A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful and amazingly talented Lanzer, who drew a cover for the fic!! The link's in my profile. Check it out – it's GORGEOUS.

Now for some comment-y stuff. Since Percy was a prefect in Chamber of Secrets, which would have been his sixth year, I took the liberty of assuming there would be prefects for sixth and seventh years as well as fifth. It's come up in this story before, I think, and it comes up again in this chapter, which is why I explained my reasoning.

Chapter Twenty-Two: In which Tom finds a way out

- A few moments later -

Arithmancy was one of Minerva McGonagall's favorite classes. It was a difficult and rather obscure area of study, and to her, that made it even more fascinating. It was also the smallest class at Hogwarts. NEWT level Arithmancy had a grand total of four students. All were among the brightest at the school: besides Minerva, there were Harry Landis and Ian Reichlin, who were both Ravenclaw prefects, though in different years, and Neil Stone from Slytherin, who had narrowly lost the position of Head Boy to Tom Riddle. Alain Haas, the head of Hufflepuff, taught the class, and though most teachers tended to favor their houses, if only subconsciously, Professor Haas did not. He treated all students like they were of his house, and he often said that they were: Hogwarts house. Individual attention from a well-liked teacher and an ideal class size combined for an educational experience that was enjoyable as well as productive.

So naturally, Minerva was rather upset when she was pulled out of it to answer questions about something she couldn't even remember.

"I don't understand, Professor Dippet," the young woman said to the wheelchair-ridden headmaster of her school. Her voice echoed up and down the empty stone corridor. "I've already told you that the only thing I remember about seeing Grindelwald was his face."

"I know," Dippet said, "but please, hear me out. You must have been doing something earlier that day that would eventually place you in the situation in which you ended up. Had anything happened that day that was out of the ordinary? Anything at all?"

Minerva looked at Dippet for a few moments without answering, and her irritation changed into something else: pity. She could only imagine what Dippet was going through, but her imagination was very good. The world would want answers for what happened, and he was the one from whom they would be demanded. He could not mourn the deaths of his friends or even attempt to recover from his own injury until the mystery was solved. The responsibility of his position was more than great; it was overwhelming, and the toll it must be taking on him was equally such. No matter how irrelevant his questions might seem, she was obligated to answer them if he thought it would help.

"Yes," she finally said. "I… I was afraid that a friend of mine might be doing something he shouldn't, so I followed him." She didn't want to give the name, afraid that she might implicate Tom for something he couldn't possibly have done.

"Where did you follow him?" Dippet asked.

"Around the school," Minerva answered. "He went to the library, to his house common room, to the Owlery… nothing suspicious."

Dippet nodded. "And you're certain you didn't follow him out to Grindelwald."

"I am," Minerva said firmly. "I gave up when he showed no indication that he was up to something. That much I remember. He could not have been involved." Besides, it wasn't in his character. Tom Riddle was a hero, not some sort of fiendish snake.

"Why did you suspect he was up to something, anyway?"

She looked at the floor and recalled the glint in Riddle's eyes when she passed him in the hall that day. The memory sent a shiver down her back. "This probably sounds stupid, but…" She lifted her head and looked at Dippet. "Have you ever looked someone in the eyes and just…"

There was no need for her to finish the thought. He knew what she was trying to say, for he had experienced it himself before. "Yes."

Minerva looked at the floor again.

"Who was it?"

And back at him.

"Miss McGonagall," Dippet said firmly, "please tell me the name."

"Look at this," Tom Riddle said to Paul Garrett, pointing out a passage in Moste Potente Potions. "Active ingredients of Veritaserum."

Paul sighed and took the thick, dusty, ancient book from his friend. "Jobberknoll feathers, spine of lionfish, aconite. So?"

"So we make a serum to counteract the effects of the active ingredients," Tom replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Aconite's poisonous, so we'll need a bezoar to protect against that. The combination of asphodel and daisy roots protects that within Veritaserum itself, but asphodel and wormwood, which will counter the lionfish, in the same potion makes you break out in purple boils. Then we add some essence of belladonna to counter the Jobberknoll feathers."

Paul snorted. He was very good at Potions; better than Tom gave him credit for. "Great plan, except the combination of wormwood and essence of belladonna is fatal in the amounts you're talking about."

A menacing grin crept across Tom's face. "Exactly."

Paul felt sick. "You can't be..."

"Oh, don't worry," said Tom. "It's not for us. Professor Dorrenbacher asked me to get something for him from Records yesterday, and while I was down there, I found something very interesting..."

Interrogating Minerva left Dippet with mixed feelings. Objectively, it had been a success - he wanted a name, and he got one. However, the name he'd been given was the last one he'd ever expected. No wonder Minerva had been hesitant to tell him; undoubtedly, she had been struggling with believing it herself. Difficult as it was, though, Dippet knew he could not let his personal feelings get in the way of the investigation. It was his duty to let the head of his house that Tom Riddle was a suspect.

Dippet wasn't sure which idea he liked less, incriminating Riddle or speaking to Indira. Few words had been exchanged between them since the attack, and when they spoke, it was only out of necessity. Circumstances being what they were, he couldn't blame her for wanting to keep him at a distance - here was a man who was kissing her one minute and the next, as far as she knew, was handing her over to her worst enemy. His feeling for her could not have picked a worse time to make themselves known. But nothing could remain secret forever, and it was too late to change what had happened.

He delayed the inevitable confrontation until the end of classes that day. At five after three, when the last of the second-year Hufflepuffs trickled out of her classroom, he guided his wheelchair through the door. She was walking down the center aisle toward her desk. Her shoulders were hunched and her hair was in a single braid that hung to her waist. She heard him, stopped, and turned around, but did not speak.

"You cut your hair," Dippet said, feeling the urge to say anything, no matter how stupid it was.

"It was too heavy," Indira replied indifferently. "I couldn't hold my head up anymore."

He wondered how much hair could weigh, anyway. His had never been long enough to cause pain. "Indira, there have been some new developments," he said, getting to the point. "I spoke with Minerva McGonagall about an hour and a half ago, and I now have reason to believe someone may be more deeply involved in this than we have been led to believe."

It was the first time in a week she seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. "Who?"

"Tom Riddle."

"Tom Riddle?" she repeated. The spark of hope that had appeared in her eyes a moment ago vanished and was replaced by an expression of confusion. "That doesn't make sense."

"Does any of this?" Dippet asked, as much to himself as to her.

Indira sighed. "You're right. What should we do?"

"I don't know what we can do other than wait for the Veritaserum," he said. "Maybe monitor his activities..."

"But if he is involved, and he realizes we're on to him, that could be dangerous, especially now that we've been weakened," she pointed out.

She had a point, but he didn't know what to do about it. Dippet sighed and looked at the stone floor. In order to be certain about Riddle, they would need to interrogate him with Veritaserum, but it would still be three weeks before it was finished. In three weeks' time, though, if the culprit was still under their noses, he would have all the opportunity he needed to finish what he started. They were treading on dangerous ground.

"What are you going to do?" Indira asked, noticing his silence.

Not looking up, he replied with, "Disappear until I figure out why I never have an answer."

She looked at him for a moment, then sighed and placed her hands on a desk in the front row, letting her head and shoulders slump. Only now was she truly beginning to see what Dippet was up against. It was the nature of Slytherins to be ambitious, but Indira was content with her position as a house head and had no desire to move further up in the Hogwarts hierarchy, especially to that of headmistress. This incident, no matter who turned out to be behind it, would only have one ending in the eyes of the public: Armando Dippet's inability to protect the school. And she was certain their friendship didn't help to relieve the stress he was under.

Their friendship… were they even really friends? Their kiss on top of the Astronomy Tower had certainly been more than friendly, but things had been awkward – even hostile – since that incident. She wanted to trust him, to believe that he didn't betray her, but everything was traceable back to him. All they had was his word. She had no idea how he truly felt about her. She didn't even have any idea how she truly felt about him. If nothing else, though, they should be there for each other as colleagues, and maybe, someday, as friends. Only time would tell.

"We will monitor Riddle," she said suddenly, standing up straight again. "We will enlist the help of the ghosts and portraits in this task, and when the Veritaserum is finished, he will be the first to be interrogated. The second will be Minerva McGonagall. It's just a little too convenient that she knows so much, and if she is telling the truth, the potion may help bring forth information lost to her conscious thought."

It figures that she would be the first one with the balls to make this sort of decision, Dippet thought. "Where would I be without you, Indira?"

She began walking toward the door and muttered something he didn't catch.

"What was that?"

She opened the door, and just before stepping out, repeated her reply without looking at him. "Probably on your feet."

Dumbledore had been pondering the advice Flamel gave him all day, but he wasn't entirely sure about how to go about putting it into action. He found himself wishing more than ever that Minerva was older. If only he could go up to the girl – woman – he cared so much about without worrying about the world's reaction! At the same time, though, there was excitement in the secrecy. Engaging in a forbidden relationship was something he never thought he'd do, and it made every day a challenge. He loved the knowing smile she used to give him when no one was watching and even the way the other teachers would look at him as if they suspected something but couldn't put their finger on just what it could be. How shocked they would all be when Minerva graduated and their relationship would no longer be taboo.

But first he had to make sure they still had a relationship.

Flamel had insisted that Dumbledore take a break from the Veritaserum – they had reached a low-maintenance stage and he couldn't concentrate, anyway. The head of Gryffindor house was lying face-up on his bed, staring at the stone ceiling and losing himself in his own thoughts and misery. He missed Minerva. He wondered if she missed him. He even found himself wondering if what they had was worth saving. Stop thinking like that, he told himself. Of course this is worth saving. It's just a difficult time right now. Once it had passed, things would smooth themselves out, and life would settle back down to its normal level of chaos. All he had to do was wait.

I don't want to wait.

He missed her so much that it was causing him physical pain. A perpetual stomachache prevented him from eating, and nor could he sleep. He knew he was in better condition than others – Armando Dippet specifically – but he was worse than he would have been if not for the added complication of Minerva. He thought back to the disagreement that had started all of this, right after the decision to use Veritaserum was made. I could have handled that more diplomatically, he realized, recalling that he'd made it very clear she was still a student and thereby implicating that she didn't have the mental capacity to understand the decision. Minerva was very proud, and that statement probably hurt her more than she would ever admit. Was there any way to repair the damage this mess had caused?

If there was, Dumbledore didn't have time to ponder it then. A fist began banging on the door to his chambers, and he immediately sat up. The banging continued, increasing in intensity. Dumbledore moved swiftly to the door and opened it, where Ancient Runes instructor Bradford Cutler was standing with a frantic look in his eyes.

"Albus, there's been another death," Cutler said breathlessly. "And it's a student this time."

Dumbledore felt as though a frozen hand seized his heart. "Who?"

"Neil Stone."