Chapter 10
Hogwarts. September 15th. Sunday, unused classroom
Agnes Dumbledore POV. Seventh Year.
I pour all of my skill, longing and passion unto the black and ivory of the piano, one melody after another. I think, as I play, of Tom Riddle, Head Boy. He is a dark one, always moody in my presence, trying to mask his true feelings as the Slytherin that he is. Why does he fight it? He wants me, in his own strange, sick, twisted way, I know it. Yet he fights it. Whenever I look at him, I see a little unhappy boy in an orphanage, the special, gifted child all fear.
I have excellent hearing, and I feel Tom behind me. I sing an old song of the Soul Healers, a song of healing and soul mates. It is hauntingly beautiful and I know it affects Tom for, when I finish, I turn and face him; his eyebrows form one line in his handsome face; there is emotion in his eyes, one I dare not place. This silence is heavy, and I can't bear it, so I speak, and offer what I hope is an accommodating smile.
"Walk with me, Tom." I half circle him and pause at the door, gently raising my eyebrows as if asking "you coming or what?". He takes a step, then another, painstakingly trying to act nonchalant, but I don't miss the controlled out-of-beat intake of breath.
We leave and leisurely walk through the castle, the pace I set for both of us; I hum all the way. I try to make conversation with Tom Riddle but to no avail, so I settle for silence. We end up at the Fat Lady's portrait, currently empty, so we face each other while we wait.
"So, Miss Dumbledore."
"Agnes.", his eyes flicker, and that's the only reaction I get. "You can stop pretending to be so… nice, I know you're not." He sputters; finally!
"I beg your pardon?", I smile innocently.
"Oh, I know all about your dwellings in the Dark Arts, of how powerful you really are. You're being nice to me in front of the others because I'm a Dumbledore and because you don't want to look bad in front of the teachers." I pause. "That works for them, I'm sure. Not for me, I see your jealousy." He turns pale, furiously turning his wand in his hand, over and over.
"You think you know everything, don't you, Dumbledore?"
"I have glimpsed into your future, you know.", I speak in such a quiet, low tone; he stops fiddling his wand and stares intensely at me, then eagerly. "You will be powerful."
"How powerful?"
"Very. But you know what they say." The Fat Lady has finally come back. "The greater the power, the greater the fall."
OCTOBER.
NOVEMBER.
DECEMBER. Tom Riddle. Great Hall. Hogwarts.
Another Christmas approaches. Merlin, but I hate the holidays. My Death Eaters are, thanks to my influence, much more subdued than those pathetic Gryffindors and moronic Hufflepuffs. How Dumbledore can stand them, I will never understand.
She is not as bad as Albus Dumbledore, thank Merlin.
She's alright, I guess.
I admit – only to myself of course – that I've come to enjoy our walks together. A female who can actually understand the need a wizard sometimes has for silence. And a Gryffindor at that. Will wonders never cease?
And I have come to learn much from her, academically, as well.
Too bad she can't see the light, as far as blood purity goes. A pity. We would be unstoppable together. She would make a fine Dark Lady.
As I finish my breakfast, mail arrives. I reach for the scroll the dark school owl carries, in a fashion I hope is not too eager looking, and put it in my bag. I rise, the Slytherin table is empty, since everybody in Slytherin as already left for their holidays, and I quickly walk towards our unused classroom. The one where Dumbledore usually plays her piano, summoned from some hell forgotten pit.
Dear scowling Slytherin,
How have you been?
Dying of boredom without a Dumbledore to aggravate. How the hell are you? I roll over my eyes and read on.
I miss you and your sarcasm. The family is all over me, all the time, driving me crazy. I'll write again as soon as I am able to escape them in a more permanent fashion.
Happy Holidays.
Agnes.
That's it?
You made me (me!) wait 27 hours and 33 minutes for a simple friggin' note? Because this is not like your usual letters. Merlin, I really hate Dumbledores. I hear a sickening crack, an elf has just appeared before me, trembling in fear, holding a big package.
"What do you want?", I sneer.
"Willy has been told to deliver present to Master Tom Riddle. From Miss Dumbledore." Well, well, aren't we full of surprises.
"Put it on that table, elf, and leave." He complies and disappears from my sight.
I approach the package and tore the ordinary brown paper – really Dumbledore, have you no taste in… oh.
It's wrapped in beautiful forest green fabric. Not paper. A soft, lush fabric, with an elegantly done silver bow. I quickly open the wooden box it hides. It doesn't even cross my mind to run diagnostic spells, as I usually do. I gasp and gape like a dumb fish.
It's… it's… my word.
An elegant neck arises from the box, then the winged body of the bird. All of it is covered in a golden shine, the heart glows as well. It is the most beautiful phoenix I have ever seen. I often envied Professor Dumbledore for Fawkes, but this…
It jumps on me, perching on my shoulder and nuzzles my neck and hair in a comforting fashion. My heart beats fast and I notice the scroll in the box.
Dearest Tom, it says. The only person who calls me like that in my letters is her.
Take care of her.
Happy Christmas.
Agnes
I openly smile at the note, at the phoenix and at the intricately made wooden box. I take it all in my arms and head towards Slytherin.
Sorry folks, I'm a bit rusty as far as this story goes. Finished a Sailor Moon story - but I'm trying to finish this one. Honest! Happy New Year!
