The Years of Riddle

Chapter Thirty-One | Hogwarts, November 1963

Chapter Thirty-One

Hogwarts, November 1963

Silas Lacroix did not need help with his homework, this Albus Dumbledore was quite sure of. He was one of the brightest students in his year, had never failed a class, rather he always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone else. So why, wondered Dumbledore, was Silas attending homework help in Classroom E-13 every Friday?

He rarely actually asked for any help, mostly just sat in a far off desk and did his work quietly. Dumbledore checked with all his teachers, and Silas wasn't having any trouble – his presence was muddling.

"Silas," he called one evening as the students began to file out. "Do you have a moment?"

"Or course, Professor." He paused in the middle of aisles, holding his books, still wearing his reading glasses.

Dumbledore folded his own glasses and clasped his hands. "I was curious, do you need any help with anything – other than homework?"

Fidgeting under the professor's gaze, Silas looked away. "Well, I have been meaning to ask you..." this was his chance, he had been waiting weeks to get Dumbledore alone, to gather his courage. "If you perhaps knew a wizard by the name of Tom Riddle?"

Dumbledore did not seem surprised. He leaned back in his chair and studied Silas closely, watching the young man's movements. Silas really had become a young man, with the same strong jaw, elegant nose, and careful mannerism that had made Tom Riddle so likable. It was odd to see these characteristics in someone with a good heart. "I do."

"Can you tell me anything about him?" asked Silas, suddenly no longer nervous. "You see, I believe he was friends with my mother, when they were children."

"You are correct." Dumbledore chose his words carefully. "Tom stayed at the same orphanage as your mother, and they grew up together – they were quite close, from what I understand."

"He wrote her letters from school," Silas wanted to know more, more maybe than Dumbledore could tell him. "She was fond of him. If they were so close – why did we never meet him? Where is he?"

"He disappeared," Dumbledore was concerned for Silas – he seemed distressed. "Mid 1960, no one has seen him since."

"That...that's just after my mother died." He said quietly, and he was suddenly far away. Silas remembered something then, and he stood up suddenly. "Thank you Professor, but I've got to get back to my dorm."

Dumbledore could not help but feel worried. "Silas – do not go looking for someone who does not want to be found."

"I won't Professor." Said Silas before rushing out, book bag nearly slipping off his shoulder.

"Be careful, Silas." Dumbledore said quietly. He hoped the boy would be all right, Gwyn would have been so upset if he got hurt. Dumbledore decided then that he would keep a better eye on Silas, make sure he wasn't getting into any trouble – he was a good boy. Good boys should live a long time, and have families and jobs and be happy. No one who got mixed up with Tom Riddle would have that.

         Back in his dorm, Silas was tearing apart his trunk. Every paper he had brought back from the attic, each article and yearbook he had checked out from the library, was strewn across the floor. The other boys were having a game of exploding snap in the common room, and it was Arthur who found Silas crawling around on the floor, desperately searching through every piece of photographic evidence they had found of Tom Riddle.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" asked Arthur, gawking at the mess of their dorm.

"I know I've seen it before, it has to be –" Silas was almost in tears as he went violently through the pages of an old yearbook.

"Have you gone mad?" Arthur kneeled by his friend, trying to understand what was going on. "What are you looking for?"

"The ring – the fucking ring –" Silas gasped, "I knew it was familiar." He was holding up the yearbook, and wildly searched around in his drawer for a magnifying glass. "There, look there Arthur – the ring."

Arthur leaned over; it was a photo of the slug club from 1945 – Tom Riddle was front and centre, regal and handsome, surrounded by boys that seemed uncomfortable and awestruck in his presence. Even Professor Slughorn seemed less pompous than usual. Tom Riddle was wearing a large ring, what looked like gold even in the black and white photo, with a substantial black stone in the centre.

"Uh, what about it? Looks like a fairly expensive ring to me."

"I know that ring." Silas said desperately. "The summer after Mamma died, a man came to our London flat, asking for her – he could hardly hold himself together when my Pa told him she was gone. He asked how old I was, and Pa told I was twelve – in November. He lied. Not only that, but –" Eyes wide, Silas pointed to the ring. "He was wearing that ring."

"What does any of this mean?" Arthur's glasses were slipping down his nose, and he was frowning.

"It means I have met Tom Riddle – and he disappeared right after this." Silas sat back heavily, letting the yearbook slide to the floor.

Arthur studied the picture, concerned. "Why would your Dad lie about your age though?"

"I don't know, Arthur." Silas sighed. "Pa was so...aggressive. He made him leave immediately."

"Why? If he was your Mums oldest friend?"

"I guess we'll just have to keep looking." Silas shrugged and looked at the photo of Tom Riddle again. "I need to know what happened, why Pa seemed to hate him so much."

"Do you think this is safe?" asked Arthur. "If he was so awful to this Tom Riddle, your Dad must have a reason."

"Maybe, but I still need to know. He knew Ma longer than anyone, and I want to know more about her." He gave Arthur a longing look, begging him to understand. "I need to know more about her."

Arthur put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "We'll help you, Silas. You're not alone in this."

"Thank you." Silas didn't mention that he felt alone, despite having three wonderful friends to help him along, encourage him, aid him. They were there, but he still felt as if there was no one in the world left who understood him the way Gwyn had. Maybe that hole in his heart would never be filled, no matter how long he searched. 

A/N: Oh my. Silas is going deeeeeeep. 

Question: What will Silas do? Dig deeper into the mystery of Tom Riddle, and what will he find if he does?

Rose

P.S I'm going on a five  hour train journey today so hopefully I can write there, and then an EIGHT HOUR ONE back on tuesday, so I will be doing (hopefully) lots of writing. Don't know if I have wifi in Montreal.

Anyone live in Montreal? Probably not. I need to know where to get the best bagels.