Hello everyone! I am back :) Thank you very much for your kind reviews, Emily, Vylette, The Magic of the Night, a, Kagami Kawaiine, iviscrit, Sherbet, Kate, Mara and ibelle! You are awesome! This chapter doesn't have much Tom/Minerva interaction and it was admittedly hard to write. Much of the dialogue has been taken from the movie. It's more of a bridge chapter until we can get back to our dear couple :) I hope you like it nonetheless. Now that I have holidays I promise to update soon again!
Sachita :-)
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hogwarts, June 14th, 1943
Professor Dumbledore's office was silent and sun-dusted on that morning, when the solemn group of four entered it. With a flick of his wand, Professor Dumbledore conjured two high-backed chairs for Jonathan and Minerva to sit on, while Headmaster Dippet and he walked behind the great mahogany table to take their seats, giving the entire situation a feel of a courtroom hearing.
Unconsciously, Minerva crossed her arms. Her wrist was burning horribly and she resisted the urge to rub it, feeling Professor Dumbledore's sharp eyes on her. When she lifted her eyes she found that she was right. He was directly looking at her over the rims of his half-moon glasses and for once, there was only frigidity in those blue orbs. Feeling naked and defenceless, Minerva shivered and averted her eyes.
"Mister Davies, Miss McGonagall," Dippet began, his gravelly voice sounded older than usual, "we appreciate you coming here, knowing that the circumstances are dire…"
"Armando," Dumbledore interrupted, stroking his auburn beard, "before we begin, I would like to have a word with Miss McGonagall here."
Dippet looked annoyed, but he nodded.
Minerva felt how the insides of her hands became wet with sweat and she put them on the plaited skirt of her grey school uniform gymslip, trying to appear unperturbed and failing. Why was she so nervous? She had nothing to fear. She had nothing to do with Myrtle's death. Myrtle's death…Merlin…she gulped and felt how traitorous tears pricked at her eyelids.
"Minerva," Professor Dumbledore began calmly, "I merely want you to promise me something."
"Yes, sir," Minerva answered and her voice came out as a squeak. She hated it.
"Promise me to be honest in this conversation, even if we implicate persons, who are close to you within it," the Professor said without beating around the bush.
A sense of righteous anger chased all nervousness away. Of course she would be honest!
"Of course, sir," she replied strongly and hoped that her sense of justified anger wasn't audible in her reply.
Dumbledore nodded, looking inscrutable, and motioned for Dippet to continue. The Headmaster asked them many questions that day, most of which led nowhere. Then it was Dumbledore's turn and he cut to the chase quickly.
"Miss McGonagall," he said very firmly, "do you know something about Mr. Riddle's whereabouts yesterday evening?" Minerva lifted her chin, feeling defiant. He wanted Tom so badly to be the one guilty, didn't he? Tom had been right all along. She felt how some of her respect and admiration for her favourite Professor dissolved into nothingness. "He was with me, sir."
Jonathan pursed his lips and looked away, while Headmaster Dippet seemed slightly scandalised.
"And when was that?" Dumbledore asked.
"The entire evening," Minerva replied, though a doubtful inner voice asked whether protecting Tom was that good of an idea after all. Why not, she told herself, remembering the desolate look on his face as he had told her of his mother. Plus…the Unbreakable Vow. He couldn't have done it.
Her mind made up, she replied to Dumbledore's query whether she was sure about it, with a firm: "Yes."
Professor Dumbledore looked sorrowful, but in the end he could prove nothing and he knew it.
He had not seen this variable. Why had he not seen it? Tom prided himself on being able to arrange decisions and possible outcomes of situations into neat rows of variables and constants, was able to put them together and arrive at the best outcome for himself.
A part of him was darkly amused that out of everybody who could have been it, it had been one of his own, who had- albeit unknowingly- destroyed all his fine equations with one single sentence.
Abraxas Malfoy's thin face under his slicked-back platinum blond hair had been oddly triumphant, maybe because he was for one the one better informed than his Lord.
"Have you heard?" he had hissed coldly. "If the attacks on the Mudbloods continue, then the school will be closed. My father is a member of the Board of Governors, you see. That's what they are talking about these days, you see." He had come closer then, curiosity shining in his light eyes. "Do you know anything about the attacks?"
"No," Tom had snapped, "and even if I did you would be the last person I'd tell. Get out of my sight, Abraxas, and leave me alone. I need to think."
Abraxas had shrunk back- probably understanding where his place was- and had bowed. "Yes, my Lord."
That show of subservience might have normally filled Tom with a sense of dark satisfaction and triumph, but in that moment he just banished it from his thoughts and rubbed the bridge of his thin nose. This was bad. Very much so even, and he had not seen it. Was it possible that he had got lost in the rush of power that releasing the basilisk on the Mudbloods had given him? The image of Myrtle's limp white hand, useless and dead, rose up to the forefront of his mind.
He frowned, admitting to himself that he had gone too far. Of course the possibility of the school being closed had been there, yes, had featured in his plans, but he had abandoned that train of thought too quickly or so it seemed. He couldn't go back to the dullness of the orphanage. He just couldn't.
For once, his brilliant mind had not arrived at a solution, which was why he was loitering around the staircase leading to Professor Dumbledore's office, where he knew Minerva and Davies to be. He needed to have assurance that the school would not be closed.
A solemn group of four wizards bearing a bier with a person covered by a cloth entered his field of vision then.
Tom watched as they descended the stairs and just as they passed him, he became aware of the limp white hand dangling out from underneath the covers. Myrtle. How strange and curious, he mused, that death reduced persons to this- a mere white hand that would never be lifted again…a hull without a spirit in it, a useless thing….he curled his lip.
"Riddle!"
Another surprise on that day, another variable he had not accounted for, and oh, how he hated that voice.
Turning around, he became aware of the towering figure of Professor Dumbledore, who seemed as thrilled to see him as he was. The man was beckoning for him to come and join him, as if he was a dog who followed every call! Tom buried the spark of anger.
"Professor Dumbledore," he acknowledged politely and made his way up the stairs.
"It is not wise to be wandering around this late hour, Tom," was the first thing out of Dumbledore's mouth. Tom stopped a few feet below him on the staircase, adapting a wholly false show of subservience. For a wild moment he wondered whether Dumbledore saw right through his act. If he did, he did not acknowledge it and so Tom replied finally, trying his best to appear innocent and faltering:
"Yes, Professor. I suppose I-"again he paused and looked down meekly, before straightening up: "I had to see for myself if the rumours were true."
Dumbledore appraised him for a second and Tom once again became aware of the dangerous, powerful aura this man had. "I am afraid they are, Tom. They are true."
If he was careful about it, Tom thought wildly, if he was careful, he might just uncover whether Abraxas had been right.
"About the school as well?" Hesitating for a second, because he actually hated playing the poor orphan card, he tacked on a: "I don't have a home to go. They wouldn't really close Hogwarts, would they, Professor?"
Dumbledore shifted and Tom wondered whether he had actually accepted the orphan card. But no, no, Dumbledore had been the one to collect him from that sorry place, he knew too much…
"I understand, Tom….I am afraid Headmaster Dippet may have no choice," Dumbledore replied decisively.
And suddenly…suddenly he knew what to do. It was so easy. He had planned ahead for this after all, had returned to Myrtle's body that morning to implement the plan, but he had not been sure whether he would actually be able to use it, had discarded it, for he had feared that it might be too obvious…too easily recognised- but maybe that was exactly why he had to do it. It was such an easy plan that it was ingenious and it might save him from having to go to the orphanage and him also from being suspected…
"Sir, if it all stopped…if the person responsible was caught…"
There was a new measure of suspicion in Dumbledore's eyes and for a long, panicked moment Tom actually thought he had found out. But Dumbledore merely asked cuttingly:
"Is there something you wish to tell me?"
Tom felt a foreign presence in his head then and he knew then that Dumbledore was a Legilimens- and a skilled one at that. He had been practicing Occlumency and as such, he thought of a storm-torn coastline with wild waves and foaming sea spray, but part of him feared that it would be too little…too thin a veneer…
"No, sir. Nothing," he said, but he gulped, and was furious at that, for it showed weakness.
Dumbledore looked wary, but he merely nodded. "Very well then. Off you go."
Tom averted his eyes, feeling oddly triumphant. "Goodnight, sir," he mumbled.
Once he was out of Dumbledore's sight, he broke into a run.
As he had surmised, Hagrid was in the dungeons, tending to his acromantula. Surprise at seeing Tom soon turned to fear on the giant's face as Tom brandished his wand.
"Evening, Hagrid," he said sharply. "I am going to have to turn you in, Hagrid."
Hagrid stared at him uncomprehendingly. Tom clarified with a sneer:
"I don't think you meant it to kill anyone, but-"
"You can't!" Hagrid shouted with surprising defiance. "You don't understand."
Don't understand? Oh, Tom understood perfectly well. Hagrid was the only who apparently didn't.
Tom straightened a little and the Prefect badge on his robes gleamed dimly in the flickering light of the torches in the walls' niches. "The dead girls' parents will be here tomorrow, "he said coldly, "the least Hogwarts can do is make sure the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered."
Gryffindor impulsiveness and anger coursed through Hagrid's reply: "It wasn't him! Aragog never killed no one! Never!"
Wryly amused, Tom thought that Hagrid still did not understand. This was not about his Aragog.
"Monsters don't make good pets, Hagrid," he stated coolly. "Now stand aside!"
"NO!" Hagrid shouted. A bit irritated, Tom repeated his words, but Hagrid wouldn't budge.
Tom shot a few well-placed spells at the box Hagrid kept the acromantula in and as the beast ran down the hall, aimed a few other spells in its direction. He missed, but that was part of his plan after all- he had never meant to capture the spider. Maybe they had experts, who could reveal that this particular acromantula had not killed the girl…
"Aragog! Aragog!" Hagrid wailed.
In a flash, Tom held him at wandpoint.
"I can't let you go. They'll have your wand for this, Hagrid. You'll be expelled."
"No." Tears were coursing down Hagrid's face and Tom bit back a sneer. He had never understood people who let their emotions run so freely. The orphanage had taught him to cry in seclusion and to spend grievous times consoling himself. There had never been anyone to comfort him.
Shaking his head clear of that thought- he had no place for it now- he tried his best to be sympathetic. "How do you know, Hagrid, that Aragog did not break out of his box one night?"
"He never would," Hagrid replied tearfully.
"That is what you think," Tom pressed on, "but you see, he is an animal. It's nothing he can control, Hagrid. When his instincts tell him to hunt, he has to hunt…"
Hagrid sobbed, seeming to be unable to reply. Tom went farther.
"It's not your fault," he stated, interjecting as much gentleness into his voice as he could muster, "it truly is not. You have never been included by your classmates, have you?"
Hagrid shook his head.
"See…I'll vouch for you, Hagrid." Tom nodded firmly. "I'll say that you are a good person and maybe they'll keep you at Hogwarts. I'll do everything in my power to help you…"
Maybe he had gone too far, because through his tears, Hagrid's beady eyes expressed disbelief.
"Why would you do that?" he asked slowly.
Tom smiled brilliantly, that kind of smile that had all vapid girls swoon at his feet and the kind of smile that had adults comment on how wonderful a boy he was.
"I told you that I didn't have a simple life either, now did I?" he asked. "See, I was brought up in an orphanage and I never had anything to be happy about."
"Nothing?" Hagrid asked, his own grief forgotten, as he looked sorrowfully at Tom. Tom felt a twinge of irritation; he had always hated pity. He pushed a strand of dark hair behind his ear and pocketed the wand, taking Hagrid's arm.
"Come on. Enough talking about me. I promise you, we will find a solution for this dilemma."
On their way to the Headmaster's office, Hagrid mused: "Maybe you are right, Tom. Aragog is not evil, however, and I can't imagine he'd ever do something as horrific as murdering a girl…"
"Animals are neither evil nor good," Tom said and it might have been the singular most honest thing he had done or said that evening. "They just are. Humans are the only ones who define what is good and what is evil…In a way, animals are so much more honest than we are. They feel a need and they act upon it. That doesn't make them good or evil. They just exist."
Hagrid was silent and contemplative, but when they reached the stone gargoyle, he was trembling.
"Come on, Hagrid," Tom told him and his mood had been elevated so that he could even smile reassuringly. "Where is that Gryffindor Courage?"
Leaving Hagrid to stand back for a moment, he turned to the gargoyle. "Diligence." Headmaster Dippet had given him the password a while back.
Hagrid was a quivering mess nonetheless when they had successfully made their way up the stone staircase. Tom rapped briefly and respectfully on the door of the Headmaster's office and Dippet's gravelly voice asked for them to come in.
When Tom entered the murky gloom of Dippet's office, three pairs of eyes swung his way: Dippet's milky grey stare, Dumbledore's avid blue eyes and an unknown Ministry official's wary dark gaze.
"Ah," Dippet beamed, "Tom, my boy. What brings you here?"
Dumbledore rose, his red cloak rustling. "Amando," he commented sharply, "we were in the middle of a discussion. Unless Mr. Riddle here has something vital to say to us, I am sure this can wait until later. Besides," he added, his icy gaze drilling holes into Tom, "I believe I sent you to bed half an hour ago, Tom."
Tom bowed his head in a submissive gesture, barely hiding an ugly sneer.
Keeping the image of a storm-torn seaside scene in mind as not to have Dumbledore probe his mind like earlier, he uttered politely: "With respect, sir, I have something to say, but I believe Mr. Hagrid is the better-suited of us two."
With that, Tom pushed the giant forward.
Blanching, Hagrid couldn't speak, trembling all over.
"Mr. Hagrid," Dumbledore said kindly- he never used that tone with Tom- "Please, take a seat."
With a flick of his wand he conjured a huge red monstrosity of a chair, on which Hagrid sat down, his huge brown eyes staring fearfully at the three adults.
"It was him!" he said frantically. "My Aragog! But he didn't mean to, I swear he didn't! Please, sirs, I would never allow a girl to be killed! I didn't want this to happen, please, I swear."
"Start at the beginning, Mr. Hagrid," Headmaster Dippet intoned strictly.
And so Hagrid told them, haltingly, of his discovery of the acromantula, how he had cared for it, and how Tom had finally found out.
"It must have been an accident," he concluded, on the brink of tears again.
"Please, sirs," Tom spoke up, "I can vouch for him. "
"Why did you not notify anyone of the fact that he had an acromantula in this school?" Dumbledore asked sharply, his blue eyes never leaving Tom.
As if embarrassed, Tom looked away. "Hagrid has very little friends at Hogwarts," he said carefully, "and I did not want to rob him of the one he had. Besides, he really never meant for any of this to happen. He came voluntarily with me. He is a good person."
Dumbledore's glare was deadly, but Tom didn't avert his eyes. When it finally became too much, though, he looked away to Dippet. The Headmaster looked contemplative.
"We will have to think this over," he finally said. "If you would be so kind, Albus, to escort Mr. Hagrid to the Gryffindor dormitories and return to us later. You, Mr. Riddle, I'd like to express my gratitude to. Please go back to the Slytherin dormitories."
When Dumbledore and Hagrid as well as Tom had gone, the Headmaster turned to the Ministry official, who had remained silent until then.
"You see, sir, the school does not have to be closed. We now have a culprit, who even admitted to his deeds." As he turned to the window of his office to contemplate the silent, starry night, the Ministry Official spoke up. His eyes gleamed like black buttons in the gloom of Dippet's office.
"Are you sure that he is the one solely responsible for all the attacks?"
"Yes," Dippet spoke firmly, looking oddly relieved. "Yes. He might not have wanted all these things to happen, but you can tell the press that Rubeus Hagrid was the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets. This school may remain opened."
tbc