The Intolerable Git

July 11, 1944

He had never dreamt, in a million years, that he would make it this far. Scratch that – it was a lie. Of course he thought he would make it this far. What surprised him, though, was the fan base he had developed along the way. Surprisingly enough, they had proven quite useful: it was much easier to irritate and throw off his opponents when they realized their fans had begun cheering for Tom instead.

All he had to do was win this match and he would make it to the quarter-finals, where the best of the best vied for the title of champion. He had seen his opponent, Ari Daalman, duel a couple of times throughout the tournament and felt like he had a somewhat decent grasp of the man's dueling style. It was certainly aggressive, which was underscored by his size; Daalman could probably pass as a half-giant if he wanted to. Fortunately, Tom had seen his strategy of intimidation bring down others in the tournament and wasn't about to let it work on him.

"Are you ready?" Rose asked him, squeezing his hands. She seemed to be quite a bit more jumpy and excited than even he was.

"Of course," he told her, allowing his arrogance to flow out in his voice.

"Good," Rose smiled as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his body against hers. "It will be such a thrill to see you in the finals."

He smirked and glanced at his watch. "I should get going. There's only a half hour before the duel."

She nodded, giving him a passionate kiss before she edged her way out of the closet. A few seconds passed and then she knocked on the door to inform him that the surrounding area was empty.

Even so, Tom waited a bit longer for good measure. When he exited the supply closet, Rosemary had vanished and he was the only one standing in the dimly lit corridor. It was always a bit of a relief when he successfully evaded being spotted by someone from the press while stumbling out of the cleaning stockroom that had proven to be the only reasonably safe place to meet Rose in the tournament building.

He started down the hall, the roar of the crowd growing louder and louder with each step he took. Now that the fourth round was upon them, there was only one duel at a time. This meant, of course, that the number of people watching each duel had risen dramatically from what it had been in the first round. Tom didn't really mind: the more people that saw his success, the happier he was, after all.

When he reached the entrance of the dueling hall, Zhou and Dvorak were in the midst of a fierce, violent battle for a place in the quarter-finals. It was quite interesting (albeit a bit odd) to watch them, considering the fact that they were both sponsored by Beaumont and Tom had seen them speak amicably on numerous occasions over the past couple of weeks. Tom's money was on Zhou, but he rather hoped he didn't win. Zhou was the only person in the tournament that Tom was genuinely worried he might lose to and if they both made it to the quarter-finals, they would have to face each other. At least he didn't have to deal with Rookwood any longer, as he had gotten eliminated on the last day of the third round.

Surprisingly enough, though, Tom had been impressed overall with the competitors Beaumont had sponsored (including himself, obviously). Of any of the other sponsors in the tournament, he did have the most contestants that had advanced to the fourth round. Perhaps he wasn't as much of an idiot as he appeared to be. Or maybe it was simply dumb luck.

The crowd around him had been too distracted by the ongoing duel to notice when he had slipped just inside the doorway. It was rather nice to get out of the spotlight for a bit and blend in with the spectators. He knew Jennings would be furious that he had skipped his warm-up, but he had been much too bent on seeing whether or not Zhou would win and advance to the final rounds to care.

Tom's stomach twisted in an unsettling way as Dvorak finally froze and fell to the floor in response to the body-binding curse that Zhou had fired at him. After the second round of the competition, the duels required the paralysis of one of the competitors instead of a simple disarmament. It was certainly more challenging, but at least the spell limit was higher. At any rate, it was now decided that he would face Zhou the next day. But, he told himself, he had all night to contemplate his strategy; at that moment, he had to concentrate on defeating Daalman.

As the crowd broke into applause, he began to work his way to the sectioned off area around the platform. People began to recognize him almost immediately and he pushed through the crowd faster to escape their pleas for autographs and pictures. The flattery still went to his head, inevitably, even though he didn't wish to stop and indulge the fans.

A minute or so later, he arrived at the base of the platform, where Jennings stood with crossed arms and a fuming expression. "Where in the hell have you been?" he snapped.

Tom shrugged nonchalantly and said nothing, even though he knew it would upset his trainer even more. His eyes traveled up the stands and he spotted Rosemary. She was sitting quite a bit closer to the platform than she had all week, but it was probably safe enough. There were plenty of people to blend her in to the crowd if the cameras happened to snap a picture or two. She blew him a kiss and he rolled his eyes in response.

She's such a sentimental, he thought, though he was unable to resist smiling to himself. A quite charming sentimental, at the very least.

Jennings tilted his head, following Tom's line of sight, and shook his head slightly when he saw Rose. Tom could only catch a few words he muttered to himself in response:

"Bloody young people…"

"…clearly too much to ask to keep it in your pants for five goddamn minutes."

He may have given Jennings a snappy reply, but his thoughts were interrupted as he saw Zhou step down from the platform. "Riddle," the older wizard acknowledged him. He was all smiles, likely due to his recent win.

"Zhou." They shook hands. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. Good luck up there."

Tom nodded. "Thanks." The wish of good luck might not have meant anything to him coming from anyone else, but as much as Tom hated to admit it, he did idolize Zhou to some degree. The way he dueled was truly unparalleled to anything Tom had ever seen before. It was almost an honor in itself to be given the chance to duel such a person; surely, there would be quite a bit he could learn from it. So, as much as he wanted to win the tournament, he supposed he could also accept defeat at Zhou's hands…if it came to that.

Zhou's wife kissed him and led him to their seats around the corner of the platform, right next to Beaumont and the British and French Ministers for Magic. They spoke with Zhou a few moments, probably congratulating him for making it into the finals, before Beaumont and the British Minister for Magic, Leonard Spencer-Moon, stood and headed toward Tom.

He straightened his tie and wiped his palms on his pants, as they were immediately sweaty upon realizing he was about to meet the Minister for Magic, for the first time. For a brief moment, he found himself wondering how the hell Beaumont seemed to know so many important people given the fact that he was essentially a drunken prick.

Although, surprisingly enough, Beaumont appeared to be perfectly sober that afternoon. "Tom, I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine, Mr. Spencer-Moon."

"It's an honor to meet you, Minister Spencer-Moon," he replied in the most charming voice he could manage, despite his nerves.

"The same to you, Mr. Riddle. I apologize if we're distracting you just before your duel, but I wanted to wish you luck. I hope you know that you've become quite an inspiration in Britain."

"Thank you Sir," Tom attempted a modest smile, but had no idea how it looked; they had never been his strong suit.

The announcer cleared his throat and began, "We've now arrived at our final fourth-round duel…"

"We'll leave you to it, then," Spencer-Moon told him, smiling warmly before turning away.

On an impulse, Tom said, "Sir – another moment, if you please." The Minister turned back and he continued: "I was just wondering if we could sit down for a chat when I return to London after the tournament."

"Of course. Raoul can give you the address to write my secretary and she'll set us up with a time."

"Brilliant," Tom grinned. "Thank you, Sir."

"I'll look forward to hearing from you." The Minister bowed his head toward Tom slightly before departing for his seats.

Beaumont lingered behind for a bit, looking surprised, impressed, and amused. "My, would you look at that? You are capable of being a charming, respectful person."

Normally, he would have been annoyed with essentially anything Beaumont said to him, but he was in such a good mood after his conversation with the Minister that the comment had been almost entertaining. He even smirked.

"Now, go ahead and show this ogre that size doesn't matter." Raoul told him before giving him a small push in the direction of the platform. It was then that he realized Ari Daalman was standing on it and the commentator had already announced Tom's name.

Tom might have been slightly embarrassed if it hadn't been for his excellent mood. He calmly strode up the stairs and met Daalman in the center of the platform. Even he, who was quite tall, felt a tad dwarfed in comparison to the other wizard's size.

They completed the traditional bows and the rest of the ceremonious bullshit that preceded each duel of the tournament. As the commentator and the crowd counted down to the beginning of the match, Tom felt impatient, eager to claim his place in the finals.

He started off quite strong, relentlessly firing curses and hexes faster than Daalman could even respond with his own. Usually this wasn't his strategy, but he felt good enough to take a chance or two. However, after a few seconds of this, Ari recovered from Tom's move and the duel became quite a bit more balanced: Curse. Block. Curse. Block. Back and forth. It was clear, once again, that Tom was the crowd's favorite. But Ari didn't seem fazed at all by this fact, which was unfortunate as it had become a considerable part of Tom's strategy.

As the pace of the duel had slowed slightly, the press at the edge of the platform began shouting questions toward each of them. Tom always ignored them, though some of the competitors couldn't resist throwing them a bone or two. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Daalman proved not to be the attention-seeking type of opponent and kept as focused on the duel as Tom did.

Tom felt as though he was finally getting the hang of Ari's aggressive dueling style, which meant he was one step closer to defeating him. Then, a voice from the press pierced through his perfect concentration:

"Mr. Riddle, who was the young lady you took to Le Jardin d' Étoiles last week?"

He froze, sending a blunt look of disbelief to the man in the front row who had asked the question. It caught him so off-guard that for a split second, he forgot all about the fact that he was in the middle of a duel.

How the fu-

The next thing he knew, there was searing pain in his right arm and he heard a horrified gasp from the crowd. His mind snapped back to the tournament and he noticed a mediwizard hurriedly hoisting himself onto the platform. "I'm fine!" he barked in annoyance. They always tended to overreact whenever a contestant was injured, after all.

Tom bit back the shooting pain as he tried to raise his arm and deliver his counter-spell to Daalman. But instead of looking triumphant because of the blow, Ari looked genuinely concerned and had lowered his wand.

It was then that Tom realized he hadn't actually raised his own wand, despite his efforts. In fact, as he glanced down at the bloody mess that started near his shoulder, he saw that his wand wasn't even in his hand any longer and was instead lying in a pool of blood around his feet. His blood. The room began to spin slightly. It reminded him of the end of his duel with the Durmstrang captain earlier that year and this irony was possibly just as painful (if not more so) than his gory injury.

Except for the fact that this was different. Very different. Technically, he had not yet lost. He needed to be paralyzed to lose, not disarmed. A wild thought crossed his mind that he could duel with his left hand instead, even though he could not remember a time that he had used his non-dominant hand to cast a spell. But, how difficult could it be, really?

He made up his mind in less than a second and was about to reach for his wand when the room began spinning much faster and everything seemed to grow darker and darker until all he could see was black.

As Tom passed out, the crowd went silent. Rosemary was in utter shock from the whole scene. She felt as though her brain had been shut off so there was no thinking, only action. The moment she realized how injured he truly was, she had begun pushing her way out of the stands the moment and finally arrived at the base of the platform while he was being carried out of the dueling hall. The press ran after the mediwizards and Tom, snapping their shameless cameras. Rosemary started after them until someone grabbed her arm and spun her around.

"Let go of me!" she screamed at Raoul. Any remaining bits of her composure had vanished at the sight of Tom's blood.

"If you try and follow, they won't let you in the hospital. They'll assume you're with the press," he told her calmly as she struggled in an attempt to escape his grip. "I'll drive you."

"Fine," she snapped.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Beaumont driving her actually meant that someone else was driving them and he would instead be seated next to her in the backseat. She hadn't remembered to put on her sound-proofing earrings that morning, but thankfully she didn't seem to need them. For once, the sponsor was completely silent. It was a glorious moment, truly; one she would have enjoyed considerably more if she wasn't entirely overwrought.

All she could think about was the way his blood had pooled around him. There was so much of it that she wondered how he could possibly have any left inside him. And then there was his arm…or what was left of it. The spell had clearly cut through the bone. A horrifying thought had crossed her mind multiple times, no matter how hard she tried to keep pushing it away: what if he lost his arm? Then there was the inconceivable: what if the Healers were too late and he had lost too much blood already?

Without warning, she burst into tears. Beaumont eyed her in alarm "There, there…" he told her, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder.

"What if-"

"Don't play that game with yourself. He's going to be fine," he told her, the awkward uneasiness rapidly vanishing from his voice.

"But-"

"Stop. We're almost there; just one block away."

As they pulled up to the curb, Rosemary quickly dried her eyes on her sleeve and jumped out of the car with Beaumont following close behind her. There were reporters scattered in front of the building, clearly waiting for any scrap of information to exploit. The hospital was quite large – about the size of St. Mungo's; panic had set in again upon seeing it and knowing that Tom was inside it somewhere, tremendously wounded.

She burst through the front door and sped up to the front counter.

"How may I help you, Miss?" the cheery receptionist asked her in French.

"Where is Tom Riddle?" Rosemary demanded.

"They just took him up to the Intensive Spell Damage Unit," she informed her. "I'm sorry, but we can't allow any visitors at this time."

"Excuse me," Raoul interjected, finally catching up to Rose. "But we will be visiting Mr. Riddle. Now."

"Sir, rules are rules…"

"Do you have any idea who I am?" Raoul smirked at her and Rosemary rolled her eyes. What was his plan, to flirt with the woman until she let them upstairs?

Useless prat…

The woman didn't answer so Raoul continued: "Tell me, what is the ward that houses the Intensive Spell Damage Unit called?"

"The Marceline Beaumont Ward –"

"That's the one. Named after my wife."

Rosemary gave him a sideways glance. Since when was Raoul married?

He took out his identification and showed it to the receptionist, pointing at his name. "See? Raoul Beaumont, that's me."

"O-Oh yes. Of course, Mr. Beaumont, my sincerest apologies. I'll de-charm the lift for you right away."

The look of incredulity was still stuck on Rose's face. That had actually worked?

"Thank you. That's absolutely lovely of you," he smiled warmly at the woman as she took out her wand and muttered the special incantation required to temporarily remove the charms on the lift.

"It's ready for you," she said. "The ISDU is on the fifth floor. He'll be in room number seven."

Raoul and Rose hurried past her into the lift and pressed the button. As the door began to close, the receptionist was still speaking: "I hope you know that we appreciate your very generous donations, Mr. Beaumont. If there is anything at all I can do for you-"

The door slid shut and Rose's curiosity of Beaumont's alleged wife had vanished, replaced with her concern for Tom once more. They were silent for the entire ride to the fifth floor and her heart pounded as a small ding informed them they had arrived. The corridor was almost entirely empty, which prompted a stomach-turning realization: if there were no Healers bustling about, that meant that they were obviously in rooms, tending to patients. Quite possibly, new patients. Tom. If he had multiple Healers tending to him, that meant that things were very, very bad.

She darted down the hall and quickly arrived at room number seven. Her hand was on the doorknob when a Healer Assistant walked briskly up to them. "You can't go in just yet," he told her sternly, but kindly. "You really aren't supposed to be here at all."

"I have to see him," Rosemary insisted.

"You can't. They're just finishing up his procedure."

She swallowed, as hearing the word 'procedure' had left a bad taste her mouth. "What sort of…procedure? Is he alright?"

"He'll be fine," the Healer Assistant smiled. "They're just sort of patching him back together and all." Rosemary felt her racing pulse slow slightly upon hearing his words; it hadn't been put the most delicate way, but at least she knew Tom was alive and still had all of his appendages. "Why don't the two of you have a seat? I'll let you know as soon as they're finished."

Rose nodded hesitantly and slid into the chair right next to the door.

Beaumont sat with her for a moment, but suggested shortly after: "Why don't we go up another floor to the tearoom? It will calm you down a bit."

She looked at him as though he had proposed something as ludicrous as dropping out of Hogwarts and adopting a muggle way of life.

"Alright. We'll wait." He sighed.

Thankfully for her sanity, they didn't have to wait for long; a line of three Healers exited the room and spoke to the Healer Assistant. He walked over to them immediately after and said, "It sounds as though he's stable enough if you want to see him, but they've given him a Sleeping Draught so he might not be awake for a while. I'll be in to see him in a half hour or so to change his bandages."

Rosemary nodded and quickly let herself into the room. Given the fact that he was shirtless, she could see the full extent of how they had dressed his wound. She silently walked up to him and bent down to kiss his forehead, his cheek, and then lightly on his mouth. "I'm so glad you're alright," she whispered in his ear.

Her mind was much clearer now that she had gotten the chance to see him. As she scooted him over slightly to make a place for herself on the edge of his bed and stared into his relaxed face, thoughts that had been pushed out of her consciousness throughout the course of her panic began to trickle back in. So, apparently, Beaumont had a wife. Rose didn't really know what to make of that, although there was a good possibility that his apparent wife had simply wised up and left him and he was still in denial.

Then she thought about the hospital itself. As an aspiring Healer, it would have been nice to have a look around; maybe even a tour? After all, there was no telling how long it would be until he was released. She might be spending quite a bit of time in the place.

Although she was slowly beginning to feel more in touch with reality, the entire memory of what had happened over the course of the last hour still felt so very surreal. What had happened to make him lose his concentration so profoundly? Then she remembered the reporters and their lack of any sort of human decency, taking picture after picture of his injury and following him to the hospital.

The reporters. Shit.

"Raoul," Suddenly, she was filled with dread all over again. Spinning around to look at Beaumont, who was standing in the doorway, she said, "I can tell you right now that Tom will not be happy if he sees this in the papers."

He nodded gravely. "You're right…"

A wild flurry of ideas raced through her mind. Maybe she could distract him every time they passed by the news stand? Maybe she could just buy all the papers...But, as it was international news, it would mean buying an incalculable number of them.

"I'll take care of it," Beaumont told her suddenly. "There probably isn't anything I can do to stop them from publishing an article, but I should be able to ensure they leave out the pictures, at least."

"How?" she asked him, wondering if she could actually trust him with such a task.

"Does it matter?" When her look of skepticism didn't vanish, he added, "I know almost every one of the journalists reporting for the tournament. Some of them owe me favors. I'll negotiate."

Even though they were coming from Beaumont, who she was unsure she could trust with such an important task, his words were admittedly reassuring. "Thank you." She gave him a small smile before turning back to Tom, who was beginning to stir. "He's waking up!" Rosemary beamed.

"I'll wait out here and let you two have some time," Beaumont smiled.

As he left, an odd feeling washed over her and she realized that she hadn't actually been annoyed at Beaumont once that day. He had been surprisingly helpful and rather supportive, really. It was a strange, strange day.

Tom finally opened his eyes, rubbed them, and saw her sitting on the edge of his bed. "Where in the hell am I?"

"The hospital…do you remember the duel from earlier today? Your arm-"

He looked down at it, first with a confused look and then a hateful one.

"What about the duel?" he demanded, turning his head so his eyes were now glaring into her own.

"I-I don't know," she stuttered. She wasn't sure what to tell him, as it hadn't been made that clear whether or not Daalman had automatically won or if they needed to have a rematch and duel until someone was actually paralyzed.

He sighed in clear frustration with her lack of information. "Well," he snapped. "Why are you here?"

It certainly hadn't been the reaction she had expected from him. She told herself not to get offended; after all, she probably should have known that he would be this upset about everything that had happened. "I'm here because I wanted to make sure you were okay," she said gently.

Rosemary reached up to stroke his chest, but his left hand caught her wrist before she even made contact with his skin.

"Is that what you think of me?" he growled. "Do you think I'm that weak? That I can't even handle a tiny scratch?"

"No, Tom, that's not at all what I said…And you can hardly call what happened to you a 'tiny scratch'. The curse cut half-way through your arm."

Suddenly he laughed, even though she could still see the anger burning in his eyes. He was beginning to startle her quite a bit. "What happened to me?" He abruptly stopped laughing. "I'll tell you what happened to me: you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Beaumont warned me not to bring you along…He knew you'd be a distraction. Well, it looks as though his prediction was correct. That reporter saw us at the restaurant, asked me who you were during the duel. That's all it takes, Rosemary, is a split second of distraction and it's all over."

It stung to hear him say her name this way, basically spitting it out of his mouth. "If I hadn't invited you along, this never would have happened."

She stared at him blankly. She wanted to scream at him because he deserved it, but couldn't find the energy. The only thing she felt was emptiness.

Rosemary looked away from his glaring eyes and stood to leave, walking out of the room without another glance over her shoulder. It was then that she remembered Beaumont had been sitting outside of the open door the entire time. The look of sympathy on his face validated her fear that he had heard everything. Wordlessly he stood, walking past her into the room she had just left and closing the door behind him.

Even with the door closed, Rosemary could hear their muffled exchange:

"Excellent. The person I was just dying to see next," Tom said snidely.

"What in fucking Merlin's name is wrong with you?!" Beaumont bellowed. "Do you have any clue how worried about you she was, you sorry prick?"

Rosemary's eyes widened and she looked around the hall to make sure no one else was listening. This was certainly the first time she had heard Raoul be anything less than congenial.

"Well, she shouldn't-"

"Shut up. Shut your fucking mouth right now. How dare you blame it on her…It's on you. That's it. Period." His voiced lowered in volume slightly, but he sounded no less angry. "If you had even a shred of maturity you'd accept that you made a mistake and move on. But you're acting like a child. I mean, you're the youngest damn person in this competition and you still made it to the fourth-round. That's unheard of. Don't you understand that?! Why in the hell isn't that enough for you? You don't understand the value of any of it: having Miss Horton's support; even just being here. While we're on the topic, it's not as though she isn't risking anything to be here with you; you know that just as well as I do. She loves you, Tom, although I don't have the faintest clue why. I'm quickly beginning to think you're too thick to appreciate it."

There was a long silence before Tom finally spoke. "I didn't want her to see me like this." His calm statement shocked her entirely. He never spoke about his feelings. And to Beaumont? And he wasn't instantly defensive from the way Raoul had put him in his place?

"Well, there was absolutely no reason to be such a bastard about it. And that certainly doesn't make everything you said okay."

"I know," Tom sighed. "I just…I get so angry sometimes."

At this point she was pressing her ear to the door, stunned at every word she was hearing.

"Welcome to life, Mr. Riddle; you don't always get what you want. You have to accept it, take it like a man, and quit being so goddamn selfish."

Rose kept expecting him to get defensive, but it never happened. Perhaps he had been so taken aback at Beaumont's outburst that his mind had shifted in a way it normally didn't.

"I didn't just want to win for me. It was for us…I had to find a way to make her parents approve of us and I thought that all of this would be the way I did it."

Raoul snorted. "I'm sure they'll be plenty impressed, just like the rest of Britain. You didn't have to win the whole damn thing to do that, you know."

"Well even if I had, it still wouldn't have been enough. There are other…considerations now," he said bitterly, and she knew he was referring to her father's grudge. "Anyway, in case things don't work out with her parents, I need to show her that I can…provide."

"What do you mean; financially?"

Tom was silent in response and Beaumont apparently took this as affirmation. "Look, Tom, I know that you haven't had the easiest time of it, growing up all on your own with nothing to fall back on. I was never planning on taking my cut of your winnings. I could help out a little more, you know-"

"Absolutely not," Tom snapped. "And you'll take your cut."

"I thought not, but it was worth a try," Beaumont chuckled. He was quiet for a moment before asking, "You really do love her, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Good. Then fix this; you won't forgive yourself if you don't. Nothing is worse than losing someone who loves you like she does."

There was a lull in the conversation.

Finally, Tom spoke: "So I assume that I'm officially eliminated from the tournament?"

"Unless you can make a miraculous, full recovery over the next fifteen hours, yes."

"I don't necessarily need to use my right hand to duel. There's always my left…"

She could hear Beaumont's smirk in his voice. "Don't even think of it, you intolerable git."

"I always find it more difficult to say the things I mean than the things I don't." – W. Somerset Maugham

First off, a big thanks to A regrettable decision, RosiePosie15, and CharlotteBlackwood for reviewing the last chapter. :D

Sorry if this update felt a little too long (it was about 1K words longer than usual), but there was a lot to fit into it! I'm dying to hear what you think of everything that happened: Tom's elimination from the tournament, the way he snapped at Rosemary and Beaumont totally losing it, etc. so if you would leave a review below that would be AWESOME!(:

Thank you all for reading!