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Prologue

I know what you'll say. You'll say that I'm an overly emotional, foolish man to be crying alone in my office the day after the most powerful Dark wizard in British history was killed by Harry Potter. You'll say that I should have been celebrating You-Know-Who's downfall along with everyone else, or else taking advantage of the opporunity to reconnect with Harry Potter to ensure that the great hero would always remember the Potions master who was so kind and helpful to him during his sixth year and want to repay the man. Of course, I don't blame you for saying that. After all, it's what I would have said to anyone else, and maybe it's what I should be doing.

Perhaps, instead of thinking about the painful past, I should look ahead toward the bright future. Maybe I shouldn't let the memories of the dead chain me down, especially not the memories of one particular boy who died. If any of the others who faught in that final battle against You-Know-Who knew whom I was mourning, they would never attend another one of my parties or send me any more treats to sustain me in my old age. In fact, they would probably deny ever having any sort of relationship with me.

Still, I can't stop the tears from pooling in my eyes, and, no matter how much I blink and swipe at the moisture angrily, the tears stubbornly insist on flowing down my cheeks in salty rivulets. I know that I shouldn't be grieving for You-Know-Who, and I am not. No, I'm crying for Tom Riddle, and that's not at all the same thing.

I hated You-Know-Who for killing so many of my favorite students like Lily Evans, but I adored Tom Riddle, and, even knowing what he became I confess that freely to myself now. You-Know-Who was one of the most evil beings in history, but Tom Riddle had radiated an aura of goodness wherever he went. You-Know-Who had been colder than metal on a winter day, but Tom Riddle had been charming. You-Know-Who had been uglier than his snake, but Tom Riddle had resembled what Muggles might have called a Byronic hero.

Oh, I am well aware that by admitting all this I appear as though I have dung for brains, but anyone who judges me so harshly must never have met Tom Riddle, and, therefore, would have no right to pass judgment on me. Anybody would have been charmed by Tom. Who could resist a boy who was clever, driven, witty, and handsome? Who could not be won over by his blazing eyes or his quick, white smile? Only someone with a heart of granite, I tell you, and, whatever my flaws, I don't have that.

Over fifty years ago, I had fallen under Tom Riddle's spell, and, even now, no matter how much I struggled to break free of it in the past, I was still under its power. Worse still, I no longer wanted to be liberated from it, because, now that You-Know-Who had been defeated it could do no harm. Now, I could think about the boy whom I had nourished and lavished attention upon, who had ultimately betrayed my confidence by becoming a Dark wizard who terrorized the nation. The idea of his betrayal of me and of himself should have made me furious at him, but I couldn't be cross at a dead man, not even one who had killed Lily Evans. Instead, all I saw when I remembered how You-Know-Who's scarlet eyes had smoldered with wrath and hatred was the eyes of the good-looking boy I had once taught Potions, his brown eyes filled with eagerness and promise.

That was enough to cut me to the core, and to make me bemoan once again the fates that allowed me to outlive so many of the best, brightest students that I had ever had and that I had come to regard as my own children. Worse still, I couldn't even feel bad about mourning Tom Riddle in much the same way that I had grieved for a person as pure as Lily Evans. After all, I told myself Lily had dozens of people to cry for her and sing her praises when she had perished, and, she certainly had warrented every kind word they said about her and then some. However, Tom Riddle would have nobody to mourn for him if I didn't, and, call me silly, but I think that it is only fair that someone pause to remember what he was like before he was swallowed up by his own dark side.

The only problem, of course, is that if I share these memories with you, you will notice all the little flaws in him, and hold them up as proof that he was always evil incaranate. You will point out the little things wrong in his behavior, and make them out to be bigger than they were. Hindsight will make you look for all the clues of the Dark wizard that he would become in but a few years time. When you look back, you will forget that nobody is born evil and that the future isn't fixed, but fluid. You will forget that it was a series of choices so small that they seemed unnoticable to anyone on the outside and perhaps even to Tom himself that made Tom become You-Know-Who.

My challenge to you then is to just listen to me and my memories of Tom. Don't judge him and don't judge me. Just listen, and see Tom as he once was before he tore his soul apart. See how the darkness and light battled for supremacy in him, and think about how they do the same in you. Think about what he might have become if he had not surrendered to the dark. Think about what the Wizarding World lost when he chose to devote himself not to good but to evil, and mourn for that. Grieve for everything we lost when we let Tom Riddle go astray so many years ago, and only then can you take steps to ensure that you will never deal with another Lord Voldemort.