Chapter 8 – Accomplices

"What about Myrtle?"

William looked down at his son. "You heard about Myrtle?"

"Mom mentioned her once. Said she was in Myrtle's house before she died."

William nodded sadly. "I didn't have anything to do with Myrtle... well, I didn't while she was alive."

"Huh?"

"I only really met Myrtle after she died..."

Everything had changed.

William swallowed, hiding and hating the feeling of self-loathing, feeling like the glares of all the students were a pressing against him from all sides. They all believed it. They all believed he'd killed someone, that he'd killed Myrtle.

They all believed he was a murderer.

Sure, the staff tried to show him some compassion and pity. But that was nothing compared to the hundreds of angry, frightened, accusing glares of fellow students. And Dumbledore… he had a very hard look behind his eyes – no joy, no merriment, no forgiveness. For the first time since his arrived at Hogwarts, William knew just how dangerous the position of "Dumbledore's Arch-Nemesis" was; he suspected that if Dumbledore had one more speck of certainty in Riddle's involvement, William would find himself broken by the elder wizard. Maybe his mind would be shattered as a glass sculpture beneath a hammer? Maybe his magic would be withered like a lone crop in a barren field. The possibilities were terrifyingly endless.

It wasn't his fault! William, Tom Riddle, Voldemort – none of them had anything to do with Myrtle. And it took every ounce of his willpower to not scream that as students shot terrified glares at him… or every ounce of willpower to not break down into sobs.

Finally feeling himself reaching the end of his tether, William ducked into an unused classroom and huddled inside, all thoughts of attending Transfiguration that day abandoned. A quiet whimper left his mouth as he slumped against the wall.

"So," echoed a female voice.

Riddle panicked a bit; he was sure the classroom had been empty. It took him a few seconds before he finally saw the source of the voice: a floating head poking in through a solid stone wall.

A ghost, he mentally sighed in relief. "So…" he called back uncertainly. I've never seen this specter before…

The apparition glided through the wall in full, floating into position 10 feet in front o him. "So you're the boy everyone is claiming killed me."

Tom's eyes widened. "You're… you're Myrtle?"

Myrtle nodded.

"What happened?" Tom pleaded.

"Why should I tell you?" she shot back in a nasty voice.

"I... I don't know."

Myrtle grunted. "You know, I really didn't want to die, but you have to admit, that's at least a pretty impressive way to meet your end."

"What is?"

"Being killed by Salazar Slytherin's Epic Monster, set loose by his Long-Lost-Heir."

"That's not what happened!"

"Prove me wrong!"

William groaned. Was he really being extorted by someone who was dead? "Myrtle, you didn't die from Slytherin's Monster. I don't think he even had a monster."

"Well, I think it's a better story than what actually happened… so… I think, from now on, Slytherin's Monster is going to be my story."

William was feeling a bit worried. "Will you at least tell me how you died? I mean, for real?"

Myrtle shook her head side to side.

"Why not?"

"Not saying."

"Why aren't you saying?"

"Not saying that, either."

William groaned. This wasn't working. He tried another approach, "Fine, what are you going to tell people when they ask you how you died?"

"Who cares?"

"Well," Tom said carefully, "this isn't exactly going to fade away. I mean, I don't know how long ghosts live, but you're probably going to be here for many, many years. You have any idea how many people are going to ask you that same question? I mean, if you met a new ghost, what's the first question you'd ask them? How did you die, of course."

"Eh," Myrtle replied with a phantom shrug. "I'll just tell them your monster killed me."

Tom inwardly trembled at that. Outwardly, he laughed. "Fine, what's question two, then? What did monster look like?"

"..."

"Oh?" Tom crowed (still inwardly terrified.) "You don't think anyone will ever ask you that?"

"Fine," Myrtle said in resignation. "So, what does your monster look like?"

"Knock it off! You did not die by some horrendous monster attack."

"How do you know? You can't have your monster around you all the time – you have to go to classes, go to the common room, sleep in your dormitory. Maybe, when one of those times where you weren't around, your monster snuck out and killed me, hmm?"

Tom shook his head in disgust. He was, once again, getting nowhere. "Myrtle, how about we make a trade?"

"A trade?"

"You obviously don't want to say how you actually died, and I've got a secret about the monster that nobody else knows, something that nobody can ever know. How about we trade those two secrets?"

"Hah," Myrtle said, grinning. "I already know your secret. You are the heir of Salazar Slytherin, and the monster is under your control. I don't know if you can even call it a secret – everyone already knows."

Tom smiled, deciding to take a risk. "No, Myrtle. That's what everyone thinks. The secret is that the monster doesn't actually exist."

Myrtle frowned. "What?"

"Everyone that's been petrified? They're victims of second-hand Ancient Runes. The first one was an accident… but after that, I've been stunning people, subjecting them to petrifaction, and then writing fake messages on the walls. There is no monster."

Myrtle stared at him for several seconds.

…and then burst out laughing for a good half-minute.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Myrtle crowed. "All this talk, and you're just a charlatan. You're not the heir, you don't have a monster, and you're just pretending this whole time... while denying it over the top of everything?"

Tom bowed theatrically. "So you see what I mean: I have a secret that nobody else knows, that nobody else can know. Now, it's your turn."

"Oh?" Myrtle said with a predatory grin. "I never agreed to share. In fact, what if I just told everyone else what you said?"

Tom nodded and replied, "Then what would you say when people asked you how you died? You can't expose me for being a charlatan and then turn around and blame my monster for your death."

Myrtle's look fell. "I hadn't thought that part through."

"Well?"

Myrtle groaned, slumping to the ground. "I'm a potions experimenter."

Tom blinked. "That's incredibly dangerous!"

"I know, but I'm very careful – ironic, hearing a dead person say that. I was working on a new anti-nausea draught. All the tests said it would work, all the eigenvalue metrics said the reactants would be stable, and even the taste index said it would be have a mildly-strawberrylike flavor."

"So what went wrong, then?"

Myrtle didn't answer.

"Myrtle?"

Another groan came from the ghost. "I did all that, I did all the due diligence, calculated all the difficult stuff… but I missed the most blindingly obvious problem. One of the necessary ingredients to stabilize the concoction was Arsenic, a muggle poison."

Tom forced himself not to react. That was an incredibly bone-headed thing to do. Then again, he supposed if you got wrapped up in the details and theory too much, you could miss something basic back in Step 1. Missing the forest for the trees, so to speak. After a few seconds, he said "That's... that's not good."

Myrtle couldn't help but chuckle. "Understatement, that is. A new, wondrous anti-nausea elixer; kills everyone who drinks it!"

Tom smiled. "Doesn't seem fair - you're obviously pretty smart, and you shouldn't go the rest of eternity with people thinking you died from something silly like that. So we're both in a tight spot. You can't tell anyone what really killed you; I can't let anyone know the real truth about this whole 'Slytherin Monster' business. So let's make up a new story."

Myrtle frowned. "It makes sense for your monster to kill me. I mean, after all the petrifactions."

"Oh, not my monster," Tom replied, grinning. "But if we do this right, people will not only think you died from some frightful beast of legend, but that I helped save the castle from it..."

Myrtle grinned as well. "Let me guess. It just takes the right set of lies?"

"Exactly."

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