Voldie’s First Drink *In the second book, they mention that Dumbledore is a Professor of Voldemort’s when he is in school. This is Voldemort’s sixth year.* Riddle stared stonily at a cheerful Dumbledore. “Not a chance,” he said flatly. “Oh come on then Voldie! Its fun!” said an obviously drunk Dumbledore.  “No!” “Come on, live a little!” “I said no! I am not going to act like a stupid Muggle! Besides, you’re a Professor, you really shouldn’t be encouraging me to drink, should you?” “You deserve it! You did a cracker jack job on those O.W.L.s!” Dumbledore giggled and took another pull on the tankard in his hand. “Professor, you are extremely drunk and I think…” “Oh pooh,” said Dumbledore with a little wave of his hand. “And call me Albus, why don’t you?” Dumbledore turned in his seat and, although he swayed, managed not to fall out. “Oy! Poppy! Get my young friend here a nice strong one!” Dumbledore shouted across the room. Poppy Pomfrey gave Riddle an appraising look but mixed a drink anyway and carried it over. She rapped Dumbledore on the head. “You’re corrupting him, Albus, you are,” she said and sauntered away. Dumbledore watched her go. He turned back to Riddle and leaned over as though to impart a great secret. “She fancies me,” he said, none too softly.  “I heard that, Albus!” came Poppy’s voice from across the pub. Dumbledore grinned happily and sloshed some more Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey down his front.  Riddle turned his attention to the drink sitting in front of him. Dubiously, he picked it up and took a sip. Immediately he choked as it burned its path down to his stomach.  “Good stuff, huh?” Dumbledore laughed merrily as he clapped him on the back Riddle didn’t think so at first, but a half glass later he was willing to say it was alright and halfway through his next one, Riddle had decided that this was the best thing he’d ever had. A tankard after that he had decided he would shave his head and go worship at the brewery that made Ogden’s. *Two hours and 7 tankards later*  “And its just so *hic* hard, you know?” whinged Riddle to Dumbledore, although he apparently didn’t realize that Albus had passed out some time ago. “I mean, I have to hide it and all, and then there’s the fact that me da is a Muggle…” *He paused to gulp some more alcohol* “And then there’s the fact that my minions don’t like me.” Tom’s eyes filled with tears. “They make fun of the name I picked out. I thought it was very clever mixing it all up like that, don’t you?”  Dumbledore emitted a loud raucous snort in his sleep and rolled off the chair onto the floor. Riddle took this as a yes. “But even you make fun of it, calling me Voldie. It’s supposed to instill fear!” Riddle complained. He went to take another pull and blinked at the emptiness of his tankard.  “Er… Puppy! Puppy!” he called, “can I have shome more?” Poppy turned and fixed him with a severe stare.  “No.” she said flatly and turned her back. She stuck her head into the back room and called to someone. A young man with wild red hair stepped out and when Poppy pointed, made his way over to them. Riddle peered up at him blearily. “Hallo there, I’m Mick and I’ll be your designated flyer tonight!” he sounded Australian. Mick hoisted Dumbledore onto his shoulder. Then he hoisted Riddle onto his other shoulder. He carried them outside like no more than sacks of potatoes and dropped them both into a basket attached to a broom that hung on the wall. “There you are, snug as a joey in it’s pouch! No throwing up in my basket now boys, hold on!” and with that Mick took off into the air. “Yee-haw!” He whooped as he shot forward, the basket swinging crazily and just barely brushing the treetops. Mick looped back once to salute Poppy, who had stepped outside, and then he zoomed off in the direction of Hogwarts.  They passed other revelers on the way back who laughed and waved hello to the small face of Tom, who is by now turning an interesting shade of green. “I’m going to be sick,” moaned Tom.  “Do it over the side, mate! It’s hard to get puke out of the basket once it’s sunk in,” called Mick over his shoulder. “I remember this one bloke who spewed dinner along with his drink, boy was that a mess! I was cleaning up fish and chips for a whole three days…” Tom choked and retched over the side. A scream and stream of curses from bellow attest that his vomit had found a head to land on. “Oops.” Mick looked behind him. “Forgot to fly over the forest. Sorry!” he called back to the fuming couple that they were quickly leaving behind. “Didn’t know you were able to do that with a shovel,” he mused as Hogwarts loomed up before them.  Mick hovered over the grass in front of the great doors of Hogwarts. With a flick of his wrists, he upended the basket that held the sleeping Dumbledore and Tom. “Good luck to you, man!” he said and took off again. Woozily Riddle tried to stand. He pushed himself upright. “Ouch,” he said as a sharp pain lanced behind his eyes and he fell over.  “Oh screw it,” Tom said and fell asleep. *** “Master, could I interest you in a drink?” asked Wormtail, simpering as usual. Voldemort’s eyes widened and he ran screaming from the room. Wormtail was bewildered. “What did I say?”