Savior of Darkness

Chapter 9: Fight of the Bumblebee

"And then, he just started screaming, like he saw Granger naked or something." Draco said, making an effort to paint the picture of young Riddle's episode for his Slytherin friends. They all appeared wide-eyed and jealous of him. This Riddle was, after all, the focal point of the entire school. It gave Draco infinite satisfaction to hold the spotlight, even though he knew he probably shouldn't be telling them all this.

"And they have no idea what caused it?" Marcus Flint asked, quickly writing his name on top of a stolen homework assignment.

"Nope. He just stared down at the soup and shrieked. Like a wuss." With every word Draco was feeling a surge of contentment. Whoever this Riddle was, he was certainly occupying a great deal of his father's interest. And while Draco had every intention of obeying his father's command to get close to the boy, he wouldn't deny himself the petulant pleasure of ragging on him in private.

Flint snorted, putting the finishing touches on the scroll. "What a girl." That remark earned him a glare from Pansy, Millicent and Blaise, but he paid them no mind. "If he thinks a bowl of soup is bad, imagine if he had to go up against that snake thing the Weasel died from."

Draco shook his head. "That's the oddest part. He claims Potter said that he fought the Basilisk. Since when does Potter give anyone else credit?"

"True." Blaise's eyes narrowed in thought. She pulled one of the green cushions onto her lap and leaned over, curling her hair around a finger as she mused. "Unless Potter thought that it would be too risky, being the one to find the dead body and claim to have killed the snake. Maybe he figured it would be safer to put this Riddle in that position."

Draco shook his head. "You're thinking too much like a Slytherin. That's a good thing," he assured her when he saw her indignant look. "Potter knows he has that old coot Dumbly wrapped around his finger. If anything, now that this Riddle's lost his mind, I'm surprised Potter hasn't claimed to have rescued him as well." In frustration, Draco ran a hand over his hair, wincing when he hit his bruised temple. "What is he getting at...?"

"Riddle...I've heard of a riddle," Crabbe said. He was sitting nearest the hearth with Goyle. Both of them were holding their feather pens close to the flames to see if they would catch on fire.

"Of course you have, Crabbe," Draco said, rolling his eyes. They rest of the group ignored Vincent as well, as they had grown accustomed to.

"I think my father said something about a Riddle once," Crabbe added, not realizing the annoyance he was causing in the others.

"Like, how is it possible for you to focus on speaking and breathing at the same time?" Draco asked, throwing a pillow at him. Crabbe caught the pillow triumphantly, only to then realize he had dropped his feather too near the hearth. It quickly burst into flames, causing both he and Goyle to jump up. How they had enough sense to start stomping on the thing, Draco would never know. But at least they were occupied now, and couldn't interrupt his pondering on what connection his father could have with this Riddle.

If only he could see them together again, he might be able to figure something out. The way his father had looked at Riddle - with a seeming mixture of admiration and yet an unmistakable condescension. Lucius Malfoy, the King of layered expression. He had tried to teach Draco the same technique to use and befuddle his opponents. If you are hungry, be sure to also look full. If you seem tired, display boundless energy to boot. Give a warm, welcoming smile, but never let it reach your eyes. Lucius praised and berated him at his attempts, and honestly, Draco could never tell what he had done wrong or right when he received either response.

"Oh, no!" He heard Pansy shriek, drawing him out of his musings. He turned to see her leap up, dragging Millicent along with her to the girl's dorms. "It's already morning, and we must look horrid!"

"Yeah, you can no longer hide that ugly mug under the darkness of night," called Blaise cheerfully after them. Stretching, she stood and grabbed Marcus. "I'm too riled to sleep. Let's go flying."

Marcus looked like he would rather not, sleepiness blatant on his face. However, he wouldn't back down from an offer, or a challenge, from a girl. "I'm up for it. Draco?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm going to the Great Hall."

"Loser," Marcus told him cheerfully, turning to the dorms. Without looking at either Crabbe or Goyle, Draco left the common rooms. He knew he should look for this Riddle, who was probably with that Prefect Weasel. Gad, how Draco hated the Weasleys. Since both of their fathers worked in the Ministry, Draco had run into a few of them at various functions before coming to Hogwarts. The twins tried to coerce him into eating something that reeked of catfish, and the two oldest had held him upside down over a trashcan. Earlier this year, Ron had tried to make him eat slugs, the prissy Prefect tried to write him up, and the little girl had a crazed obsession with Potter. Sending him a singing telegram of all things! Draco smiled, laughing a bit at that memory. Still, despite the occasional amusement the Weasleys gave him, he almost pitied Riddle right then to be stuck with one.

"Are you still in the same clothes as yesterday?" The question whirled him about, and his eyes narrowed on Potter. The boy stood before him as unkempt in appearance as always. The Mudblood and the Weasel were at his sides.

"I'd be more concerned that you noticed than if I was," Draco shot back. Inside, though, he burned with embarrassment. He had come back from the hospital late, and talked all night with the other Slytherins, and then he had just walked out. How could he have been so stupid to make such a blunder?

"Looking for the number of that Bludger that ran you over? Don't worry, Harry took care of it I heard," Hermione said cheerfully. She looked incredibly pale, and had a hand on Harry's arm as if to steady her. She must have only been revived a short while ago. Damn Mandrakes.

The Weasel was silent. Draco was sure that they were only antagonizing him in an effort to cheer Ron up. But Ron wasn't partaking in the mocking. Still, Draco couldn't just let Potter and the Mudblood have their fun at his expense. Not looking at Ron, for he wasn't really the target this time, Draco thrust back at them, "Why can't we all be friends? We all have so much in common now. None of us has a sister, for one -"

Before he could finish he was flung back, Ron at his throat. Harry was moving to help him, but he still had to support Hermione. She was shouting for Ron to get off of him, and Draco was about to tell him to listen to the girl when Ron looked up, paled, and withdrew himself on his own.

Professor McGonagall was standing over them, her face awed at what she had apparently heard. Draco paled, wildly wondering if blaming his head injury work.

McGonagall pointed at him, ignoring the others completely. "You, Mr. Malfoy. Come with me." She then turned and began walking away. All Draco could do was gulp and follow her stiff back, all too sure where she was leading him.

***

"That's awful." Bright morning light shone through the golden curtains, casting their beams across the scrolls in Tom's lap. His head was bowed over them, too low to fully see his face.

Dumbledore sat quietly before him, hands folded in his lap. "Yes, it was." He felt truly calm for the first time in days. It was as if the attack on Tom enabled him to see what might be the right way to fight for him. At the very least, it showed him what he never would do. Tom still looked so sick and tired, Dumbledore felt only compassion for him at the moment. He was still cautious, but he was in control. He made himself in control, for he had to be. Tom needed that, especially now.

"I can't imagine anyone..." Riddle's voice drifted off. Tom shook his head, still not glancing up. His eyes blinked, roving over the scripted words he had read several times by now.

Dumbledore smiled, only having lived through it to be able to do so. "It cannot be counted as a good memory, no."

"Did the authorities get involved, at least?" Finally, Tom's eyes flew up to his, wide with anticipation.

Dumbledore nodded, calmly saying, "Oh, there was talk of Azkaban, surely."

"But they didn't...?"

Shaking his head, Dumbledore finished the thought for him. "No, although some greatly regret that decision."

"I can't believe it, Professor," Tom said, his eyes falling back down to the papers in his lap. He took a moment before bringing them back to Albus. "You...almost... were sent to Azkaban?"

Albus smiled wryly. "Oh, yes. As I said, it wasn't a pleasant time. Few knew the Dark Lord was truly dead. There was pandemonium, and people were looking for someone to blame. The Ministry wanted someone to throw to the public, to regain a position of control. That right there is telling of who is really in control. But, that is another matter. Grindelwald was deceased, and the only two left intact were myself, and Nicolas Acheron."

Tom nodded, his expression thoughtful. "So they wanted you to turn in Acheron."

"Yes."

"And you would not." He said this as neither a question nor a rebuke.

Albus answered him honestly. "I thought about it. But I never considered it, if you understand. Acheron had gone astray, surely, but he was a victim of Grindelwald as well. Most of Grindelwald's followers at the end were tortured mercilessly. Acheron had been...disturbed, let's say...long before he met Grindelwald. His crimes could not go ignored, of course. He had made choices. But the blame was not solely on him, and therefore, I couldn't let him take the full brunt of the Azkaban punishment."

"You thought you knew justice better than the law." Tom replied. Albus almost smiled. Most would have taken Tom's words as biting or condescending. But with Albus, it seemed more like a challenge. As if Tom were laying out different experiments with his words, waiting to see if Albus would react to them in a fitting way. It wasn't that hard to understand. If Tom made him feel he had to explain himself, then Tom would be the one in control. And Albus wasn't about to hand that over to him. The first way to reach Tom was to gain his respect.

"I do not pretend to have a higher understanding than everyone else. I can only answer to what my heart says is just, though. And turning on a man who did not, could not, in his condition, fully understand the ramifications of what he had done...that wasn't possible for me. He needed healing first, he needed to understand. And then, I think, the realization of his crimes would have tormented him enough. For any human, it would be so."

"And of Grindelwald? Do you feel healing could have worked with him?" Tom probed, a bit petulantly.

"There is a point when one cannot return. It is the point when they, themselves, do not wish it. Acheron wasn't capable of making that decision then. Grindelwald, unfortunately, had. A long time ago." Albus said this with the regret he truly felt.

"But what if he had changed his mind later, and wished for reformation?"

It was like a child testing the authority of an adult. Except, Tom no doubt knew his fate really did rest with Albus right now. He couldn't begin to trust if he didn't understand where Albus was coming from. Albus pursed his lips in thought, trying to answer as truthfully as possible. "Had Grindelwald not fallen in battle, I would not have desired the Dementor's Kiss as punishment for him. I do not believe in Azkaban at all. But either way, Grindelwald was too far-gone to be reached by anyone. Any change he might have made, it would have had to be on his own. But the possibility for good always exists. Those who choose to ignore that fact are either ignorant, or incompetent."

"Well." Tom didn't seem to know what to say. He finally decided on, "You've certainly let quite a life."

"Thank you. I agree, it has been most enjoyable. And now, I would like to put a question to you." Dumbledore replied, watching Tom's guard build up.

"Yes?"

"Why do you suppose I gave you these books and journals?" Albus nodded at the books strewn across Tom's lap.

If Tom were surprised by the answer, it didn't show. And yet he took his time, giving Albus hope that a formulaic answer would not come out. "To get me to trust you."

Dumbledore nodded. "Partially."

A small furrow of his brow told Albus that Tom was puzzled that his answer wasn't sufficient. He tried again. "To not have me fear you?"

A surprised look briefly escaped from Albus before his composure regained control. "I hardly thought that I instilled fear in you the past few days. But yes, if I had, I hope that has diminished as well."

Tom appeared a bit frustrated now. "To - to - I don't know," he finally said. As if this were too large a failure to just admit, he added defensively, "I haven't slept in three days."

Albus waved his comment away with a small bat of his hand. "No matter. Tom, I gave you my history, both my own account of it and that of others, for you to do with as you wish. I offer only what I can to allow you to understand me. And, in understanding me, to realize that I have no wish to harm you. I abhor the thought of what you went through in the hospital. But, I will not deny that there was truth in it."

"In what was said about me?" The voice was small, as Tom weren't sure he wanted Albus to hear it.

Dumbledore paused, trying to discern how best to answer him. "You think it unfair of me not to tell you. Perhaps. But my telling you your past won't enable you to remember it. And if you cannot recall it, you cannot understand it. What is being forced upon you now is not fair to you, either."

"Who is doing it?" The voice was strong and indifferent, but Albus noticed that Tom would not let him see his eyes.

"That, I am not sure of. I tell you the truth, Tom. I may say to you that I cannot tell you something, but I will not lie to you. I have only your welfare, and that of the school's, in mind in what I'm doing."

"And how is it possible to determine that your way is the best?" His eyes finally met Dumbledore's, with a challenging glint.

"For that, you must trust me. And to do that -"

"I must understand you," Tom finished. "I see."

Dumbledore leaned over, closer to Tom. "I know it is difficult to trust someone. But a wise man accepts help when he needs it. I will not beg to earn your trust, nor fight to win it. But I hope that you can learn to."

"And what about your trust in me?"

It was a fair question. "I am willing to learn with you. I have faith in you, Tom. I trust you enough to see someone who is in need of help, and therefore, is not beyond help."

Tom looked wary at that, as if he thought Dumbledore was casting some spell to read his thoughts. He leaned back, asking, "And you know that because...?"

Dumbledore gave him a small smile. "You're testing me. You wouldn't test what you had passed over. And that is enough of an outreach for me."

Looking him over carefully, Tom searched his face for some sign of falsity. Finding none that Albus could read, Tom inquired, "So what is to be done now?"

"I would say, disregard whatever you see during your episodes. However, I realize how impractical that is. So, I suggest you take it with a grain of salt."

"A grain of salt?" Tom asked, looking for clarification.

"An expression." Dumbledore informed him. "It means, don't put too much faith in them. They are telling a version of the story...and that version is not necessarily yours."

"May I have a wand, then?" If the jump in conversation lacked a suitable transition for him, Tom gave no notice of it.

Resolving not to let Tom put either of them on the defensive, Albus merely put the question back to him gently. "Why do you need one?"

Tom paused. It was as if he were expecting Dumbledore to either have bending beneath his question, or shot back at him sharply. The gentleness was not expected, and he didn't seem comfortable with it. "It seems I should. If I am a wizard."

"I think you best get your memory restored first. Magic without knowledge is very dangerous, to you and others." Dumbledore felt secure on that point. It was as if the assaults on Tom gave him something clear to fight against. Someone who clearly didn't have the knowledge of true magic.

Tom pursed his lips, but gave a grudging nod. "I suppose."

"But there are other things besides magic to study. History. Basics of Astrology and Arithmacy should be fine. Muggle studies. Poetry. Quidditch." He saw Tom's expression and chuckled. "Do not let Mr. Weasley turn you off of it. Deep down, I think he does have a fondness for it, if his behavior at previous games won by Gryffindor can account for anything."

"Deep down."

"Mr. Riddle?"

Tom shook his head, waving away that train of thought. "Nothing. I suppose I am to study with Percy?"

"If not with a professor, that would be fine. It is as much for him as for you." Dumbledore was curious as to how Tom and Percy were getting on. Percy was a bit rigid, but that might be a definite plus against Tom. No, not against. To temper Tom.

"Yes. Are we to work today?" Again, his words leaped off onto another trail. Perhaps three days of no sleep are catching up with him, Dumbledore mused.

"If you are feeling up to it."

"I am." Tom said this very assuredly, jutting his thin chin out. His eyes caught the light of the sun, and in their reflection Dumbledore couldn't miss the steely determination.

It was best they continued, in an effort to ward off whatever might come next. "Very well. We shall begin tonight. But until then, you remember how to write?"

"Yes, I seem to. I did when I last met with Professor McGonagall. I don't think basic skills left me." There was an undeniable note of pride in his voice.

Smiling, Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "Excellent. Write down anything that confuses you, or any flashes that you get. And be sure to find time to rest. These sessions are not easy."

"Yes, sir." Tom stood to leave, and then hesitated. His face was impassive, but he said, "I think there is something you should know."

"What is it, Tom?"

"I tried to go to the library last night." He said this with a calmness Dumbledore admired.

"I know." Dumbledore smiled as he stroked his chin.

"I also knew you wouldn't have let me."

Dumbledore nodded. "I am fully aware of that."

Tom paused, and then gave a quirky smile. "And...I'm not overly fond of the color red."

There was a moment of silence, and then Albus laughed. "That...I actually did know as well." There was a knock heard at the door. Albus bid the person enter, and Percy stepped in. He wasn't wearing his school robes, seen as it was the weekend. He gave Tom a stiff smile, and said, "May I speak with you, Headmaster?"

"Yes, Percy. Tom, please wait in the other room." Albus waved him out, focusing on the tension between the two.

"Of course, sir." Tom gave a pleasant smile and sidestepped out of Percy's way. Percy waited until the door closed behind him, and then focused on Dumbledore. Tension visibly drained from his body as he sank down into the vacated couch when offered.

"Now then, Percy. How are you? I spoke with Ron, Fred and George yesterday when they just returned. How is your family?" Albus's long love of the Weasley family enabled him to push all thought of Tom aside for a moment.

"They're fine, sir," was the answer given. But then his brow furrowed and he admitted, "Actually, I don't really know. They might be hiding how they feel."

"A very rare occurrence for most of the Weasleys." Percy blushed at that. Dumbledore often did those gentle jibes to force Percy's focus back on himself.

"I'm fine, sir. Really. But maybe Ron or the twins could use something. I know the twins have Lee and Angelica and all their friends. But they rarely talk about anything this serious. I feel better that Ron has Harry, and now Hermione - did you hear, sir? The Mandrake serum was used this morning, to full effect!" Percy brightened to recalling that fact.

"I did indeed, Percy. It is wonderful news."

"And Mum and Dad have each other, and the Ministry is being really supportive. Except...Malfoy sent them a condolence gift. Silver roses. Silver petals, with green stems. I heard Dad threw the flowers in Malfoy's face." Percy seemed embarrassed by that. "I don't know if I would have handled it like that." As if realizing what he said, he hurriedly added in his father's defense, "Not that I blame his sentiment."

"Nor I, if it was indeed meant in such a cruel way," Dumbledore said carefully. He then paused, and pressed gently, "But what about you?"

Percy immediately froze, a guarded look overtaking him. "What do you mean?" It was apparently the day for Albus to cause his students to go on the defensive. Well, one student, and Tom.

Albus would not be dissuaded. "And who do you have, Percy?"

"Who do I have?" Percy's guard was infallible in certain circumstances, but when confronted by a figure it was possible to crack. "I have - I have - my family. And Penny. I have Penny," he answered finally.

"I see." Albus didn't push him further. Instead, he gently said, "I ask only because I care. And I know how it is to feel alone. To not have proper support..." he let his eyes drift to the door and he sighed. More to himself he finished, "Though whose fault that is, it is sometimes hard to tell. Normally, it is more than one's."

"Support," Percy echoed, looking miserable. "I haven't been very supportive of Tom."

His reaction surprised Albus a bit. He had thought Percy was angry or fed up with Tom, not with himself. "How so?"

"He -" Percy swallowed his words. Taking a deep breath, he looked Dumbledore straight in the eyes. As if speaking in court, he explained, "Tom wanted to go to the library last night. He was going to start studying his past himself." He then dropped his gaze down at his lap, softly muttering, "I know you should know that."

"I know, Percy." Albus was quick to end his guilt. "Tom told me himself."

"Tom told you?" The look of surprise on Percy's face was unmistakable. "I'm...very glad to hear that."

Albus smiled, not giving voice to his concerns. He hoped, he truly wanted to believe, that Tom had told him of his own free will. He longed to think that Tom desired to be completely open with him. It was far more comforting than the alternatives. That Tom knew Percy would come forth, and thought it would look better to admit it himself. Or, that Tom thought he might gain Albus's trust by confiding in him. In and of itself, there was no fault in the latter reasoning. It was what Tom wished to do with his trust that Albus still feared. But he did not voice it...he would give Tom a chance.

"...apologize to him?"

Albus's mind snapped back, realizing that he had almost missed Percy's few words. Apologize? Percy must mean to Tom. Dumbledore's mind quickly caught up with what Percy was saying, relieved he didn't have to ask the boy to repeat himself. Dumbledore knew his focus was impressive, but he, too, had gone without sleep for far too long. The swirling situations tugged at him, but he refused to let them now interfere with a meeting with one of his students. Chastising himself briefly, Dumbledore paused to examine the prefect before him. "What do you think?" he asked.

Percy thought very carefully. "I think it's the right thing to do. I did snap at him a bit...he just threw me off."

"Do you feel sorry?"

"I - I feel sorry if he's hurt," Percy finished. "I knew he had a horrid day yesterday. He didn't seem hurt, but...it wasn't right."

"Then by all means, do what you think is right." Albus smiled down on him, a warm grin that reached his eyes. Speaking words of his pride didn't seem necessary, as Percy understood his look and smiled back.

"Then I will."

"Very well." Albus let the smile linger, though his next question was far heavier. "Percy, I wish to ask you something. What is your opinion of Tom?"

Percy looked surprised to be asked. He leaped into action, artfully giving his thoughtful critique. "He's... intelligent. That's fairly obvious. And observant. He - he liked to win. No, he enjoyed beating me. The process of it, you know?"

"Hm, I do. Not so unusual. Please go on."

Percy flushed a bit, hurriedly stipulating, "Well...this is just my opinion. I don't know him very well, and he is in a rather unusual situation..."

"I understand completely, Percy. Have no fear. I ask merely to gain light to this complicated situation, and to help him. You have spent a great deal of time with him, and I trust your input."

"Well," Percy twisted his hands a bit, continuing, "He...puts me on edge."

Albus didn't stir at the remark, for it wasn't surprising to him. Tom put many people on edge, though for different reasons. "On edge? How so?"

**

Percy knew that would be the next question and cringed. He was rarely competent at putting voice to his emotions. Gut instincts were not things he was accustomed to sharing, unless he could back them up with clear evidence and reason. But, Dumbledore had asked, and Percy had to respond. "It's hard to explain...it might just be me, really. All he said was that I was a good assistant, and he was impressed by my morals. But..." he paused. Thankfully, Dumbledore was quiet, letting him work through his thoughts. "But I got the feeling he was...testing me. Or at least, trying to make me test myself. It was the way he put things, that made me think."

"What way?" Dumbledore's voice was quiet but insistent.

"He said...I wonder what would happen if someone asked you to do something against your morals. But that was just after our little argument. He might have just been annoyed, or teasing. And I was tired, I might have taken be blowing it out of proportion," Percy rambled, trying to reason everything out in his head as much as he was trying to report to Dumbledore.

"Percy." Dumbledore's voice jerked Percy out of his endless thought trail. He glanced up to see Dumbledore smiling again as he continued, "I won't put reasons into Tom's mouth. All I can say is, listen to your instincts as well as your reason. They are sharper than you think."

"Are you saying I shouldn't trust Tom?"

"No. I am saying not to take everything he says to heart. But, if something does strike your heart, examine it closely. Don't just rationalize it. You might be surprised by what you learn, about yourself and others." And with that cryptic smile of his, Dumbledore finished with, "Trust yourself to examine such questions. Not for Tom, but for yourself."

Wisdom by Dumbledore was a strange phenomena. On one level, it was as clear as air. But the more one's mind wrapped around it, the farther it slipped away. As if his words were magicked to leave just the barest footprint on Percy's mind, relying on Percy to fill it in by himself as he may. It was a frustrating yet freeing experience.

"Yes, Sir."

They both stood and entered the main chamber. Tom stood in the center of the room, his eyes fixated on the floor and wearing an odd smile. Odd was the only way Percy could describe it. It was higher on one side and tightly coiled, but never reached his eyes. It didn't surprise Percy. He had all but given up in trying to discern Tom.

At the sound of their footfalls he raised his head. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, and yet still sharp. He walked over to meet them, saying, "Percy, I just wanted to apologize for last night. I think some of what I said you took wrongly."

"Which parts?" Percy couldn't help but ask.

Tom's gaze flickered at that, but he answered easily enough. "Whichever parts made you upset. I - I cannot recall if I was a good conversationalist, but perhaps I am now awkward from lack of practice. I only meant...well, what I didn't mean was to offend you. Please forgive me."

Percy eyed him suspiciously, smarting a bit that Tom had bested him by apologizing first. "Were you listening at the door?"

An indignant expression crossed Tom's face at the accusation. "Why would I?"

"Well..." Percy paused before stumbling. It was starting to infuriate him how Tom always managed to twist the situation to place himself in the offensive position. "Because I was going to apologize to you."

"You were?" Tom's face bore a surprised expression. He cocked his head at Percy, waiting for him to finish.

"Yes."

"Well...all right," Tom said, folding his arms around him. He looked at Percy, waiting to hear the actual words.

"Fine. I apologize."

"As do I."

"I forgive you."

"As I do you."

"Fine."

"Fine."

The conversation was exchanged rapidly and with questionable sentiment, but it was said. But before Percy could say another word, the sounds of others coming was heard behind the closed entrance door. The steps were quick and loud, but it was still possible to hear a boy's voice loudly protest, "All I said was that we were alike now, since neither of us have sisters! He and the others just took it the wrong way, honest! It was meant as solidarity!"

Percy froze, his face tightening as he saw McGonagall and Draco appear through the door. The slightly fearful look Draco gave him upon seeing Percy wasn't too unwarranted at the moment.