Chapter Two – Tom Riddle and David Monroe

Tom woke up two hours earlier than everybody else, as usual.

He was dressed, through the common room, and down the hall while the castle still slept. The rest of the students would try to get those extra hours of rest before they had to face classes. Tom thought that foolish. A wizard should be awake and alert as often as possible.

Tom only slept for about three or four hours a night, that being sufficient time for his well of magic to replenish itself after even an especially hard day. Besides, he had no fear of classes, unlike most other students. He did have to drudge through the boring lessons just as much as anybody else, but he had entirely different reasons.

Tom spent the summers here at Hogwarts; he was in the castle all year long, except when he would slip out into the wizarding or muggle world. Hogwarts was his home.

As a result of his yearlong access to the Hogwarts library, he knew almost every spell that they would teach during a student's seven years here. With that knowledge, in combination with his unlimited ability to cast spells all year long, and the vast castle grounds upon which to truly let loose, he had become intimately knowledgeable and practiced with magic.

The extensive training and practice, along with his "extra-curricular training" had made him the most powerful student in the entire school, despite only a fifth year. Tom even suspected only a handful of teachers could overcome him now - when he was at his best.

The Ministry-mandated classes were below him most of the time, especially Charms. Tom hated Charms class with a passion. His professor was utterly unreasonable and incompetent. Half of the time he was trying to teach some complicated wand work and precise pronunciation from the book, which sometimes took two to three classes to learn.

Tom was of the opinion that all that effort and time to cast a charm was asking to be killed in combat. He had been able to understand the basics of wandless magic within his first year at Hogwarts. Tom had practiced hard here, and even at the orphanage before he actually knew what magic was, and what he was capable of; once he had a wand, he seemed not to need it nearly as much as the other students.

Just about any charm can be cast without a wand, and sometimes without a word if you know how to do it.

Professor Dedalus didn't even understand the concept, despite Tom trying to teach him the basic principles of it. The man was hopeless; he could only do the most basic wandless magic, so he always used his wand. He would look through the books and practice waving his wand around in a specific pattern while making his tongue dance around some complicated phrase. Worse, he insisted on forcing these bad habits onto his students, when instead he should be trying to make his students better than him.

Tom had pointed out many times that if the standard curriculum could be ignored for a while and wizards could be taught the fundamentals of those charms before the charms themselves… Yet the Professor wouldn't hear of such a thing. If it didn't come from a Ministry approved book, the Professor wouldn't hear of it.

It was enough to make Tom consider publishing his own book, "Magic, How It Was Intended," and then bribing somebody at the Ministry to stamp it and put it on the mandatory reading list.

Still, Tom forced himself to play along in class, as much as he begrudged it. Tom Riddle is a Good Student, and a Good Student Learns these Complicated gestures and Incantations. Magic just came so naturally to him at this point that it was more a waste of his time than a challenge. He had considered trying to win the House Cup just by racking up points from being the quickest to learn new spells in class all the time. Unfortunately, the only real competition would be David Monroe, who was in the same house anyway.

If he and I both tried to outdo each other with house points, Slytherin would set an all-time record. But I can accomplish that perfectly fine without Monroe's help...

"David Monroe," Tom muttered the name, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of his voice. The boy was strong, and he knew a lot of the basics behind magic, the way to truly use his powers. He was far too confident for his own good, however. He was not nearly as intuitive or natural with his magic as he liked to believe, and Tom hated false confidence.

Even worse was Monroe was ignorant of his stupidity. He honestly believed he was the smartest student in the school; he loved to flash that in everybody's face. It was if he was trying to say I'm better then you, I'm highborn, I'm powerful, and I can do what I like.

Tom was bitter over the fact that, more often than not, at least those last three things were fact.

Monroe got away with so many things that Tom would never dare to try. The boy was a bully for one, constantly challenging students to duels until they agreed or ran off. Usually, he would simply pick on the younger and weaker students, attacking them without even giving them a chance to fight back (which Tom at least agreed with as a fighting tactic, but Monroe's choice of opponents was pathetic, as was claiming these fights as duels).

Monroe didn't bother to make it a learning opportunity either; he used his bullying as a chance to show how great he thought he was, simply because he could. Tom just couldn't respect the boy on any level. He's far too entitled for his own good. I'll show him what a bully really is, next time I see him picking on third-years...

Tom shook his head in disgust as though he was trying to get a fly off of his face - and the thought of David Monroe out of his head.

As usual during this time of day - during almost any free time - Tom headed to the library. There was much power to be had in knowledge, as long as you could figure out a way to use every single obscure nugget to your own advantage. Nothing in particular he wanted to research today, so he would continue down the list of 129 books he had found to mention the Hogwarts castle, magical architecture, hidden and/or warded rooms, or Salazar Slytherin himself.

Tom had been down the list twice already, but his memory not being eidetic, he read more carefully every time. There must be something to learn from here. He had already found half a dozen serious mentions of Salazar's "Chamber of Secrets". Where there was that much smoke, there was at least an ember, Tom was certain. There were often mentions of a "monster" in the tales of this chamber. It was quite clear to Tom that if any of this was true, the monster would be some type of snake.

On his first day at Hogwarts, after the Sorting Hat had called "Slytherin," he had heard the message "If you would sseek my ssecrets, sspeak with my ssnake…" Tom had understood it was in another language; garden snakes were his closest friends as a young child. That had been one of the many reasons he was bullied for so long. Nobody believed he could converse with the serpents, not until that one night…

When he heard that secret message under the hat, a message which would have come out as a dull unremarkable hiss to anybody else, he knew it was meant for him. He had already read as much about the wizarding world as he could in the short time between Dumbledore's visit and his sorting, including the obvious Hogwarts, A History. He first learned of the so-called "Chamber of Secrets" in that book. Not very much, and what was written in that book sounded more like fantasy than fact, but over the years Tom had accumulated enough information on the subject to take it seriously.

If legend was true, it had in fact been opened once before, and had released "the horror within". That was the most specific information that he had found, a single paragraph in an old scroll vaguely hinting at an incident at Hogwarts 400 years ago, which had thence been covered up.

Tom was the Heir to Slytherin, and whatever "secrets" lie in the chamber were his right and he meant to claim that right.

Assuming this isn't a massive hoax.

Tom was the most powerful and cunning Slytherin in ages, and he could speak with snakes. This wasn't even a question in his mind. This chamber was his birthright - if it existed.

He continued down the empty hallway. The only person he encountered on his way to the library was the grotesquely large oaf, Hagrid. The Gryffindor was clearly distressed about something, but Tom had no interest in the early morning plots and schemes of a halfwit. Likely trying to sneak an extra two stone of beef out of the kitchens again. What a pig. Tom then smiled; now that the elves were supposedly on lockdown, the oaf would have some trouble getting that extra food for himself.

Tom arrived at the library door. It was locked and closed at this time, to most students, but being one of maybe a dozen students who had access to the library wards, he could enter any time he liked. The Headmaster granted Tom almost every privilege he wished for. So much easier to fool than Dumbledore, a shame Dippet talks of retiring.

Tom waved his wand inches away from the door, and he heard the clicking sound of the ward accepting him as somebody with authorization to enter. Tom had observed that almost all basic magical locks make a clicking sound, as if they were a muggle lock for some reason. Tom considered that odd. The basic spells should have been around far longer than the muggle locks they sounded like.

As soon as he stepped through the door it closed behind him, as these were not regular library hours, and the room was sealed again. Tom made his way to the back and found the last book he had been reading, a large hardcover text called The Brains of Bricks. The last time he read it, he felt it was boring, insightful perhaps if you wanted to be an architect, but absolutely unhelpful in finding a secret chamber. Still, he planned to read it again and try to take meaning from every last line. It's easy to overlook a single line which could be important later; some misunderstood phrase holding the key to everything…

Tom had just lifted the book from the shelf when he saw something out of the corner of his eye, something he likely wasn't meant to see.

Let's play along. He continued to take the book from the shelf, held it up, faked interest in the design on the cover, and started to make his way towards a table without ever directly looking in the corner. However, the entire time Tom was keeping his true focus on the distortion and ripples in the air that held a subtle feeling of magic, which was coming from the dark corner fifteen feet away.

Is this truly a coincidence? Tom asked himself. There have been many times that I've thought of someone specific, only to encounter them shortly after. Some kind of latent gift of prophecy?

Tom continued to pretend to be blind to the hidden wizard in the corner as he sat down at the desk. He took his time, setting the book down, opening it, pretending to look for a specific page. When he found his random page, he reached over to the magical lamp across the table for more light to read by.

As Tom extended his fingers towards the lamp he flicked his wrist.

He jumped upright to a balanced position instantly, knocking his chair over. He held his weight on his rear foot, his magic already taking shape inside him.

Tom had his wand trained directly at the center mass of the flickering shadow of David Monroe.

The boy stood in the corner under a poor invisibility charm. Although the fact that Monroe could manage any type of Disillusionment already was impressive, Tom had to admit; he hadn't thought the boy was strong enough to sustain that spell, even in this poor form.

"If I allow you to have a future… I would suggest planning your ambushes more thoroughly," Tom said calmly, even as he became annoyed, almost automatic around this boy. Monroe would never have had time to react if this was a true ambush, which he doubted it was, but he kept his guard up all the same, wand steady in his well-practiced hand.

Tom continued to lecture the semi invisible boy. "For Merlin's sake, at least have your wand in hand once in position. If you have to draw it at the last moment, all kinds of terrible things can go wrong." Tom's tone was dry as it was cold. He unfortunately couldn't hurt Monroe here to teach him a lesson.

The other boy knew it too. "I could arrange some type of "accident"…

Tom clicked his tongue at the amateur; it did no good to come up with plots on the spot. Still, a sneak attack would have been almost interesting, but a poor sneak attack was annoying. The school's "golden boy" is astonishingly incompetent. How Monroe got his reputation...

"David Monroe can out-duel anybody in school!" Tom had heard it said in the hallways; he'd just had to laugh at that.

Monroe broke his apparently newly-learned Disillusionment, and his form appeared clearly- his hands open and up, a smug confident smile on his face. "You got me, Riddle." Monroe said with all the calm arrogance in the world.

He strode over, ignoring the wand trained at his heart, and looked at the book Tom was reading. Tom shifted position and started to build a shield, mentally, without recourse to his wand. He was ready to activate it without a word. Monroe obviously felt the magic rising in the air, but he ignored it and read the title of Tom's book out loud.

"The Brains of Bricks, hmm… I always knew you would go into some obscure line of work after school. I never took you for an architect, though. You seem more a civil servant to me." Monroe looked up at Tom and smiled. Tom wasn't as amused.

Referring to him as any type of "servant" was unacceptable. If Tom didn't need to keep his "excellent, yet misunderstood student" act going he would curse this fool into seven flaming pieces for that comment. Instead, he decided to play along. "But David, surely you've read a book or two on magical construction? If your home library has 5000 books and you've read every one of them, I mean..."

Monroe claimed to be the most well-read wizard alive, but it was obvious to Tom that it was a lie. Not that he truly thought the Monroe library was less than five thousand books, but anybody who read that much about magic would have been able to wipe the floor with him, overwhelming his best attacks with incomprehensible magic.

However, that was not at all what had happened, that morning when Monroe had tried to force Tom into a type of "dominance contest" in a long-abandoned shortcut to the library. He'd appeared in Tom's path and asked him if he wanted to engage in a "friendly duel", to test each other out. Tom, of course, did not "duel," and nothing he did to Monroe could be considered friendly. He also did not need to test himself against the likes of Monroe; he had fought much stronger opponents. So Tom had declined and turned to walk away, fully expecting an attack anyways.

It came in the form of a howling orange light which Tom only saw for a moment as he turned to brush it aside.

Tom had proceeded to unleash a blistering volley of multi-colored curses and hexes at Monroe. The boy had been foolish enough to use a weak spell as his first attack; he had to be taught a lesson in what surprise attacks ought to be.

David Monroe had been fast, graceful and powerful, much more than the average student, but that was still just barely enough to deflect or dodge Tom's attacks. He certainly had no time or energy to go on the offensive properly; every spell he'd thrown at Tom had been cast aside, harmlessly absorbed by the castle's walls.

After a few minutes of flashing light of every color of the rainbow, bizarre unearthly noises, and other things which were beyond the senses, Monroe had breathlessly yielded.

Normally Tom wouldn't accept a yielding opponent - just one more person with a grudge to look out for in the future - however, as he couldn't very well kill Monroe right there in the hallway, he had simply walked away as Monroe struggled to his knees and leaned against a wall. Breaking him down like that had taken Tom far more effort than he would have liked; he was nearly out of breath by the end himself, but he had managed to keep his inhalations calm and steady.

Monroe was powerful, but his fighting techniques were poor. He was obviously not a natural warrior like Tom, and never would be. The boy was still a good deal weaker than Tom as well; no matter what Monroe claimed, Tom's well of power was much deeper.

Tom had absolutely put Monroe in place at the start of the year with that so-called duel, and from there Monroe had toned down his arrogance to a nearly-tolerable level. It had been growing again slowly however, and it angered Tom that the boy felt like he could act so smug again in private now. After all the subtle lessons Tom had tried to teach Monroe over the years, it was an utter mystery why the boy was still so sure of himself in Tom's presence.

Even now, Monroe spoke with in that cocky tone of voice. "Well. I honestly expect a half-decent Auror out of you one day. You can be head of the DMLE when I'm Minister for Magic. I'd even be sure to give you extra vacation days, Tom, on account of our friendship." He gave Tom what must have been thought of as a vote-winning smile, which once again Tom failed to return.

Of course. Monroe is ambitious, but with no ambition. He'll probably actually become the Minister for Magic, but he'll never be a truly great wizard, a legendary figure.

Monroe looked Tom in the eyes, which no longer had any hint of playfulness. "Tell me, what are you truly reading about? What secret do you hope to extract from this book?" He continued to peer into Tom's eyes, and suddenly Tom could feel his mental barriers being probed ever so slightly, a wet noodle rubbing against a steel wall. David Monroe is just clever enough to be a danger to himself.

It was one thing for Albus Dumbledore to try and peek into his mind, it was another matter altogether if David Monroe thought he had that right, or the ability.

Tom stared back into David Monroe' eyes, and applied his own Legilimency, harder than he had ever tried.

The effect caused a feedback loop of Monroe reading Tom's thoughts as he read Monroe's mind. Tom was prepared for this mental gridlock, Monroe was not.

Monroe stumbled backwards and closed his eyes while rubbing his forehead. "What on earth was that?"

Tom smiled, "That's part of what happens when you try Legilimancy on Tom Riddle." Monroe frowned but didn't say anything else; he just kept glancing at Tom's book.

One day, I will find you, in true privacy, I swear it. I'll show you that being born into power does not make you powerful, that confidence means nothing if you cannot back it up...

For the time being, Tom simply smiled dryly at the boy and snatched his book back with reflexes so quick that a brief look of shock passed across the other's face as the book disappeared from his hand. Tom walked over ten yards away to sit in a chair; he put his arm on the armrest, wand still in hand as a message of readiness for combat. Monroe paid no heed, simply striding out of the library and on his way.

Tom picked up where he left off in "The Brains of Bricks."

"The fundamental structure of a building crafted with high wizardry will never change, even though the chambers themselves may. Such systems as water piping and automatic lighting cannot be altered after the enchantments are finalized. Lesser enchantments can be applied, but those spells will not hold onto the original design, and they will require regular upkeep."

Tom arrived in the Great Hall a few minutes before breakfast was supposed to be served.

There was some type of commotion among the students, something to do with children being scared in the night. Having long since lost his appetite for scaring children, he looked down at the plates, waiting for the moment food would appear. Let's see, today's the odd sausages, with the strange blue bits. Every detection charm he had cast on them had revealed nothing, but there was something clearly magical about them.

The food did not appear on time.

After a moment, Tom looked toward the head table, where Headmaster Dippet was beginning to stand. The man raised his wand and several loud popping sounds broke through the babble of talk in the hall.

"I just have a short announcement before breakfast today." He coughed, but a few whispers could still be heard from students. "Due to recent events, students are no longer permitted to interact with house elves personally, or in any way for that matter." Headmaster Dippet said it quickly and simply before taking his seat again.

Professor Dumbledore now stood, and the room finally went still. The old wizard had a very grave look on his face as he spoke. "I feel I must elaborate a little. This was truly a difficult decision to make, but it is one we feel is in the school's best interests. I am truly sorry for any friendships that may be hurt from this decision."

The man paused to let it sink in. "However, for the time being, it is in everybody's best interest that the elf staff and the student population do not interact. Trust me, students, you are helping the elves by ignoring them from this point."

There was muttering around the crowd now. Tom was curious, just how many people were truly friends with the elves?

Dumbledore went on, his voice even sadder. "Please, do not try to speak with any elf you are friendly with. They are bound to ignore you; it is no fault of your own, and I do not want you to think of it that way." Staring at the silverware rather than the mass of students, his mood seemed to suddenly brighten. "Now let us move onto more pleasant matters. Such as breakfast!"

As Dumbledore said the word, the food appeared on the tables. Tom looked around for his blue sausages; they weren't, after all, on the menu today, apparently. Although, when he saw Dumbledore, the old man had a blue sausage on his fork and was taking a bite in a rather theatrical fashion.

From behind him Tom heard, "Why would they do this?" from a young sad voice. Tom swivelled around to see the speaker, a young Gryffindor boy walking past with his friend. The child seemed truly upset.

"I heard one of the Professors say that the elves were complaining about having to pretend to be friendly with the students…" Tom let his voice trail off as he watched the boy's face sink. The child and his friend silently walked away with their heads down.

Tom smirked as he piled his plate with some of his less favorite foods.