All the Time in the World

Chapter Thirty Four

Harry saw Tom Riddle sway over his cauldron and with a muttered oath, he caught the younger teen before he fell.

"What's happening?" Slughorn was there in a trice.

"I think he breathed in the fumes."

Slughorn tut-tutted, and said, "You better take him back to the dormitory, Potter. The effects should wear off in an hour or so. If he'd ingested it, then we would have been in trouble. But since it's only the fumes, he just needs to stay away from everybody for a while."

"Is he dangerous?" asked Harry, wondering what exactly the effects were that might wear off in an hour.

"Oh, no. He might be a bit confused and not very lucid. He might be a bit dangerous to himself. Might be. Of course, the effects vary depending on the wizard's metabolism. It is similar to the muggles getting drunk."

Harry had no idea about what muggles did when they got drunk. Uncle Vernon, for all his faults, never got drunk and there were no drunks in Privet Drive. His only experience of drunk people was what he saw on TV.

"You better stay with him till he's back to normal. You have History of Magic next, right? I'll tell Professor Binns."

That was not too bad, thought Harry, as he half-carried, half-led Riddle to the dormitory. Being alive had not made Binns' teaching of History of Magic any less boring. Ron and Harry had spent every lesson fighting sleep.

"Potter," muttered Riddle suddenly. "How do you know Parseltongue?"

"I don't," the lie was automatic.

"Liar. I heard you speaking in Parseltongue. How do you know that?" Riddle straightened and looked balefully at Harry.

"Look, we need to get to the common room and then I'll tell you."

Riddle nodded and started walking towards the common room. They reached the Slytherin Common Room and Riddle muttered, "Why do I have this headache, Potter? Did you curse me?"

"No, Riddle. You breathed in the fumes of the Befuddling Draught you were brewing."

"Impossible!"

Harry shook his head. "Look, I am not baby-sitting you because I want to. Come up to the dormitory and stay there till the effects wear off."

Riddle looked at him belligerently. Harry wondered if this was the effect of the potion, that it made Riddle aggressive and made him reveal his true self. Then Riddle nodded and Harry helped him to the Dormitory.

Riddle lay down on his bed. "I never knew the fumes could do this," he muttered. "It's interesting. I feel light headed and angry and weak and have a headache."

Harry sat on the edge of the bed. "Professor Slughorn said the effects depend on your metabolism. It's like muggles getting drunk."

Riddle grimaced. "I have seen enough of that, thanks to the orphanage and my father's servants."

"The orphanage?"

Riddle grimaced. "I was living in an orphanage till I was six. Which was when my father came for me. Apparently it took him six years to remember he had a son!"

"Maybe he did not know," said Harry gently.

"How could a man have a child and not know it?" Demanded Riddle.

"How was it there, in the orphanage?" Harry asked, more to change the subject than anything.

Riddle's face twisted. "Grim. I was hungry most of the time. And alone.... So alone. They all feared me... and I did not know what I was... I was never beaten, but I was bullied for a while till they realized that I was able to fight back, though not physically." He paused. "And the matron..." he grimaced. "She used to drink a lot... the stink of it... she didn't hit me or anything, but her tongue got quite vicious when she was drunk.... She didn't fear me, not as the children did.... She was... nervous... she couldn't explain how I did what I did."

"You used magic on them."

"I could control it, even then. And I hurt them, Potter. I hurt them for hurting me, for isolating me, for stealing my food. I stole their possessions in return and none of them even suspected!"

"And then your father came."

"He is a muggle. He abandoned my mother when he learned she was a witch, though he knew she was pregnant. That is the answer to your question, Potter. He knew of my existence and never bothered."

"Maybe he was searching for you."

Riddle snorted. "He is a rich man, Potter. If he was looking for me, he would have found me. No, something happened, something that made him come for me. I still don't know what it is, but I'll figure it out one day."

"I think you should stop talking, Riddle," said Harry. He had seen on TV, people spilling their guts to others while drunk. It looked as if Riddle reacted the same way.

"I can't," said Riddle. "And oddly, I do not want to. You don't know how difficult it is to keep all this in you. All my hatred, all my anger, all my ambition.... No one knows me, Potter. No one. And even you, who are listening, have no idea who I am."

"What is your ambition, Tom?" Harry asked, using Riddle's first name.

"To be rid of that filthy name! To be rid of this filthy shell! To be powerful enough to conquer death! To be so powerful that people would tremble at the sound of my name! They would fear to speak it!" He gave a mirthless smile. "Whoever trembled at a name like Tom? It is so ordinary."

"I see. Why do you want to be powerful? Why do you want to be feared?"

"I just do, Potter. I like to see people bowing before me. I like having the power to decide their lives and deaths. I like seeing them cower before me. And of course, I want the muggles to be where they deserve to be."

"And where is that?"

"Underneath our feet! To be trodden into the mud!"

"They're not animals, Tom."

"They're worse! Even werewolves have some use. They inspire fear. But muggles.... They inspire nothing but contempt."

"Even your father?"

"I am not a sentimental person, Potter. My father is useful to me. That is all."

Harry stared, stunned at the younger boy. On the face of Riddle's barefaced confession, their mission seemed ridiculous. How were they ever to reclaim someone like this? Was that even possible?

Harry saw Riddle's cold eyes on him, and he shivered.

"What are you hiding from me, Potter? I know you are hiding something. And I will find out."

He leaned forward and Harry was unable to look away. "Tell me the truth Potter," he whispered. "How do you speak Parseltongue?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "I've always been able to do it. I don't know why or how."

Riddle's eyes bore into his and Harry desperately tried to empty his mind of thought. Either it worked or Riddle was unable to do Legilimency properly because he lay down again, seemingly satisfied.

"You cannot keep anything from me, Potter," he boasted. "I'll find out. I always find out the truth."

Harry swallowed. He hoped not. But looking at Riddle, all he wanted to do was to run.