Chapter Text
In the first month of her seventh year at Hogwarts, Lily Evans is called into the headmaster’s office.
James gave her a thumbs up and a serious nod over the library table, as if she were about to be inducted into the Order of the Phoenix on the spot. Even James and his friends weren’t official members, no matter how much they snuck around at Dumbledore’s behest or hexed Slytherins in the halls. The errand boy’s new girlfriend would hardly be an essential member of a resistance movement.
As Lily opens the office door, she has to squint at the light gleaming off of whirring devices scattered throughout the room. Centuries of headmasters turn to scrutinize her from their portraits. The office is so bursting with brightness and energy that for a second Lily doesn't notice the man inside. To be fair, the snoozing phoenix is distracting.
“Ah, Miss Evans,” says Headmaster Dumbledore as she makes her way to the chair before his desk. “Thank you for your expediency.”
“Of course, sir,” says Lily. She couldn’t exactly have told McGonagall to come back later.
“I hear you're doing well in your classes,” he says.
“Yes, Headmaster,” says Lily, trying not to fidget. “...Is there a reason I’m here?”
Dumbledore nods almost sadly, as if the highlight of his day is making smalltalk with students. The twinkle in his eye fades as his face grows serious and he leans towards her.
“What do you think of Tom Riddle?” he asks.
Lily blinks. She’d thought this might have to do with Head Girl duties, though James was excluded and McGonagall usually handles that sort of thing anyway. Even official Order business would've been more likely than a spontaneous teacher evaluation.
“I think he's a good professor,” Lily says carefully. “I'm hardly a natural duelist, but I got an O on my OWL.”
Dumbledore continues watching her, eyebrows raised.
“I like our advanced lessons so far,” she tries, though they've only met twice. Professor Riddle said she's his first mentee; is Dumbledore already deciding whether they can continue? “We’re starting with how different components of dark magic correspond with runic wards, and then we’ll move onto actual counterspells. It’s mostly theory so far, but—”
“Excuse me, my dear,” Dumbledore interrupts. “That all sounds quite reasonable, yes. But I was wondering what you thought of him personally.”
Lily's face heats and she hopes the blush isn't visible. Like a solid third of the Hogwarts student body, she used to have a bit of a crush on Professor Riddle. Hard not to, when he's older than McGonagall but still looks like that—there are rumors he uses the dark arts to stay young.
“He's funny,” she says instead, then realizes she should've led with something else. “And very intelligent, he knows more about magic than anyone I've talked to.”
Remembering she's currently talking to the greatest living wizard, she quickly continues: “He is a good professor. He organized the class around defensive magic that's actually useful to know these days. He's mean if you can't keep up, but he’s a fair grader and not too humiliating in class. And he's very passionate, I do think he cares about both teaching and magic in general. He’s principled in his beliefs.”
Headmaster Dumbledore is listening intently. The thought occurs to Lily that he might want to recruit Professor Riddle to the Order. Well, why wouldn’t he recruit a brilliant and powerful wizard? Though he might not have much luck.
Lily had asked Professor Riddle about the war during their first lesson. She'd never talked to him alone before, and she wanted a non-Order expert opinion.
“The Dark Lord is going to win,” he’d said, unemotional and completely convinced. “And there isn't anything anyone can do to stop it.”
“What about the Order of the Phoenix?” Lily pressed, surprised at his certainty.
“Oh, Dumbledore’s silly little club of schoolboys?” Lily flinched, though he sounded less mean and more disinterested. “I wouldn’t hold out hope. No, the best thing you could do for yourself would be to leave the country.”
He looked down at her desk, then, at her color-coded notes on wards, and grinned conspiratorially. “Or learn how to defend yourself.”
“Is that why you're giving me lessons?” Lily asked, wary. “To help out another muggle-born?”
“Oh no, that's a coincidence,” Professor Riddle assured her. “I'm giving you lessons because you’re very talented and will surely do great things.”
Lily had smiled and blushed at her notes, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. She wouldn’t have minded, really, if he was just looking out for someone like himself, but the attention was welcome. Not many professors had complimented her efforts. It meant more coming from Professor Riddle than Flitwick, who complimented everyone, and Slughorn, who always wanted something in return.
It was disappointing how little faith he had in the Order, but surely he’d help if he knew their operations extended beyond secretive meetings in Dumbledore’s office. Lily didn’t know much herself, but James said multiple ministry higher-ups were on their side.
“And he's very concerned with the war, of course,” finishes Lily. She thinks the corner of the headmaster’s lip twists ruefully at that. Perhaps Professor Riddle has already declined to work with the Order—he certainly doesn’t like Dumbledore.
“Miss Evans,” Dumbledore starts, lacing his fingers together and looking at her very seriously over his glasses. Lily feels all of eleven years old again.
“Tom Riddle is a very dangerous man,” he continues.
Lily nods; Professor Riddle had spent years studying cursed items, curses in general, strange magic from all over the world.
“You know, you’re his first one-on-one student,” Headmaster Dumbledore says.
“He mentioned,” says Lily, wondering where this is going.
Before their first official lesson, he had kept her after class to excitedly give her a syllabus for their upcoming year together.
“Alchemy?” she’d asked, skimming it with enthusiasm. “Spellcrafting and Magic Theory too?”
“Good defensive magic requires foundational knowledge in every branch,” Professor Riddle explained. “It won’t be too fast for you.”
“That makes sense,” Lily agreed, not worried about keeping up; this class was too interesting for her to fall behind. “I’ve actually asked about Magic Theory classes before, but McGonagall says there’s not enough interest to make it an elective.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, Dumbledore just won’t let me teach it.” Then he grinned. “But he let me teach you. As my first mentee, I’m afraid you’ll be the test runner for all the advanced classes you could ask for.”
“He won’t let you teach?” Lily asked, shocked.
Professor Riddle looked slightly embarrassed, like he hadn’t meant to let that slip. “He’s very particular about the curriculum,” he seemed to land on.
“Well, I’m happy to be your guinea pig,” said Lily, suppressing her disappointment at the headmaster’s rulings. She tried to lighten the mood: “I hope you’ll accept feedback on assignment difficulty.”
“Evans, you're smarter than that,” he scolded, smiling again. “I’m sure you’ll be able to meet my expectations easily.”
Excited, Lily had spent her next class reading and re-reading the syllabus under her desk.
“Do you want my help recruiting him, Headmaster?” asks Lily tentatively. If Professor Riddle and Dumbledore don't get along she can understand being needed as a go-between. She’s already been trying to get him on board.
“Oh dear, no,” says Dumbledore. “Quite the opposite, really.”
Lily sits, confused, waiting for him to continue.
“Do you imagine,” Dumbledore starts, “That there might be a reason I have until now prevented him taking on mentees?”
“It can’t be inappropriate behavior,” Lily blurts. She can't picture Professor Riddle being anything but polite with her, even when he’s affecting joking meanness. He’s never touched her arms or shoulders when evaluating her classwork, never commented on her figure—and Slughorn gets at least one research assistant a year, nevermind the parties.
“No, no, nothing like that,” Dumbledore brushes off. “I don't believe the man is capable.”
Lily is relieved, despite not believing it in the first place. She likes Professor Riddle; she doesn’t want her judgement to be wrong. It’s frightening to think she can’t trust herself.
“Now, my dear,” he says, meeting her eyes. “Understand that not a word of this conversation leaves this room, not even to tell your boyfriend.”
Lily nods, uncomfortable. She doesn’t like lying to James but she supposes it can’t be helped. And he has his own secrets to keep for the Order, though she thinks he may already be telling her more than authorized. Perhaps she’s being inducted after all.
“Tom Riddle is a double agent for Lord Voldemort,” Headmaster Dumbledore says calmly, like he’s talking about the weather.
“What?” Lily asks, barely processing the words. It’s inconceivable. “Are you sure?”
“Very,” he says, not without amusement.
“But he's muggle-born,” Lily gapes. Everyone knows that. They’ve talked about it.
During their second lesson, Professor Riddle had asked, “Do you have plans for after graduation?”
“Win the war,” Lily had said, mouth tilting up.
He laughed.
“Seriously,” he said, though Lily was serious. “You might have a lot of trouble finding a job. I want you to be prepared.”
“Because of the war?” she asked.
“Partially,” he allowed, frowning. “But I had the same problem in the 40s.”
“Because we’re muggle-born,” Lily accepted dully. Her mother gave her similar speeches about women in the workforce. She didn’t know what she could do about it other than work even harder. “I think we’ll still need to defeat You-Know-Who.”
He smiled indulgently, as if the war was already lost and she was only deluding herself.
“I was rejected from this very job right after graduating. Even as the Head Boy with record-breaking grades, no one took me seriously in the real world. I worked retail for a decade after Hogwarts, and then I was abroad another decade before landing this position,” he explained with muted bitterness.
Lily had been worrying about the same thing, obviously. Even without the danger of being killed in the street, the limited job openings were usually filled by nepotism. Lily had no galleons of family wealth in savings; after graduation she’d have to move back in with her muggle parents and put targets on their backs. Or she’d join the Order, leave the logistics to Dumbledore, and when they won she’d emerge into a world that wouldn’t reject her on principle.
“That’s why I need to do something,” said Lily. “That’s the point of all this fighting. We won’t change the world by refusing to engage with it.”
“You won’t change the world by playing by its rules, either,” he countered.
“The Order is an illegal organization,” said Lily, offended on behalf of the Ministry workers risking their jobs. “I don’t think wrenching power from the hands of purebloods is playing by their rules.”
He smiled at that. “No, I suppose not. Just Dumbledore’s.”
“Is it so bad to believe in Dumbledore?” Lily frowned. “Who else could defeat You-Know-Who?”
Professor Riddle exaggeratedly looked around for eavesdroppers and Lily laughed despite herself.
“Dumbledore always thinks he knows best,” he said. “I’ll leave it at that.”
Lily could infer for herself why opinionated and self-assured men like Professor Riddle and Dumbledore would clash with each other.
“Well, I’m glad you endure his horribly overbearing rules to teach here anyway,” she smiled.
“You know,” he mused, studying her. “I think I am too. If he hadn’t dealt me into this game of his, I might still be in Eastern Europe.”
“Beyond the Iron Curtain? Are you a socialist, Professor?” Lily asked, delighted.
She'd love to hear his opinions. Wizards barely seemed to have a grasp of politics outside of identifying the acting Minister for Magic. Muggle politics were right out; even politically-aware muggle-borns like them cared more about the Wizarding War than the Cold one. To be fair, Death Eaters were a more immediate threat.
“Oh no, I'm not really anything,” he dismissed. “But it’s beautiful there, and on the continent they can’t tell a wizarding name from a muggle one.” He shrugged. “It’s easy to disappear.”
“You really do want me out of the country,” Lily said, joking despite her growing dread regarding her options. “I’m insulted.”
“I want you to have a future,” he corrected, suddenly serious. “I can’t have my favorite student dying just because every British wizard went round the bend.”
“Oh,” said Lily, flushing. His favorite student. “Well, you’re forgiven then.”
“Good,” he said, smiling. “Because another option is accepting an apprenticeship with me.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“Of course. Why did you think I asked you to take advanced lessons with me?”
“I'm not even good at defense!”
“You’re good at everything you put your mind to,” he said unthinkingly, like it was a truth of the universe. “It’s my job to keep your interest.”
“Well, you don’t need to worry about that,” she said, and then her face heated. “I mean, your lessons are always interesting! I’d love to work with you, it’s an honor.”
He politely ignored her faux pas. “Then I look forward to our continued collaboration,” he smiled.
She can’t believe that he’s a blood supremacist. It makes no sense.
“Hatred is a funny thing,” says Dumbledore. “Self-hatred especially can lead even the best men down dark paths. Searching for meaning in a world motivated by power results only in the search for power. Of course, we must not discount the impact of the dark arts on one's mind.”
Lily thinks of Severus, demeaning himself and everyone around him for the chance of a sliver of power. Professor Riddle has too much self respect.
“I know he’s not the most enthusiastic about the war’s outcome,” Lily starts carefully. “But that doesn’t mean Professor Riddle is a Death Eater.”
“I'm sure this must be very distressing for you,” says Dumbledore, sounding almost frustrated beneath the grandfatherly empathy. “But please have faith in my investigative abilities.”
“Why is he still teaching here then?” asks Lily desperately. “Why let him in the school at all?”
“Common wisdom tells us to keep our friends close and enemies closer,” says Dumbledore. “While Tom’s in Hogwarts, I can keep an eye on him. And he wouldn’t dare harm the students, as he’s here to keep an eye on me. Rest assured that while he may attempt some minor scheming, he loves Hogwarts—and fears me—enough not to do any real damage.”
Lily finally accepts that this isn't some horribly tasteless prank, that Dumbledore truly believes Professor Riddle is in league with the Dark Lord himself. And if Dumbledore believes it, it must be true.
This might be worse than Severus.
“Then why is he giving me lessons?” she asks, feeling like someone took an ice cream scoop to her insides, cold and hollow. What was the point of it all?
“I admit I'm not quite sure,” muses Dumbledore, which isn't encouraging. “Perhaps he's trying to recruit you; more likely he wants information, details about your friends, professors, or headmaster who may contribute to the war effort.”
“Am I to feed him misinformation then?” Lily asks dully. James will be thrilled at her first mission, will probably be jealous, but she just feels sick.
“Oh, that's much too dangerous,” says Dumbledore, and she pales. “You will be continuing your lessons as normal, asking personal questions if appropriate and answering the same with discretion. Afterwards, deliver the memories directly to yours truly.”
“The memories, sir?” Lily has heard of Pensieves, but has never observed a memory in one. She hopes her meandering thoughts won’t be broadcasted to any viewers, that she won't have to maintain a facade in her mind as well.
“So I can observe his behavior myself. I won’t be judging your performance as a student or conversationalist,” he smiles at her. Lily plasters on an appreciative expression.
“Of course,” he says, “You need not take up this responsibility. It’s not too late to simply cancel these lessons and return to your normal studies.”
“I'm an of-age witch,” Lily assures him. “I want to fight for my fellow muggle-borns, however’s necessary.”
“Very good, Miss Evans,” says Dumbledore, and his expression turns serious. “Then you must be careful. Tom is very charming, but his compliments will only last until you’re under his control. His appreciation will become contingent on your usefulness to him. He will encourage acts of violence and forays into the dark arts. He may even undermine me.”
“Oh,” says Lily, stomach sinking through the floor. It had been working.
She had asked him, that second lesson, what being a muggle-born in Slytherin was like. She could barely imagine it; like being cornered by older girls in the bathroom, every night.
“Don’t worry about me,” Professor Riddle had smiled slyly. “A few well-placed hexes and they all rolled over.”
“I've charmed all my things to retaliate against tampering,” Lily confessed. “They insult people who touch them and reflect most spells back at the caster’s equivalent item.”
“Oh, brilliant,” he smiled at her, and she flushed, pleased.
“But you know,” he continued in a stage-whisper, smile growing sharp, “Those pureblood boys can't take a hit. Never even heard of a punch.”
“Not just the boys,” Lily said knowingly.
“Evans!” he grinned, delighted. “Don’t tell me the Head Girl herself has been brawling with other students.”
“It was just a slap!” Lily protested, but she couldn't help smiling too.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, eyes shining. “Perfect Lily Evans has a mean streak.”
“You knew that,” she jokingly pouted—he’d overseen enough spell practice sessions over the years. “Besides, it’s not mean if it’s self defense.”
His smile had turned vindictive, handsome face twisted with something more intense than mischief.
“It isn't, is it?” he agreed. “Now, would you say a preemptive strike is mean? Or self defense?”
Lily frowned. “I'd say it depends.”
“In my first year, I beat up everyone in Slytherin before they could lay a hand on me,” he said lightly. “After that, we were mostly comfortable to leave each other alone, though they sometimes needed the reminder.”
Lily could just picture little Tom Riddle, scared and alone and so so angry.
“You only needed to beat up some of them,” she decided, but he still looked pleased.
“What about a preemptive strike against an entire society?” he asked, leaning over her desk, expression intense. “Collapsing institutions of power and those that uphold them from the inside?”
“Like a revolution?” Lily asked. “Or like anarchy?”
“Whichever you like,” he said.
“You’d need something new to replace the old system,” Lily thought aloud. “Or else everything would fall apart again. We need to get rid of the Wizengamot, but without a replacement justice system Azkaban will be full of the Minister’s personal enemies.”
“Like it isn’t already,” Professor Riddle said, and she snorted.
“The problem,” Lily mused, “Is that the most vulnerable people are left in the lurch. Dumbledore can’t protect every muggle-born, so any revolutionary action he takes ends up punishing us. Of course, that’s better than leaving the system free for You-Know-Who to take over.”
She frowned at the contradiction, and frowned more at Professor Riddle’s accommodating smile. “I suppose your preemptive strike would only work with a united front of muggle-borns. The Order should get recruiting.”
“Rallying the Mudblood Liberation Army, Evans?” he joked, a little too meanly. “Are you sure you aren’t the socialist here?”
“Well, what’s your solution?” asked Lily. “How do we fix it all?”
“I’m not sure if Wizarding Britain deserves to be saved.” He said it jokingly, but the exhaustion in his tone made her sit up straight and look him in the eye.
“Really?” she asked. “You’d sit back and let You-Know-Who win?”
“No,” he sighed. “I’d let him collapse under his own weight. And then I’d go on sabbatical.”
Looking back, it feels very obvious that Professor Riddle wants the Order to fail, though Lily still isn’t convinced he wants You-Know-Who to win. He’s likely being coerced, but unfortunately that doesn’t change who he reports to.
“Has he said anything to you about the war?” asks Dumbledore. “Or the Order?”
“He has. He doesn’t seem to like you very much,” says Lily. “Sir.”
“No,” the headmaster half-smiles, almost wistfully. “I imagine not.”