Riddle's Secret (And I hold my breath) 9.5

Summary: Tom is summoned to Dumbledore's office to have A Talk. Tom is still hiding things from fellow Slytherins....but what?

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Chapter 9.5 Riddle's Secret

(Tom)

Albus Dumbledore sat before me, while the eyes of all the former headmasters bore holes into my back. We'd been at a stalemate ever since he told me to sit down and offered a candy (which I refused). He sat, and looked at me in a presumptuous, omnipotent sort of way, his eyes twinkling like mad. He likely imagined himself a friendly grandfather-like figure. I glared at him with suspicion.

I may have not remembered much from my (or should I call him 'my creator's) original time in Hogwarts, but the Dark Lord had taken special care to warn me of the Headmaster. He will doubt you. Voldemort had said. He will watch your every move, but he will hide it behind a wall of kindness and concern.

I didn't know if he had reason to question my actions or not (likely he did), but Dumbledore had certainly attacked with kindness.

“What do you want from me?” I was tired of waiting, and the old fool wasn't saying anything. Still.

“I wanted to hear from you. With the second week of classes finished, I thought to ask you a question. How do you find Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked.

“It is the best school for of witchcraft and wizardry in the country.” I shrugged. I didn't care; I had the Dark Lord's knowledge of magic. Even the scraps he loaned me would outstrip most. I could learn from the textbooks easily... I sat, watching the silver instruments click and whir. “The library is... a wonder.” The words slipped out, a tiny truth.

Dumbledore at last settled in his chair, relaxing at those words and a smile touching his lips. “That it is.” He agreed, and he allowed a moment of silence to pass. “Surely you were not sent to inspect the library, however...”

The Dark Lord’s words came back to me again. He has grown sly in his old age... He will no longer will he suspect you outright, or accuse you of thievery or misdeeds like a small child to be cowed.

I shrugged. “Perhaps not. But the library is easily the best part of the school.”

“Would you care to share your findings?” He asked softly, as though we were friends. “Sometimes, the simple act of informing another mind is all that we need for the seeds of our research to come into bloom.”

Did he know of my presence in his office, as Ginny suggested?

I tilted my head, and did not meet the headmaster's eyes. I had made little progress at all and could not hope to discover anything from this meeting. Dumbledore would not tell me about his journeys to find out about ‘the other Tom Riddle's past.’ I could not tell him of my purpose.

Dumbledore sat in amiable silence for a while, indifferent to my sullen refusal to converse. “And, how do you find the students?”

“None of them see me for what I am. We can hardly become friends.” I answered.

“Not all of them, Tom.”

I bristled. He used my name like a weapon. “Harry Potter is interested in me.” I said. “As is Ginnerva Weasley. Why is that?”

“Perhaps they have too strong a connection with you and your blood.” He said softly.

I smiled cruelly, imagining the light fading from his eyes and his lips stilling in a final grimace—the thought of a painful death for Dumbledore made my heart flutter. “Perhaps your spellwork is failing.”

“You spend too much time alone, Tom. You need to attend classes... to communicate with your housemates. The Tom Riddle I knew…” His twinkling blue eyes met mine, and I took a sharp breath. He held the information I most wanted.

“…He took great pleasure and pride in being able to help his peers, or at the very least being seen helping. He was often found tutoring his classmates, learning things from them that they never would have suspected.” Dumbledore perhaps mistook my interest for good natured-ness, for his voice became quite cheerful and animated. “Every teacher thought him the model student. Such an ability could help one’s peers immensely....Bonds of trust will support you when ties of fear will only strangle you, Tom”

Ah, but there was his mistake. Severus tells me he is an idealistic fool… He will appeal to your 'good nature' or to your desire to fit in. He will make siding alongside him seem the most natural thing in the world, never understanding that his kindness is condescending. That his pretty words an insult to your intelligence and your background. The Dark Lord knew Dumbledore best after all, it seemed.

“I have nothing to tell you.”

“I encourage you to speak of anything that might help the other students...or those outside these walls to escape horrible fates.”

My jaw clenched. “You try my patience. I have nothing to do with anyone’s fates. I’m merely a pawn.” Let him think on that.

“Tell me what you can, Tom. It’s not too late to change—any information you have could help the greater good.” He did not raise his voice, but still it carried. He probably imagined himself to sound saddened, or earnest.

“Information?” I scoffed. “You might as well ask me, ‘What are Voldemort’s plans?’ I don’t know.” I snapped.

Only to be told, “You assume that I think your only worth is what you can reveal about him, and the Death Eaters he controls. But that is not so, Tom; I want you to realize that you have unique abilities all your own. Voldemort has never loved, but you? I think you might. You are not chained to his past… your choices from this day--”

I laughed, and interrupted, “That’s ridiculous. Love? You really are a fool. You think by allowing me a second education, by encouraging me to ‘love’ the students or the school that something will change? That I will give you the information necessary to bring down the Dark Lord?” I sneered. “I know what you’re really after. What information you seek when you leave the school.” My voice was a low hiss.

Surely, Dumbledore was fishing for information. The one questing he could not ask, not without tipping his hand, and possibly alerting the Dark Lord. ‘What Horcrux were you, Tom Riddle? How many others are there?’ Those hidden, dark secrets that he cannot trust me enough to ask.

I stood up, eager to leave. To find a place to be alone, to read the books stolen from this very office. My eyes burned with anger. “If I may be excused, headmaster.”

“Go to your classes, Tom.” Dumbledore ordered. “And learn to love.”

I stormed out of the office, listening to the other headmaster’s portraits bemoan my behavior. I had had the books in my possession the whole time, and the fool hadn’t even noticed.

But where to read them? I considered taking them to the library, or holing up in the Slytherin dungeons after all, but no… these books were too private for that.

I would make my way to the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Today Dumbledore's office had appeared on the second floor, not so very far from the Hospital Wing. I could find my way after getting my bearings by the placement of the portraits. So long as I avoided the Poltergeist, my way was as good as set. I checked Magick Most Evile and Secrets of the Darkest Art, and finding that they were still safely tucked into the bag, I walked on.

The bathroom was as deserted as ever, thanks to Moaning Myrtle. The nickname made me smile even as I regretted the lost opportunity-- if I'd played my cards right the first time, I could have tormented her into becoming a furious, wretched thing.

“Who's there?” Moaning Myrtle demanded as I opened the door. I heard water from somewhere in the bathroom, a steady stream of drops dripping. “Oh, it's you. Another boy. What’ve you come in here for?” she said, her voice somewhat high and petulant.

Myrtle's presence was cold and intruding, like a veil of death around the entire room.

It was odd to think of her as such, with her speckled face and dour pout, though I doubted any other student recognized it. Nevertheless, her death hung close to the senses, clouded my eyes.

“Do boys often come to your bathroom, Myrtle?” I asked, smiling as charmingly as I could. Though perhaps making her weep and evacuate would be best...

She sneered through her sullenness, and she raised her chin. “Nobody comes in here!” She shrieked.

I rolled my eyes at that. “Obviously not, seeing that there were three Gryffindors here when last we met-- or had you forgotten? Does your death weigh heavily on you?” I stepped forward and felt her shrink back from me. It made me grin sharply.

She began to wail her offense. “Oh that's right, if someone sees Myrtle once every semester that's fair, isn't it? Nobody wants to see her more than that.” she gave a high pitched squeak, and dove into a toilet.

Just as I started to make for the proper sink, someone pulled my sleeve and grasped my hand.

I tensed before jerking to the side, violently pushing my elbow into my assailant's ribs. I wanted to pull them forward and slam them to the floor, but my feet weren't so firmly placed, so I settled for escaping their grip.

“You.” I closed my eyes with exasperation.

When Myrtle came up again, her voice suddenly changed to a happy gurgle. “Oh, hello Harry...You know, we had just mentioned you... this boy.” she pouted at me. “He's the one who chased you out of my bathroom, isn't he?”

Harry held his breath before nodding, mute. I wondered if my blow had hurt him, or if he was wisely keeping quiet.

“You might be right...about what you said before? When you and that girl and the redhead were here.” Myrtle said slowly, floating forward and peering at me with shrewd eyes. “He might look like Tom Riddle.”

Harry grinned at that. “You know, don't you?” breathless now. So I had hurt him. It served him right.

“Hm, yes...” her voice was quiet and hopeful. “I found out while Haunting Olive Hornby that he was Head Boy after I died....” she cautiously poked her head out. “Did you know Olive Horby?” I saw myself reflected behind her ghostly glasses in the depths of her eyes.

I felt myself shiver. Dumbledore's spell didn't extend to the castle ghosts. It was a wonder none had said anything.... unless Dumbledore had ordered them not to. I swallowed hard, and remembered where I was. “No, I didn't.”

Myrtle sniffed. “Maybe you ought to be nicer to me. I bet I know all sorts of secrets about your family!!” She snuck a look at Harry, who was fascinated by the whole exchange.

“Tell me.” Harry said quietly, and from him it was not a rude demand. She would gladly answer him, I knew it, and the thought galled me.

“You remember about Olive, don't you Harry? I told you about my haunting her before...Oh, ages ago, when you were still a first year.” Moaning Myrtle’s voice was breath and inappropriately coy.

“Second year.” Harry corrected.

“Well, he does look like Tom Riddle.” At Harry's encouraging nod, bit her lip, and began to twirl her long, lank hair. “He might even know things. Wrong things. He was in Slytherin, you know.”

“Enough.” I said firmly. “Myrtle, please.” I said quietly. “What can he do with the information but...tease...me?” She had been teased while alive, hadn't she? And she hated it. Maybe sympathy would work where threats couldn't.

“Harry wouldn't tease anyone, would you, Harry? Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle, you look like Tom Riddle.” She grinned viciously.

My lips thinned. But if that was all she had to say...

“More than fifty years ago!” Myrtle continued. “Just how are you related, anyway?

I imagined worms eating her fleshy cheeks, snakes crawling through her eye sockets, and hatred burned my face red. But if she’s asking questions, she really has nothing else to say., I told myself. I must be calm…

“I already knew that… Tom Riddle grew up to change his name to Voldemort.” He turned to Tom then, “You told me as much in the Chamber. Though I can't seem to remember if I mentioned that it was in there when I told you about second year.”

I clenched my jaw. “Well. Since you both are so insistent.” I scowled. “I might point out that I was not in the Chamber that year, Harry.”

Myrtle nodded at that. “You weren't here at all.”

Harry's eyes slid over to Myrtle, and he seemed in that moment more reasonable and calm than I'd seen him yet. Was it because Moaning Myrtle had essentially assured him that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him about me?

“Too true.” Harry said quietly, and met Myrtle's gaze.

This little meeting was starting to feel very unwise. I gave a dramatic sigh and let my head fall a bit, and when I looked at Harry again, I had my chagrined smile on. “Well. If Myrtle tells me I'm not welcome, then I suppose I'll be leaving.”

I felt Harry's eyes on me, but he said nothing, and made no attempt to follow. Small blessing.

I would find time to read the books later.

o0o0o0o0o0o

After dinner, free time in the common room was always a trial. Students felt they had all kinds of reason to jibe, what with the 'poor, lonely Slytherin boy' routine Dumbledore forced down their throats. Only a few of the smarter ones thought deeper than the compulsion, and those students wisely kept their glances to themselves and their words under wraps. Not Draco Malfoy, though. His family always did encourage loose tongues.

“Potter still bothering you then, Riddle?” Malfoy asked pleasantly, using his ‘senior student’ voice. Malfoy and other members of the Quidditch team occupied the plush chairs as usual, and the lower classmen were scattered around at desks and less prominent cushy armchairs. Malfoy was well-accustomed to holding conversations like this, and when he spoke, everyone listened. Favor from the Death Eaters carried over well, it seemed. “He was utterly mental during Care for Magical Creatures, did I mention?”

He had. At length. “You may have,” I replied, my face and tone impassive.

“Can't figure what his deal is with you. Don't know why he'd bother-- obscure and poor wizard like yourself. Maybe he thinks you're a blood traitor like the Weasleys.” his lip curled, and his surrounding year mates snorted or chuckled in turn.

I made a mental tally of who laughed—Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, Parkinson, Milicent, Pike, Zabini… and those who didn’t. The Greengrass and Carrow sisters, Nott, and Adrian Pucey.

“But then, he doesn't like you, does he? Bet you knew that from the start. Even you know that Slytherins don't associate with Gryffindors.” Malfoy said, his voice low and annoying.

“Does he?” Nott asked. “I've seen him seek out Potter in the corridors.”

I turned to regard Nott. He had a quiet way about him. He never seemed to associate with Malfoy outright, and he was possibly as solitary as a student could be at Hogwarts. That he spoke out now was interesting-- what could he be planning?

I shrugged, and considered my answer. I was not a known relative to a Death Eater, but that had not kept the upper years from approaching me (something that amused me to no ends. So far, I had turned them away with vague answers and flat disinterest).

I remembered the Horcrux book in my school bag, its presence weighing heavily on me. A heady sensation overcame me-- I had much more power, much more information than even the highest ranking of the Death Eater's sons and daughters around the common room. The thought made me sit straight and offer only crooked half smiles. The fact did not change even my assigned heritage (vague though Dumbledore's implications might be), however.

The fact remained that all of my knowledge and power hinged on what the Dark Lord had given me. I could not be satisfied with that. The desire to show my hand, to allude to Death Eater connections was stronger now than ever before. How dare Dumbledore assume I would turn coat and come over to his side? I could have the Slytherins to a man, if I only dropped the right hints.

“What I do and whom I talk with is none of your concern,” I said, keeping my face indifferent.

From his place at the steps, Zabini shook his head. He was obviously posing there, and making quite a pretty scene. “Why do you even bother with the fourth year nobody?” he sneered. “He probably is looking for charity.”

Zabini's comment brought smiles from other fourth years. Despite my standing taller than they, and looking comfortably closer to Draco's age than they did, Harper and Max exchanged grins as though I were properly 'humbled.' Rowle, a clever girl if I ever saw one, merely glanced around surreptitiously checking for the others' reactions.

Over the mindless chatter that echoed Zabini’s commentary, I began to hear something altogether unrelated. It was soft at first, and I did not hear it so much as feel it trembling in my chest. Then my heart began to hammer as the sounds realigned themselves. Come. The words hissed in my ears, and I did not know if I spoke them or heard them.

I stood, ignoring the protests among the Slytherins. Something about the voice reverberated with me, reminded me of something. My inheritance, my past and my very being... I had moved to the portrait-hole before I noticed that I was moving. Resolved now to seek out the voice, I strode more purposefully, and kept my back straight.　

I wondered vaguely if anyone would follow, but pushed the thoughts aside.　 The thing hissed again, Come.

The thought occurred to me that I was being summoned, that I may soon meet Voldemort's servants.　I might not have uncovered any hints of the Prophecy, or killed Dumbledore, but surely I would have more time...　Or perhaps Voldemort was unimpressed with the modified memory charm.　I would meet them, whoever Voldemort has sent. Then I would return to the familiar halls of Hogwarts where I fit in, if only by deception.

Irritation twisted at the base of my neck, and I fought back the urge to scowl. If Dumbledore saw me meeting with them now...the game could end as soon as it had begun. I would not lose my place here.

I held my breath, and went. I would come out on top; I always did.

(Next chapter: in the eye of the snake)