Tom Riddle stared unblinkingly into the cackling flames, the only source of light in the dim room. Semi-consciously, he traced invisible lines in the air with his wand, stroking it. If the plan was carried out carefully, the boy wouldn't have a chance.
"Is it done?" he questioned the small figure beside the large armchair he was settled in, his face showing no emotion.
"Yes master, it's done," Wormtail whimpered, tripping over his words.
Tom's thin, almost non-existent lips curled into a somewhat sinister smile. "Good."
He threw his wrist back in a neat flick, the word rolling off his tongue in a barely audible whisper. Wormtail retreated back into the shadows as his master contemplated the plan, smoothing out all the flaws in his head.
...
"The four of you will be going to the muggle school," he said with an unfamiliar edge in his voice that none of the four students before him had heard before. "My decision is final." The headmaster added, glancing at Hermione, who opened her mouth to argue yet again. She snapped it shut hastily, red flooding her cheeks.
Harry studied the old man carefully for the first time in ten minutes, finding the sudden arrangement puzzling. His beard, which was streaked with numerous shades of gray was knotted just above his waist, as it was every day, but neater. His eyes had lost their usual twinkle and appeared slightly glassy δΈ€ which was rather disturbing. Harry waved away the thought, deciding that it was just his own imagination.
There was nothing wrong with the professor. There couldn't and there wouldn't be.
"You will be leaving this weekend for Bethlem High. You may go." Dumbledore smiled in a way that did not reassure Harry. Not one bit.
...
Hermione was frowning, lost in her own thoughts as she shuffled back to her dormitory. Ron seemed fairly excited; he'd always wanted to go to a muggle school. It hadn't crossed his mind to find out the reason behind that decision. Draco simply stalked noiselessly away, his nose crinkling in distaste. Harry was just as troubled as Hermione, but went to pack all that was needed. The weekend was only two days away and they were excused from classes for a half hour to pack.
Harry's hands moved robotically, throwing in his newly-washed muggle clothes. He really ought to buy new ones. His were rather small and tattered and he only had a limited number that were decent enough. His collection of items could fit into one small trunk just fine.
Harry sighed, surveying his corner of the room. The messiest quarter had become the most empty, as well as the neatest. It looked like where a monk would sleep. He flung himself onto the bed, watching as Ron struggled to squeeze his things into the luggage.
It wouldn't be so bad, he assured himself. But the emptiness of his churning stomach which had nothing to do with lack of food told him otherwise. The boy's scar pricked lightly; it was no searing pain, but it worried him just as much.