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“Professor, I had a question and I was wondering if I might take a moment of your time.”
“Of course, Tom, come in.”
Tom put on his best smile and stepped into the Professor’s office, mentally preparing for the conversation to follow. The Professor was known for being relatively open-minded, but one could never be too careful.
“Now, what was it you had a question about?” the Professor asked, folding his hands together and placing them on his desk, leaning forward just slightly to indicate Tom had his full attention.
Tom preened slightly despite himself.
“Well, I was in the restricted section the other day doing a bit of research, and I came across a term I was unfamiliar with. Sir, could you tell me what horcruxes are?”
“Horcruxes, hmm? Of course. A Horcrux is an object where a portion of someone’s soul has been placed, usually as a preventative measure against death. To make one requires a ritualistic murder and the subsequent splitting of one’s soul.”
The Professor offered this information in such a nonchalant manner that Tom was rather taken aback.
“I see,” Tom said, regaining himself a bit. “And are these a common thing then?”
“Not particularly,” the Professor replied.
“Right.” However Tom had imagined this conversation going this was not it. “And could more horcruxes be made, in theory? More than just the one, that is?”
“Ah, as in a number with more magical strength? Three, or seven perhaps?”
Tom just nodded.
“In theory, yes. In practice too, if you’re going to get particular about it.”
To be entirely honest, Tom had expected it to take much longer than three minutes to get his questions answered. He wasn’t quite sure what to do at this point.
“Of course,” his Professor continued, drawing Tom out of his own thoughts, “the side effects of making a horcrux are rather nasty. I suppose that’s what keeps it from being a more popular means of prolonging life, the murder element aside, of course.”
“Of course,” Tom parroted back, trying to deal with his Professor’s apparent lackadaisical attitude towards murder. Not that Tom had anything against it in certain cases, strictly speaking, but it was odd hearing his professor talk so.
Tom shook himself out of his own thoughts. “What, exactly, are the, er, side effects?”
“Well insanity, for starters.”
Tom sank in his chair a bit.
“Splitting the soul can hardly be expected to happen without a splitting of the mind. They’re rather interconnected, you see.”
“Right,” Tom said numbly.
“With the loss of portions of both soul and mind, there emerges a tendency to fixate on things. Much like a toddler and a coveted toy, I suppose.”
“So a regression of sorts?” Tom asked weakly.
“I suppose it could be viewed that way, yes. Oh, and then there is the loss of features.”
“Features, sir?”
“Yes, well, some human features tend to be lost in the process.”
Tom’s stomach sank further than it already had through this conversation, if that was at all possible.
“You know, I once encountered a man who had made multiple horcruxes. Seven, to be precise.”
Tom perked up a bit, although he had a feeling this tale would not be particularly to his liking.
“Yes, the seventh one was entirely accidental though. He had only meant to make six, keeping himself as the seventh portion of the soul, no doubt, but seeing as he was unaware he had made an extra one in the process, he continued on to make his final horcrux, brining the total number of pieces to eight.”
“He…accidentally committed a ritualistic murder and split his soul?”
Tom was still trying to wrap his mind around how anyone could accidentally go through such a detailed and complicated process and not even realize its outcome when his Professor continued.
“Oh yes. He committed the murders, alright, he just didn’t realize a horcrux had been created. Of course, he was entirely insane by that point so his lack of awareness probably stemmed from that.”
“Understandable,” Tom said, not really knowing what else he could say.
“Yes, by the end he was entirely insane. Such a shame too, because he was quite bright when he was younger.”
“The end, sir? Did something happen to him?”
The Professor seemed lost in thought for a moment, before refocusing his attention on Tom and answering, “Yes, I killed him in the end. And his horcruxes. He was insane and quite murderous at that point. Can’t have a madman running around killing everyone now, can we?”
“You…killed his horcruxes? That is possible?”
“Oh yes,” the Professor continued cheerily, “it’s really not all that difficult. Besides, it’s not like they can dodge.”
Tom nodded along mutely, dread pooling in his stomach as he realized this was probably not a cogent means to immortality to pursue. Now he was going to have to start all over in his research.
“It’s a wonder, really, that horcruxes ever came about. Of course I doubt the inventor of them knew what the side effects were like, but it should have been obvious for everyone after that. Ah, well, I suppose the quest for immortality leads people to foolish decisions.”
“Are there other means of gaining immortality then?” At this point Tom might as well ask.
“Well there is no true means of immortality,” his Professor began.
Tom’s heart sank to meet his stomach at this.
“Not that anyone would truly want it if they have it, bloody long time to be stuck,” the man muttered.
Before Tom could fully process what his Professor might mean by that, the man continued.
“But the best method for a reasonably long extension of life is most likely Alchemy.”
“Alchemy, sir?”
“Yes, quite. A Philosopher’s Stone would effectively extend life for several centuries. Or longer, I suppose, in theory at least. I can’t say anyone has tried to carry on for much longer than six or seven centuries. It gets rather boring after a time.”
The Professor sounded as if he had some personal experience with that somehow, but Tom dared not ask. He was a Slytherin, for Salazar’s sake, not some bloody Gryffindor.
“I thought Nicolas Flamel was the only known maker of a Philosopher’s Stone,” Tom said in an effort to steer the conversation back towards useful information and away from his own speculations that he’d rather not ponder at the moment.
“The only known maker, perhaps,” his Professor replied, eyeing him pointedly. “Announcing to the world that you have achieved a means of assuredly extending life is hardly likely to result in a peaceful, private existence, now, is it?”
“No, sir,” Tom said, not being able to argue that point at all, especially since his mind was by this point racing. Alchemy. Was that truly a possibility? He had spent only a small portion of his time studying the subject thus far, but perhaps it was time to focus a little more effort in that direction.
“Yes, I would have to say that Alchemy is probably the best way to go if you are interested in ensuring a way to prolong your lifespan. I assume, Mr. Riddle, that that is what brought you to my office today?”
Tom could only nod. This was not in his plans.
“Hmm,” his teacher merely replied, leaning back in his own chair. “Well, you are certainly a gifted student. I believe you could handle the study of Alchemy well, and perhaps make your own Philosopher’s Stone, if the offset of death is something you truly wish to pursue.”
“The offset?”
“Death can hardly be escaped forever, Mr. Riddle,” his Professor said, almost gently. “It can be delayed, to be sure, but we all meet Death one way or another.”
Tom resisted the urge to shift in his seat like a child.
“Death is not something to be feared,” his Professor continued in his gentle tone. “No one wants to meet it prematurely, to be sure, but after a full life? A life well-lived? I daresay there few who do not meet Death with something akin to peace and even relief.”
No doubt seeing a skeptical or conflicted look on Tom’s face despite his best efforts to control his reactions, the Professor continued on some more.
“Should Death be feared, simply because it is an unknown? It is, as some would say, simply the next step. It is as natural to life as birth.”
Tom merely nodded again, his mind swirling with thoughts that he hardly knew what to do with.
“Mr. Riddle, there is a natural and understandable aversion to Death, especially in times of war or sickness, but it does not do to run from it so much that you forget to live.”
“I understand, Professor.”
His Professor nodded. “I believe you do, yes. And if, as you near the end of your schooling, you wish to pursue a study into the field of Alchemy, know that I will fully support your decision and aid you as best I can.”
Tom could only express his genuine thanks for such an offer, especially considering the man who was doing the offering.
“Now,” his Professor said, pulling out a small parchment and jotting down some notes or other on it, “Here are some books you might be interested in. I believe all of them are in the Hogwarts Library, but if not come see me again and I will be happy to help procure them for you.”
“Thank you, Professor Peverell,” Tom said, gratefully taking the list.
“Good luck, Tom,” Professor Peverell said softly, as Tom stood and made his way to the door.
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Six years later, true to his word, Professor Peverell aided Tom in his desire to further his study of Alchemy, helping him secure an apprenticeship with none other than Nicolas Flamel himself. The glowing recommendation Professor Peverell gave made Tom blush, though he would never admit it to anyone but himself.
The look on Dumbledore’s face when Peverell mentioned Tom’s apprenticeship was a pensieve memory Tom would treasure forever, and one which he wrote an extensive letter of thanks for. The transfiguration professor had never warmed up to Tom, and even now viewed him with suspicion, and Professor Peverell, knowing of the tension between the two, had humored himself with the divulgence of Tom’s intentions to study with Dumbledore’s own mentor, graciously sharing the memory.
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As he sat in his office, Tom fiddled a bit with his quill. Being Minister was rewarding, to be sure, but there was so much paperwork. Surely there had to be a more efficient way. Unfortunately both his mentors had experienced nearly uncontrolled laughter when he had voiced such a complaint, Flamel going so far as to floo his wife and share what he apparently viewed as the most humorous statement of the year, while Peverell simply patted him on the shoulder and informed him that if he ever managed to decrease the amount of paperwork he would no doubt be famous until the end of time.
Tom snorted slightly to himself at the memory. Four years in office now and he still hadn’t managed to decrease the amount of paperwork. It was a fool’s errand, most likely, but everyone could have dreams.
Sighing a bit at the sight of his very real and very present stack of paperwork to complete by the end of the day, Tom allowed himself one last moment of reprieve. He flicked his finger slightly, opening a small drawer on the side of his desk. Only two things occupied the drawer, and he pulled them both out, savoring the brief feeling of nostalgia he was allowing himself to engage in.
A Beginner’s Guide to Alchemy was placed on his desk, the well-worn copy looking nearly out of place in the office full of rare and highly valuable editions and tomes. A small stone was placed neatly on top.
It took Tom a moment to remember the last time he had even used one of the stones, though its comforting presence was continually felt. This one though, this very first one he had ever successfully made, sat as a monument to everything he had accomplished thus far in his life. When he had completed his second stone, and offered the first to Peverell, the man had simply shook his head, saying that though the gesture was appreciated, he had no need of such things.
Tom had never fully understood the man’s reasoning, though the older he got the more suspicions he had regarding his favorite Professor. Long-lived or not, it was not entirely usual for wizards to live without some change in their apparent age.
Tom would never be the one to press him for answers, however.
If anyone was entitled to a few secrets, it was Henry Peverell, defeater of Dark Lords and the best Professor Hogwarts had ever seen, at least in Tom’s opinion.
And he liked to think his opinion was worth something.