Sweet Vengeance

September 24, 1944

Tom crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, brooding. In any normal circumstances at a Tournament event, this was not to be expected – after all, the Tournament was his refuge in a way. But these were not normal circumstances: beside him sat none other than Albus Dumbledore.

It wouldn't have been so bad if the old fool could have just sat there quietly and respected the fact that Raoul and Tom actually had a job to do, though clearly, Tom should have known better than to expect such a courtesy. How was he supposed to focus when person after person kept climbing up the stands to chat with the professor?

Dumbledore was in the midst of a conversation with the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes when Tom muttered to Beaumont: "Is he even supposed to be in this section – isn't it sponsors-only?"

Raoul eyed him in amusement. "If that were true, then you wouldn't be allowed in this section either."

Tom glared at him.

"He is doing you a favor, you know."

Which was exactly the last thing that Tom wanted to hear. With gritted teeth, Tom said, "I suppose I just don't see the appeal."

"He just seems like a kind-hearted old man to me. And from what I hear, he's quite brilliant."

"Well, that's the opinion of some."

Raoul shrugged. "I don't mind him."

Tom's scowl deepened. "You like just about anyone as long as they listen to your mind-numbing stories."

"That's not true; I don't like you all of the time." Raoul smirked.

"Well, I don't listen to your stories even close to all of the time." He rolled his eyes.

Moments later, he spotted another Tournament sponsor climbing up the stands, this time toward Beaumont. Raoul introduced him to Tom, a man by the name of Geoff Robles, just before launching into a recount of everything that had happened in his life since they had last seen each other in France.

Tom began to wonder if he was the only person in the entire room that was actually taking it seriously. Beyond frustrated, he suddenly stood and carried himself three rows closer to the ongoing duels.

Although he could still overhear bits and pieces of their trivial conversations, he quickly became absorbed with the visual rhythm of spell after casted spell. It certainly helped that there were three duels going on at the same time and thus much more to distract him with. Tom scanned the rubric that Beaumont had given him at the beginning of the day, which was used to score the participants of the scouting matches, and shook his head in disapproval.

Why in the world was "Spell Creativity" worth only ten percent of their total score? To Tom, this was a crucially important skill and it exemplified both a participants' ability to think on their toes as well as the breadth of their magical knowledge. And what of "Crowd Likability"? What did that even entail? Though, to be fair, Tom had been the crowd favorite at last year's Tournament. But was there truly a need to create a category for it?

In fact, as his eyes scanned the rest of the rubric, he was convinced that it had been made by someone who knew absolutely nothing about dueling. He would surely have to have a word about these issues to Beaumont…well, as soon as he was finished blathering on about his move to London. Tom glanced impatiently up to where the sponsor sat, only to realize that their conversation seemed to have picked up even further.

Well, he supposed he would just have to make the changes himself.

Tom quickly crossed off the things he disliked about the chart, soon realizing that he had drawn a line through nearly everything that was written on the piece of parchment. At this rate, he would be better off creating a new one from scratch. Which was exactly what he did.

He finished up his new and improved chart just as it was time to score each contestant. As someone who had always been quite critical of others (especially when it came to something he took as much pride in as he did with dueling), he found that it felt very nice and strangely calming to place a point value of his choosing next to each name.

Duel after duel went by; there were certainly one or two stand-outs, but on the whole Tom was rather unimpressed (though that didn't come as much of a surprise). By this time, he had grown far too annoyed with Beaumont to even bother looking up at him. Surely Geoff Robles had been replaced by another mundane individual.

Overall, however, he supposed the day hadn't gone too poorly. He had successfully escaped Dumbledore (at least to a small degree, which was as much as he could really hope for anyway) and had gotten to watch a fair bit of dueling. He supposed that this was far better than being prohibited from attending any of the Tournament events at all. It had been a pleasant distraction from his wandering thoughts that continually gravitated toward Rose and, more recently, the gala she had attended with Warren.

Tom lingered impatiently near Beaumont as the participants, potential sponsors, and spectators began to trickle out of the arena. Of course, Raoul had yet to wrap up his present conversation. Tom had considered leaving without saying goodbye, of course, but there was something he first needed to retrieve from Beaumont: the personal files of each participant he had been interested in.

After what seemed like ages, Beaumont shook hands with the man who was either an acquaintance or his oldest friend (it was always difficult to tell with Raoul, not that Tom really cared).

"Enjoy the matches?" Tom asked with a rather snarky tone.

"Quite a bit, thanks. Pollins was most impressive, don't you think?"

Well, perhaps he had been paying attention. For some reason, this prospect irritated Tom even further.

"I was wondering if I could borrow a few of the personal files, just to add to my notes of the matches."

Beaumont shrugged and handed them over. That was perhaps Raoul's one redeeming quality: there were no lectures, no "I hope this goes without saying, but these are private records…". He trusted Tom fully and gave him considerably free rein when it came to these things.

"Well, Raoul, I think it might be best if I escort Tom back to Hogwarts, now," Dumbledore began. "Monday morning will come quickly, after all…"

Tom hated that word: escort. As though he were a small, helpless child.

"Of course," Beaumont nodded graciously and shook the old wizard's hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Sir. I look forward to seeing you at the remainder of the Tournament events."

Dumbledore smiled his stupid, serene little smile and nodded, before turning toward the exit. With his back to them, Beaumont smirked at Tom while Tom glared daggers back at Beaumont.

Thankfully, the professor spoke very little to him while they made their way back to the school. Perhaps this was unsurprising – he was so old that surely an all-day event such as that one had been exceptionally exhausting. Still, Tom found it difficult to even breathe normally while standing next to him; there was something about Dumbledore that was intrinsically unnerving. Tom would never allow himself to let down his guard around him.

Soon he was safe in his own quarters once more. While he waited to hear Rosemary's door open and close from across the hall, announcing her return, he opened up the first participant file that was sitting on top of the stack: Marty Eckers.

Eckers had been arguably one of the best duelers of the day: certainly strong on offensive spells and proficient enough on the defensive ones. But a burning disappointment hit him as he read the words right next to his birthdate: "Muggle-Born".

Tom abruptly closed the file, striking a line through his name on the rubric. There were some things he absolutely could not tolerate this time around: working with mudbloods was one of them (a sentiment that had been bolstered from all those hours he had been forced to train with Rookwood).

He only had time to check three more files, which were thankfully absent of the same unworthy blood status, when he heard Rosemary enter her dormitory.

Even in his hesitation to ask her about the Gala, he was excited to see her after their weekend apart. After giving her about twenty minutes or so to settle back in, he knocked on her door. It swung open to let him in a few seconds later. When he walked into her bedroom, she was lounging on her bed with her Arithmancy textbook in her hands and her wand across the room on her dresser. Tom felt a considerable amount of pride for her as he realized that she had opened the door using wandless magic, a skill which he had been tutoring her in for quite some time.

"How was the Gala?" he asked her, wishing to get the topic out of the way as quickly as possible.

Her eyes didn't meet his when she answered: "Oh, you know. Fine."

Tom could tell instantly that something was off, both in the way that she seemed to regard him nervously and in the rushed tone of her voice.

"How were the duels?" she asked him, setting her book aside on her nightstand. "Did you meet anyone worthy of joining the team?"

He ignored her nervous tone and abrupt subject change, attributing them to the likely possibility that she wanted to be off the topic of her father's event just as much as he did. "There were a few promising candidates...although they don't seem as though they are quite up to the present standard," he told her, as he crossed the room and sat near her feet.

By present standard he of course meant himself; he was the only person that Beaumont had signed a contract with so far.

"That's nice," she told him with an airy voice, as though she hadn't listened to a single word that had come out of his mouth.

He told himself not to get offended; surely she was tired from her train ride back to Hogwarts. Ignoring her apparent lack of interest, he continued: "With Dumbledore constantly around, I'm inclined to give up my position entirely. Have you noticed that he seems to know everyone? It was terribly bloody annoying. How are we supposed to concentrate on the duels when there is a constant stream of people coming up to him for a chat? He could at least sit out of the way somewhere…"

Rosemary continued to seem strangely distracted, and kept looking at the door as though she might want to escape. Perhaps she truly was bored of his recount of the day? He dropped the topic and reached up, running his fingers lightly along her arm; she returned his touch with a smile, but it seemed tense and quite forced.

"Is something bothering you?" he asked her with concern.

"No." Her smile looked increasingly fraudulent.

She was going to drive him mad with much more of this.

If only he could get to the bottom of whatever was bothering her without making her say a word…

He told himself repeatedly that he shouldn't subject her to the abuse of his powers; that her mind was special, unlike the rest. It was something to be treasured rather than disgraced.

But would one look really hurt, as long as she never found out about it? Surely any guilt he might feel would be worth the peace of mind…

Yes, he thought; it would be worth it if it meant he no longer had to worry about it. If the Gala hadn't been last night, he might not have been as worried, but there was no telling what could have gone wrong. Had her parents finally figured out her plan? Worse, did they have a way to prove it?

In order to avoid arousing her suspicions, he turned her head toward him and kissed her, looking straight into her eyes as they pulled away from each other.

As her thoughts poured into his consciousness, he quickly realized that, apparently, she was better at hiding things from him than he had previously thought. Her mind was overcome with guilt and for some reason, the fact that he had kissed her brought a single memory to the forefront of her thoughts.

But was it the reason for her odd distance? There was only one way to find out, he supposed…

The dream quickly came into focus and he saw Rosemary and Warren standing in a strange room with large glass boxes and a few broomsticks scattered throughout. It didn't take much in the way of deduction to determine that this was a memory from last night, at her father's event. Tom watched in disdain as Warren said:

"The world is changing, Rose. It would be foolish to dally on the wrong side…I-I care for you, Rose. You belong with someone who is actually suitable for you. Someone…like me."

A chill went down Tom's spine as Warren reached up to her face and tilted her chin up. Why was she standing so close to him?

Then, he heard: "You know I could take better care of you, if you'd only let me. You will always be a pureblood. He can never change that…and neither can you."

Warren stepped even closer and said something else, but Tom failed to process it: he was too busy watching this piece of filth kiss his girlfriend. He had had enough. More than enough. Tom didn't bother to wait around and see what her reaction to it was – he didn't think he could bear it.

As he exited her mind, he subconsciously pulled away from her and she gave him a confused look. He wasn't sure if she knew that he had performed Legilimency on her, but at the moment he didn't care. All he felt was shock; pure shock. So much so that there was no room for anger….at least not yet. He knew he had to get away from her and collect his thoughts while he still could. "I've forgotten…I'm to meet with Professor Slughorn this evening," he muttered, refusing to look into her eyes again as he turned and let himself out of her room.

It was a good thing that he excused himself when he did, because his temper caught fire as soon as he slipped into the corridor.

How dare he attempt to steal her away?! Does he have no sense of decency whatsoever?

How had he known about Tom's blood status, anyway?

Rose told him. She had to; her father never would…Or was Cramer actually intelligent enough to put two and two together? Clearly not, considering this little stunt…

He stormed through the corridors with no real destination in mind; his feet seemed to be steering the way without any sort of direction.

And how dare she?!

She didn't even so much as hint at it. Was she planning on hiding this forever, forcing me to play the fool? She was right to feel so guilty.

Then he stopped in his tracks, while a truly horrifying thought passed through his mind: what if she didn't feel guilty because she hadn't told Tom, but because she had somehow fallen in love with Cramer? Was it really such a stretch? They had spent so much extra time together, thanks to her brilliant little plan, after all…And hadn't this precise outcome been exactly why Tom had been so hesitant about it all along?

In that moment, he thought he might just hate them both.

He needed to find Cramer. There was hell to pay.

Tom began walking in the direction of the Grand Staircase; if he recalled correctly, Warren had Prefect rounds that evening and should be about halfway through, putting him on the fourth floor. Clearly his ability as Head Boy to create the rounds schedule had paid off: as Tom stepped off the staircase, he spotted the git turning a corner at the end of the corridor.

Tom strode quickly down the corridor in pursuit of him, turning the same corner just seconds later.

Cramer must have heard the footsteps behind him, because he turned. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Tom, but otherwise he gave no indication of alarm. Which clearly was a mistake on his part.

He stopped and brandished an idiotic smile. "Evening, Riddle."

Tom stood there, his eyes narrowing into a glare, while he considered how exactly he might go about handling such an altercation. His first instinct was, of course, to punch him square in the face. In fact, his hands had already balled into fists.

But no, he wouldn't. He was above such muggle brutality.

Instead he reached for his wand.

It became clear in an instant that Warren knew exactly what Tom had found out about. Tom watched him reach for his wand as well, presumably in some pathetic attempt at self-defense. Tom's crisp voice cut through the air between them: "Expelliarmus."

He caught Warren's wand and tucked it in his pocket. It was almost too easy. So easy that it was nearly unsatisfying. Not that he was even close to through, obviously.

Even in his now-wandless state, Warren looked relatively unperturbed and Tom struggled to find a good explanation for this: he should be scared. Very scared.

"Look, Riddle, it's not what you think…"

Of course, Tom had absolutely no desire to hear anything that Cramer had to say. He flicked his wand sharply, sending Warren flying into the wall. The blow must have knocked the wind out of him because he began coughing almost immediately. Suddenly, Warren was beginning to look quite worried. About damn time.

"Confringo." He said, knocking Cramer into the air once more, until he fell flat on his back a few feet away. He groaned in pain, not even bothering to attempt to pull himself off the ground.

Tom walked over and stood above him menacingly.

Warren coughed again and then said, "I overstepped my bounds…I'm sorry. She's yours; you know she's yours. Let's just be men about this and move on."

Tom looked down both ends of the corridor to make sure nobody was watching. Satisfied that they were completely alone, a sinister smile slid onto his face. It was time for the real fun to begin.

"Crucio."

Cramer let out a yelp as he twisted and contorted on the stone floor at Tom's feet. He couldn't help but think: what a pathetic excuse for a wizard. How could someone like him be a pureblood, but not Tom? Something about that simple fact seemed so cruel, so very unjust.

"Did you honestly think you'd get away with it? Are you really that thick?" Tom asked him somewhat rhetorically, knowing that Cramer would be in far too much pain to even attempt a response. "Rosemary can't hide anything from me."

Tom lifted the curse and Warren sat up, panting. "You're bloody mad. I hope you know that this isn't going to change anything…no matter how many times you curse me, you will still be a half-blood."

Tom's lip curled in rage and he lunged at him, grabbing him by the shirt collar, so very ready to hit him. "It. Is. Not. About. That." He was so angry that his hands were shaking slightly. It now seemed ridiculous that he had blamed Rosemary at all for what had happened, when Cramer was being so overtly antagonistic. "Don't you understand?" He released Cramer, pushing him back down to the ground. "This is about revenge. Crucio!"

A smile creeped onto his face once more as he watched Warren writhe in pain. He was enjoying every moment of the Ravenclaw's suffering entirely and what was even better was that the pesky, hesitant voice in the back of his mind seemed to have taken a momentary absence. There was nothing within him that was worried he might be expelled: all he could feel was righteousness.

Once again, Tom lifted the curse. Warren lay on the ground, curled into a pathetic-looking ball. He was still for a few seconds, but slowly tried to stand, settling instead for propping himself up against the wall behind him. "And how do you think Rose will react when she finds out about this?"

"She won't," Tom hissed, raising his wand threateningly once more at this fool who was just asking for another bout of the Cruciatus Curse.

Warren turned his head in the direction of the main corridor that led back to the staircase and asked, "Are you sure?"

Tom followed his gaze, his mouth becoming instantly dry as soon as he saw her horrified face and the book that had fallen to the floor from her trembling hands. For a second she stood there, as though she had been petrified, until she hurried away into the adjoining corridor from which she just came.

Even in all of his rage, all of his righteousness, his voice sounded foreign and defeated: "Rose."

"Let me tell you something about me. I love vengeance like normal people love sunsets and long walks on the beach. I eat vengeance with a spoon like it's honey. In fact, I may not even be a real person, but just a vow of vengeance made flesh." ― Laini Taylor

Well, so much for finishing Part I before leaving for vacation. Sigh. On the bright side, I have an 8-hour car ride tomorrow and will probably be able to finish Chapter 50 during it! Then I just have to find somewhere with Wi-Fi to post it...

Oh! Not ONLY will next chapter be the finale to Part I; I will also be announcing the lucky winners to that little contest I mentioned, like, forever ago.(:

As always, thank you to you lovely readers that took the time to review last chapter: How910, A regrettable decision, CharlotteBlackwood, RosiePosie15, lgraham1, and M! You really really help me stay on track with writing this (well, as on track as my life currently permits)!

I'll be back soon with CHAPTER 50!(: