Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.
Author's Note: And now my true colors as a H/G shipper (or a neutral shipper?) come out. Or do they? Thank you to Chucky1982 for the review (I agree mostly, although I must admit that I liked canon immensely and wouldn't give up DH for all the fanfic in the world). To everyone else: please review; it will make my day!
Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 30: Confessions
Tom didn't slouch on his promise to have Professor Quinn investigate the wards. The very next day, noticing that she wasn't present at dinner, he quickly swallowed his meal and made his way to her office. She was sitting at her desk, engrossed in a scroll, examining it through a magnifying glass larger than her head. The office was in disarray – books and scrolls scattered across her desk and all the shelves, piles of papers on the floor so dense Tom could barely see the floor beneath them. He wrinkled his nose in a bit of distaste. She had seemed so put-together, so organized in class. He supposed she got all the messiness out of her system in this room.
He cleared his throat and her head snapped up. When she saw who it was she smiled at him warmly and motioned for him to sit down in a chair currently filled with papers and books. Tom frowned and began to shift the pile to the floor, looking around for somewhere to put the papers. Finally he found places for the chair's former occupants and sat down. Professor Quinn was looking at him expectantly, so he cleared his throat and just cut to the chase. "Did you test Hermione's and my rune, Professor? Would you have known if it had backfired?"
Professor Quinn looked appalled, muttered something about of course she had, and then looked guilty. "No, Ophicus," she responded with a sigh. "I didn't think I had to – surely you and Hermione Granger could master an elementary ward between the two of you."
Tom felt his hands go numb with rage. He might have been shaking. What the bloody hell kind of professor wouldn't even test that the ward hadn't backfired? "You just pretended to knock on the door and attempt entry throughout the class period, to give us a good laugh?" He asked, trying desperately to remain calm.
Professor Quinn shrugged, as though now that she had confessed there was certainly no problem. "It was Christmas-time. We weren't going to get anything done anyway."
"What are you; some kind of child?" Tom snapped, appalled. Shouting at her helped. He imagined that terrifying her into desperate apologies would make him feel even better. He stood up and swept some of her papers off her desk, slamming his fists down. "You didn't even check to see if we had done something dangerous after expressly warning us against it? You didn't think to make sure that your fear was misplaced?"
"I assumed you would listen to my warnings, yes," Professor Quinn bit back, defensive, turning reflexively to try and start picking up the papers that Tom had thrown to the ground.
"We're students!" Tom shouted. "You're a professor! Of course we're going to break rules; especially when it's not a rule that we're breaking so much as a guideline. You told the two brightest students in their year, two students who have yet to see an honest challenge, not to try something because it was too difficult. And then you didn't bother to check up on them to see if they had tried it after all! What did you think was going to happen?" She wasn't looking at him; she was calmly cleaning up the portion of the mess that was her office which Tom had created. This infuriated him even more, but he could tell from the stony set of her jaw that he wasn't frightening her by his shouting, and physically assaulting a professor (which was his next idea) would get him in more trouble with Dumbledore than he wanted to imagine. Tom sighed angrily and began again in a calmer voice. "Honestly, Professor, it's like telling Harry Potter not to go to a certain place or he'll have to fight You-Know-Who, and then assuming he'll just stay away." He sank back into his seat.
Professor Quinn turned to face him and, to his chagrin, looked duly abashed. "You think that the ward backfired, I take it," she said calmly.
"Hermione is worried about it," Tom answered, somewhat mollified by her now business-like approach. Maybe she would fix it. If he were headmaster, she would be fired on the spot, or at least, she would be fired as soon as she had fixed whatever problems had been created, and possibly laid down her life for the cause as due punishment. But, alas, Tom Riddle would never be headmaster. "I've never botched a spell in my life; I think it worked exactly as planned. But I'd like someone to check it, just in case."
Professor Quinn nodded. "I'd be happy to."
"Good," Tom replied curtly, pulling out the stencil they had used. "It is, after all, your job."
He handed her the stencil and, without another word, left.
He had not expected to have to deal with such incompetence on the part of the Hogwarts faculty. But then again, he had heard that the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor was jinxed, and he supposed that perhaps it was hard to find good candidates for it.
Still, it was no excuse for such casual flaunting of good common sense. What kind of idiot wouldn't even bother to check the ward? Apparently, just the kind of idiot who was in charge of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
No wonder Lord Voldemort was on the rise; Harry Potter was probably a better Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor than Professor Quinn.
Tom shuddered at the thought and headed back to the Slytherin dungeon.
It was deserted. It took him a moment to realize that everyone else was probably at the Quidditch game.
Tom relished the empty rooms, spread out his books across a table in the common room, and began his studies. If he was Professor Quinn, he would examine the rune immediately, so Tom figured he only had an hour or so until he was called back into her office, until he finally had an answer to his question.
Tom had studied for maybe two hours when Professor Snape strode in to the common room and, with an annoyed expression, said "Why aren't you at the Quidditch game?"
"I never liked the sport," Tom answered curtly, barely looking up from his book.
"Professor Quinn wants to see you. And Professor Dumbledore. In the Headmaster's office," Snape said angrily and then strode out of the room.
Slowly, unruffled, Tom closed his books and rolled up the parchment he had been writing notes on, put them in a neat pile and carried them up to his dormitory for storage. That Snape was in a constant state of rage towards him was nothing new, and nothing to be concerned about, and he had expected Professor Quinn to summon him an hour ago, so there was apparently no rush. He calmly walked to the gargoyle that stood guard in front of the Headmaster's office, which he found conveniently open, and stood on the bottom step of the moving staircase, arms crossed and wand out, to be brought, in due time, to the door of Professor Dumbledore's office. He opened the door without knocking. Inside were Professors Dumbledore and Quinn, and Hermione Granger. Granger looked smug and self-satisfied, Professor Dumbledore's face was blank of all emotion save the tiniest of twinkles in his eyes and a quirk at the edge of his mouth almost reminiscent of half a smile. Professor Quinn was having a hard time concealing her mirth.
Apparently Miss Granger couldn't read faces as well as she could cast spells. Obviously, she expected Tom to be set up for a great fall. But nothing of the sort was going to happen. "Mr. Marvolo," Dumbledore began. "Professor Quinn brought your ward to my attention. It is really quite a feat of workmanship."
Hermione looked shocked, and disappointed. Serves her right, Tom thought. He hoped the professors noticed and called her out on her vindictive prejudice; assuming he had something to do with the horrors that were going on in Hogwarts this year. Professor Quinn spoke up. "Your ward appears to be perfect. I can't find a single thing wrong. Neither can Dumbledore. We went out to Hogsmeade to test it in safer conditions, and as far as we can tell it's perfectly functional. So unless you copied it over incorrectly," here she paused, and Hermione suddenly looked afraid – it had been Hermione that copied it over, "Which is unlikely with students of your caliber, you should both be very proud of your work."
Dumbledore smiled down at both of them, his eyes twinkling in that aggravatingly patronizing way. "You should both be proud; I've never seen anything of this level come from students of the sixth year. Congratulations."
And, suddenly and without warning, the part of Tom's mind that he recognized as being connected to Ginny Weasley erupted with fear, anger, and panic. He almost choked from it, but coughed a few times and managed to thank Dumbledore without anyone noticing (if they didn't notice Hermione's blatant disappointment that he hadn't been expelled, surely they wouldn't notice his slightly distracted appearance). Slowly, the feeling began to weaken. Hermione was looking at him strangely, as though she suspected something, but he brushed it off as her overactive imagination and tendency towards prejudice. Professor Dumbledore continued. "You were especially clever, Mr. Marvolo, for realizing that a failure in one of Hogwarts' wards could have allowed You-Know-Who entrance into the school and caused the... problems we have been seeing. With the other Professors, Professor Quinn and I are going to undertake a more thorough investigation of the wards around the school, to make sure they are all fully functional. Thank you for being so responsible as to bring this to our attention." Dumbledore glanced at Hermione pointedly, but only for a moment before he smiled warmly at Tom. So he had realized that Granger had figured out the same thing and didn't tell anyone. Tom almost laughed with glee seeing the stricken look on the girl's face, but he forced his face to remain calm, thanked Dumbledore, nodded to Professor Quinn, and turned with Hermione Granger to leave the office. He was about to turn to walk towards the Slytherin Dungeon when Hermione said, angrily, "How did you know?"
Tom turned and raised his eyebrows. He wanted to tell the obnoxious girl that he had figured out all about her game, and Ginny's game, long before, and had cracked her friend and gotten all of the details from the younger Weasley. But he assumed having Hermione criticize the girl would just turn Ginny against him again, and he wanted an informer in the ranks of the Gryffindors, at the very least. He mentally checked on Ginny; she was angry, furious, but not at him. Rather, her anger was focused towards Madame Pomfrey. He assumed she was caught in the hospital wing, with a Quidditch injury. All that for such a stupid sport. He turned to Hermione, and chose to be diplomatic. "How did I know what?" he asked.
"How did you know that I suspected you of botching the ward on purpose?"
"I didn't," Tom answered promptly. "Why would you suspect me of that?" Had the confession actually surprised him, he would have boiled over with rage. As it was, he was hard pressed not to shout at her, but he kept his cool.
Hermione just frowned. "You're up to something," she insisted. "I can tell. You're hiding something from me right now, and You-Know-Who is getting back into the school, and I know you're behind it. I just haven't figured out what you did yet. It wasn't the ward, fine. But you did something."
Tom felt his anger getting the better of him, but he reined it in at the last moment. "I don't know how to convince you Gryffindors," he said. He wanted to go to the hospital wing; this would be the perfect time to be little Ginny's knight in shining armor and cement his place in her trust. But he was stuck convincing Hermione, the daft fool, that he wasn't evil. "You fed me Veritaserum and heard me say that I had nothing to do with You-Know-Who, but even that isn't good enough for you lot. I'm flattered at how powerful you seem to think I am, but I must admit that I would rather you take me at my word."
Hermione paused. "Veritaserum?" she asked. "I never fed you Veritaserum."
"But your better two thirds did. The wonderfully righteous Harry and Ron did. Or didn't they tell you?" Tom laughed at the look of surprise on her face; the girl felt betrayed that Harry and Ron had a plan she wasn't let in on. "Oh, I guess the bonds of friendship don't stretch so far as telling your friends a discovery like my innocence. Were you planning on letting them in on your little suspicion?" Hermione looked even more hurt. And the anger in Ginny's mind was fading, Tom was missing his chance. He took a step toward the Hospital wing.
"You're sick," Hermione said after him, and he stopped, with a frustrated look on his face. "You're sick and you're evil and I'll figure out how you found out about Ginny's and my plan. I'll warn her – she won't come near you again, Riddle, she has better friends than you."
Tom had to laugh. "Plan? It wasn't a plan; it was a baseless accusation that you couldn't find a way to prove since it wasn't true. And I think Ginny is old enough to see who her friends are." He walked towards the hospital wing, and left Hermione behind him, hoping that he wasn't too late. She wasn't angry any more, he could tell that; in fact, she was greatly amused by something, but there was always a chance that paying her a visit would prove useful nonetheless. He slipped into the Hospital wing relatively unnoticed, and was wandering a bit when he heard her laughing on the other side of a door. He heard a deeper, male voice say something, and then more laughter.
Tom nearly cursed aloud. That fool Hermione had made him lose his chance.
A few hours earlier, Ginny was arguing about her fitness to play Quidditch that day. Harry and Katie wanted to follow Madame Pomfrey's orders, but Ginny was resolute about getting them to back down – after all, there was no reserve chaser. The Quidditch fans were getting more and more raucous as the Gryffindor team pushed the start of the game farther off. Madam Hooch was getting impatient and motioned to Harry to hurry up.
"We only have five minutes, Ginny," Harry said cautiously, one hand on Ginny's broom as if to take it away, "And we can't take you out or replace you in the middle of the game. Madame Pomfrey said you were to take it easy, and this isn't easy."
Ginny tightened her grip. "I'll be fine," she said through clenched teeth. "I haven't had a headache in a week now," she lied. "Besides, this game is important. We need a full team."
Harry looked unsure, but Katie put a hand on his shoulder, saying in a low voice that he had to trust his team; he couldn't micromanage on the pitch and he couldn't micromanage off of it. Harry frowned, conflicted, looked to the other members of the team, especially Ron. Ron spoke up, walking up to Ginny. "Gin, you can't play, you know it," he said. Then he turned to Harry. "Mum will kill us if she gets hurt," he commented.
"I'll do worse if you don't let me play," Ginny warned, eyes glinting with frustration and anger, and Ron turned to look at her directly in the face. "You've gone against Madame Pomfrey's orders tons of times, Harry. So have you, Ron. No one can see anything wrong with my head anyway; they're just being nervous busybodies. I'll be fine."
Ron tossed his hands in the air and told Ginny that if she got hurt he wasn't taking the fall with Mrs. Weasley, and Harry paused for a moment longer, as if wishing the elements would come down and make the decision for him, take the responsibility he desperately wanted to wiggle his way out of. And then he nodded his head and let go of Ginny's broom. "I don't think there's anything else to say," he said to the team in general. "Play well. Be on your guard. It's Slytherin."
And, with that, they filed out on to the pitch. Katie shook hands with the Slytherin captain, and Madam Hooch released the Snitch, and the game began.
Truth be told, it was a short, uneventful game. The passion and excitement of the students in the stands notwithstanding, Slytherin didn't have much to cheer for. Ron made an elegant save at the beginning, and Ginny and the Chasers had time to score only three goals before Harry was chasing the Snitch. In fact, by the end of the game everyone except the dismayed Slytherins was feeling rather bored with the entire process, and no one noticed when, just after Harry had caught the Snitch and Madam Hooch blew her whistle to end the game, one of the Slytherin Beaters hit a bludger directly at a cheering Ginny.
It hit her in the back and caught her unawares, and although she reached back for her broom she couldn't quite grab it in time, and she fell the ten feet or so to the ground below, knocking the wind out of her. Ron was there faster than Ginny would have thought possible, crying foul; shouting that the Slytherins should be disqualified from the Cup altogether or all get detention or otherwise be punished. Harry and Katie walked over more slowly, and the Slytherin captain landed, laughing with his teammates. Ginny shook her head and pushed herself up and insisted that she was fine, that she had just fallen and didn't need any help, it was no big deal, but then she saw the white-clad form of Madam Pomfrey and her heart sank.
"What were you doing, Miss Weasley, playing Quidditch?" Madam Pomfrey chastised as she walked up.
"I was fine! I haven't had a headache all week," Ginny lied weakly. "And I wouldn't have fallen if the Slytherin Beaters hadn't hit me after the game was over," she insisted with more enthusiasm.
Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "Your classmate Amelia told me two days ago that you needed an extra-strong pain relieving potion because you couldn't sleep for the pain. And it doesn't matter why you fell from ten feet, or if you fell from ten feet – for all we know, your headaches are caused by some bruise or hemorrhage that we can't find, and raising your blood pressure and heart rate with this game will be just what sets you over the edge and destroys your mind. Do you want to risk that?"
Ginny shook her head guiltily, but then remembered that her head hadn't hurt in the slightest since she started playing. She was about to open her mouth and tell Madam Pomfrey that the movement seemed to help her head, but the healer was already grabbing her wrist and escorting her back to the hospital wing, not hearing a word Ginny might say as she mumbled to herself about what a dangerous pastime these children took up, and why weren't they more sensible?
Ginny looked back, panicked, towards Harry and Ron. Ron had his arms crossed and his face masked in a distinctly "I told you so," expression. Harry looked a little bit more sympathetic, but apparently not enough to follow her to the hospital wing.
Madam Pomfrey installed Ginny in a bed and sent a house-elf to get Ginny's school work and then, still shaking her head peevishly, left Ginny with an admonition not to get up. Ginny stewed. This was just perfect, just what her mother would have wanted – Ginny holed up in the hospital wing, tucked into a bed, while the world moved around her. It was ridiculous.
She thought about getting up, but the door was locked from the outside and Ginny's wand was with her other things in the Quidditch lockers. She hoped someone on the team would realize that she needed her wand and her work robes and bring them to her, but she figured it would be much more likely that no one would much notice one way or another. There was a knock on the door, quiet and cautious, and Ginny didn't say anything because it wasn't as if she had a choice to let whoever it was in or not. The door opened with a click and Harry walked through, a bundle of old robes in his hand.
"I figured you would want these," he said with a bit of a smile. "If Madam Pomfrey ever lets you out of her sight again, they'll be useful."
Ginny felt her anger begin to evaporate. She smiled at Harry and thanked him. "She's sent a house elf to get my books; as if I was going to study here, or stay here long enough that I needed to study." Ginny sighed. "She's just what I needed, another mother."
Harry laughed a little and sat down near Ginny's bed. "She does it to everyone, you know," he mentioned off-handedly. "It's not just you."
Ginny forced a smile on her face. "Well, thank you for the robes. You can go back to the celebration at Gryffindor, now. I'm sure you'd rather be there than stuck in the Hospital Wing."
Harry shrugged and didn't move. "I hinted to Katie that maybe they should bring the celebration down here so the whole team could participate. I don't know if she picked up on it, though. I've spent enough time down here with my own injuries while everyone else was celebrating that I know how it feels." Ginny smiled. "Besides," Harry said with a blush, "Sometimes I get tired of being around Ron all the time."
Ginny laughed to see the guilty expression on Harry's face after such a small slight against his friend. "I wouldn't know it to look at you two – you get on like an old married couple."
Harry was amused, Ginny could see it in the slight glint in his eyes, but he feigned displeasure and just shook his head. "He's a good friend," he said, as if not to get caught badmouthing Ron, and Ginny took it as a hint that although they might be friends, they weren't quite that close yet.
Which was all right with her, she determined, since Harry Potter had proved himself to be a generally callous and unfeeling person over the past years; she reminded herself that Ron was a good person and a good brother and had probably been there for her far more often than Harry. "He's a good brother, too," she admitted.
Harry smiled. "He told me about your goal in the game against Ravenclaw. I was wondering about the score. Must have been amazing to see," He said.
Ginny felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Just because we have the best seeker in the school doesn't mean we can rest on our laurels," she said.
Harry laughed, and then he smiled, and the light in his eyes was one that Ginny used to pride herself at being able to catch. She continued. "Honestly, it's a shame you won't be going professional; I'm sure any one of a number of teams would take you in a heartbeat."
The light went out of Harry's eyes, and his face was stern. "I want to do something important," he said, "I want to make a difference. Quidditch is fun and all, but you can't reproach me for wanting to be an Auror."
Ginny just shrugged. "If you say so, Harry," she said. "And of course everyone wants you to do whatever it is you want to do," she said with more than a bit of bitterness in her voice.
Harry was frowning at her, not understanding her anger. "I don't see what you're upset about, Ginny," he said. "It's not like I think the path to be an Auror will be easy; Snape is bent on failing me, for one. But it's what I want to do so I'm doing it – this has nothing to do with other people."
Ginny laughed. "For you it doesn't, I guess. Besides, no one would dare stand in your way, or say anything was too dangerous. You're Harry Potter."
Harry stood up. "That's false and you know it. People have been trying to hide me, to get me to run away, to look out for my safety, since I was born. Everyone was always keeping secrets and making rules to keep me from endangering myself. But I just ignored that. You've got to have a thick skin about these things; if you can't stand up to a few professors telling you that Quidditch is too dangerous a career path, well, then maybe you just don't want to play Quidditch that much."
Ginny couldn't help staring, shocked. It was as if the clouds parted, and she could see again. If she wanted to play Quidditch, she would, no matter what anyone said – and that was what was expected of an adult. "You're right," she admitted. "Of course you're right." And then the light went out a bit and she realized he had completely taken the wind out of her sails, and she wanted to add that he was always right anymore, in a sickeningly righteous sort of way that just made it all harder to swallow. He was just too right. "But you told me yourself that I should take up a career in the Ministry. You sided with Hermione."
Harry sighed. "I didn't expect you to actually listen. Who cares what I think about it? It's your life."
Ginny laughed. "So you don't actually have anything against me playing Quidditch?" she asked.
Harry shook his head. "Other than the fact I think you would make a great Auror, no," he said with a little smile pulling up the side of his mouth. Ginny started laughing from relief, and Harry sat back down. "Really?" she asked.
"I saw you at the Department of Mysteries last year. You did as well as Hermione did, and she's a world class witch a year older than you. And I know what happened your first year; you fought off You-Know-Who for a whole year, when I couldn't even for a few days. So yes, I think you'd make almost as good an Auror as I will, if I can ever pass Potions."
"We," Ginny said with a broad grin. "If we can ever pass Potions."
"I thought you had Riddle's help," Harry said. "He's better even than Hermione."
Ginny laughed. "Had being the operative word," she said. "When nothing bad was happening, I was perfectly willing to believe that he was innocent. But with these new messages from the so-called heir of Slytherin, Tom Riddle is the last person I want to be around." It was an easy lie to make, more an omission than a lie.
Harry nodded, but with a thoughtful look on his face, as if trying to decide what to say next. Finally, with a sigh, he turned to Ginny and said, abruptly, "Ron and I gave him Veritaserum." Ginny, of course, knew full well that Harry and Ron had given Tom Veritaserum, but if Harry was in the dark, and this was going to be some kind of confession, she was going to let him say his fill without bursting that little bubble. She said nothing. "He's not planning anything. Or at least, if he is, he was able to fool the Veritaserum. And I don't think there's anyone who can do that. Something is going on, but I don't really think it was him. Or at least, he wasn't behind the voice in the Great Hall. And even if he is up to something, it doesn't involve you – or didn't before Christmas. Ron asked him."
Ginny nodded very slowly. It was new information, surely. And if he had stood up to Veritaserum, it was likely that he really wasn't up to anything. "Does Hermione know this?" Ginny asked.
"No," Harry said quickly. "She would never speak to us if she knew we had done it; or worse, she would turn us in to Snape. The only ones who know are you, me, Ron, and Tom."
Ginny sat, motionless. She and Hermione had been wrong. They had been mistaken all along, and about everything. Tom wasn't up to anything terrible, he hadn't let You-Know-Who in, and what's more, they hadn't even been right about Harry and Ron's suspicions. "Then how do you think You-Know-Who got in?" she asked.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. The only other person who I know has been messing around with the enchantments on the castle is Dumbledore, and he wouldn't make a mistake like that."
Ginny shook her head. "So I can have my tutor back?" she asked. "Because that really is the most important bit of all of this," she added.
Harry laughed heartily. "I don't know. Maybe the Veritaserum didn't work. But there's no reason not to trust him as much as we did at the beginning of the year – or at least, for every reason he seems to have an alibi."
There was a pause in the conversation, and Harry looked up at Ginny and said, abruptly, "There's that Hogsmeade weekend in two weeks; will you come with me?"
Ginny froze, uncertain. This was, unquestionably, what she had wanted for quite some time. But she had never thought it would happen like this, with so little pomp and so little ecstasy on her side. Then again, that was probably just the small child inside her speaking out. She flushed, and nodded. "Sure, Harry," she said, "If Madame Pomfrey will let me out."
Harry laughed, and after a moment added, quietly, that he could not think of a more appropriate use for his invisibility cloak.