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Chapter Thirteen: This Dazzling Mystery
I am Lord Voldemort -- Tom Marvolo Riddle. There was no such thing as coincidences. The girl had said it as though it was supposed to mean something to him. As though he was supposed to know it… that explained the blank stare that she'd given his reaction.
Something else fired into his head at a rapid-fire pace. Wellvren Sayoley G. Now Tom pulled the chair out, dropping down heavily into it, his eyes narrowed with furious concentration When he returned to his dormitory after dinner, he didn't sleep. But by morning, he was no closer to working out the answer. As far as he knew, there was no-one in the school with a name that was anything remotely close to what he had been given.
xxx
And I think too slow
And I move too fast
And the first rainbow I see will be my last
Tom had thought that he was onto something when he worked out the anagram that was I am Lord Voldemort. However, a week had passed, and he was no closer to understanding the mystery of Wellvren Sayoley G, the strange girl who somehow knew everything about him… who he had never known the real name of.
It was terribly confusing, and in the end, he dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. However, he couldn't stop noticing smalls girls around him with dark curly hair… though of course 'Wellvren' had Transfigured herself, and it was not her real appearance.
That one had her curls… that one had her skin tone… that one had her shape face… that one had her height…
Someone extremely familiar walked past, and in that instant, Tom recognised her. That face shape. That height. The shape of those eyes. That way of walking. He knew her –
Wellvren.
He spun to stare after her, and was met by the sight of… Ginevra.
Tom frowned. Ginevra?
Impossible. He would have understood that it was her, no matter what form she took. He would have seen those eyes and realised in an instant who he was talking to.
He ran Peregrine through his head to compare to Wellvren Sayoley G.
It didn't fit.
He frowned further. Why had Ginevra been so suddenly familiar then? …Perhaps it wasn't familiarity he had seen. Perhaps it was merely recognition.
He was spending way too much time around her.
Behind him, as he turned away from watching her disappear down the corridor in the crowd, apparently not having seen him, Tom heard a gasp of, "Slytherin Quidditch team try-outs!" in that loud, obnoxious melody.
He had remembered about the try-outs, even if she hadn't. He had intended to lurk in the shadows of the pitch and see if she was actually any good at the ridiculous flying sport, or if she was just all talk, but his previous decision that he spent too much time around her ruled this out.
xxx
Tom was halfway through a piece of garlic bread the day of the Quidditch try-outs when, so loudly that everyone, even the teachers, stopped what they were doing, there came a yell from the Entrance Hall of, "IF YOU EVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN, THEN THE REEVE FAMILY LINE WILL COME TO AN ABRUPT END! BECAUSE, SCOTT, YOU WILL LOSE THE ABILITY TO HAVE CHILDREN!"
That sounds like Ginevra's sweet, timid tone.
There was a silence in the Great Hall. A teacher coughed. Someone on the Hufflepuff table giggled. (Honestly, Tom felt like laughing himself. The idea of Reeve being put through the immense pain of losing the ability to have children was quite funny.)
Tom paused for a moment to see if anything else would happen – a scream of "VERMUS NEZ!", followed by a yelp of pain, to the Head Boy's immense satisfaction – before continuing with his dinner.
Well, he presumed that Ginevra and Reeve had split up then. He wasn't quite sure why, but this knowledge gave him a warm, happy feeling in his stomach.
He didn't like it.
When Ginevra, Hartwin and Philips entered the Great Hall, the noise started again, to pretend as though each person in the room hadn't been eavesdropping – if it could be called that – on what the redhead had been saying. Tom didn't look up at her. He was trying to stop caring.
As he finished his meal, he heard Ginevra gasp and drop an item of cutlery. He didn't let himself even glance her way. He heard her leave the Hall very quickly. He didn't watch her leave.
However, by this time, he had already stopped eating. Tom stood, watching with shallow amusement as the leftover contents of his plate disappeared into thin air, and then tried to catch the eye of Fionn.
Even though he was quite obviously glaring at her, she was ignoring him.
Fionn, damnit! His lip curled. Don't make me come over to your godforbidden table.
Of course, she continued to pretend that she couldn't see him, chatting merrily, to her friends, and he had no choice but to make his way towards the Gryffindor table.
Every red-clad person's eyes followed him.
Oh, get lost, you stupid lions.
He came to a stop on the other side of the table from Fionn. Everyone was watching him.
"Fionn," he said coldly. "Fionn."
"Oh, Tom!" she said pleasantly. "What a surprise to see you here."
His eyes narrowed lethally.
"Do you want to sit down with us?" she continued in her disgustingly bright, chirpy manner. "We're still having pudding – you're perfectly welcome to."
"No."
The tone of his voice caused a first-year five metres away to flinch. Now that was impressive. Usually he had a two-metre radius of intimidation. Still, he'd thought that Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.
"I merely noticed," he said, jaw set and voice icy, "that despite it being your patrol night, you were still sitting down and eating, though you were supposed to have set off for a lovely tour of the castle fifteen minutes ago. I was wondering if I was going to have to again remind you that this year, your out-of-class duties extend beyond the norm of gossiping inconsequential drivel with the numerous other idiots that you find with similar brain capacity to your own."
Proving his point, her friends looked blankly at each other, with 'what did he just say' expressions matching in each pair of eyes.
Fionn, however, understood perfectly. She scowled. "Tom," she complained, "stop confusing my friends."
"Why should I when it's so simple?"
"Please, Tom, dearest, can't you do tonight's patrol? There's a Gryffindor party and I really want to go to it," Fionn said, fluttering her eyelashes.
"You mistake me for someone who cares."
"Pleaaaase, Tom!" she begged. "Just this one night." She turned a beady blue eye on him suddenly. "You owe me."
Incredulity flashed in his eyes. "No, I do not," he snapped.
Swiftly, motioning to her friends not to follow her, the blonde stood and moved away from the tables, one glance telling Tom to follow her.
"Listen," she said, her voice quiet but sharp. "Last week, one day, you never came back to the common room. You weren't at dinner; you weren't even at lunch. The next morning, you turn up before breakfast, in yesterday's robes, damp, freezing cold, tattered, and not too mention bleeding. I haven't said a word to anyone about that, even though, as Head Girl, it's my responsibility, as you like to remind me, to look after other students. And, though, I hate to blackmail," she simpered, "it might slip out when I go to say goodbye to my friends before heading out on patrol."
Tom's lips pressed into a thin line.
If there is Satan embodied into human form, then it leaves no doubt that he chose Fionn.
An alarming thought crossed his brain.
Or perhaps me.
Fionn tilted her head sideways at him. "We're Gryffindors, Tom. We gossip. Trust me – if I tell, the whole school, including teachers, will know about it before you even get to the Entrance Hall."
Tom balled his hands into fists. His loathing for anyone was outshone by this loathing for the blackmailing girl he shared a dormitory with.
"Now," she said sweetly, "this could all be avoided… maybe if I didn't have to say goodbye to my friends… maybe if I didn't have to go on patrol…"
Lip curling back, Tom snapped, "I don't care if you're have a heart attack and have to be submitted to St. Mungoes'; you're doing my patrol tomorrow." Then he turned his back sharply on her, and left, his annoyance boiling over-
NO. Calm down.
Breathe. In – out. Breathe. He closed his eyes as he headed up the Entrance Hall stairs, focusing on squashing down the anger, the irrationality filling his head, and, most importantly, the voices that were starting up.
A voice floated faintly out to Tom's ears as he walked down the second-floor corridor. He thought not much of it, assuming it to be from a classroom, but then realised that it was coming from Moaning Myrtle's abandoned bathroom.
He stopped, and stood beside the door for a moment to listen.
"Killed?" It was Ginevra. "You mean… killed, killed?"
A sense of foreboding overcame him.
"No, I meant chicken-pot-pie, killed," Tristanebury retorted in a terrible comeback. "Yes, killed, killed. I was murdered in this bathroom in the evening after I ran away from Olive Hornby."
Tom's blood ran cold.
This was bad.
Screw bad, this was as terrible as it got.
"But – murdered – murdered by who?" Ginevra demanded incredulously.
Time to intervene.
Deliberately making as much noise as possible, Tom entered the female bathroom by slamming his shoulder into the wooden door. As his eyes flashed over to Ginevra, they passed over Myrtle, and though, hopefully, the redhead couldn't see, beneath his fringe they flashed a silent, deadly warning.
"Peregrine," he said, his gaze landing coolly on her. "I thought I heard you in here."
Glaring what was clearly her worst glare, but was still rather pathetic, Ginevra turned to him. "Riddle." Her eyes were slits of anger.
He tried to hide his wariness of the conversation that they had just been having behind his shallow bemusement at how openly Ginevra made her irritation show. "It's two minutes until curfew, Peregrine," he said, his voice cold but uninterested. "Don't you think that you're cutting it a bit fine? You're not even allowed in here." He flashed another warning at Myrtle in a split-second glance.
"Sorry, Riddle," she said sardonically, before looking back at Myrtle. "Who?"
Now that Ginevra was turned and could no longer see his expression, he was free to unleash the deadliest and darkest of glares at her.
If you dare to tell her, then death will be nothing compared to what I'll do to you.
A well-behaved, ever-obedient Myrtle shook her head. "I… I can't," she wailed in response to Ginevra, though her staring with wide eyes at him wasn't very subtle. She dived back into the toilet, hopefully before the redhead noticed.
"Come on, Peregrine." Tom turned and left the bathroom, not wanting to linger any longer in a female bathroom than necessary.
Tom liked silence. In silence, you didn't have to engage in conversation, or pretend that you were interested in someone else's conversation. He never usually did either of these things, but the sentiment was right, and he didn't like it. However, now, with the only noise around being their breathing, and Ginevra's heavy, crashing footsteps, it didn't seem right.
As they headed towards the stairs, Tom said calmly, "I suppose that you're ignoring me because you still think that I attacked you."
She didn't answer.
"Peregrine, I didn't." He stared down at her sideways. "I was in my common room at the time that you were attacked!"
What a lie.
"How the hell am I supposed to believe that?" Now she spoke up. "How, Riddle – after, just last week, I was amazed by how easily, how completely and totally naturally you lied. On the spot. Three seconds, and you had a fool-proof lie with no plot-holes. How am I now supposed to believe and trust anything that you say!?"
"I believe you," he replied coldly, thinking back to all the uncovered untruths that she'd told him.
She met his gaze with frozen hazel. "I thought you were smarter than that."
"I don't believe it," Tom said, his eyebrows lifting in incredulity. "Are you simultaneously insulting and complimenting me?"
I didn't even know that was possible.
She walked faster.
"Peregrine, I did not attack you!" He had no idea what created this irrevocable urge to make her believe that it hadn't been him… even though it had been. "Why the hell would I?"
Because there's a second soul inside me that likes to kill people.
He hoped she couldn't read minds.
"I don't know, Riddle!" she suddenly yelled, whirling to glare up at him. "Why would you attack me? There's no answer for it! There just isn't!! And, while such a thing would usually reassure me… it doesn't!! Because, Riddle, there are so many things about you, your life, and what you do that doesn't add up!"
They had unconsciously stopped walking. Tom took an automatic step backwards when her dazzlingly cold eyes came within his vulnerability radius. He prayed that she hadn't seen.
"Why are you secluded from the rest of the world? Why are you so distant from the real world? Why do you, seemingly, detest being civil over all over things?"
To protect people, you idiot!
"Why do you act like you hate me, yet go to the trouble to make sure I don't pass out and get hurt at the Hallowe'en ball?"
I look after you because I care about you a lot more than I should, and I'm horrible to cover it up so that you'll never realise!
"Why are you such an arsehole?" Ginevra threw her hands up in the air. "Why do you act like you hate everyone in this school – every teacher, every student, every room and every brick in the foundations of the building – why?!"
"Because I do," he snarled, eyes narrowing.
"How can you hate Hogwarts so much?" she demanded. "It's an amazing place – just step back and see what an absolutely incredible place we're in!"
It may seem that way to you, yes.
That, however, is only because, with the exception of Bastet and Malfoy and Slughorn, nobody here loathes you.
"Yes, Peregrine," he said, no longer raising his voice, but the level of soft anger in his voice higher than it had ever been, "but unfortunately, this isn't the film set of The Littlest Elf. This is reality, and, here, if you're not pureblood, then reality is absolute shit. Life is hell when you have to be a Slytherin living with the fact that you're related to one of those filthy Mudbloods. Life is hell, and you can't even come close to realising it, what with your perfect life and friends and blood status-"
"Okay, Riddle, shut the hell up for just one second!" she suddenly interrupted, stepping closer.
He didn't have time to step back. His fury and her beauty took over his head in one great sweep, and he was immobilised.
"Would you like to know something about my 'perfect life'? Here's something for starters: when I was eleven years old I had my mind taken over by the epitome of evil."
Tom stared.
"I raised him to power. I tried to kill my best friend. Finally, said epitome of evil rises to power, and murders everyone I care about. I had six brothers, Riddle. Six! Not anymore. And of course, to top it all off, my reward for reviving the wickedest man alive is to not be killed. In his sick, twisted eyes, the ultimate reward is to live and to watch as every family member, every friend, every ex-boyfriend… is wiped from the picture."
He'd forgotten how to speak, but this time, not because of her. Because of what she'd said.
None of his suspicions on traumatic memories had come close to this.
He watched in a stunned silence as tears trembled in her eyes.
"Don't you dare ever make assumptions about my life," she said, and though her voice was shaking, this did by no means lessen the blow of the poison in it. She drew in a breath. "I can make the rest of the way to the dungeons unaccompanied."
He stared at her still.
"And by the way, Riddle – don't give me that crap about how hard life is not being pureblood…" she continued, subdued but glacial. "I'm Muggleborn. I am, so quote: 'one of those filthy Mudbloods'."
Tom would have been shocked in silence had he not already long surpassed that stage.
"Goodbye."
She walked away.
Impossible.
It took two minutes of a bored inability to move after she'd disappeared for Tom to get moving again, and continue on his patrol.
At least he now understood why he'd attacked her. It was annoying, actually, how even his subconscious knew that she was Muggleborn before he did.
It was impossible, though. Ginevra couldn't be Muggleborn. Muggles… Muggles were, supposedly, mud.
There was no way that any mud could possibly be that intelligent – brave – fierce – loyal – beautiful – dangerous –
He pushed a hand backwards through his hair before smoothing the mess back down.
This dazzling mystery was one that he wished he'd left alone.
xxx
Aw. He's so Slytherin, deep down, that he believes all that 'Muggles are mud' turd. How… unpleasant. Please review, updates will be daily now because I'm translating it into his POV really fast. :D
Heart, me.