Tom was walking alone through a corridor on the ground floor. Very soon, the Ravenclaw quidditch team was due to return from their practice that evening, and he had something to discuss with one of their chasers. In the meantime, he, aiming to appear casually in the area when he intercepted Cyrus Quinn upon his entry of the castle, studied the paintings that decorated the walls of the hallway.
It wasn't much later when he heard the front doors of the school creak open and the arrival of the seven Ravenclaws interrupt the quiet. He headed towards the entrance hall at a pace that appeared to indicate he was merely passing by. Coming within sight of the group, he made eye contact with Cyrus and formed his facial expression to say seeing you has just reminded me of something and I want to talk to you. He approached and cut the boy off from the rest of his teammates, most of whom were heading for Ravenclaw tower.
"Quinn." He addressed him by his last name. "May I have a word?"
"I suppose," he answered, uncertain of why Tom was speaking to him, but evidently feeling honored by his presence. Tom moved further away from the other people around and Cyrus followed him.
"I saw you visiting Miss Pepper in the hospital wing earlier." Even if he hadn't actually seen him make this visit, he would have known it had occurred, because he had compelled the Ravenclaw boy with the imperius curse. And before, that he had given him the memory of asking Perdita to meet him on Valentine's Day.
"Yeah. What of it?" It was so obvious that he had something to hide. Tom smiled.
"I didn't know you were a friend of hers."
"What's it to you? I know for a fact that you're not her friend." Cyrus looked as though he regretted saying this as soon as the words had left his mouth. This didn't matter to Tom, however.
"I'm not sure you are either. If I'm not mistaken, your grandfather"—Cyrus became tense—"was a magizoologist, who took a particular interest in gorgons. And you, a Ravenclaw boy. An odd coincidence, I must say." Tom spoke very slowly, making Cyrus as uncomfortable as possible; he could have laughed with delight at how enjoyable it was.
"It's not what you think," Cyrus said quietly and with surprising calmness—then again, maybe it wasn't so surprising; he was innocent after all.
"All I think is that you should confess to being the one she was meeting before she is revived. It'll look better if you come forward of your own accord. Especially if you, as you say, are not responsible for what happened to her."
"That's true—I'm not," he answered quickly. "All I did was stand her up, which I admit is not very nice, but I certainly didn't want to see her hurt."
"No, of course not." Tom paused, watching Cyrus's face; he was clearly considering the advice. "I must be going now. I hope the decision you make is a wise one." He left him with one last smile, then turned to go back to the Slytherin Dungeon.
"So I never asked, what's going on with you and Winky?" Charlotte inquired of Valeria at breakfast one morning.
"A strictly business relationship, I think. Honestly, I can't see myself with someone named Winky."
"That can't be the only reason."
"No, no, of course not—although I can't say it's not a contributing factor. It's too soon for him to get into another relationship really. But I'm very happy with what I've been able to do because of his quidditch uniform request. It's purely aesthetic at this point, because we don't want to break any rules, but who knows, maybe someday I'll revolutionize the standards of quidditch robes? Although I think I'd much rather employ someone else who would do that; I'm just not that dedicated to sports."
"Yes, I can picture you, covered in dirt on the quidditch pitch for garment trials…"
"I know you're joking, but that might actually happen, now that I think about it. We have to test out the changes we've made even at this level, because magic can be so unpredictable."
"It's strange, we don't really understand magic; we use it, but it acts in surprising ways sometimes."
Then the mail arrived. Charlotte looked around for an owl she recognized, anticipating a reply from her mother. Today, she was not disappointed. Neither was she disappointed by the contents of the letter.
"She has the mandrakes still; they'll be fully mature in about two weeks!" she said excitedly to Valeria.
"Is she bringing them herself? That would be fun, your mother visiting Hogwarts."
"Umm, '…quand je les apporterai…' [when I bring them]" Charlotte mumbled as she read more of the letter. "Yes, she plans to bring them herself." Valeria, with an excited smile, silently applauded.
"She must have written to Professor Dippet as well then."
"Yes, but I'll speak with him too, just in case."
After breakfast, Charlotte approached the teacher's table at the far end of the Great Hall. Without visiting his office, which required a password, this was the only sure place she knew to find the headmaster. She got his attention as he was coming down the steps.
"Miss Soleil, do you need something? Or, perhaps you want to talk about the guest we will soon be receiving?" He held up a letter bearing his name written out in her mother's handwriting.
"I wanted to be certain you knew," she replied.
"Yes, Madame Soleil explained how you wrote to her inquiring about mandrakes, and how she will happily bring them to us, here, when the time is right." Looking at something behind her, his face broke into a smile, although it looked weak, which was not altogether surprising given his age and the general infirmity that accompanies such elderliness, and additionally the gravity of the topic he was transitioning from, not to mention the present grim atmosphere of the school.
Apparently it was the presence of Tom that could overcome all of these things and bring some sense of joy to the surely strained headmaster. Charlotte couldn't help but smile too as he came and stood beside her.
"Tom, my dear boy, how are you?" he asked.
"Very well, Professor, thank you," Tom replied politely. "And you?"
"Better than I have been recently," he said. "Has Miss Soleil told you about her mandrakes? Miss Pepper will be well again in a matter of weeks."
"Yes, she's told me." Naturally he wouldn't mention how he tried to talk her out of taking immediate action to that end.
"It's very good news. Now if only we can find the culprit behind the attack…" He trailed off, seeming to suddenly take into account that these were students he was speaking to and thus some things were not meant to be discussed with them. "Well," he began again, "I should go inform some other staff members about this. I bid you both good day." They each in turn nodded and returned his smile. Only a few moments passed before they were approached by another professor. It was Dumbledore, who evidently had taken his time finishing his breakfast before rising from the table after the rest of the staff.
"Miss Soleil. Tom." He nodded to each of them. Charlotte noticed he called Tom by his first name whereas he used her surname. She also noticed that Tom had flinched, almost imperceptibly; however, because they were standing so near each other, she felt his hand bump hers, and then turned to see his features showing a tinge of the dislike she had previously conjectured he felt for their transfiguration teacher. It seemed plausible this reaction was because of who was speaking to him, as he had not done this when Professor Dippet called him Tom. "I hear your mother will soon be paying us a visit," Professor Dumbledore said to Charlotte. "I am certain Miss Pepper would be grateful, if she were currently aware of the assistance you are giving her."
She smiled. "I look forward to things becoming, ah, comme d'habitude [as usual] around here." She chose to use the French expression as it was the first to come to mind, possibly due to her mother's upcoming visit.
Looking to Tom, he said, "You must consider yourself very lucky to have such a girl, as thoughtful as Charlotte, in your life." Charlotte had not thought about the benevolence of her actions; mainly she had been concerned with getting the school back to normal, and somewhat the fact that she could play some part, take some credit, for that.
Dumbledore looked intently at Tom over the rims of his half-moon glasses. Tom stared back at him. "Yes, naturally, sir." He answered somewhat tersely, the sir coming out especially stiff, and delayed as though he had almost not said it. "Charlotte is very important to me," he added with more warmth. She was unconvinced by this portrayal of earnestness, feeling it was an attempt rather than a sincere expression.
Dumbledore, however, smiled, and said "Love is a beautiful thing. Blessed with its presence, one feels able to accomplish anything." A look of sadness came into his eyes, although his smile did not disappear entirely. His cheerful demeanor suffered only a brief absence, and he regained his full smile with much more grace than Tom had just shown in his affectation. "It is, in my opinion, a most powerful form of magic, although not one harnessed with a wand."
"I don't know if I agree with that. I'm… not convinced," Tom said.
Dumbledore sighed. "Well, skepticism is also a gift. It helps us determine what is right, what is true. And what are we without truth?" He gazed out behind them and, taking in the rapidly emptying room, said, "The truth for me right now being that I am late." He put his hand on Tom's shoulder as he walked past. "Good day to you both." He smiled kindly.
It seemed their relationship was no secret from the teachers. Charlotte supposed that the staff must share observations about certain students' behavior and therefore had deduced that she and Tom were a couple, but it was certainly strange and a bit uncomfortable to think about. She imagined Professors Slughorn and Runewood gossiping, for that's what it was really, about the two of them.
"I think I forgot my copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi in my dormitory. You go on to Herbology without me," Tom said, already turning to leave. Charlotte had sensed his agitation during their conversation with Dumbledore, so she let him go without a word.
The challenge presented by the combination of speaking with Dumbledore, in front of Charlotte, and Dumbledore presuming them to be in love, saying so as directly as he had, proved too taxing for Tom.
First, he hated his name, but he hated it most of all when Dumbledore called him by it, because it reminded him of their first meeting. Then he had needed to say something endearing about Charlotte, his supposed love, and been absolutely not in the mindset to act as was expected. Knowing he had given a poor performance of his devotion had distressed him further. And then Dumbledore had to go on philosophizing about that wretched thing—love. Tom couldn't help giving his response, although he masked his true feelings in uncertainty; he was completely certain he disagreed with Dumbledore, but saying so would have been unwise, especially with Charlotte there.
The situation he had just fled—he injured himself with this word, but it was necessary—would have been better managed if he had remained with Charlotte. Instead he had left abruptly after probably failing to properly show romantic attachment to her, which she would hold against him. She was going to suspect his deceit. He should have forced himself into composure, held her hand as they walked to Herbology, kissed her before they got to the greenhouse, assured her that it was Dumbledore he resented and not her. But he couldn't. Not only that, but thinking about taking those actions made him feel sick now.
She was becoming too much of a problem. She made him too angry. Right now he couldn't even be around her because it was putting him in such a state, reminding him of the lie he was acting out, which was a reality he would have loathed: loving her. But without her, he couldn't carry out his plan in the way he had intended.
At least several weeks remained before he would set the basilisk on someone again. During that time, he didn't need Charlotte. He could distance himself from her. Then, when the time came, he would apologize, show his affection again, passionately—and she would surrender to the passion. On the other hand, he couldn't be sure; she might reject his advances if he upset her too greatly by staying away from her. He couldn't neglect her now that he had won her over.
Exasperated, he fired a spell at a tapestry in the deserted hallway, ripping it partly from the wall. He raised his wand to cast another spell,—he felt like he would like to watch something burn at that moment—but stopped himself, and breathed deeply, still fuming, but trying to quiet his rage. So much did he want to let himself go, drop the façade, cause destruction. He didn't know what the best course of action to take with Charlotte was, and he felt he was being driven mad by the inevitability of irresolution accompanying whatever choice he made. It was control that he wanted—desperately.
...
He eventually made it to Herbology, informing Professor Beery that he had felt unwell and taken a short walk after breakfast—his general good conduct in the eyes of his teachers heightening their tolerance for the occasional, rare lapse in his model student behavior.
He had the opportunity, or rather, the obligation, to speak with Charlotte, as they were working near each other.
"So, you're getting your mandrakes after all?"
"Yes. They're still growing at la maison Soleil, and my mother will bring them in a couple of weeks."
"Excellent," Tom said with an attempted French accent, hoping to disguise and distract from his displeasure at hearing this news. It was a good thing he had already begun arrangements for dealing with Perdita's recovery.
"Très bien. Ma mère serait contente. My mother would be pleased." Charlotte smiled at him. "I guess you'll be meeting her soon."
"Is there anything I should know about your mother? She isn't a legilimens or something is she?" That would be very problematic; so much so, he would have to find a reason not to be there.
"She's not, don't worry. Merlin's beard, that would be uncomfortable. 'Charlotte, je sais ce que vous avez fait, vous deux.' [Charlotte, I know what you did, the two of you.]" She laughed. Tom didn't ask what she had said, but he could guess what it had to do with. "She's normal enough. I'm confident she'll like you—nothing to be concerned about."
Author's Note: I was having a hard time writing for Dumbledore, but then I just had idea after idea and it all came together. I'm really happy with this chapter.
However, I do feel that my writing style has changed a little. I've been reading Sense and Sensibility and Jane Austen's way of constructing very long sentences, with lots of clauses and commas throughout, making for a complicated—perhaps excessively so—sentence has worn off on me I think. I've always been partial to complex syntax, but maybe it's gotten out of hand. Let me know what you're opinion is. ^-^
Also if I wasn't clear enough with what Tom's been up to as far as manipulating Cyrus and Perdita is concerned, let me know. Any questions at all, let me know. :)