Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot.

Portrait of a Pince

Chapter Three

"Professor Nile, may I please have a word?" Tom asked, plastering his most winning smile on his pale, flawless face.
Victoria had to hand it to him. He was a heck of an actor. No wonder all the teachers seemed to fawn all over him.
"Of course, Mr. Riddle. Of course," Professor Nile wheezed, his wrinkled old face splitting into a somewhat toothless grin. The senile old teacher motioned Tom to follow him to his desk, and the two became deeply involved in conversation, Tom appearing to be earnest and respectful in the presence of the aged man.
"He is SUCH a phony," Victoria muttered under her breath, her flashing green eyes narrowed in the general direction of Tom's back. She was so distracted, she didn't even notice when she picked up her vial of cow bile instead of spider insulin. She tipped the bile into her steaming cauldron of watery light blue solution and ignored the small hissing noises that were emitting from her cauldron as each drop of bile splashed into the mixture.
"TORRIE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Minerva suddenly screamed through Victoria's fuming thoughts, interrupting her concentration on the little conference occurring at Professor Nile's desk.
Victoria looked down at her cauldron, obviously not understanding what was so wrong. "Minnie, what do you"-
Victoria never got to finish her question. Short popping noises began emitting from Victoria's cauldron, and splashes of the pale blue solution flew into the air along with the noises, landing on various objects (and people) with a plop. Phillip Donahue bellowed as a huge glop of Victoria's solution landed on his hand.
"Watch out, she's going to blow!" Minerva screamed, and grabbed Victoria's wrist as she hurriedly ducked behind the table.
Tom's eyes widened in horror as he realized what was happening. Pince's cauldron couldn't explode-her table was right next to his, and his bag was still there!
Without thinking, Tom vaulted down the stone steps that lead up to Professor Nile's teaching platform and sprinted across the dungeon, nothing more than a black and white blur.
"DAISY!" Victoria gasped, crouched behind the table with Minerva, as Tom was hauling across the dungeon. She flew from behind the desk and searched the table for her beloved pet mouse. She would never forgive herself if Daisy were killed in a potions accident that was all her fault.

Tom reached his table and scooped up his bag, just as the watery solution in Victoria's cauldron was beginning to turn red from the heat and energy contained inside it. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, Tom whirled around to make his escape.
Catching sight of Daisy, Victoria hastily snatched her from behind a row of beakers and turned in the same direction as Tom to run from the imminent disaster.
The solution exploded.
The resounding boom rocked the dungeon, and bits of cauldron, solution, and pure energy flew in all directions. Victoria hurled herself flat onto the dungeon floor in order to avoid the most harmful debris. Right into Tom Riddle.
Tom and Victoria flew to the floor, hitting hard, Tom's stomach breaking most of Victoria's fall. Tom made a brief grunting noise as the air was knocked out of him. Even if either of the two had been capable of moving away from each other, they wouldn't have dared-debris from Victoria's cauldron was still whistling through the air above their heads.
Victoria ducked as a particularly nasty-looking shard of cauldron came close to removing her head from her shoulders. Her head buried in Tom's robes, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and prayed that nothing would fly lower.
In a matter of seconds, the nasty mixture had completely evaporated, and the disaster was over. Victoria slowly raised her head and cracked her eyes. White dust hung heavily in the air, and the entire dungeon was covered in a pink, sparkly, crystalline powder. It looked like something right out of Candy Land. But the students knew better than to touch, much less eat any of the sparkly sugar. They knew what could happen if they dared come into contact with the unknown substance.
As Victoria looked up, her eyes locked with Tom's, and she noticed that he was breathing heavily. His chest rose and fell with each gasping breath, and his heartbeat felt like a kettledrum playing an Irish jig under her hand, which was flattened against Tom's chest. Streaks of sparkly pink powder lined his jet- black hair, and his pale skin barely belied a trace of the powder as it was so white.
He stared back at her, not saying a word or moving an inch. For a minute, Victoria could feel his breath catch in his throat, and his heart skipped a beat underneath her hand. His eyes searched her own, and she felt as if he was reaching inside her, trying to find something. What was he looking for?
Professor Nile carefully and slowly unfolded himself from behind his desk. He cautiously eyed the pink powder that had descended upon the entire dungeon. Deciding that upon visual inspection, it wasn't dangerous, he timidly ran a finger through the powder on his desk. Nothing happened. Lifting his finger to his nose, he tentatively sniffed. Breathing a sigh of relief, he began to instruct the class.
"Oh, it's only a sarconian-based polyhydrodiptherapod compound. Nothing too serious to worry about. Although you might find yourself slightly sparkly for the next couple of days, there aren't any meritable side effects. Everyone, I'd kindly ask you to report to Madame Pomfrey for a precautionary inspection, and then go immediately to your dormitories to wash up. Sarconia tends to irritate and itch slightly when left on the skin too long. Donahue, you'd better come with me right now."
Phillip obediently came out of hiding from underneath his table and followed Professor Nile out of the dungeon, clutching his fizzling hand.
Tom's eyes clouded over, and the spell was broken. "Get off of me!" he grunted indignantly, and shoved Victoria off unceremoniously. Victoria remained seated on the floor, her legs sprawled, gaping up at Tom. What had just happened?
Tom brushed as much of the sparkly pink powder off his robes as he could manage with nothing but his hands, straightened them, and smoothed his powdered hair.
Looking down his pale, elegantly arched nose at Victoria, he sneered. "Hope you enjoyed that, Pince. I'm afraid that's the closest to me you'll ever be permitted to get."
Victoria blushed a little, but she didn't look away. There had been something in Tom just a minute ago, something that wasn't usually there, something that wasn't the normal, selfish, snotty Tom, but someone else entirely. Who had that been, trapped inside?
Tom stood there shifting uncomfortably in the silence for a while. He wasn't accustomed to trashing Victoria without an equally scathing reply. What was the matter with her? And why was she looking at him so intensely like that?
Not knowing what else to do, and not having a good comeback for nothing at all up his sleeve, Tom whirled around and stormed off, in a very bad temper indeed. Eddies of dust and powder flew off his robes as he stomped across the dungeon. As he neared the door, he shoved Cornelius Fudge back down onto the floor, causing him to get pink powder all over his robes after he'd so painstakingly brushed them off.
As Tom turned the corner and disappeared into the hallway, Victoria was shaken out of her thoughtful trance when Minerva grabbed her head and forcefully turned it to look at her.
"Is this the only way I'll ever be able to get your attention, now?" Minerva asked impatiently. "I've been trying to talk to you for the past five minutes!"
"Oh, sorry Minnie, I was thinking," Victoria replied, pausing as she searched for the right word to describe just what it was she had been doing. She couldn't find one, so she settled on a likely excuse.
"About what, may I ask? How you caused the entire dungeon along with all of us inside of it to be covered in sparkly pink powder or how you successfully managed to end Potions class an hour early? I don't know whether to punch you or kiss you!"
"Oh, please, don't do either!" Victoria replied, grinning broadly. The events of the class were already fading into the background of her mind as she gibed with her best friend--although the slight itching on her hands and ears wasn't helping any. "I'm starting to itch. Let's skip Madame Pomfrey and go straight for the showers!"
As the two girls gathered what was left of their school supplies and shoved them into their pink powdered, frayed satchels, Victoria noticed something heavy inside her sleeve. Rolling it back and looking for the source of the misplaced weight, she noticed a small gold key snagged on a loose thread. Ripping it free, she examined it closely.
It was intricately wrought, covered in gold curls, swirls, and loops interlacing with one another. It looked like it belonged to a very complicated lock. It was definitely an outdated specimen-nobody bothered with locks since the invention of personally modified locking spells. But instead of appearing to be very old, it was remarkably shiny and well kept. Whoever owned this still used it.
But whose was it? It must have gotten stuck on her robes in the explosion. But the only person she had come close enough to during all the commotion was.
Victoria gasped at the thought. Surely it wasn't Riddle's?
"What's wrong?" Minerva asked, straightening up from her bag, which she had been attempting to shove the last book into-in vain.
"Oh, nothing," Victoria replied quickly. She tucked the key back inside her robes before Minerva could catch a glimpse of it. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to keep the key a secret, but for some reason, she just didn't like the idea of sharing it with everyone. She'd just keep it to herself until she figured out what to do with it.
Victoria and Minerva headed off to their dormitory, Minerva chattering happily about something or other, and Victoria pretending to listen. What was she going to do about the key?

Tom stared down at his dinner, merely picking at the huge heap of mashed potatoes that still remained there. As he swirled his fork around in the fluffy whiteness, he sighed heavily.
Malfoy looked up fleetingly, his eyes sliding easily up from his own plate and back down, drinking in Tom and his apparent state of discontent in a mere seconds. Tom wouldn't have even known Malfoy had looked up if he hadn't known him and worked with him for so long.
"Master, you look somewhat upset. Might I ask what the trouble is?" Malfoy asked smoothly in a voice equally as silky as his observations. He kept his voice low enough so that no one else at the Slytherin table heard but those intended to.
Flint, however, was not so obliging. At the word "trouble," his gigantic head had swiveled stupidly on its extremely thick neck, and he grunted, rather loudly and without care or concern, "Trouble? What sort of trouble? Has something gone wrong?"
As soon as the stares had stopped and everyone around Tom and his cronies had returned to eating, Tom cuffed Flint hard on the back of the head. "Idiot!" he whispered dangerously. "Do not EVER draw attention like that again! Honestly, you have the common sense of a baboon."
Flint's face twisted into an expression of indignity and slight resentment, but Tom knew this was only out of humiliation.
Turning back to his dinner, he realized that Malfoy was still staring expectantly at him. Pretending not to notice, Tom resumed his swirling and picking; however, when Malfoy cleared his throat ever-so-gently, Tom knew he had no choice but to offer some sort of explanation, or at least a refusal to explain. Malfoy was not one to be sidetracked.
"It seems to me," Tom snapped suddenly, whipping his head from his plate, aiming to surprise Malfoy and therefore intimidate him, "that you are expecting an explanation as to my current behavior. Need I remind you that explanations are for me to decide who gets them and when, where, and why? I need explain nothing to you. Or have you forgotten?" Tom reached inside his robes, gently, lovingly fingering his wand, the gleaming wood smooth and powerful beneath his fingertips. Only once had he had to remind Malfoy of his place, and it was something the silver-haired, cunning bloke would never forget.
"I beg your pardon, Master. My utmost apologies. It will not happen again," Malfoy replied so smoothly and calmly that Tom was only further annoyed.
"I believe I will leave now, and seek the company of those more obedient and flattering than the two of you primates," Tom retorted in his heightening frustration. Rising gracefully from the bench in a single fluid motion, he turned on his heel and strode briskly from the Great Hall, toward the entrance to the dungeons.

Tom stood in front of the huge, antique wooden door. At first glance, it appeared to be a massive structure, reeking importance and grandeur, but upon closer inspection, the cobwebs and veils of dust congregating in the cracks between the wooden plats and knots in the ancient wood revealed its age and state of uselessness.
Tom had been down here many times before, staring at this mystery door, and by now the inscription written in dark script was as familiar as the back of his own hand. Nonetheless, he waited for the moonlight that he knew would reach through the small skylight in the stone roof of the chamber.
Tom had no idea where he was. He had never been able to figure out exactly where this little area in the castle was, and it wasn't on any map or blueprint he'd ever seen (and he had been privileged enough to see many, many different maps and blueprints). That was only part of the mystery surrounding this door. It was undoubtedly below ground, and yet, there was still a skylight. A skylight that the sun refused to penetrate, but that was a regular medium for moonlight.
As the moon shifted in the sky, and a last, straggling cloud was blown away like so many dandelion fronds, the pale silver beams cascaded through the skylight, gently tugging and pushing back the shadows that haunted in the corners. As it slowly, painstakingly made its way toward the huge, ancient door, Tom's eyes widened in shock. This was it!
Tossing his bag onto the floor and ripping open the zipper, he began rummaging through the perfectly and obsessively organized piles of parchment and textbooks, haphazardly tossing things out onto the cobbled floor. Where was it??
He'd had that key for years, something he'd picked up from the many places in the castle his countless dealings had taken him. He wasn't exactly sure where he'd found it anymore, or when, but that didn't matter. What mattered is that he'd tried just about every door in the castle, and the key had not fit any of them. He didn't know how long it had taken him, because he wasn't sure when he'd found the key anymore, but here he was in his seventh year, and it looked like there was only one door he hadn't tried. The one door he had always wanted to get behind, had always wanted to see opened, but had never been able to. The one door that had always been beyond his reach, tugging at the corners of his mind. Now where was the stupid key??
It was gone. He had gone through his bag twice now, searching every nook and cranny, ever pocket, ever seam. He had even patted down his robes. And he knew he'd had it this morning. It wasn't in his dormitory. It was gone.
Tom threw his head back and let out a bloodcurdling roar of rage. Not now! Not when he'd finally pieced together the mystery of the key that had plagued him for what seemed his entire life! Not now!
Tom snapped his head forward, his eyes still flashing, the fire of his fury trapped in their cold, blue depths. The moonlight had crept to the door, and Tom stared transfixed at the words scrawled on the ancient wood in a flowing, curly script.

"Behind the door which cannot be opened
Lies a mystery unsolved
Trapped and caged in secrets and wonder
As the wheel revolved

Who will open the closed door?
Who will command the terror?
One who knows no boundaries or restraints
He who wields unimaginable Power."

The key was gone. Tom slumped against the tauntalizing door and howled in bitter disappointment. He had to find the key again.

Victoria sat before the fire in the Gryffindor common room, the flickering flames casting odd, dancing shadows on her face. It was late, and everyone had already retreated to their warm beds and the call of sleep, many leaving unfinished, abandoned assignments behind, littering the tables like autumn leaves.
"Don't stay up too late, Torrie," Minerva had said on her way up the stairs. "Riddle isn't worth this much."
And yet Victoria found herself still awake, sleep as far away as ever. She stared down at her hands, the glinting gold of the key lancing her eyes as she turned it over and over in her hands. It seemed as if she'd never sleep again until she figured out exactly what the key was for, why Riddle had it, why it was so polished, so beautiful, when keys were so outdated.
As the moon glided gracefully across the dark, plum-stained night sky sprinkled with glistening stars, Victoria ignored everything. Everything but the glistening golden key in her fingers.