13 June, 1942
I just killed a girl.
The rumour is they might close Hogwarts— permanently. Parents already pull their children out as I write this, even though the body was found mere hours ago. There was nothing I could do, really, but better the girl dead than aware of the Chamber. My ancestors have kept it secret for centuries and I will not be the one to share it with the world. Something still must be done to keep Hogwarts open, however. I have an idea, but I fear Ophelia will never forgive me for it.
I wonder if she intends to run to her precious Dumbledore.
I wonder, if she did, whether I have it in me to stop her.
Except from T. M. Riddle's diary, 13 June 1942
III
The castle was nearly as empty as it was during the summer holidays. Those still there scarcely left their dormitories out of fear, even many of the professors were reluctant to monitor the halls when the Headmaster commanded them. Technically, Ophelia was confined to the common room as well, but who was there to catch her?
She couldn't muster the energy to be afraid. At least she knew what manner of creature lurked beneath the school.
Maybe, she thought ruefully, her brief kiss with Tom had clouded her judgement. Could really have only been a few hours ago? It felt like years had passed. She hadn't been sure of what to think of it before the murder and she certainly didn't know what to think of it now.
She considered the possibility that she'd been a fool to believe anything Tom Riddle ever said. She'd imagined herself, quite arrogantly, impervious to any manipulation after years of living with the most manipulative person that side of the Atlantic, yet there was still a chance she was wrong. She hoped she wasn't. She wanted to believe the whole situation was a mistake, an accident, but still her consciousness needled at her until if felt like her heart and mind alike were riddled with wholes.
"A quiet night, isn't it?" Dumbledore observed, silently coming up beside her and following her gaze to the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. From her vantage point, she could just make out the tips of his boots beneath his periwinkle robes. "You'll give someone a fright, laying as you are."
His words, though on the surface light, were tinged enough solemnity to tug uncomfortably on her heart.
Ophelia sat up, watching him watch the sweeping ocean of stars. "In my defense, I didn't much think I'd get caught." Though it didn't match up with the gravity of the situation, she added halfheartedly, "My bad."
Dumbledore looked at her then, in the consuming, analyzing way that only he could, the way that felt like he was stripping someone bare and seeing past all their deceptive layers. "What troubles you, my dear girl?"
"Other than what troubles us all?" she asked evasively, immediately wishing she'd said anything else when she noticed the spike of sadness that crossed his expression. She curled her arms around her legs, feeling like a guilty child next to Dumbledore. "I'm just so tired of death. I'm so tired of it all. It seems like I can't escape it."
"For it to get easier would be for one to lose their compassion and their humanity," he replied sagely.
I don't care about my humanity if that means I don't have to feel this way again, she wanted to say, but she didn't, because even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie. She did care.
"That sounds exactly like something you would say, sir," she settled on instead.
Dumbledore lifted a single white brow and she got the impression he knew she'd substituted "something" for "some nonsense" in her head.
"I might hope so. I did just say it, after all."
Uncertain how to respond to that, as with many of the odd things he said, she stayed quiet. The silence ensued was less awkward then it was contemplative. Within her, two opposing desires clashed and stole most of her focus.
Tell him!
I can't!
Tell! Him!
What about Tom?
As if sensing her unease, Dumbledore said, "If you knew anything at all about what killed that girl, it wouldn't be held against you. It would bring her poor family peace."
Again, she got the impression that he knew far more than he was supposed to, far more than was even possible.
The words grazed the tip of her tongue, they filled up the tight space in her throat and clogged her lungs, making breathing impossible. The Chamber is real. It's all real and so much worse than you imagine.
Yet, no words came out. Already, she saw the follow up questions, if not from Dumbledore then from the Ministry or the Headmaster. How do you know? Did you open it? Did you kill that girl? No? Then who?
And she wouldn't be able to answer. She couldn't allow herself to get onto the Ministry's radar, for one thing, but, moreover, she'd have to admit to being complicit in hiding the Chamber, and most of all, more than anything, she couldn't send Tom to prison over an accident. Was it an even an accident, though? She had to believe she hadn't misjudged him so much. The Ravenclaw boy and all the animals hadn't been on purpose, so there was still that high chance. She'd seen a darkness in him, certainly, but she had also seen a degree of softness, too. Everyone had some amount of darkness under the wrong circumstances; that didn't make them murderers.
Still, she cursed her loyal heart. After all these years, nothing had changed. Her affection for Grindelwald had prevented her from doing the right thing once, and now the same sentiment stayed her hand with Tom.
"I'm sorry." She made herself meet Dumbledore's eyes. "I'm afraid I have no idea, Professor. None at all."
Dumbledore escorted her back to her dormitory, well, nearly back. They parted ways about a floor away, when he was confident she could make it back safely. Unfortunately for him, she merely waited until he was out of sight and continued on her merry meandering way. Going back to Gryffindor Tower and sitting in brooding silence with others held little appeal.
To her surprise, and— if she were entirely honest— a small degree of irritation, she ran into Tom as she thoughtlessly wandered past the Headmaster's office. She'd wasn't sure how to confront him about what had happened and fear that he'd actually done it on purpose had up till then kept her far away.
"I saw you talking to Dumbledore," he said carefully, his old walls raised again like they had never left. She didn't actually consciously remember him lowering them. At least the distrust was mutual.
Ophelia trailed to a stop, keeping the gap between them wide. "I didn't say anything, if that's what you're getting at."
He glanced around them warily, looking to assure there were no potential eavesdroppers. "I never asked if you did."
"But you still wanted to know."
He didn't deny it. "Aren't you going to ask what happened?"
"There is no excuse for what happened," she replied stiffly.
A shadow flickered across face, there and gone in a second. "Will you condemn me, too, then? I did not touch her. Should you be held responsible for every death at," he dropped his voice an octave, "his hand?"
That struck a cord, not because her immediate reaction was "of course not" but rather because that was a question she'd been struggling with for years.
"You could at least pretend to be upset about it!" she hissed, more sad than angry.
"Don't tell me how I do and do not feel."
Just as her blood pressure spiked, she stepped away, shaking her head. "This conversation was a mistake."
"Where are you going?"
"To pack. If the castle is going to close, I'd like a head start on those who might come after me."
"No," Tom contested firmly. "I said I'd look after you. You won't stand a chance on your own."
"It doesn't look like I have much of a choice now, do I?" She added bitterly, "And despite your glowing endorsements of my abilities, I'm actually a rather good witch. I've been looking after myself for years."
"I never said you weren't," he said softly, so feather light that she almost missed it.
She didn't look back. "I'm glad I met you, Tom. Maybe we'll see each other again one day when you don't have the Trace. I'll look forward to it."
Tom stepped out of Professor Dippet's office fifteen minutes later filled to the brim with a sense of mounting resolve. He barely even acknowledged Dumbledore. He scarcely even cared that Dumbledore was probably probing him for signs of guilt. He couldn't have known anything for sure, or else he would already acted on it. No, Dumbledore was like an irritating fly Tom couldn't get rid of, but ultimately not a real threat. For then.
Tom knew what he had to do, yet he still dallied. The school could not be allowed to close and, by that same token, Ophelia could not be allowed to leave. On the other hand, Tom would allow himself to get caught. The problem came with reconciling three things.
The answer was simple: they needed a scape goat. The premier pawn was just as obvious. Still, a feeling almost, almost akin to guilt kept Tom lingering in the corridor and not in the dungeons, where he'd need to be to execute his burgeoning scheme.
He ran through the facts again: a scape goat would ensure Hogwarts remained open to continue a legacy begun by his ancestor, a scape goat would mean Ophelia's safe haven would remain as such, and a scape goat would keep Tom free of blame.
Tom, of course, were he the more noble sort, could have turned himself in. At sixteen, though, he didn't much care for his odds of being let go, so close to adulthood. Would they send him to Azkaban? It certainly wasn't unheard of, with the death of one student and the life of another still in question- but what a waste that would be for the most brilliant student to ever set foot within those castle walls to rot away his life in prison?
Luckily, the best choice happened to be young enough to escape that horrific fate, at least. The Ministry didn't send thirteen year old's to Azkaban, and with his giant's blood and that conveniently illegal spider, Rubeus Hagrid held promise. It was ridiculous to imagine him as the noble Heir of Slytherin, but Tom had sold bigger lies before.
A/N
This chapter was gross all round. It just wasn't coming to me, man, and for some reason it didn't want to upload. It's basically just a filler to get from where I was to where I want to be, but I couldn't exactly skip it, because what happens in the next chapter depends on what this chapter led up to. I didn't show him talking to Dippet bc we already see that in the second book, just like I didn't actually show him talk to Slughorn, and I won't show him framing Hagrid. It would be boring to repeat, so be prepared for the consequences of both of their actions. They WILL be hefty.