"You make it sound so much less complicated than it actually is," Ophelia said, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.
"Then why don't you tell me?" Tom suggested reasonably. "I have time."
"I don't know. I don't- I don't talk about my problems. My tried and true method so far has been to pretend they don't exist and hope they go away without my intervention."
"How's that been working out?"
"Perfectly well, thank you very much," she replied stubbornly. Her defiance crumbled, however, the longer he stared silently, waiting. "Fine. You really want to know? Let me start from the beginning so you can understand. Make yourself comfortable, because this is a insufferably long story and I'm not allowing you to escape until I'm done. Remember, you asked for it."
Obediently, he fell out of his crouch and onto his rear in front of her, twirling his hand with a flourish, indicating she should proceed. The action somehow seemed so beneath him, yet captured his pretentiousness so completely that she couldn't help the smile the pulled at the corner of her lips.
"I already told you how my mother abandoned me because of my magic. I mentioned that a few months ago. My father, my muggle father, died before then, from complications due to the Great War." Ophelia's eyes took on a far off quality. "I don't really know why for sure, but mum hated magic, or maybe it was just my magic. I don't think she ever loved me, from the second the midwife put me in her arms and she saw my discoloured eyes and shock of white hair. It was obvious I had magic, even then. How could I not, looking like that? She hated looking at me day after day and having to be reminded of the brother she despised. As if I had any control over my appearance." Ophelia shook her head, smiling bitterly. "I don't know why she hated to see him so much. I was too young to ask... maybe for the same reasons I hate to be reminded of him when I look in the mirror, too."
"On the contrary, You have nothing to be ashamed of," Tom interrupted, tilting her face so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "I admire your eyes. Something about them speaks of power, like they are made from the very essence of magic itself."
That was possibly the opposite of what Ophelia wanted to hear, but she didn't say as much. He was trying, in his own way.
Pulling herself from his grip and crossing her arms, she continued. "Not long after that, my uncle took me in. He must have had one of his peons keeping tabs on us for quite some time in order for him to show up so soon after she left. Not even a week later. Maybe a few days at most. At first, I refused to go with him, so sure my mum was coming back for me. She never did, and my uncle put aside everything, even his hunting and his quest to gain dominion of wizards over other creatures, to stay with me until I was ready to go with him. When he appeared, looking so much like me and offering love and family... he was like a classic hero from myth. I idolised him. For a kid who'd been treated with such indifference by my mother my whole life, I adored him more than words can say. Maybe he is a monster to the world, but he's always been like a father to me. If he thought I was cold, he would have set the world on fire to warm me up again. It's hard to distinguish the man I know, to the person I know him to be. He even taught me how to control my magic that my mother had tried so hard to suppress."
"And how to protect your thoughts" Tom added.
Ophelia nodded absently. "It wouldn't have been safe for me or any of us around my uncle if his enemies could sneak into my mind. I made us vulnerable. Some even went so far as to say that my existence was my uncle's only weakness, although they'd be wrong about that."
"What's his weakness, then, if not you?"
"You disappoint me, Tom," she jested weakly. "Is it not obvious?"
His expression cleared. "You allude to Dumbledore."
A nod. "Naturally."
"And what has he done to earn your high esteem?" Tom demanded, irate. "He is just an old fool!"
"Professor Dumbledore gave me what no other ever could," Ophelia said sharply. "He found me at my lowest and gave me a way out. You can't understand what it was like, being raised as I was! I knew every Unforgivable Curse before most young wizards even touched their first wand! I'd seen the most horrible things, done the most horrible things, and wanted to do even worse... I couldn't take it. I loved my uncle so, so much, but I grew disillusioned from his vision. I couldn't follow him any longer, or else I'd go mad with guilt at the things I'd been a part of, the things I myself had done, yet I was too much a coward to stop him myself. I-I could have walked right into his room as he slept and killed him painlessly. His revolution would have come to a crushing end then and there, with no further loss of life. Nine hundred innocent muggles, unaware of the war they'd unwittingly stumbled into, would still be alive, not to mention the countless witches and wizards who've opposed him. I could have ended it! I should have!"
Elbows on her knees, Ophelia maintained a punishing grip on her scalp, ducking her head and winding her fingers through her hair.
Gingerly, Tom untangled her hands, taking care to not pull upon any strands of her hair, though he had the sick intuition that she would have welcomed the pain as a well-deserved punishment.
"Maybe I have not learned much from our extended acquaintance, but I know this: you are no killer," he said. "You refuse to raise a hand against even those in this castle who would do you bodily harm. You could not have murdered Grindelwald unawares, and therefor shouldn't hold onto such foolish guilt."
"You know absolutely nothing about me!" she snapped, voice cracking on the last word, and ripped her arms away with so much force that the door rattled. "I am a murderer!. I have killed before and I should have been able to do it again." Tom was too late in disguising his shock, causing her to comment, "You saw only what I wanted to to see, but that person- that girl- isn't me. I've hurt people, I've-"
"Tell me more about him," Tom interrupted calmly, seeing through her attempts to get a rise out of him. She wanted a fight, but he was not going to give her one. Not yet.
She swallowed down her rising agitation and took two large breaths of air that weren't very effective.
I will not cry, she thought. I don't cry, not ever, and I won't start today.
"Who? The man I killed or my uncle?"
"Whichever you like."
Ophelia fell silent for a moment, thoughtful. "I was twelve when he died. I thought, well, I was an idiot, but I thought he was my friend. He was in my uncle's inner circle, had been since before I went into Gellert's custody." She shook her head, as if brushing off everything she'd said. "No, I started in the wrong place, I think. Let me begin again. My uncle occasionally took me on his less risky "adventures," as he called them. He was more than confident that if he was around that I'd be safe. He was right, of course. Even back then, he was virtually untouchable." She closed her eyes, tilting her head up and spoke to the ceiling. "Except to traitors. We got set up, ambushed in some backwards village in Austria while searching for- well, that doesn't matter. What matters was that we were betrayed, and while my uncle tried to fend of the Aurors, the traitor, someone we all trusted implicitly, moved to curse him in the back. No one else saw, all too distracted with the dangers at our outskirts to realise the danger from within. When I saw what he was about to do, I raised my wand and I- I-" her eyes snapped open and she tonelessly finished, "I killed him."
"I see."
Her head rolled against the door until she was looking at him. "Is that it? No condolences? No horrified proclamations?"
"Is that what you want?" he asked, meeting her gaze with unwavering focus.
Though nothing about the situation was at all funny, she smiled. "You can drop the people pleasing act. We both know there's no sincerity behind it."
"As you wish," he said magnanimously, bordering on impertinence. "Continue."
"When I killed him, that's when it all became real. Before, it had seemed like some grand game where my only goal was to please my uncle. He was most certainly pleased that I killed Julius- I mean, the traitor. I wasn't though. I had to confront what I'd done. Everyone said I did the right thing, they told me if I hadn't killed him he would have killed my uncle. That much is true, but Julius had been my friend! He was possibly the smartest, most knowledgable person I've ever met. He could name every star in the sky and give a step by step accounts of the goblin rebellions in excruciating detail. If I threw a dart at a map, he would tell me how the muggle geopolitical climate in that country influenced wizarding history dating back up to a few hundred years." Ophelia curled in on herself, resting her forehead on her knees. She repeated softly. "He'd been my friend and I murdered him. It got me thinking: why? Why would he betray us? I hated him for putting me in that position, and eventually I began thinking more critically about what it was we were doing. I'd be expected to hurt people again if I stuck around, so a week later I ran away. I managed to avoid everyone my uncle sent after me, even my uncle himself. I'd learned from the best how to move without being noticed, and it's much easier to hide than it is to seek. Eventually, lesser spies for the various ministries reported my absence, no matter how my uncle tried to hide it, and they began their search for me, too. I made for perfect blackmail in their eyes, I imagine. In the end, neither party found me. Dumbledore caught up to me first, some time into my second month on my own. I'd been hiding out in Andorra nearly getting captured in Switzerland, although I splinched myself something fierce in my hurry to get away. He offered me a place at the school where he taught other witches and wizards like me. As polite as he was, I didn't trust him one bit, partially out of angst at being finally caught and partially because my uncle poisoned my opinion of the great Albus Dumbledore. At that point, I wouldn't have trusted Merlin himself. Pretty lies always tasted bitter in the end, and that's what I thought Dumbledore offered. But I was bleeding and cold and so afraid. I think I passed out before I gave him an answer, because the next thing I knew I was in the Hogwarts infirmary."
"Doesn't sound like he gave you much of a choice," Tom commented.
She shook her head. "He did. He said he wouldn't force my hand, that I could leave whenever I pleased, but that he hoped I would choose to stay. Without any other options anyway, outside of returning to my uncle, I gave it a shot. I was given a new name and deposited into Gryffindor, where Dumbledore could keep the closest eye on me."
"A new name," Tom said, like an accusation. "I suppose that's why I could never find information on any Ophelia Ashwood's?"
She purses her lips. "Irredeemably nosy people like you are the exact reason I need an assumed name, Tom."
He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I make no apologies."
"Nothing would surprise me more than if you did."
"You have absolutely no intention of telling me your true name," he finished. Not a question.
"Caught on, have you?" she needled.
"Need I ask why?"
"Because it's really none of your business, is it? I chose my new name all by my lonesome, thank-you-very-much, and I'm quite content with it. My mother didn't give me anything in life except for a name, and now she can't claim to have even done that much, and that's exactly how I like it," Ophelia glowered.
"I'm certain I could find out with ease, now that I know everything else," Tom pointed out.
"You go ahead and do just that, but you won't hear the words from me," she said, jaw set.
Tom shook his head, more out of amused acceptance than true disagreement with her decision. "As you will it."
She frowned, studying his face. At last, she sighed, "You're definitely still going to look into it. For someone as private as you, you really don't have any qualms about invading other's privacy." Her cheek twitched as she pulled herself heavily to her feet, like she was trying for a smile, but just couldn't remember how to properly mover her lips. "That's enough self pity for one century, don't you think? I much prefer swallowing all my resentment down under the assumption that I'll die before it can fester too much."
"Where do you think you're off to?" Tom asked, tracking her movements towards the door with predatory watchfulness.
Her hand paused on the knob. "You don't actually expect me to stay? My uncle- Grindelwald- he's known where I've been for a few years, but now he's growing more bold. Who knows what he'll try next? No one would be able to stop him anymore if he chose to break into Hogwarts to fetch me. My best bet is to find someplace else to hide. I'm not twelve anymore, Tom. I can do it this time... That is," Ophelia scrutinised him with utmost suspicion, "if you don't tattle on me to the ministry. After all these years, I'm labouring under the hope that they've they've mostly forgotten I exist."
She didn't think he would go to the ministry, but Tom proved himself unpredictable at the best of times.
"I have better things to do than talk to Aurors," he snapped, an ugly look crossing his normally handsome face. "But if you think you'll be fine on your own, you're a fool. I imagine you'll be back under Grindelwald's care before the month is out, and this time you won't have opportunity to run away again."
"Did your miss the part where I mentioned that I managed to make a fool out of several ministries, all of my uncle's devoted followers, and even Dumbledore for two months when I was practically an infant?" she retorted exaggeratively. "I'd have liked to see you do better at that age!"
Tom, choosing to find humour in her indigence, merely commented, "You were hardly a baby, but yes, I assure you, I could have done better at half your age."
Tom noted with satisfaction the way her eyes flashed. Now, she could have her fight. Some people needed pity to feel better, but Tom knew Ophelia was the type who needed an argument to drive her forward. She may have believed herself cunning enough to see right through him, but that didn't make her capable to avoid his manipulations.
She surprised him by bringing her voice down low and turning away. "You're right, though not in the way you might think. If I'm caught, I'm never leaving again, not because I won't be able to escape, but because I won't want to. I'll never be able to bring myself to run away again. It would hurt us both far too much. He'll never stop trying to bring together our broke semblance of a family, and I'll never stop running away from him out of guilt and shame of the fact that nothing would make me happier than to join him again."
"I'll make sure he never gets ahold of you." Tom's jaw set, as he pushed the door closed from behind her, preventing her exit. "I'll kill him if I have to. You'll be far safer from his influence by my side. Stay. I do not fear Grindelwald."
For once, Ophelia didn't doubt the truth in his words, despite not being able to see his face. She just knew. He would kill Grindelwald to keep them apart, or at least try to. He would make sure her resolve to stay away never wavered, and stop her if it did. Somehow, despite how warped their relationship was, of both obviously constantly trying to manipulate and lie to the other, they'd formed something as precious and fragile as a true friendship. An accident, for sure, yet also a first for both, and neither was willing to let it go just yet.
"Okay. For now, I'll stay."
A/N
Yikes and Double Yikes. That was tough to write, so I hope it wasn't hella confusing. Backstory over though, so yay!
I started thinking about this when I recently went through a 1975 binge, but I decided, in the context of this book, if I had to choose one song to describe Tom it would be "Inside Your Mind" by the 1975. Something about it just gives me chills. Haven't decided on a song for Ophelia yet though... Any suggestions? What do you all listen to? I'm constantly struggling to find new music, so any suggestions are a favour haha. Comment your thoughts on the chapter!