had been etched into the wall.

Oh, Riddle understood being driven, and he understood being more than simply 'capable', but Hagrid was just...

Leaning forward, he brought his lips next to the coiled snake and let out a quiet hiss, barely enough for his own ears to pick up on it. At his command, the snake quivered while remaining in place, and the stone wall next to it seemed to shimmer.

With no hesitation, the Slytherin walked straight through the illusion, distractedly noticing how remarkably similar it was to the 9 and 3/4 barrier, and quickly entering in a now damp environment, his eyes quickly adapting to the dim light that seemed to seep through the black stones composing the ceiling above his head.

"He takes the most basic principles of each Subject and applies them... almost sideways?" he murmured to himself, still focusing on the younger student's achievements. His logic is unconventional, but given his results, I can hardly ignore it.

And how had Hagrid known that Minerva would turn out to be 'special' in her own manner? She wasn't prone to questioning what she was told by the professors, she had never been one to freely experiment with any piece of magic, never mind Transfiguration, which was infamous for the potentially disastrous side effects. But nothing about her display with the Rùnda's door was common.

And yet Hagrid approached her in his first year, dragging the two of us together soon after. It irked, having to recognize the potential and the skill of another wizard, let alone two: Tom had never been good at being anything less than the best, and he had never been a very patient person.

If he wanted something, he took it, if he wanted something to happen, he willed it or puppeteered one of the countless, witless people around in order to make it happen in his stead.

As he walked, his feet clacked almost gently against the stone floor while he whipped out his yew and phoenix feather wand, luxuriating as always in the rush of power that ran through him.

A white, uncaring light blossomed in front of the young wizard as he kept moving, his mind trying to unravel the puzzle that Hagrid represented.

Reeling Rubeus into Tom's control through the first's hunger for advanced magic had proven ineffective as soon as Hagrid brought Riddle and Minerva together, blatantly ignoring the age-old instinct of hoarding knowledge in order to obtain power, instead almost forcing them all to cooperate.

At least the insight I gained from Minerva's work wasn't useless. The Slytherin prefect murmured as he kept moving, his summoned light managing to show him where to place his feet as he walked deeper and deeper into the earth.

...

Back during Rubeus' first year, the unlikely trio composed by the two Slytherin wizard and the Gryffindor witch hadn't discovered a secret 'hammerspace', as Hagrid wished to name it, since the Animagus transformation simply didn't work like that.

But there was an endless number of implications born from the littlest detail of each step of the preparation of the potion Minerva had to harmonize herself with.

Implications that Rubeus had been quick to catch on, if his migraine-inducing notes were any proof. Rubeus, who was a half-giant, no matter how he claimed to wear a protective charm, his size was an obvious proof of it, was just... 'unique'.

The mere existence of Hagrid rubbed Tom the wrong way: extraordinary in his own way, strange in a way that set him apart from the crowd of students in the same way Riddle was set apart in the orphanage... removing Rubeus had been Riddle's first instinct.

He remembered with perfect clarity the first days after their meeting, the hours spent thinking about a way to make him disappear without attracting Dumbledore's attention.

But between the resourcefulness of Hagrid, and the personal risk tied to the mere 'attempt' of getting rid of the half-giant, there simply hadn't been a way, not a safe one at least. And Riddle wasn't one used to not have things go his way: when he wanted something to happen, such a thing took place.

And yet Hagrid was simply too useful, while the general disgust that him being a half-breed suscitated in Riddle could be reigned in. Better half-giant or half-muggle? 

A small part of Tom wondered, before he almost violently cast away that thought, returning his razor-sharp focus on the cause of his turmoil. Rubeus took something as banal as the meanest principle of potion-making, and turned it into a whole philosophy that allowed the creation of a clearly magical brew out of mundane ingredients.

Riddle followed the dark and damp corridor until it finally breached into a vast room, the only signal of its dimensions was the distant echo of the Slytherin's steps and the fact that the white light he had summoned utterly failed to show any wall or ceiling. Here we are.

There were many pieces of Hagrid's existence that didn't quite make sense, and many secrets that he kept to himself: Tom wasn't fooled by the sudden increase of notes about mind-boggling theories and outlandish ideas, Rubeus had likely been brooding them for much longer.

How much of those were born of Minerva's studies? More than a few, unless Riddle completely missed his mark: "And just what kind of things could he produce, had he access to this?"

The Slytherin Prefect slashed his wand contemptuously, the white light he had summoned exploding in a quiet nova that seemed to adhere to the walls, revealing the bass reliefs on the black and moss green tiles, and the statues of hissing snakes that seemed to describe a corridor leading to the much bigger one of his own ancestor.

Riddle had figured out his own ancestry during his first year, even if finding the fabled Chamber of Secrets had been that much harder, and while his research about Salazar's personality and life pointed towards the existence of priceless knowledge somewhere in the Chamber , he had no idea how to access it.

Revealing charms had proven useless, spells so powerful they would have breached a castle had rippled meaninglessly against uncaring black and green scales, almost taunting him.

The memories of how Hagrid had behaved during the brewing of the Felix Felicis were just another proof of the half-giant inestimable talent: how much had Tom benefitted from Rubeus' wild ideas and mind-boggling discoveries? "And he achieved it all with no extraordinary ancestry beyond his mixed heritage."

The questions and mutterings of the Slytherin prefect went unanswered in the daunting echo of the Chamber of Secrets, the statue of his ancestor mute as it had always been.

Then again, it couldn't help Tom, wasn't Salazar dead? How useful could a dead man be? He was gone, far before Riddle's advent, just like his mother, meaningless as she had undoubtedly been: "I should have known not to expect an answer, should I?"

Tom's face lost his blank and polite facade for a moment, his lips curling downwards and a frown dragging his eyebrows down as if they were wings of a dangerous eagle. Once again, the yew and phoenix feather wand found itself into the Slytherin wizard's awaiting hand, his fingers curling avidly around the white wood.

"I made a question!" he thundered while voiceless, nameless magic whipped around Tom in a whirlwind of violence that screeched over the black and green tiles, "You shall answer me!"

Twisted by his fury, his words turned into parseltongue, hissing threateningly over the empty chamber, his aimless, violent display of magic making his own magical light quiver as if a candle in the hands of a merciless breeze.

Suddenly, something gave, and the nearest snake statue broke under the strain of opposing the violence that Tom so readily had summoned: the sharp crack of shattered stone echoed violently about the chamber.

Supporting the hiss that was still leaving Riddle's lips almost like a hand lifting a pebble from the ground.

And with a grinding of stone on stone, the statue of Salazar Slytherin finally opened his mouth, a thundering hiss answering Tom's command.

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