Chapter 13: Charisma Without a Wand
The large double doors swung open automatically to admit them, and Ogg deposited them in the antechamber. "The Deputy Headmaster will be out soon. In the meantime, don't get yourselves into too much trouble, all right? I've got some business I have to attend to."
Tom vaguely wondered how old Ogg had to be, that he had already forgotten all the dangers of leaving a group of highly excitable children in the same room without adult supervision.
Especially when some of those children were brought up in highly bigoted households, and some others were victims of said bigots.
And especially when all of them were untrained young witches and wizards who already had their wands – which were, in their base forms, simply potential weapons of mass destruction.
That was like locking a bunch of rednecks and blacks in the same room. And all of them had a handgun each, but not all of them knew how to use one.
You are so racist!
I'm a future Dark Lord and you're whining about me being racist?
We are equal-opportunity employers; don't forget that.
Almost immediately, a dark-haired boy with an upturned nose that was clearly destined for Slytherin House on the basis of family tradition if not actual cunning and ambition started picking a fight with another boy who was clearly not filthy rich or 100% wizard.
"Now, stop that!" Minerva stepped forward angrily, her Scottish accent coming out extremely thickly. "If ye haven't anythin' nice ta say, then don't say it at all!"
Oh, god, Tom thought. Here we go.
"And who are you?" Snobbish Brat – now revealed to be one Edmond Lestrange – sniggered. He put on a very bad imitation of Minerva's accent, "Ah, lemme guess – lassie from o'er yonder hill, eh?" There were some snickers, and Minerva turned bright red in anger.
Shit, shit, what do we do? he though frantically. We have to defend Minerva or else we'll look bad, but we can't embarrass this guy like we did to the bully on the train because we might actually need his influence and money later!
Just stop the argument. Keep neutral ground. Then explain to Minerva in private later that although you would have liked to hex him, you didn't want to get in trouble before class even started, and that you didn't want to accidentally insult any influential families, either. She'll understand following the rules, even if we don't get revenge.
"Stop it, both of you," Tom said, his voice soft, but commanding. There was no magic involved – just behavorial science, something he had practiced and perfected on the other orphans at Wool's.
Even Lestrange, the current big fish of the group, stopped his taunting of Minerva for a few seconds to listen to what this kid had to say. "Or do you want to look like childish fools in front of the entire school before you've even been assigned a House?"
If Lestrange knew who he was, then he would have heard the rumors of a first-year who took out a third-year with nothing more than a Levitation Charm. If Lestrange didn't know who he was, then Tom cut a respectable figure anyway.
He was relatively tall for an eleven-year-old – not too tall to be awkward, but tall enough so that most people had to look up slightly to meet his eyes – and, with his graceful figure, well-combed hair, pale complexion, and sharp cheekbones, could give even the most stuck-up purebloods a run for their money.
Tom knew he was good-looking. And he wasn't afraid to use it.
Oh, just you wait until after your voice cracks. Ovaries will start exploding in your presence.
What does my voice cracking have anything to do with exploding ovaries? That sounds like a very messy and inefficient way to kill someone.
It was just an expression!
Futuristic reference?
Your future, not mine.
What?
"Oh?" Lestrange crossed his arms, injecting some trembling bravado into his voice. "And who are you to tell me what to do?"
"No one," Tom said. "It's a free country, so do what you want. No one's stopping you. I just thought that someone of a supposedly noble house would have the manners to engage in less disgraceful behavior than childish mimicry and squabbles. But of course you're too refined for something as petty as that, right?"
"Of course!" Lestrange retorted without thinking, and then realized that he had just walked straight into Tom's verbal trap a second too late.
Now he was bound by verbal contract to either stop bullying people, or otherwise accept that he was little more than a petulant child not deserving of his birth title.
Ooh, big words! That ought to do it. Nice touch with the Hobson's choice, by the way.
Lestrange gave him a funny look, like he didn't know what to do with Tom. Tom had tricked him, but he hadn't insulted or offended him.
He had simply given the other boy an ultimatum – be mature, or dishonor his own family name and pureblood status – in the most polite and subtle way possible. No one was hurt, and no one was humiliated – or no one would be humiliated if Lestrange behaved.
In the end he simply accepted Tom's presence, and regarded him as a respectable person. Not quite a friend, but definitely not an enemy.
He had no grounds for hating Tom, and no reason to enact any petty revenge or carry any grudges. Tom had successfully kept him as a potential ally without offending any of his current ones.
It was so much easier to, ah, persuade someone if you were on civil terms with them.
Now, if Lestrange had been a bit older, a bit more worldly, then he would have realized that Tom had, in actuality, humiliated him, and was a threat to be disposed of immediately.
Tom had, after all, called him out in front of a bunch of his peers, and unfairly maneuvered him into accepting a one-sided treaty.
In effect, he had undermined Lestrange's status as the dominant fish in this small pond, and now whatever advantage the boy would have had as the firstborn of a prominent Wizarding family had flown out the window.
The other first-years were now looking to Tom as their leader – a self-assured, but fair individual, who didn't depend on force but wasn't afraid to use it to defend himself. Kind and trustworthy, but also powerful.
Definitely a better choice than Lestrange, who had seemed to be the only option for top dog before.
If Lestrange had been born even a year earlier or later, he might have been able to garner the same influence as the other pureblood heirs – Orion Black, Abraxas Malfoy, and so on.
But it was not to be, because Tom Riddle oozed charisma in the bucketfuls from every pore, and Tom Riddle knew that he oozed charisma in the bucketfuls from every pore (even if he pretended to be humble and denied that he was any more likeable than anyone else), and Tom Riddle wasn't afraid to use all of this excess charisma to his own advantage.
An adult would have recognized this political tactic for what it was, maybe. But Lestrange was only eleven, and everyone else around them was also only eleven, and so the subtlety of Tom's actions flew way over their heads.
None of them were consciously thinking about the implications of their actions. They weren't actively picking sides.
All they knew was that a fight had started, and Tom had diffused the situation before it could escalate, all without hurting anyone's feelings.
That was enough for them to abandon Lestrange for Tom without a second thought, and none of them even knew that their allegiances had changed.
Jerry was laughing his socks off.
And we haven't even been Sorted yet. This just keeps getting better and better.
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