Chapter 7

It has been a week since Myrtle's death. Her body was discovered in the girls' bathroom. It was a mysterious death indeed. Even Headmaster Dippet did not know what the cause of her death was. There was buzz around the school. There were paranoid students in the school. There were many who suspected of many others. But nobody ever suspected Tom Riddle to be the murderer of this annoying girl. Nobody but James.

Since Myrtle's death, James has been looking at Tom quite strangely, quite accusingly, but he would never say a word. He was being careful. Tom was aware of his stares and knew that James knew, but he would stare back with a mocking grin.

James wanted so bad to go to Lily, to warn her about Tom, but it was too dangerous. He had to consider the consequences first. He had to consider everything!

'Well, he could be innocent,' James thought. 'But he could also be not, and that would be bad...I'd have to warn Lily...but she would never believe me. And again, I could be completely mistaken. What should I do? And if I did tell Lily, she would tell HIM. And then he would surely kill me. Maybe it's safe to stay quiet...but it can be too late! I could find Lily's body too, lying somewhere around the school one morning! Oh god, what am I going to do?'

Tom was walking to Transfiguration class with Lily, hand in hand, fingers intertwined.

"Oh god, Tom, I think I'm worried."

"About Myrtle's death?"

"Yes."

"What's there to worry about?"

"I'm afraid the person who killed her might end up killing me too!"

'Highly unlikely,' thought Tom.

"Oh?" Tom said. "I think you're just being paranoid, Lily. I don't like it when you're paranoid."

"Oh I know you don't, Tom, but I just can't help it. Do you think I'll be a victim?"

Tom soothingly ran his hand through her scorching red hair, then touched her cheek reassuringly.

"Of course not."

They entered Transfiguration class, which was quite empty save a few people. Albus Dumbledore, who was the Transfiguration teacher, was seated at his desk, running his hand through his long, thick, chestnut beard. You could tell that he was thinking, thinking very hard. He looked up, noticing Tom's entrance, and spoke.

"Mr Riddle, may I have a word with you after class, please?"

"Um, sure. What for, Professor Dumbledore?"

"After class, Mr Riddle."

A few more people entered the classroom. Class has not begun yet.

"So...you don't think this murderer will kill me?" Lily asked.

"Highly unlikely," he told her.

She smiled, knowing that she could trust him in any way, whether he had control over the whole situation or not.

Several more students entered the room. The bell rang for class to start and Lily and Tom went to take their seats.

When class ended and everyone but Tom left, he went straight up to where the professor was standing.

"Have a seat."

Tom sat at the desk right in front of Dumbledore.

"Is something the matter, Tom?" he asked. He decided to no longer use his first name, since class did end.

"Uh no. Why do you ask, Professor?"

"It seems like something is troubling you."

"How so?"

"I can see it in your eyes."

"But I've been so perfectly calm in class and-"

"I KNOW things, Tom." Dumbledore said it in a way that seemed to accuse him of Myrtle's murder. "So nothing is troubling you, you say? Nothing wrong? Nothing to do with Myrtle's murder?"

"Do you think I'm paranoid?"

"Is that what I said?"

"Or do you think I killed her?"

"Please, Tom, I do not wish to accuse any student of mine of murder."

"Then what is it?"

"There is something particular about Myrtle's death that seems to affect you."

Tom did not answer. Dumbledore surveyed him through his half-moon spectacles. Behind those spectables sat marvellous blue eyes that seemed to shine or sparkle at the right moments, whenever he was trying to help another. At that moment, his eyes were neither shining nor sparkling. Instead, they were solemn. They were hungry for an answer, Tom's answer. They were hungry for a confession, Tom's confession.

"Affect me in a bad way, you mean?" Tom asked.

"Yes, of course. Troubling you. Making your life difficult. Making your future difficult."

The student uttered a mocking sarcastic laugh, which seemed to unease Dumbledore, making him quite uncomfortable. There was something about that laugh. Perhaps there was something cold about it.

"Professor, how can one silly little death affect my life in such a grand way?"

"It's more than you think, Tom."

"Is there really a point to this discussion, Professor?"

"I think this discussion has certainly helped. I wanted to know what was troubling you and I wanted to let you know that Myrtle's death can greatly affect you."

"May I go now?"

"Of course."

Tom gave a little nod to his teacher and left the room carrying his books.

It was lunch time. Tom was angry. In fact, he was more than just angry. He was furious. It didn't show very much though. It wasn't as if he were wailing his arms around with agression, or throwing expensive dishes of china at somebody. He seemed perfectly calm, seated at the Slytherin dinner table. If you looked closely enough, you could see that his eyes were burning with roaring flames of furious fire. Besides that, there was little to tell about how he was expressing his anger at this moment. He was motionless and he seemed to be deep in thought. Romulus, who was seated next to him, realized that Tom had not touched any of his food.

"Mate, are you alright?" Romulus asked, a note of deep concern sketched in his voice.

At first, Tom seemed to have taken no notice of him.

"Tom?"

"Oh, what?" His eyes were no longer burning with fire. He was still angry but he was too distracted to still have vile flames in his eyes.

What was he angry about, you might ask? What else? His discussion with Dumbledore. Dumbledore himself. Who did Dumbledore think he was anyway? He thought he knew everything, he thought he was better than everyone! He thought he was so powerful, that he was so wise! How was he able to catch Tom as the murderer? How did he know? What did he mean about Tom's life being affected by Myrtle's death? What was he talking about at all?!

"You seem to be um...distracted," Romulus mentioned.

"Well I am."

"It's not that mudblood's death that's bothering you, is it? You're not one of those paranoid students who are-"

"Why is it always about Myrtle's death?!" Tom bellowed, putting Romulus into such shock that he froze.

A few Slytherins who were seated nearby stared. They obviously thought that Tom had gone crazy.

"Uh sorry," Tom muttered.

They turned back, deciding to forget about Tom's outburst.

"What's wrong with you, Mate?" Romulus asked.

"I'm sorry. Just a bit distracted, that's all. Forget it." And Tom continued to eat, pretending that there was nothing wrong.

That day after school, Lily was sitting in the Gryffindor common room. She was sitting alone on one of the ruby red couches, in the middle of a book. James went to sit beside her. She looked up and rolled her eyes.

"Can't you sit elsewhere?"

"No. I'm here to tell you something, Lily."

"It's not something silly, is it?"

"No no, of course not."

"Then what is it?"

"I know it's going to be tough for you to accept but...Tom is dangerous."

Lily rolled her eyes once again in disgust.

"Oh please..."

"No, I'm serious. I think he's the one who killed Myrtle..."

Lily suddenly laughed out loud.

"What? You think it's funny that Myrtle is dead? She was my friend!" James shouted.

"No, of course I don't think it's funny that she's dead. I think that's dreadful, but the idea of Tom being the one who killed her...now that's just prepostrous!"

"I'm serious, I really do think he's killed Myrtle!"

"You're just saying this because he threatened to kill you, is that right?"

"No, it's not the fact that he's done anything bad to me. It's the fact that he kind of told me...indirectly."

"What are you talking about?!"

"I remember that day, the day Myrtle died. Tom came to the Gryffindor table that lunch time. He made her cry so hard that she had to rush to the bathroom. I think...I think he made her cry so she would go to the bathroom. So she would die in the bathroom. And she did."

Lily glanced at James with much worry. His face was overclouded with despair and bitter sorrow. She knew he couldn't be lying. And if he wasn't lying, then he must be mistaken. He must be.