The Broken Victory

Chapter 13: The Clash of the Titans

If one good thing came out of my new resolution to adapt, it was that Damien no longer was breathing down my neck. Although, that might partly have been because people finally stopped consoling him about his mother, so he didn't need to shift any unwanted attention my way. He, Cathleen, and their following now resumed their normal amount of belittling. I tried to ignore it, and mostly we simply avoided each other. Dash looked sicker than ever, but he acted as if nothing were happening, busying himself with the upcoming parents' day event and Quidditch. Basically, we seemed to be collectively avoiding any and all issues.

One evening Simon and I were lying on the floor in the common room doing homework. He was the one of the few in our House who studied diligently, but still not as obsessively as me. I took comfort in knowledge and being the finest student. Simon, I think, became a bit jealous at times, as I did of him, though neither of us would admit to it. In truth, I believe he had more reason to be jealous of my work than I of his. Still, in spite of our competitiveness, it was nice at times to have someone else who appreciated learning much as the Ravenclaws did. Although, I tried to put knowledge to use whenever I could, rather than just learning for its own sake. Any bit of learning could be worthy, even if it didn't appear so right away. The simple belief that at least one other person wouldn't know something I knew was a soothing thought.

However, at times like that night, it was hard not to see some homework as futile, especially when I had been writing for hours. Simon and I were revising our useless essays on the Ghoul Wars of 293 A.D. when Randy came in, sighing. We glanced at him and then at each other before shrugging it off. In response, Randy sighed again, louder this time. It was aggravating, but I was finally near the end of the essay and didn't want to encourage interruptions. Simon apparently felt the same way.

We continued to ignore him as he moved on to groaning. Finally, when his pacing began to scatter our parchments, I spoke up. "Something the matter?"

Randy turned to face me. "I am gravely hurt. My family has no faith in me, and it is all your fault."

I blanched, flicking a confused glance at Simon, who shrugged. Puzzled, I said, "Me? What did I do? I don't even know your parents." I probably didn't want to.

Randy thrust me his recent letter in a mock display of woe. "Read it. My father's last line says, 'and son, thank the goodhearted soul who has been saving your hide in all your studies so that you can keep sending us home good marks.'" His eyes glared, not in complete playfulness. "My mum says that whoever it is, I have to share my sweets with."

I laughed, trying to keep things light. "Keep it. I'd rather have money."

Randy shook his head. "Can't help you there. I don't keep much on me at school. There's nothing to buy here anyway, till we get to go to Hogsmeade." He flopped down next to us and began looking over our papers. While he did so, he asked, "How is the work-study thing going?"

I gave a miniscule shrug. "Not bad. They don't really pay me. All the work I do substitutes for my tuition. But I get to learn a lot. And get in good with the professors. I even got to grade our last tests in Potions." I admit I was dangling bait on purpose there.

Simon almost jumped on me. "You did? What did we get?"

I glared at him until he meekly withdrew his hand from my shoulder. "I didn't mark yours." He slunk from me, and I turned to Randy. "I did mark yours, though."

He eyed me curiously. "Brilliant. How did I do?"

I became suddenly interested in my quill. "Not bad." He grunted for me to continue. I sighed and then said, "Zwipp was breathing down my neck. Anyone could tell it was too thick. You got a... well, you almost passed." I looked up to see him glowering. His father was a Potions Master at a very lucrative shop in town, and it was especially important that Randy succeed in that class. I tried to think of something to add that would ease the situation. "Your written section was nice, though. And nobody did terribly well. There was only one O."

His eyes snapped to mine then, and I knew I had said the wrong thing. "Oh, and I can't imagine who that would be." I went back to my essay, refusing the taunt. That didn't stop Randy, who had as loud a mouth as I did when he fumed. Only he never knew when to shut it. He ranted, "Well, if I had to spend every free hour I had doing filthy chores just to learn all that extra stuff so I could get in good with the professors and get an O, I wouldn't find it worthwhile." He stood and stomped off.

I watched him go, debating what to do. Then, noticing we had drawn a crowd, I immediately went back to work to make the situation seem inconsequential. Yet I felt a bit bad. I hadn't thought Randy would get quite so upset, but in retrospect, I had brought it on myself. The nightmares of mine were getting worse again, and between putting up with them, classes, and Damien, I was already on edge. I had been sort of baiting Randy by telling him I had marked his paper. I knew he would ask me how he and I had done. Unfortunately, my little act hadn't made me feel any better, and now I had Randy mad at me.

Simon tried to be consoling. "He won't stay mad for long. It's Randy. He'll be fine once he needs your help again."

I shrugged, concentrating on my writing. Being left-handed, it was especially hard using a quill on this thick parchment. My hand kept dragging along the words, smudging them before the ink could dry. Professor Mothly, the History of Magic professor substituting for Binns, was particularly fussy about the penmanship of our essays. I had adopted a rather unusual hand position to survive. I curled my hand over, with my wrist hanging in the air. It was effective but tiring--and rather painful. The second I stopped concentrating, my wrist would slap down, ruining the whole thing. And so I tried to go back to my careful concentration, since I shuddered at the thought of rewriting this long essay.

However, Simon kept waving his hand in my face, saying, "Forget about him. Aren't you excited about the Parents' Weekend?"

Now my hand was aching to do another movement. I refrained, saying, "Yes, I am beyond myself with giddiness. I am merely shielding it behind a strong veneer of indifference."

Simon withdrew his hand, but that did not curb his enthusiasm. "Come on, Tom! You can tag along with my family. They won't mind." I looked at him in disbelief, but he wore a genuine expression of happiness at his idea.

I cleared my throat and said through gritted teeth, "Thanks for the offer, but I'll be otherwise engaged."

Simon looked a little disappointed his idea had been turned down. "Doing what?" he asked.

"I haven't decided yet."

"Oh," Simon said, looking disappointed. My jab had gone completely over his head, and he looked confused at my snort. It was mirrored by Randy, who had returned to the common room. He was sitting, reading for once, in a corner, but he had overheard us. I couldn't help smiling a little. Even if he was furious at me, Randy could never resist a witty comment.

I excused myself, heading for the library. Even though I had all tomorrow night as well to do the essay, I never liked putting work off until the last minute. Tomorrow was Slytherin's Parents' Day, so I would easily remain unnoticed if I stayed in my room for the evening. During the day, I would be with Wynn getting the grounds ready for exhibiting, so no schoolwork could be done then. At night, knowing I'd probably be in a foul mood after work, I imagined lying down reading or practicing charms by myself.

I was walking in my usual quick pace when I saw a figure looking out a lone window on the first floor. The moonlight was bright enough to illuminate his face, and I saw that it was Dash. He was staring out, completely lost somewhere in his mind. I paused, hesitating. Dash seemed to desire nothing but privacy of late, and I wanted to honor his wishes. I felt bad for him, but there was nothing I could do. I had just made up my mind to continue past when he spoke to me.

His voice was rough from lack of usage. "Evening."

I approached him cautiously. "Hello, Dash." I remained silent after that, letting him lead the discussion. After all, he had ignited it.

He didn't face me, so all I saw was his profile, bathed in the soft, natural glow. His eyes were the same dark charcoal...I had never known eye color to change like that. The purplish bags under his eyes might have accentuated the effect. He looked much worse than Damien, but then, Damien had taken his anger and sorrow out on others. Dash hadn't had that reprieve.

He asked me about classes, and I responded civilly. It was apparent that this was not what he wanted to discuss.

I thought he might ask me about Damien again. The only other time we had talked was when Dash had asked me if Damien seemed all right when out from under his older brother's gaze. He of course knew that Damien and I were only roommates and nothing like close companions... I suppose he didn't feel comfortable asking any of Damien's friends. Inside, I chafed that all the attention I had received from Dash of late had related to Damien, but swallowed my complaint with no outward emotion.

Standing still, I readied myself for another bout of his fraternal concern for the ungrateful Damien, but instead he said softly, "Tomorrow is going to be hard."

I ran through the options my mind listed for responses. "I suppose."

Dash turned to me slightly on that cue. In a rather harsh tone, he said, "Nothing gets to you, does it?"

I looked back at him, biting my tongue hard. He finally sighed and turned, muttering, "Sorry." Then, just as quietly, he offered, "It must be hard for you as well." I shrugged, and he continued, "Damien told me what you said before. About your mum."

My eyes flashed with humiliation and anger. I averted my gaze, but Dash cut in quickly, "It's fine, Tom. I told Damien not to say anything to anyone else. And even if he meant what he said to be demeaning, that's not how I looked at it."

He had become paternal again. I supposed there was something in playing that role that eased his pain, as there had been for Sean at the orphanage. I really didn't like to think of Dash in Muggle terms, so I shoved such thoughts aside, turning to leave. On my way out, he called back to me, "You are coming to the event tomorrow, right? I'd like to introduce you to my father."

Even I caught the strain in the last line. If Mr. Malfoy was anything like Damien, I doubted he would desire an introduction any more than I did. I curtly told Dash as much and left for the library. This time he made no move to stop me. The night was swallowed up with my nose in a book, studying things I half-heartedly told myself would be useful.

I learned a probably more important thing the next afternoon. Doing grounds-keeping work was worse than being set on fire and burning to death while somehow simultaneously drowning in a tightly enclosed, claustrophobic space.

I had come up with that description about three hours into working with Wynn outside. It had been boiling, and we had been given the task of weeding and de-pesting the yards. We had to work all the way around the castle, changing old flowers for new blossoms, moving the more dangerous plants out of the parents' way, chasing gnomes and other creatures into the forest. Wynn, for some reason, adored outdoor work and forbade me from using magic to quicken the task. Thus, I greeted many of my housemates' families dirty, sweaty, and smelly, lugging sacks or pushing barrels to and fro. Most of my House didn't point me out, probably in shame, for which I was grateful. It was humiliating when Simon yelled at me, waving frantically. He performed a quick introduction, and his parents greeted me the way one does a gimping hunchback. Or one of those Muggle beggars scouring the streets of London who had appeared deformed to me on my way here, though I could call to mind no specifics of why. Needless to say, they were relieved I hadn't taken Simon up on his offer to tag along with them.

A few hours after Wynn's torturous "fun," I trudged through the castle to the Slytherin rooms. I grimaced with every step, realizing that I did not have the physicality for hard labor. I had gunslinger's not farmer's hands, Wynn had teased me. Looking at them, I thought they more closely resembled claws now. Any revealed skin was burned and hot, and my body ached in places I normally didn't even acknowledge I possessed. Limping, I ignored the shrieks that came from Cathleen and her kennel of a family.

Once I got to Miss Tress, she haughtily held her nose as I passed in. There thankfully wasn't anyone in the common room, since everyone was out with their families. I headed for the shower, not planning on ever leaving it. I detested being unkempt, feeling filthy even hours after the grime was gone. Unfortunately, the hot water gave out after a while. When I became aware that my thin layer of flesh felt like ice and my body was shivering, I couldn't abide it any longer and reluctantly got out. At least the inches of caked mud had left.

I changed into some comfortable Muggle clothing. It was too hot for my robe to cover it, and I had nothing else. At the moment, I didn't even much care. I flopped down on my bed, exhausted.

I awoke some time later as a fiery pain shot through my upper torso. Someone was shaking my shoulder. I groaned and tried to push them away. Through my clouded gaze, I saw Dash standing over me. I groaned again, trying to lie back down. "Please, Dash, don't make me. I'm too tired. Do you know how hard it is to chase some of the plants that grow around here?"

Dash apparently wasn't in the mood for consoling. "Get up! It's almost time for dinner. You need to eat."

I resisted. "Snicks'll catch a rat for me. I can't even move I'm so sore!"

Dash's tone went from firm to commanding. "No. Stop whining and get up. You must come with us."

At that I became much more alert. Staring at him, half-infuriated, half-curious, I repeated, "I must?"

Dash amended his statement, but his eyes retained the same unmoved quality. "You should come. All right? Please?" I stared at him, not understanding the severity in his demeanor. Still, he had been through a lot, and if I didn't go, Damien might taunt me for not being a supportive Slytherin again.

Groaning, I stood and reached for my shoes. As soon as they were on, Dash was pulling me out of the dormitory. "Wait!" I protested, tugging back. "I'm not even wearing a robe!"

Dash didn't let up, throwing over his shoulder, "Doesn't matter. We don't have time. At least you're wearing a green shirt. Come on."

He dragged me far away from the Slytherin dungeons, up the stairs and into the Great Hall. It was decorated beautifully, with spring flowers and small pixies everywhere. Wreaths of blossoms were magicked to hang in the air, holding up various candles that gave off a lavender scent. All of the Slytherin families were present, along with the faculty. They were all milling about and chatting. From the snatches of conversation I caught, the subject matter was very different from that of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff parents. I had heard that the topics for those Houses mostly dealt with the war and the safety procedures Hogwarts was implementing for their children. The tone there had supposedly been tense and thick.

The Slytherin gathering, however, was much the opposite. The atmosphere was formal but relaxed, the topics mostly about politics and the parents' work. Most of the Slytherin students were participating in enthusiastic support of their parents to whoever would listen, like trained public relations experts. I had to smile at that, for in the other cases the students had separated from their parents and professors when the conversation shifted to more adult matters. But here, even the Slytherin first years were participating perfectly in their elders' political discussions.

Dash pulled me up in front of a tall, sturdy man. Upon appraising him, there was no mistaking who he was. I wondered if all the Malfoy men resembled each other. Mr. Malfoy had the same light blond hair and pale skin as his sons. His eyes were light gray, like Damien's, and his thin mouth bore the Malfoy smirk. The only difference was that his face was not rimmed with fatigue and sorrow as his sons' were. He had one hand placed on Damien's shoulder, like his son was a trophy, as he listened to Professor Wingram gush about the boy's Quidditch talent.

"Yes, yes, of course, if you'll recall, I myself played for Slytherin when we were at school, Josie. Of course, I wasn't the Seeker; I was a Keeper, which requires much more strategy. Not that I'm not extremely proud of Damien. He wears the Malfoy name well," Mr. Malfoy was saying pompously to Professor Wingram, who was nodding somewhat less enthusiastically. Damien, who had been looking proud, suddenly seemed crushed at his father's remark. I was less intrigued by his response than the fact that Mr. Malfoy had apparently gone to school with Professor Wingram. Was everyone here interconnected?

I didn't have long to ponder this. Dash was now beside his father, clearing his throat loudly. Mr. Malfoy, Damien, and Professor Wingram all turned to face us, with differing looks. Damien was sneering, Professor Wingram looked mildly surprised, and Mr. Malfoy was impenetrable as he slowly looked me over. I was wearing a shabby, green shirt much too large even for me, baggy, gray trousers, and my ancient black shoes. Everyone else, if not in immaculate robes, wore expensive clothing in black, silver, or green. Even the professors, I noticed dismally.

Making his cursory once over, Mr. Malfoy's eyes turned condescending. "And what is this, Dashell?"

Professor Wingram moved away uncomfortably. Dash turned his equally cold eyes to his father and replied, "This is one of my first years. The finest student we have, in fact. He shall definitely help bring the House Cup to Slytherin as you brought it to our House when you were in school, Father." Dash's voice seemed caught between wheedling and defiance, and I had a slowly growing suspicion of what else it was about me that he was about to say. In desperation over Gail, he was willing to throw anything Mudblooded at his father that might sway him, especially a promising student who might be a benefit to the Slytherin House. I could see Dash's mind trying to work out tactfully how to proceed.

Mr. Malfoy didn't bother to hide his surprise. At the sight of me, he exclaimed, "You are in Slytherin?"

His look certainly didn't decrease as Damien threw in, "He's a Mudblood orphan."

Dash shot his brother a death glare, as Mr. Malfoy repeated incredulously, "You are in Slytherin?"

I had a fairly large amount of responses aching to get out, but I just nodded stiffly as Dash hurried on, his tone placating and calculated. "Father, this is Tom Marvolo Riddle...I told you of him. He's the finest student in his year." He looked at his brother as he added, "He's already in some of Damien's classes. I've tried to get Damien to be tutored by him in Charms, but--"

Damien shot a ferocious look back at Dash. Mr. Malfoy missed the interaction between his sons as he looked at me. Slowly he repeated, "Tom Marvolo Riddle? I don't recall that name."

I nodded again, trying to smile. "You wouldn't yet." Mr. Malfoy exchanged a glance with Damien, sharing a nice bonding moment over their communal dislike of me.

Meanwhile, Dash was still frantically adding information about me. "He is a half-blood, Father. His mother was a witch, but he grew up outside of the magic community, in a Muggle orphanage. But still, even being that far behind, he's the brightest one. Sort of like Gail was." At the mention of Dash's former girlfriend, Mr. Malfoy stiffened in complete revulsion. Dash ignored it, plowing onward--"They aren't pureblooded, but that really isn't telling anything at all. In fact--"

"I have heard enough," Mr. Malfoy interrupted his son coolly. He was regarding both of us with disgust. Damien had stormed off and was now sulking in a corner. To Dash, Malfoy said quietly, "I hope you are pleased that you ruined this day for your family by trying to parade your...despicable beliefs. Get ready for Durmstrang next fall."

Then he turned to me, looking as if I were a defective object. In an irritatingly superior tone like the one I'd imagined the Muggle Moses using to part the Red Sea, he sneered, "Goodbye, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Take a look at a real wizard while you can. I don't expect I'll see you again... unless, in the future, I am forced to travel through the streets of London and should happen upon you clearing garbage with all the rest of the Mudbloods. A drudge in Slytherin." An amused expression came over his face as he added, "Yes, I very much doubt you'll last long."

I took a deep breath and then said back with a scornful smile, "I won't forget you, Mr. Malfoy. And don't worry; I doubt we'll have another meeting like this."

He stopped, confusion flickering across his empty eyes. Then with a final sneer, he spun away and walked off.

I added softly to myself, "I expect by the next time you see me, you'll be groveling for forgiveness at my feet, as I heard you did for Grindelwald." I don't know what compelled me to recall that rumor, but it certainly seemed appropriate to his insincere character. Imagining it didn't make me feel any better, though. I felt anger and shame, and I directed it inward. In this room were the people who ran the magical community, and they all detested or pitied me... or both. I wasn't any better off in this situation than I had been back in the Muggle world. All the Muggle world gave me was a selfish coward for a father and a living situation that plagued me to this day. And after everything I had overcome--having been abandoned and beaten, starved and ignored, mocked and humiliated all of my life--I would not let myself amount to nothing. I needed something, anything, to alter my image, or I'd never amount to anything.

Yes, I told myself, trying to calm down. Just getting furious never does anything. That might have been the Tom Marvolo Riddle way, but it's not my way anymore. I don't care if it takes all my time at Hogwarts, or even after; I will become something more. I won't end up as a push toy for someone like Malfoy or the Blunts. In a sudden, guilty realization, I thought, I won't let myself become what Dash is for his father.

"Tom?" Dash was looking at me. I snapped back into reality, unclenching my contracted fists. I looked at him. He was trembling, a sheen of sweat glistening across his bleached face. His eyes were black, and except for the bags of burden under them, he was startlingly white. He looked dead already. "I-I'm sorry, Tom. I'm so sorry. I thought that, if he met you, he might rethink his position. And maybe Gail's. I should have known better by now. I should--"

I interrupted him. "That man, change? Hardly. He hasn't enough in him." Dash's face looked strained, and I stopped berating his father. A bit more kindly, and not quite sincerely, I added, "No, I don't mind having been used as a pitch for you and Gail." I couldn't resist also adding, "Don't worry; he'll get his comeuppance."

Dash shook his head. "He's too powerful, too useful. My father is quite the politician. It wasn't hard for him to become what he is. Apparently all he had to do was lose his heart."

I nodded slowly. "That is a problem, isn't it? It's easy to be against everyone, but some prove more useful than others. Wizards, especially good ones, are harder to wish destruction on than, say, Muggles. Theoretically, for some. But everyone has their limits, Dash--he won't be useful forever." I suddenly became aware that I was again speaking of his father and turned to Dash, ready to apologize.

But Dash, for once, wasn't looking at me in horror. More in sadness, regret... and, perhaps, agreement? All he said was, softly, "I'm afraid you're right." Whether the fear was that his father wouldn't get his soon, or that it would eventually come, I couldn't tell. All I know is Dash got that faraway look again, so I left him in troubled peace.

Feeling the evening had been sufficiently ruined, I was preparing to exit for the dungeons when I caught sight of a pair of keen eyes.

I stopped, startled, my eyes widening as I remembered where I had seen them before. The man that night at the Christmas Eve orphanage party--Grindelwald. He was wearing the same blue robes and matching hat. He was near the buffet table, sipping pumpkin cider, looking at me with a wicked grin. I looked around, trying to catch Dumbledore's eye, when I heard a voice inside my head whisper, "He won't be looking."

I spun my face to the man, my heart leaping to my throat. He was beckoning me over. I gulped and tentatively walked up to him, looking frantically around me. No one seemed to notice me. I wanted to cry out, to scream for help, to pull out my wand, but some keen instinct prevented action. I had to know what he would do.

Finally, I found myself standing right before him. The man looked middle-aged, with the creased, terminally sunburned face of one who had spent a great deal of time outside. His hair and beard were shoulder length and brown, with flecks of gray. But it was his eyes that absorbed most of his face. They were large and light, a mix of violet and blue. His pupils weren't more than specks, and I am certain I actually saw sparkles in them.

He spoke in a voice filled with whimsy. "So we meet again, Parselmouth."

My voice shook, though I tried to quell the tremors. "Grindelwald?" I hated that it came out sounding like a question.

At that, the man laughed in soft mockery. "Oh, don't you recognize me?"

I stared at him, trying to make my voice just as flippant. It only came out as high. "I know you were the man at the orphanage. And Dumbledore said you were Grindelwald."

His eyes danced. "You don't know me from anywhere else?" I stared at him, but found myself stubbornly refusing to mention the visions. I didn't want to give him that pleasure, of thinking his acts were worthy of my remembrance. However, when I shook my head, he mimicked, clicking his tongue. "Well, we must see what we can do about that."

Before I could move, he reached out and grasped my head with his hands, pressing them painfully against my temples. Images flashed before me, almost making my knees buckle. The phoenix, the smoke and blackness, the snakes ripping upward through my skin and out of my mouth, and the laughter, oh God, that laughter that left me quaking every night in fright, it was there, it was--it was--

My eyes flew open, my body trembling from the shock. I inched my way apart from him.

The man grinned and flicked a calloused hand outward. "Bertold Grindelwald. And, of course, I already know you." He gave a deep-sounding laugh, a noise that shook me. "I've known you for a very long time, Marvolo. Oh, no," he said, eyeing the surprise he saw on my face, "I won't call you by that horrid Muggle name, not as though you're misunderstanding a professor. No, Marvolo is more fitting of a wizard like you... don't you think?" He smiled smugly, as if he had made a personal joke and was pleased I didn't get it. It aggravated me, but there was little I could do about it. I was too flustered to try to decipher what he meant.

He went on. "It is so clear. I don't know how Dumbledore missed it. Of course, he never paid attention to the details that I did, nor does he have the power of Sight." The more confusion I showed, the more pleased he became. "Still, even I wasn't completely sure at the orphanage. And I couldn't exactly risk making that big a mistake, now could I? No, it was much better letting Dumbledore take you in. Of course, I did help you escape that Muggle hellhole...and that little mark on your palm was just my way of taking credit. Since then, I have been testing you in my little ways. I suppose you found that out? My methods still worked, I'm pleased to say, though your mind is quite strong. It didn't allow for much outside control; that was evident. Some of the scenes in your visions were put there by you yourself; you possess a very good mind for defense. I surmise you've had the practice for that, though you probably don't like to think of your childhood as practice...or do you?"

He seemed in an odd way complimentary, degrading, and questioning. I stared, unsure, as he prattled on casually, "Yes, quite the brilliant mind in, oh...just about everything. Plenty of power there, regardless of magic. No potential for the Sight, though, and a definite disregard for authority. You aren't minding your manners with that frown, young man. Oh, Dumbly, even if he doesn't suspect, it was very clever of him to keep you here. To limit you." He reached out to me, softly saying, "But I know you feel differently, Marvolo. Like I do. They underestimate me. I could train you; yes, I could easily keep you." His voice was soft and soothing...

I jerked myself out from his spell and reach, snarling, "What am I, a pet? Leave off."

His eyes merry, he snorted, "Oh, tough, are we? Come off it; you know I can teach you things. Give you the power you desire, without regard to the pathetic notions of people like Dumbledore, who believe in what is good and evil."

"Yes, you could teach me... as easily as you could lure me away from safety and kill me. Or drive me insane. Excuse me for doubting your concern for my well-being. I'll just stay here; nobody here has put me in the hospital." I was feeling firmer now, my natural attack instinct running high.

Finally, the smirk left Grindelwald's face. Less pleasantly, he responded, "Pathetic. You're staying here because you think it's safer? They won't care about you. Foolish child. Perhaps I was mistaken about you."

I stepped up and gave him a cold smile. "I think you underestimated me. That was a mistake. Why should I go with you, to learn to be your second fiddle? No, you tested me, and I did pretty well, didn't I? I didn't die, didn't go insane. So now you're left with begging me to join you. Not a very attractive invitation for someone who has higher ambitions than becoming apprentice to a common murderer who can't even do away with a twelve-year-old. I find that rather pathetic. And know this--I don't forgive or forget. Nobody who uses me like that will get away with it."

If looks could kill, I would have been lying flat on the floor. He turned purple, and all suppression faded. Unfortunately, since he couldn't murder me by sheer facial expression, Grindelwald hissed, "Foolish, arrogant child! You have made the one mistake you'll live to regret. Actually, you won't... Crucio!" He pulled out his wand and aimed it at me as a bright light shot from its tip.

I fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Waves upon waves of every kind of pain imaginable seared throughout my body, aching and stabbing, burning and chilling, beating and crushing every part of me. My body went rigid, my back hyper-extending and extremities curling under the unrelenting light. It was beyond any kind of physical pain I had known, careening through all the layers of my being. Its power was total and complete, and I felt my spirit slowly cracking beneath the physical torment. Desperation built, but it focused my attention, my energy. I was pulling inward, losing consciousness, but struggling not to give in with every ounce of control I still had.

My efforts weren't enough...I felt myself slipping, plunging downward, unable to battle back on my own...

Suddenly, the light encasing me ceased. The pain didn't dissipate that quickly, though. I still couldn't move; my body was comatose and inflexible with spasms. My vision blurred around me, dark spots dancing in the grey. Weakly I lifted my eyes to see Dumbledore standing next to me. A little away from him was Grindelwald, scowling. He saw me watching, and his glare increased. Sitting next to me was Dash, kneading my shoulders and arms. This was a quick way to cause the muscles to unclench. He was watching me fearfully, almost guiltily, as I whispered to him reassuringly, "He--couldn't--kill me. Why didn't--he try--the Killing Curse..."

"Shh. I think he was about to, when you blasted him clear across the room! Thank goodness you're still young enough that your inner magic could burst free like that; it broke his concentration, and you two were visible again. Thankfully, Dumbledore saw you two quickly enough that--"

He began trying to pull me up, but the pain was too great. I whimpered as my muscles bunched again. "Dash, don't! I can't; it hurts!" My voice must have been frantic enough, for he stopped pulling at me. Dash was too weak nowadays to pick me up anyway, so he just stayed by my side.

Everyone around us was frozen as Dumbledore and Grindelwald squared off. Grindelwald now really looked less than pleasant. Seething, he spat, "Oh, come now, Albus. Must we go through this again?"

Dumbledore wasn't smiling either, but he said, "This will be the last time, if you don't run away again." He raised his wand, and in his eyes I saw a look of bleeding determination and a loathing contempt I hadn't thought he had in him. In a tone that shook me more than the hissing of his foe, he commanded, "Stay away from my students."

Grindelwald was likewise posed, retorting murderously, "Oh, I noticed you listening in to our conversation long before that part, Dumbledore." He turned to me, his eyes taking in my crippled form and Dash beside me. "Don't let him lie to you, Marvolo. He was waiting to hear how you responded to my offer before he helped you. He doesn't really care much for you then, does he? Only if you do as he says, are his idea of a Hogwarts student, will he step in and--"

"That is a lie!" Dumbledore shouted furiously, and he was about to shout something else when Grindelwald shot a firebolt out of his wand at another student. Dumbledore quickly turned to dispel it, as Grindelwald pointed his wand at Dash and said, "It's also about time we dealt with the turncoat Malfoys.... I think they have this one coming." My eyes widened, but before I could scream out in warning, Grindelwald carelessly said, "Avada Kedavra."

Dash's eyes widened... but only for a second.

My soul froze as I struggled to move, to get up, to just roll over and help him. He was different; he was the only person I had to turn to. Even if I was jealous of his relationship to Damien, even if he had used me in the hopes of winning his father's favor with Gail, he still was the only person who I knew had some sincere appreciation for me. I didn't want that to end, but I was too weak to move.

The last look he gave me was haunting...all I could think of was the phoenix and of its pleading, desperate spirit crying out. I struggled, crying out for him to hang on, never leaving his eyes, though the smoke rising from his burning skin curled around me, the heated ashes obscuring my vision. I watched as those pale eyes slowly changed, turning red with accusation and pain as Grindelwald poured his hate into Dash. I heard the fiend's hissing laughter, and in agony I pushed past the limits of human effort to move. The laughter was mocking me; guilt swam in my pounding heart...I had to help him; I could move, if I was as strong for him as I had been for myself... but I had used up all my strength. I tried to tap into more. Finally, I reached out, to touch him, to grasp--

His dead corpse. It had collapsed onto my chest. There had been no burns, no glares...that had been Grindelwald again inside me, manipulating my emotions for his amusement. Dash himself had just died...a second after mere words were cast, his life had been taken by their power. As the head lolled to the side, I caught its old likeness...except it now was petrified into a look of twisted agony and fear. I swear I saw his spirit rising away from him in smoke.... I tried to crawl out from under him, coughing and gasping as horror overcame me. I could only move my head now; I turned to Dumbledore in help...only to see him just being released by Mr. Malfoy. At that, I convulsed. Mr. Malfoy had been holding Dumbledore under the Cruciatus Curse. He had condemned his son to death.

Bile over the atrocity rose within me, and I looked past the confliction and pain in his face to find fear. Fear of Grindelwald. For that, he'd sacrificed his son.

A woman screamed...and all of a sudden, a stampede began. Mr. Malfoy was shoved, and the final vestige of his spell over Dumbledore broke. Dumbledore, to his credit, got up quickly and spun. But in the clatter from all the rushing parents, he couldn't get a clear shot of either Malfoy or Grindelwald. My eyes narrowed....Hatred rose with the immense power of a smoldering, murderous volcano.

"Others might be in on it!" some shouted. "Just hit them! Use some spell; get them on the ground, and sort them out later!" Useless prattle from worthless people. I ignored their cries, trying to reason my way to some end to the pain inside.

But there was nothing that could be done. Dumbledore and the other professors followed the hysterical group outside, but I knew they wouldn't be caught. I was left in the room, trying to scrape myself out.

Suddenly the weight of Dash's body was lifted from me. I looked through a mask of tears to see Damien crouching above me.

He cradled Dash's body for a minute. Then, he released it, letting the shell of his brother slump lifelessly to the ground. Even the eyes of the living boy were empty, soulless. Broken. As he backed away from me, he never shed a single tear. I think he lost the capability...I wished I had.

By the time the professors and other students were back, I was hollow as well, wrung out, until I felt there was nothing left inside of me. I needed to sleep, to fall into unconsciousness. But then Dumbledore was next to me...along with Mr. Malfoy. They were staring at each other with utter hatred, but that was all they were doing. I managed a strangled croak, and both looked down. Dumbledore leaned over, and I whispered to him, "Kill him!"

Dumbledore shook his head. In fact, his whole body was shaking in different directions. "He says that he was under the Imperius Curse." He saw my look of utter disbelief and snapped, "I can't kill him, Tom!" Then, more calmly, he said, "I won't. If there is even the slightest chance he is telling the truth, I cannot just kill him. But if he is proven guilty, I feel confident he won't go unpunished."

The steel in his eyes made me pause, but only for a moment. I laughed, coughing up blood. I had bit off part of my cheek while under the Cruciatus Curse. "Of course he will. It doesn't matter if he's evil incarnate. The issue of evil won't even be present. It's all about power. He won't get punished for killing his son because he has enough clout and money to support any lies he tells." Glaring up through glazed eyes, I added vehemently, "He should be killed."

Dumbledore suddenly leaned forward and grasped me hard, not to hurt me, but in absolute frenzy to get his point across. "Do not wish for vengeance without verification, Tom. Listen to me; I can help you, but you have to believe me; killing isn't the way. Dash wouldn't want it, he didn't believe in it."

"Didn't he?" I asked softly. I twisted painfully to see his corpse. Standing beside it was Mr. Malfoy. His hand was on Damien, his only possession now. The elder Malfoy was weeping, well enough that it almost seemed sincere. "No, I suppose in the end, he didn't. And look where he is."

Dumbledore took my face in his hands, the emotions of fear and concern overwhelming in his eyes. "No, Tom. Think of what he was, who he was. You have a choice. Please believe me; I can guide you in the right way. You've come so far--"

Yes, I thought, tuning him out. I have.

Dash meant a lot to me. Perhaps both of us cared too much. And yet I couldn't agree with Dash's philosophies, not while I was staring at his body. His beliefs resembled Dumbledore's too much. He had let his love for his family blind him to them, and they had turned and killed him.

I could say he had been wrong. In some ways, it was easier to try to see faults in Dash now, knowing he wouldn't be part of my life anymore. Even before that, I knew he hadn't been perfect...or exactly family to me...that probably never would have happened, even had he lived. I reasoned this to myself, with even my inner voice straining. But regardless of how I tried to deaden myself, I couldn't fully. The image of him pierced me, the empty eyes burning into me, and the feeling this brought was worse than anything I'd ever experienced. The only thing of which I was certain was that caring for another brought nothing but pain. All others brought me pain...this was a new kind, though. I was almost angry at Dash, for bringing me to this state, more unbearable than any other form my suffering had taken.

I almost wished I hadn't cared.

But I couldn't, not quite yet...not with him lying so close and still.

"Tom?" Dumbledore's voice was soft again, prompting me to drift back. I forced my gaze to him, as he continued, "It's going to take a lot to heal from this. I can help you, though. You must keep your heart open, no matter how much it hurts. This isn't the easy way, but it is the best. Believe me--"

I forced a chilled smile, replying, "I'm fine. Really. And I do believe you, sir. I'll listen to you."