"Next!" The voice called out, jarring Tom out of his musings. He stood up, noting the girl-some Hufflepuff of no accord- streaking past him, tears streaming down her face. He smirked. It always felt good, knowing someone's hopes and dreams had been crushed before lunch. He strode into the room, taking a seat in front of a lady sitting demurely in business robes. He was surprised to see a new face. Dumbledore was the Deputy Headmaster and was typically in charge of the career counseling. It was no matter. He would now face this without the inbred and underlying prejudice that Dumbledore seemed to have for him.

"Tom Riddle?" the woman questioned, eyes flicking up to his with measured disdain.

"Yes, Madame," he smiled, flicking on the charm.

"I will serve as your career counselor. The current administration seems to think that too many are leaving this institution without any true idea of what they can expect in the world."

Tom nodded.

"So what do you desire to do in life?" she snarked. "Become Minister of Magic? Cure Dragonpox?"

"Nothing so mundane or fantastic, Madame," he said, raising a single eyebrow precariously. "I simply desire greatness. How I gain it matters not."

"You're in Slytherin, aren't you?" she asked, eyes flicking to his chart. "Of course you are."

"Of course I am," he agreed sardonically.

"Well, then," she said silkily, standing and sitting on the edge of Dumbledore's desk. "You're obviously dead set on becoming the next Dark Lord."

Tom gaped silently, yet she ignored him.

"What OWLs did you receive? Humor me; I know that being a Dark Lord doesn't require NEWTs or OWLs, nor even any measure of intelligence."

He silently regained his composure before continuing.

"I received OWLs in every subject."

"What grades did you obtain?"

"All Os, Madame."

"And which classes have you decided to take from here on out?"

"All of them."

She snapped his file shut.

"Clearly, Mr. Riddle, you are an intelligent young man." She eyed him carefully. "The question I must ask you is why you intend to throw it all away."

"I don't…" he started, but she smoothly cut him off.

"But you will. You see, Dark Lords don't have good success rates. No overtime pay, no dental plans, and no guaranteed salary. The minions lack any intelligence to carry out basic plans; those who do don't devote themselves to the cause. There isn't even any guarantee of torture or sadism on a daily basis."

Tom Riddle looked at the woman in front of him in awe.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with being a sadist, as long as you go about it in the right manner," she said, crossing her legs. "Now what is this 'cause' that has you set on throwing your life away?"

"We need to return to blood purity," he stated firmly. "Only the pure should be allowed a proper place in society."

She laughed sharply, the tinkling shards ripping apart his dreams.

"Oh yes, that will be the perfect cause, Mr. Riddle. You clearly aren't pureblood, so you'll have to change your name and hide behind a disguise. You'll never be known for your achievements."

She leaned in.

"What do you think of Letitia Crabbe? Of Phillip Yaxley? Of Nathaniel Flint?"

He snorted.

"They're idiots."

"Of course they are," she agreed. "As are their families. Yet their families make up a large portion of the pureblood population, and they won't want to be used as cannon fodder. Do you really want to let your cause be overrun by those who would unintentionally but inevitably undermine your cause?"

"What would you suggest?" he asked angrily.

She looked at him cooly.

"Personally, I'm a fan of discriminating based upon knowledge. You get all the good ideas and have less of a risk of inbreeding. Oh yes, Tom, I know all about the Gaunts. They bred their way straight to insanity. But you have a chance to escape that. Don't waste it."

"What can Mudbloods do for us?"

"You've obviously been paying attention during Muggle Studies. It's behind the times, of course, but surely you know about planes, telephones, and televisions. Those who have seen the technology can replicate it. They aren't limited by the narrow-mindedness of the pureblood cause. Muggles can talk across countries instantly. Those in Canada can watch footage from the war on the continent the same day. What can we do?"

He didn't answer.

"Exactly. If we don't keep the Muggle-born, that knowledge will be lost. The wireless came from a Muggle-born who lied about his heritage. If we don't protect those with knowledge, we'll forever remain behind. I know you wouldn't want to be a leader over idiots in a dead society, would you?" Her tone was condescending but Tom caught the meaning behind it.

"I'm listening."

"Taking over the world takes too much effort with too little payoff." She yawned. "Boring. However, if you want to truly win, use your intelligence. Don't settle for stupidity."

"What career would you suggest?"

"If you want to put fear in the hearts of the people, you strike their pocket books. An auditor or an accountant, perhaps. Once the dimwits are bankrupted by their own actions, they won't be intelligent enough to fight back. They'll lose all credibility. The smart could still fight with wits, but the nitwits lost the battle before they even began. It's far too easy to bankrupt a corrupt politician while remaining the logic and reason behind your choice of puppets."

She stood up and made a note in his file.

"Think about it, won't you?"

He smiled in satisfaction.

"Of course, Madame."

He turned and strode out of the office, a spring in his step. There were quite a few in his little group that would need to be let go of, and many more who would make powerful additions. Why kill when you could bankrupt and humiliate? Tom smirked. The Dark side would win. Until the next accountant came along.

He never realized that he hadn't even caught her name.

A/N: Set during Tom's sixth year. Dumbledore was called away. Let me know what you think.