Tom Riddle, horcrux book theif 8.5

Summary: When Dumbledore goes away, Tom? He plays.

Part 8.5 Tom Riddle, horcrux book thief
( First Chapter )  | Previous Chapter: Not-Secrets and Bathrooms

(Tom)

A sense of frustration made me reckless. I had spoken to Potter twice in one evening, and learned nothing.

I peered into the murky surface of the headmaster’s pensive and scowled.  What is he but a bitter old man? I looked away from the artifact and glanced down at the two-way mirror. It caught the sunlight and reflected the midafternoon sun well. I cared not for the other mirror it was linked to (doubtless one of Potter’s friends.) It was more its potential…as a link.

What was more, I had cast spell after spell, and still Harry’s mirror would not change, would not show me what lied locked away in the pensive. It remained obtusely reflective with no clear change in the magic. I remained unable to manipulate the thing and thus dip into one of Dumbledore’s pensive memories.

Perhaps an hour before, I had waited hours and hours under a disillusionment spell on the twisting staircase, waiting for someone to admit me into his office. I was quite surprised that it turned out to be Dumbledore himself who had let me in. The old fool had been leaving for some reason (I tried to tell myself it might not be to recover some memory of mine. It could be he was legitimately working), and then had gone back to retrieve his hat. I was delighted, and assured by the fact that I could still leave unnoticed by those very same stairs on my own, there being no password or permission for the stairs to go down.

The pensive rested before me, tempting. I peered into the swirling surface, unable to get past the securities Dumbledore has cast around it. He guards his thoughts well… The need to see them burned in me, bright and all consuming. I knew Dumbledore was collecting memories about me. About Lord Voldemort.

I smothered a slow sigh of exasperation as something sounded in my ear—a low tone from the walls. Perhaps a warning that one of the portraits would wake. Perhaps warning that the headmaster would return. I had taken too long, and still recovered nothing. I tapped my fingers on the rim on the pensive, hoping I was wrong. The spell of darkness that I’d cast around the portraits wouldn’t hold forever. I wondered if I should cast the counter as I left, or if I should leave it for Dumbledore to discover.

But then Dumbledore’s voice sounded below in the hallway, echoing through some enchantment perhaps meant to keep the Headmaster informed of what was said before his office. “Madam Pomfrey, what a pleasure... how rare to see you here. Dare I ask what brings you to my office?”

I let out a breath, relieved to find him so distracted. I could still retreat without him catching me on the stairs, if only he went away...There was only one entrance, after all.

“Ah yes, Mr. Potter. Is he in the Hospital Wing?”

“No, Headmaster. But I had hoped you could have him come by…there was the nasty business of last year with the tournament. I believe he needs to be looked over…the students talk…”

“As they will. I’m sure Harry is handling things as well as can be expected. He is surrounded by his friends, and seems to be doing no worse in his classes.”

“Headmaster, that is not what I’ve heard!”

Dumbledore seemed saddened by her words, and his tone lost a significant amount of geniality as he replied, “Ah. Well. Perhaps you will pass on what you have heard, Madam? Let us walk under the sky, by the lake-shore. It is most remarkable this time of year…”

I felt a thrill of triumph. The fool would leave. With every step away from the door, he furthered my fears of discovery. I would keep my secrets another day. I walked slowly and carefully down the stair, and finally stopped to listen at the door.

There was no sound. The Headmaster and Pomfrey had indeed gone on their scenic walk.

I hesitated back to the pensive, thinking. I was no closer to unlocking the secrets of his pensive. Furthermore, Harry would suspect me of the mirror’s theft soon… I pondered how to get it back to him without rousing suspicion.

A surge of frustration and anger surged up in me. I wanted to see whatever memory Dumbledore has managed to collect. They were my memories, in part. I yearned to have even one, in hopes that it would be one that I had not been granted by the Dark Lord.

“Accio Horcrux books!”

Secrets of the Darkest Art came into my hands without a complaint, and the weight of it relieved me at once. Magick Most Evile too landed silently. Here, I would find answers. How a Horcrux was made (how it might be reversed), and maybe: how it might be given life again.

I clutched it to my chest, hating the Dark Lord for not trusting me. I who had so very much to gain by understanding Horcruxes. Almost as much as I hated the Dark Lord for his secrets, I hated Dumbledore for his foolish compassion. Dumbledore who had nearly discovered me in his office. This did not endear him to me, either.

I pressed the door open, my arms laden with books of Dark Art, and found myself staring into the brown eyes of Ginevra Weasley.

“What are you doing.” She demanded rather than asked, coming in on me with steps Harry would have called ‘fierce.’

“I just came from the Headmaster’s office. He agreed to loan me some books,” I said evenly.

“I don’t believe you. He just went off with Madam Pomfrey. He didn’t act like he had any students in his office. But don’t think you pulled the wool over his eyes. He knew you were up there,” the witch told me, raising her chin to glare at me in anger. “He chose to let you into his office. It’s just something he would do.”

I privately agreed with her assessment, my cheeks flaming. “And I suppose you have business with the Headmaster?” I asked instead.

“I have business with you. Show me those books,” she said bitingly.

“No. If he knew I was there, he knew I could get the books. He as good as gave them to me.”

She bristled at that, and I could see why Harry held her in such high regard. “You’re stealing.” She accused.

I raised an eyebrow. “Library books are meant to be borrowed.”

“Give them to me, or I’ll summon Umbridge. She won’t like you with those non-Ministry-approved books, I bet.” She held out a hand. As though I would hand them over at a little threat of the Ministry toad.  

Then I noticed her fingers. The hand curled at her side trembled, and if I looked at her in the dying afternoon light, I could see where the sun caught the beads of sweat glistening on her neck. She was afraid.

I smiled. “Get out of my way before I hex you.”

“Expelliarmus!” she yelled, followed by a Knock-Back Hex and Bat-Bogey Hex in quick succession.

I kept the books in my arms for an instant, and then lost them as I tumbled to the floor. I felt heat rush to my cheeks. The sound of her footsteps drove me to my feet, and I gave chase. “Those books are mine!” I screamed furiously.

My feet slammed against the stone floor of the castle, my magic surging energy and speed into every step. I felt my mouth split into a wide grin at the sound of her voice, high with girlish terror, calling for help. I knew this feeling, and cherished it.

I imagined casting a spell on her, a curse that I had read about in my real fourth year. The curse would strip her flesh from her where it struck, leaving glistening white bone under a river of blood. I imagined her writhing in pain as her life’s blood left her.

I opened my mouth and began the incantation—

And the words stuck in my throat. life’s blood... blood of the enemy...I felt a sickening sensation of something entering between my ribs, and again in my throat. It felt cold and alien, then hot, pulsing-- and blood flew freely from every open wound.

My heart sped to replace what I lost, my magic whirled and pooled within me-- fighting wounds the world would call ‘mortal.’ I remembered.

Presently, I heard Ginny casting another spell in my direction, determination lighting fire in her eyes as she aimed at my heart.

I pushed the hated memories away; I cast them to the part of my mind which even I would not access without Legilimency. I pulled up strong shields between that time and now-- and whispered three words.

“It ends now.” And I summoned the books back to me.

Next Chapter: To fly no more?