Deal with the Devil

Chapter 27

Tom was pleased. His Knights were all set for their next moves. The seventh years had their careers lined up, the knowledge of what he expected from them. The two sixth years, Dolohov and Rosier, would work on recruiting. He had a few things to work out for himself, but he was certain that they would. Lord Voldemort always got his way.

As he ate, his gaze drifted toward the Ravenclaw table and his pet. She had returned to that mousy, almost broken state she'd been in at the beginning of the year, but in time she would come back to herself. It hadn't taken long before, and he had ideas on how to speed the process.

Her brokenness brought him back to the event that caused it, and the corner of his mouth twitched. That had been one of the best nights he'd had in a while, and he'd generously shared with his Knights. Tom had thought Elena looked lovely covered in her own blood, but weeping and openly begging him after she'd been screaming in pain stirred him more.

She'd handled the five rounds of Cruciatus well enough, though it left a mark on her spirit. And she'd been an obedient little thing ever since, waiting for him to escort her to classes after breakfast in the morning, presenting her cheek for him to kiss without a fuss. He'd held her during their last study session, pulling her onto his lap so he could run his hands over her small form. A part of him wanted to see how far he could push her, how cruel he could be, now that she was hardly present in herself. Tom was sure he could have her writhing in agony beneath him without his wand, but...

There were some things Tom Riddle did not do. Once she had come back to herself, there would be plenty of time to seduce her and show her the darker side of pleasure. It was a new and thrilling game, toying with a girl who'd seen firsthand what he was. Always before, it had been too easy, innocent little lambs practically begging for slaughter. This felt far more satisfying. Perhaps he would start recruiting more women to his cause so he could do the same with them.

"Did you hear?" Nott broke into his reverie, and he blinked to refocus himself. "Merrythought is retiring at the end of the school year. Apparently, she has a husband and he's retired, so she wants to do the same and spend time with him."

"Is that so?" He considered for a moment. "But who will replace her to mold all these young minds?"

"Dippet is taking applications already," Nott responded with a shrug. "It's a bit short notice, but he'll find someone. Maybe a retired Auror."

"He has all summer," chimed in Rosier. "I hope whoever he hires is at least interesting."

Tom surveyed the staff table to see it was bereft the headmaster, and stood, deciding he was done with lunch. Whatever the others saw on his face, they knew better than to ask. The route to the headmaster's office was as familiar as his own hand, and he wondered at the timing of it all as he made his way there. He was strong in DADA, anticipating an easy Outstanding on his NEWT for the class (and every other one he'd take). Moreover, he loved Hogwarts as he had loved nothing else in his life. It was tied into his blood by the founder he could trace his lineage to, and it was tied to his soul as the only place that he'd ever thought of as a home. To take a teaching position, allowed to stay all year long if he wished, was like a dream.

It would also ensure he would have access to young witches and wizards, eager to please their professors. He could pick and choose the brightest and most powerful among them, slowly sway them to his cause. He wouldn't have to rely on his Knights to do his recruiting. And all of it would be under Albus Dumbledore's nose.

He murmured the password to the gargoyle guarding the entrance with a genuine smile on his face.

"Tom! How delightful to see you," said the gnarled old wizard. He bade the head boy sit across from him, and Tom took the seat, declining an offer of tea. "What brings you in to see me?"

"Well, headmaster," he began, settling his expression into one of earnestness. "I heard this afternoon that Professor Merrythought is leaving at the end of the year."

"Yes," said Dippet, nodding. "She has given us many great years, you well know being one of her pupils. We'll miss her."

"Do you know who you'll be hiring in her place, sir?"

"Not yet, not yet. Galatea only put in her resignation today," he stroked his long, grey beard. "I'm sure I'll have applications start coming in tomorrow. It's a good position."

"I'm just worried, you understand, sir," Tom began, hesitating just a touch, eyes imploring under thick lashes. "What, with Grindewald still out there, and all. I've heard people say that Professor Merrythought's instruction could be a key factor in how strong the Aurors coming out of Hogwarts have been these last few decades." He wrung his hands. "Can we afford to go without her invaluable knowledge?"

Dippet came around his desk to sit beside Tom, laying one hand over the young man's own clasped palms. "Tom, dear boy, your worry for the future students of Hogwarts is commendable, but I'm afraid Galatea has earned her retirement. She deserves some time with her husband."

"Of course, sir. I didn't mean to imply at all—that is, I would never presume—" He pursed his lips and frowned, as though searching for the words. "I just thought, sir, it might be best to have someone who knows her work, saw firsthand how effective her curricula were. And, I had hoped that perhaps you might consider me for the position—"

Dippet hid a small smile behind leathery fingers. "I daresay you are the most brilliant student since Albus Dumbledore was enrolled here, Tom." He patted the young man's shoulder. "But you would need experience out in the world, living your own life, before I could justifiably hole you up here to teach."

"But sir, I—"

"No, Tom," he shook his head. "Perhaps in a few years, lad. You're gifted, and you will go far in life. But this is not your path for the moment."

Tom had to take in a slow breath to keep himself from growling at the old fool. He wasn't experienced enough? He, Lord Voldemort, was not experienced enough to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts? He was the Dark Arts, knew it better than Merrythought, and certainly better than Dippet, whom he doubted could even cast a jinx, let alone a truly Dark spell. Tom fumed inwardly, but forced himself to serenity on the outside, nodding understandingly. "Of course, headmaster. I hope that, when the time comes that I'm truly ready, there is a place for me."

"I'm sure there will be, Tom. Now, are you sure you won't take that tea?"