Chapter 20: The Thought that Counts
"Do you want the general overview? Or an itemised list?"
Dumbledore tilted his head slightly. "I was hoping that we could speak plainly, Marina," he said calmly.
"Alright," Marina nodded recklessly. "How about when you cut me off after I made it clear to you that I valued Riddle's privacy more than your favour? Or when you refused to change your opinion on Riddle even after the both of us went through hell to go along with this plan? Or when you ditched me in Diagon Alley and didn't give a second thought about how it would affect me? Or when you showed up expecting me to drop everything and fling myself back into harm's way?" Marina's hands were trembling, partly from anger and partly from fear at being so confrontational. "Or how about," her voice grew louder, "how about the fact that not once have you tried to help me get my memories back?"
"Would you like me to address each of those individually?" Dumbledore responded, infuriatingly calm.
Marina was too angry to reply. Dumbledore nodded, taking her tense silence as affirmation.
"You first mentioned that I distanced you from our discussions after you returned from 1948," he said, assessing her with a composure that felt like an affront. "At the time, I thought it best to give you and Tom space from the context of our plan. I thought that it would encourage Tom to speak with you personally, without the implication that he was required to do so."
Marina's hands hadn't stopped shaking, but she felt a chill slash through her anger. She had the horrible feeling that Dumbledore was about to make a long series of frustratingly good points.
"Secondly, you accuse me of reluctance to change what I think about Tom. This could not be further from the truth. I am incredibly willing, perhaps more than anyone, to believe that Tom has changed" – Marina opened her mouth indignantly, but Dumbledore raised a swift hand to silence her – "however, what you and I consider adequate proof of true change is significantly different… you could say that my bar for Tom is much higher. Considering my personal experience with him, I believe that this is understandable.
"Thirdly, the matter of leaving you to your own devices in Diagon Alley," Dumbledore said. "I admit that I failed to explain to you why distance between yourself and Tom was necessary, let me do so now. You must have seen yourself that Tom growing closer with you was leaving him increasingly distant from the rest of us. If he developed a singular dependence on you, I feared that Tom would begin to associate his relationship with you with his ability to grow. It would only take losing that relationship to revert him back to his original mindset. More importantly - as you said yourself when we first spoke - one person alone could not help Tom accomplish this task. This has always needed a strong team and you cannot bear that burden alone. Tom needs to nurture relationships with all of us, not just with you."
"You only think about the plan," Marina breathed, "you didn't care how it would affect me –"
"I do care," Dumbledore said quietly, "I was simply unaware."
"Unaware?" Marina repeated unsympathetically. "You didn't know that cutting me off from everyone I know would make my life significantly more miserable?"
"I did not know how you felt, Marina," Dumbledore said, looking appropriately sombre. "Perhaps there was more I could have done to seek out that knowledge, though I confess, I assumed that you would be fine."
"Why would you assume that?" Marina asked fiercely.
"You are strong," he said simply, "you will not find me underestimating you."
"Overestimating me, instead," said Marina, annoyed that he was complimenting her. She didn't want him to compliment her, she wanted him to apologise.
"I do not think so," he said quietly, "overlooking your needs perhaps, but not overestimating you. Which brings me to your next point. You feel that I expect you to abandon your life, to live at beck and call for the sake of this plan, is that correct?"
Marina grit her teeth and nodded.
"I do expect that of you," Dumbledore said seriously. "I am surprised to hear that this upsets you. All of us have an obligation to give everything we can to help Tom succeed, not only for Tom's sake but for the future of the whole wizarding world," he continued softly. "You are right to assume that I expect you to prioritise that over your personal life."
"That's not the part that upsets me," Marina interjected, "it's that it doesn't seem to bother you at all!"
"I do care, Marina," Dumbledore repeated assertively, "I care very much."
"You don't act like it," Marina retorted.
"How would you have me act?"
"You could ask me!" Marina shouted. "You could have asked me about any of this! Told me anything about why you were doing what you were doing! If you think I'm so bloody strong, why do you never tell me anything?"
Dumbledore assessed her thoughtfully. "You wish to be more involved in discussing my decisions," he said, more of a statement than a question.
"Yes," Marina said, the air falling from her sails at his simplistic summary.
"You understand that I would expect you to give me your best judgements, free from your emotional responses?" he asked smoothly.
"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about," she huffed, "you don't need another person who separates their emotions from their decisions, you need someone who actually does think about that stuff. Maybe we can balance out somewhere in the middle."
"I see," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, leaning on the arms of his chair. "You are offering a perspective with a different set of priorities to my own."
"Yes," Marina repeated, again surprised that he understood her meaning so easily.
He seemed to think a moment. "I am willing to try," he said, clasping his hands together. "Given that it is clearly important to you."
"Alright," she said, a bit flabbergasted. McGonagall had been right – if it were that easy, she really should have talked to him sooner.
"There was one final point that you mentioned," Dumbledore said softly. "The matter of your memories. I have long anticipated when you would approach me about this…"
"What do you mean?" Marina asked, tensing.
"I will of course help you attempt to recover the memories of your former life," he began, "but I wonder… is this what you really want?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" Marina whispered.
"You are – forgive me – stranded here, Marina," said Dumbledore, holding her gaze steadily, "since the mechanism behind how you arrived is unclear, we have no way to send you home. Your memories would only introduce pain at the knowledge of your loss, would they not?"
Marina froze. "Are you saying that I should willingly stay like this?" she breathed.
"I am simply suggesting that you fully consider what you are asking," he said gently. "Perhaps take a week to mull it over. If you still wish to unearth your memories when the Order next meets, I will take you at your word that you have fully contemplated the consequences."
Marina nodded distantly, a long series of inscrutable emotions hanging heavy over her. It wasn't the response she had been expecting.
"If that is all," Dumbledore said quietly, "I hope that I have somewhat redeemed myself in your eyes, Marina."
She struggled to respond, conflicted. "Understanding why you acted the way you did doesn't change the fact that it hurt," she said finally, "it just means that I understand."
"Perhaps our new understanding of each other can foster a more positive relationship between us," said Dumbledore carefully.
Marina nodded slowly. "Sure," she said, feeling largely unconvinced. She wasn't quite able to shake the feeling that Dumbledore wouldn't be bothering to hash things out with her if the animosity between them wasn't so obviously compromising the plan with Riddle.
"I will be in touch," he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the surface of his desk. Riddle's diary sat before him and he gave it a thoughtful look.
Marina stood, pausing before she turned to leave. "Sir," she said.
Dumbledore looked up cordially.
"After this is done, all this stuff with Riddle I mean…" Marina swallowed hard. "If I can't get home, what am I going to do? Am I just going to have to live here from now on?"
Dumbledore was silent a long moment. "I think that is up to you," he said very quietly.
Marina's heart sank. The realisation that she really might never get home pressed heavily in on her.
"Rest assured, Marina," Dumbledore said, "however I can help you, I will do so."
"Thanks," she nodded, looking down at Riddle's essay to distract from the prickling tears in her eyes. She felt like she was constantly on the brink of tears these days. "I better go, I have to go over this tonight," she gestured with the essay vaguely.
"Of course," he said gently as she turned to the fireplace.
"See you later, sir," she said hastily, seizing a handful of Floo powder.
"Goodnight, Marina."
With a green roar of flames, she was gone.
Marina stretched up on the tips of her toes trying to reach the spare carton of glittering black beetles to feed the frogs. As her fingertips grazed its side, it knocked into its neighbour, a large cage that teetered threateningly over the edge of the shelf and Marina froze, willing with all her might that it stay put. Slowly the cage toppled over and hit the floor with a loud crash that sent a wave of titters and shrill cries through the shop as Marina swore loudly. A swarm of jewel-toned crabs with long curled shells and large pincers emerged from the cage and marched across the store excitedly.
"Shit," Marina said again, pulling down the carton of beetles and tiptoeing around the crabs to the other side of the store. She heaved the carton onto the counter and set to work recovering each of the crabs, each of them deviously hiding and snipping its pincers at her sadly when she picked them up and returned them to their cage.
A full twenty minutes of work later, Marina finally slid the cage back onto the top shelf, sweaty, red in the face, and out of breath. The last crab had managed to climb its way into the Salamander enclosure, forcing Marina to catch it using a long pair of iron tongs to avoid getting scorched.
"Is this a bad time?" came a familiar voice from the front door. Riddle was looking pointedly at her dishevelled state.
She hadn't even heard the bell chime. "No, come in," Marina heaved a sigh, wiping her brow and gesturing at the counter. "Your essay's over there, I'll just be a sec."
As he made his way over to it, Marina scattered some of the beetles into the frog tanks, making sure that Gilbert didn't steal the smaller frogs' lunches before she turned back to Riddle.
"Looks alright?" she asked as he scanned her comments.
He nodded, looking up at her. There was a strangely awkward pause.
"What did McGonagall want?" he asked very casually as he stowed the essay carefully in his bag.
"She told me you talked to her, Riddle," Marina said, smirking. "Is that why you were weird yesterday when you saw the note? I'd find out you'd been gossiping?"
"I wasn't 'gossiping,'" he snapped disparagingly.
A thought occurred to Marina like a strike of lightning. "Did you tell her how I like my tea?" she asked, amused.
Riddle looked taken aback. "I –" he stammered.
"You did!" Marina accused, delighted. "If that's not gossiping, I don't know what is!"
"She asked," he said tensely, looking like he deeply regretted bringing it up.
"How do you even know how –"
"You drink more cups of tea than anyone I've ever seen put together," he said coldly. "The information is irreparably seared into my brain."
"Well, thanks for talking to her," Marina said, watching a small tree frog hop hopefully towards a beetle before Gilbert snatched it up with his long tongue.
"I have to go hand in my essay," Riddle said blandly instead of responding to her thanks.
"Alright," said Marina, bemused. "See you later, then."
He hesitated.
"Something else on your mind?" Marina prompted wryly.
"Yes," he said, expression wooden.
Marina frowned, realising it was something serious. "What's up?"
"Was your intention yesterday to denigrate me?" he demanded.
She stared. "What?"
"In front of Dumbledore, all that about 'anti-Muggle rhetoric'," Riddle said, mouth turned unpleasantly.
Marina gave a scoff. "I think your own actions make you look bad without my help, Riddle," she said dryly, turning back to the frogs.
"You didn't have to bring it up like that," he snapped, "Dumbledore already suspects that I –"
"I'm not going to cover up your weird racism for you," she retorted, pushing a fat beetle towards the tree frog. "The fact that you still haven't gotten over it is pretty appalling, to be honest."
Riddle glared at her. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said angrily.
"Yeah, of course I don't," she drawled. "Must have been mistaken when I heard you say that shit about how superior wizards are all the time and how I'll never amount to anything because I don't have magic –"
"I never said –"
"Don't start, Riddle," Marina interrupted, eyes flashing. "I have to listen to you badmouthing me non-stop, don't pretend like you don't."
"I'm not talking about you," he said hotly.
"Oh? Just the vague, amorphous concept of Muggles in general? You're aware I am a Muggle, right? That when you say that shit, you are talking about me?"
"You're different," he said like it was obvious.
"That's bullshit," Marina heaved up the carton of beetles and marched across the store to return it. "That's utter bullshit. I'm not different in the slightest, it's just easier for you to think that you've met an exception to the rule rather than admit that you were wrong about Muggles." She angrily shoved the carton back onto its shelf.
He was glaring again. "You can't deny that magic gives wizards incomparable power compared to –"
"Are you sure?" she wheeled around to face him. "Are you sure wizards are more powerful? Because it was Muggle medicine that kept you from dying in that café with Billy, and it was Muggle combat that stopped that guy from attacking me in Albania, and it was a Muggle family that helped you get back part of your soul after taking you in from that storm, and it was my Muggle ass who's been rooting for you since the beginning!"
Riddle's face contorted angrily. "Muggle medicine," he spat, "failed to save my mother's life, Muggle combat tore the world apart in a war that killed millions –"
"And it was a wizard who committed crimes horrible enough to destroy his own soul and start a genocide in response," Marina breathed back. "You're not describing the difference between the magical and Muggle worlds; you're talking about humanity."
They were face to face, glaring resolutely at each other. A tense moment passed.
"Here," Riddle snapped, pulling something from his pocket and forcing it into her hand.
She took it without thinking, surprised. "What's this?"
"It's Christmas, isn't it?" he said irritably, turning and stalking towards the door.
Marina stared agape at the small brown-paper package in her hand. "Are you serious?"
Riddle wrenched the door open.
"Wait a second," Marina said hastily.
Thankfully, he paused. She turned to the counter and placed the small package upon it, reaching for her bag as she extracted a book from its depths. "I haven't had time to wrap it yet –"
He stared with a strange mask of emotion on his face. Slowly, he shut the door and approached her. He took the book with his long fingers and studied the cover.
"It's blank," he said deprecatingly. As he cracked it open, he gave her a sceptical look. "This book is empty."
"Yes," she said, unable to resist a smile.
He raised an eyebrow wryly. "If this is another diary, I'm afraid I'd have to say this gift is in very poor taste –"
"It's not a diary," she rolled her eyes. "Though that would have been a hilarious present, and I should have thought of it myself."
"What is it then?" he asked, looking at the book with a frown.
"It's a customisable encyclopaedia," she said, excited. "I found it in Obscurus Books, I think they were popular a few centuries ago. You open a page and think about something you want to know about, and it'll produce an encyclopaedia entry for that thing – but it'll keep track of what you've looked up, so you can go back through what you've studied!"
He stared. "You bought me a scrapbook."
"Don't be a jerk," she pushed his shoulder. "Just try it."
Riddle looked down at the first page of the book and contemplated it. Immediately, words bled up from the paper and Marina saw the image of a snake curl its way into existence.
"Did you seriously just think about snakes?" she asked monotonously.
"No," he replied, giving her a caustic look. "I thought about Parseltongue."
"You're just about the most predictable person I've ever met," she shook her head.
He shut the encyclopaedia with a snap. "Open yours, then," he said by means of retort.
"No," she said, folding her arms. "I like waiting for Christmas day."
Riddle looked exasperated. "What's the difference between opening it now and –"
"I think you should just accept that we do things differently, you and I," she said, patting his arm in mock reassurance.
"The way you do things doesn't make any sense," he muttered, stowing the book in his bag.
She grinned as he made his way back to the door. "Thanks for the present, Riddle,"
"You can't thank me for it yet, you don't know what it is," he said stiffly, hand on the door handle.
"Yes, I can," she laughed, patting Dina who had jumped up onto the counter next to her and was nuzzling at her side. "Thought that counts and all that."
"Yes, well," he said uncomfortably, half turning back to her. "Thanks for… you know. Thanks." He opened the door and left without waiting her reply.
Marina looked at the small, neatly wrapped package that rested on the countertop as Dina began to purr. There was a long way to go with Riddle – their most recent clash proved that most poignantly – but the little parcel sitting before her made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, things might really work out after all.