Tom had a problem. Several, actually, though one was arguably far more pressing than the others. That infernal basilisk was beginning to grow restless. Reckless was more like it. Several hundred years of sleep would do that to a massive serpent, evidently. He continually recoiled at Tom's attempts to rein him in, and was growing more brazen in leaving the Chamber to explore the castle through the pipes by the hour. Something had to give.
That was the larger issue, and by far more difficult to resolve. What was doable was to figure out the Imperius Curse business. Tom left Ophelia in the corridor, citing some assignment he'd forgotten- though he was sure she she hadn't believed him, but she seemed so lost in thought that she didn't argue the point.
He forced his features into an approximation of earnestness as he turned the corner to catch up with Augusta. "Crouch?"
She halted, just long enough for him to come astride, prompting curtly, "Yes?"
"You left before I could mention that Algie Longbottom came by the library in search of you only a few minutes before you yourself arrived." Ruffling his hair, he added, "I just thought would like to be aware."
She hissed out an irritated breath. "I swear, if I don't micromanage his every step he starts wandering around like a lost puppy." She darted a quick side glance at his face. "Thank you for telling me."
"Are you heading off to Hogsmeade?" he probed casually.
She shook her head. "Apparently not, if Algie and everyone already returned to look for me. At least I got to spend some time there, I guess."
"Buy anything in particular?" he asked, waving pleasantly at a group of Hufflepuff second years.
"I intended to buy a new set of quill's, but I don't think I got around to it." Wrinkling her nose, she sighed, "I must be going senile."
"I have a few spare, if you need them," Tom offered courteously. "How peculiar that you can't recall, though. What do you remember last?"
Or who, he really wanted to know.
"I think I walked out of the Three Broomsticks, and then-" She froze, eyes narrowing with barely contained suspicion and malice- "And I swear, if Algie spiked my butterbeer again and that's why I can't remember anything, he's not going to live to be old enough to Apparate far enough away so that he's safe from what I'll do to him."
Despite assuredly being raised on Occlumency, Tom discovered with some satisfaction that her mental shields were hardly uniform. They rose and fell randomly to the ebb and flow of her thoughts, waxing and waning like a tide. Sometimes there, sometimes not. It was painfully easy to rifle through her thoughts and images as they streamed through her mind. It quickly became evident, however, that Augusta saw absolutely nothing. Probably Imperiused from behind on her way out of the Three Broomsticks, because that's when her memory fogged, if he had to take a guess.
Business done, Tom wished her luck in finding her friends and parted ways at the next intersecting corridor. Later, he'd ask Avery or Knott if they noticed anything suspicious while they were there, though Tom was beginning to seriously doubt they would have. If Slughorn had indeed been getting a pint, as Ephiriam so plaintively mentioned before, anyone willing to use an Unforgivable Curse on a student right in front of a professor was not about to be caught by a couple of sixteen year olds.
Ophelia hadn't been the least surprised when he told her Augusta had been Imperiused, a fact that would have surprised him if associated with nearly anyone else.
One thing Tom knew for certain: not once did she ask who sent the message, or who would Imperius a Hogwarts student to talk to her. She knew, and as the stakes increased, Tom was beginning to suspect he knew as well.
III
The day had started off promising, but, as promising things are oft to do, it fell apart swiftly and without much precipitance. In all honesty, when he first heard the words that altered the evening, Tom was taken over more with annoyance than concern.
Kill.
He resolved himself to storm into the chamber and threaten that arrogant serpent with having its scales repurposed into an expensive handbag if he didn't act with more attention to caution, midday or not. With most in Hogsmeade, the risk of entering the chamber was minimal and it was better to get the Basilisk straightened out sooner rather than later.
Kill, it hissed again through the walls, evident hunger lacing every letter.
That was another thing Tom had often brought up, simmering with irritation, and would indeed have to bring up again. It didn't matter how hungry the beast was, so long as he remained trapped within the walls. If he ever did kill something, it wasn't like he could actually eat it in the end. The act would merely expose them both needlessly. His basilisk did not much care for that argument, nor the reminder of its inability to roam free on the countryside, killing everything in sight at his leisure. At times like those, Tom reconsidered his most recent Hogwarts attending ancestor's wisdom at putting the serpent to sleep in the first place. Only his pride and determination to succeed where others had failed prevented him from doing the same. He was off to a much better start than his ancestors, at any rate. According to the basilisk's own- relatively proud- account, he'd tried to eat the last presumptuous "Heir of Slytherin" on the spot, as he'd done with all who'd come before him. To his grudging acknowledgement, Slytherin's descendants were not entirely without talent and were able to put him back to sleep with barely more than a spoken word.
Abruptly, the sound of sobs cut through the sound of his own footfalls, slowing his long, anger-fueled strides. Around the bend, Tom spotted a most befuddled looking Ophelia standing stiffly a few steps from a girl weeping on the ground. The obvious awkward panic accenting Ophelia's features, the likes of which he'd never seen on her before, gave him the strangest urge to laugh. He didn't, though. It would not due to be seen laughing before such an obviously distraught girl, like an obvious psychopath.
Ophelia's head jerked in his direction when she heard him approach. Her eyes screamed a silent, "Help me!" but he was almost inclined not to listen, solely for his own amusement. To see her squirm, at last so ruffled, was a rare sight. It surprised him. Of all things, dealing with a crying girl hardly seemed likely to be the thing to bring Ophelia to a full, agitated stop, when evidently she'd had a such a spotty past. She barely even flinched when being threatened with harm while being held down not a month prior
"What's the matter?" he asked, though he needn't have, for at that in that same breath he noticed the furry creature laying on its side before the girl. A cat.
Dead.
Kill.
It took no leap of imagination for him to put together what occurred.
"She's upset," Ophelia said, nearly as distressed as the girl in question, who he now identified as the muggleborn Ravenclaw Myrtle Warren.
"How very astute of you," he whispered back, giving her a flat look that plainly said, You're not helpful. Turning to Myrtle, he knelt beside her, saying softly, "Was that your cat?"
She nodded, letting out a wail with renewed vigour. Tom gently guided her hands away, and then looked pointedly between Ophelia and the feline until the former rushed forward to wrap the latter within her gold and crimson scarf. Tom, personally, would have simply summoned a sheet or towel, or perhaps even banished the body altogether, but there was nothing to be done about it at that point.
"I'm going to go find a professor," she managed, before rushing off.
"Do you know how it happened?" he said, directing the question at Myrtle.
"W-we were just walking and then- then I think she heard something, because she looked up. That's when- that's when-" her words grew incomprehensible as she threw her face into her her hands and wailed some more.
"Shhh," he soothed, the same way the matrons at the orphanage did when one of the younger ones injured themselves. It was ironic that he should be the one to console now when he had once so frequently been the reason for tears. There was no escaping it now, he supposed, after he'd already put himself forward for the job. It would raise far more eyebrows to leave her now than it would have been to never have involved himself in the first place. He couldn't quite remember why he'd ever volunteered in the first place, as there was no one but Ophelia to notice the kindness, and therefor no benefit to his reputation for the trouble, as Ophelia had long since seen through his motives.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, she returned to his side, followed, unfortunately, by none other than Albus Dumbledore. Of all the people in the castle, his keen mind was the one Tom wished furthest from the matter at hand. In an instant, Dumbledore drew Myrtle up by the hand until she swayed unsteadily on her feet.
"Would you care to tell me what happened from the beginning?"
She shook her head, still too overcome for words.
"She said she was walking down the corridor with her cat, when it dropped dead for no reason, sir," Tom supplied.
"It was NOT for no reason," she snarled, fixing him with a watery glare. "It was that Olive Hornby. She killed my baby! I'm sure of it!"
"Did you see her do it?" Dumbledore inquired reasonably, though not unkindly.
Myrtle was not in the mood for reason, it seemed. "I didn't need to! Who else would do this? That vile, evil-"
They were not to know exactly what Miss Hornby was, however, as Myrtle lapsed back into incomprehensible sobs.
Tom could hardly believe his good fortune. Myrtle unwittingly saved him a lot of trouble, since if enough doubt remained as to Olive's innocence, they would not look further into the incident.
"Are you well enough to get yourself to the hospital wing?" Dumbledore asked delicately. "Good. Ask the nurse for a nice pepper up potion and we'll discuss this again when you feel better."
He guided her forward several feet in the right direction, setting her on her way.
"Helena?" Moments later a beautiful, yet somber figure floated through the wall and stared at Dumbledore with haughty indifference, waiting. "Would you mind going with her to ensure she arrives in the hospital wing in one piece?"
Without a word or other visible form of acknowledgement, the Ravenclaw ghost trailed silently after Myrtle, careful to keep a slight distance.
Satisfied, Dumbledore turned his attention to Tom and Ophelia, his piercing gaze leaping from one to the other, as if trying to something together.
"Tom, you are dismissed. I recommend you take advantage of what remains of your Hogsmeade weekend. Ophelia, help me bring the cat to my office for further examination."
"Yes, sir," Tom acquiesced obediently, proceeding away from them a fair amount before promptly turning back to follow discretely when they'd turned the corner.
He need be no genius to know Dumbledore required no assistance transporting one small pet to his office.
In said office, Dumbledore examined the creature at length, while Ophelia watched in anticipation, finally saying, "You don't think a student did this either, do you, sir?"
"No, I don't," he agreed gravely. "I'd like to hear your reasoning for this conclusion, however. It's always beneficial to see through a different point set of eyes."
"She has no wounds, at least that I can tell, nor do I particularly think Olive Hornby in particular capable of brewing a potion quite so lethal with no outward side effects, at least on purpose. I've heard she's actually quite dreadful in the subject. Furthermore, the only curse I can think of that would leave no mark on its murdered victim, naturally, is the killing curse, but I've seen it enough that I'm confident Myrtle would have definitely noticed it being cast. Even if she somehow missed it, I doubt any student here possesses the hate and anger necessary to cast Avada Kedavra."
Despite being unable to see him through the slight crack of the ajar door, Tom imagined Dumbledore nodded. "Very astute. I am inclined to agree with you."
Ophelia's cheeks went a slight pink at his praise, which she attempted to hide by ducking her head. Her blonde her glistened almost white under the lantern light, only for Tom to realise with a start that that was not, in fact, a trick of the light at all. At least an inch of her roots that leached into the rest of her hair was a stark off-shade of white, like a shadow on snow.
"Professor," she hesitated, "I think- no, I know- that you-know-who Imperiused Augusta Crouch to get me a message while she was in Hogsmeade. He's growing more bold, and now he's targeting other students. She would have been safe if not for me. What if he's behind this, as well?"
"Overlooking our last conversation about the power of calling a person by their actual name," Dumbledore began evenly, "I do not believe it is so. This is not his, as they say, modus operandi. He has nothing to gain from needlessly harming animals, nor do I think it ever would be his intention to scare you by making the death a message. As convoluted and twisted as his reasons may be, he does not harm without them."
Ophelia cast her eyes away, only slightly mollified. "You're right. Of course, you're right."
"Now," Dumbledore's voice hardened a fraction, "What is this business about him Imperiusing one of my students?"
"He sent Augusta to tell me "I found it"." She turned back to him. "You don't think-"
"I do," Dumbledore said soberly. "We are of one mind on this matter. After decades of searching, he has finally found it."
She went pale. "And now, he's unstoppable."
"No one is unstoppable, my dear girl. Not even he."
Tom heard the bizarre hissing, clacking, and bubbling of Dumbledore's strange instruments fill the temporary silence. Ophelia squirmed under Dumbledore's piercing gaze, until an objectively hideous bird hopped down from its perch into her lap, croaking affectionately.
"Hello, Fawkes," she greeted, lifting the bird up in cupped hands. "You've looked better."
The phoenix chirped back in indignation, ruffling its undeveloped feathers.
"Don't speak to me in that tone," she scolded in a falsely serious voice. "We both know how pompous you get when your colours come in."
Fawkes jumped in place, it's wide eyes full of reproach. Grinning, Ophelia stood up and carefully laid him back where he belonged.
"If that's all, Professor, I'll be going."
"Nearly. One last thing." She paused behind her chair for him to continue. "I've noticed you've been spending increasing time with Tom Riddle."
A thrill shot through Tom at the mention of his name.
"Is that a question? Sir."
"Merely an observation." A pause. "I can't say I recommend you continue to pursue his acquaintance, but I acknowledge you can make your own decisions. All I'll say is to be wary around him. Surely, you of all people must see his resemblance to your uncle?"
"I know what I'm doing, Dumbledore," she replied coolly. "And he's nothing like my uncle, at least not yet. I'll choose my friends as I like without your consent, sir. Goodnight."
A/N
Sooooo I've finally mapped everything out, at long last. So far I've been headed in a generic with a set endpoint, but now I have the exact details of each chapter, though I'm hoping to lower it to about 35 chapters, rather than the 42epilogue.
I hope I've made it obvious enough as to what He found. If not then, oh well? I guess. It's hardly a life changing plot point.
In other news, I was in Las Angeles last weekend on an undeserved vacation from school with a couple of friends and I ran into Conan O'Brien in little Tokyo. I'm not really a fan, but only in LA would you run into a minor celebrity while looking for a boba shop. Anyone else ever randomly meet a celeb?