Chapter 19: The Boy Who Invented Pens
The library the weird room had come up with was smaller than the entire Hogwarts library, of course, but not that much smaller.
And, given that it was only on a few select topics, Tom was pretty sure that some of these books weren't actually available for public reference.
It was overwhelming, to say the least. He felt like he could stay here forever. He just wanted to get lost in this place and never leave again.
No doubt he'd learn more here, alone, than sitting in class. Depressingly enough, the world wasn't conquered from the inside of a library and there were more important things to life than just furthering one's own intelligence.
As Slytherin House had taught him on the very first night, connections were extremely important, too – and that required Tom to regularly step out into the daylight.
Which was annoying, since Tom hated people, but he could deal with that. As long as he didn't have to form real bonds with them, he could suffer through creating some fake ones.
What is this? A magical reference library?
It's the Room of Requirement. It gives you anything you need, within limits.
And all I have to do is walk back and forth between this patch of wall thinking about what I want?
Yep. Of course, it won't give you anything that's restricted use, like food, or hasn't been invented yet, but it will still do its best.
Wow. That's…
Yeah. I know.
This is actually pretty amazing.
Yeah, well, snap out of it, Tom. I know these reference books all seem cool, but they won't help us much. This is just so you know that it's there. Next time we come, just ask for some place where we can practice magic in private, so no one else can walk in on us.
Ah. I see.
Now I think it's about time we started heading back. Some of the paintings should be awake by now, so we can still use the excuse about not wanting to get lost on the first day.
Sheesh. You'd think that after a thousand years, they'd think to make a map of this bloody place.
…
Jerry?
Oh. My. God. I am so stupid.
What?
THE MAP!
What map? Oh, let me guess…Futuristic reference?
Well, yeah. But one we can actually use. A map that shows everyone in Hogwarts and where they are…
Where are we going to get that?
We're going to make it.
What? That sounds awfully complicated.
Four teenaged Gryffindor pranksters just a few years older than you were figured it out.
WHAT?
Yeah, I know. Stupid. But hey – the only hard part is actually drawing out the damn thing. Spelling it to latch onto everyone's magical signatures isn't a problem. Something on names given at birth being linked to souls and whatnot.
That sounds a bit farfetched.
Indeed. But oh so useful.
And I suppose we'll be making time for this somehow?
It's very useful for sneaking around without getting caught.
I guess you're right…
Okay, so number one priority is learning invisibility and getting the map done. Then we'll be able to sneak around for our personal projects without getting caught.
And after that is all the immortality and mind control?
Well, of course.
Great. Now can we leave now? We have to get back soon.
Yes, yes, go ahead.
If anyone had noticed that Tom was gone that morning, no one mentioned it, and neither was any other indication that the Sorting Hat had blabbed – Headmaster Dippet, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Slughorn, and whoever else, all continued to regard him normally – or as normally as they could treat someone of his calibre.
It was quickly clear that he was the class genius, along with Minerva.
Tom always made sure he was never any more than five points ahead of her, and occasionally allowed himself to dip below her in terms of grades, just to keep things realistic.
Evil Overlords aren't accountable to anyone, least of all report cards.
It wasn't as if Tom had any over-enthusiastic parents to push him, anyway.
Really, being in Slytherin wasn't as bad as he and Jerry had initially expected it to be, but he supposed that was because they hadn't experienced any Dark Wars or whatever for a very long time, so the mania had been dead for a while.
Likewise, it seemed that so far, they were still on Professor Dumbledore's good side.
There was one thing he was particularly proud of, however, and that was his fame for having the neatest work in Hogwarts.
This may or may not have been due to the fact that Tom had quickly given up the highly inefficient quills and parchment for Muggle pens, pencils, and standard printer paper so that he could finish his homework more quickly and spend his time doing more fruitful things, like expanding his follower base and practicing Confundus charms.
Professor Slughorn, bless his soul, had noticed the popularity of his new invention, and immediately set him up with the owner of Flourish and Blotts', and soon Tom's quills were everywhere.
And best of all, no one could accuse him of being some sort of greedy businessman for reselling cheap biros for several Galleons apiece because, well, he wasn't the one setting the prices.
He had been handing them out to the people who asked for free before. (Well, not exactly free, because those who received gifts from Tom Riddle paid for them in loyalty and friendship, and, unfortunately, unknown to them, Tom Riddle wasn't the type of kid you would want to be a loyal friend to, if you valued your life.)
That Flourish and Blotts was tacking on a price so that the Ministry of Magic could order the pens in bulk for their employees, and insisted on giving him a percentage of the profits, was hardly his fault, right?
He was just an innocent, eleven-year-old orphan who happened to get lucky enough to go from completely penniless to having a modest Gringotts account with some spending money for books, tuition, and the like.
It was honestly nice having Professor Slughorn for a Head of House, and it wasn't just because Professor Slughorn was Slytherin's Head of House (since being in Slytherin automatically granted you certain privileges, like political immunity from Peeves, thanks to the Bloody Baron being their representative ghost – not that Tom needed any help in scaring the poltergeist off).
Professor Slughorn was just the perfect teacher – not because of what he taught, but because of just exactly what you could get away with under his watch.
It wasn't that he was stupid – he definitely knew more than the average wizard by a good amount – and he wasn't naïve, either – but he was…Tom didn't know how to describe him, exactly. Professor Slughorn just liked to turn a blind eye to things.
Which made him perfect for Slytherin House, because that meant that the more opportunistic students in Hogwarts were allowed to get away with far more things than the rest of their more "honest" peers.
That was because the Purebloods didn't know that they were Muggle items (and now that they were regular wizard items, refused to believe that the Muggles could have come up with something so ingenious first) and simply assumed that Tom was smart enough to invent self-inking, non-runny, erasable pens on his own.
Hence the reason why they were using them without any qualms, too.
Professor Dumbledore seemed to find it more amusing than anything, and happily thanked Tom for reducing the number of blotches and smudges by 100% on everything he had to grade.
After all, Professor Slughorn was a friend he trusted to be good, even if he didn't completely approve of the man's rather elitist habit of collecting human trophies, and helping a young student make his way off the charity list was a long leap from helping a future Dark Lord take power.
Or so he thought, anyway.
Yes, he and Professor Dumbledore were quickly becoming the best of friends.
Mainly because Minerva always insisted on staying behind after every single damn class to ask questions about Transfiguration, and Tom had to stay with her because they were supposed to be friends, and also because he was still trying to figure out that stupid random rule about food, to no avail.
I SWEAR to GOD, if one day in the future, we die of STARVATION, I will –
Say…if you could increase the amount of food you have…
What?
Is autocannibalism an attractive idea to you?
That's disgusting.
I hear humans taste like chicken.
EVERYTHING tastes like chicken, according to you.
Nuh-uh. I told you that roast crickets taste like peanuts.
Mmm-hmmm.
I'm serious! You should try it sometime.
Okay, Jerry. Whatever you say.
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