The Broken Victory

Chapter 26: The Silver Rose Ever After

June 16th

Inevitable expectations marred fairy tales for me for life. You expected the prince to save the princess. You expected the wolf to die or the witch to be cooked. Children shouted out the ending as soon as the story began and yet still feverishly waited with anticipation until that ending was finalized in words. That's because the reality is that such expectations are utter fabrications. There is only the inevitable unforeseeable. Even at three, children were world-wearied enough to doubt the authenticity of those tales where the righteous always won and evil never tainted the truth. All grays shadowed into stark black or white on those tepid canvasses. That wasn't what the children clung to with age.

There was a truth underneath those tales, if one could call it truth. An identifiable reality perhaps is a better explanation. The horror and helplessness of innocent suffering is universal, as is the wicked and real judgmental punishment of those given little voice. Whose voice tells the tale but the sweet Cinderella, whose docile nature eventually allows her evil stepsisters to be blinded? Who commends the evil witch forced to dance over hot coals by the nurturing Snow White? What audacity, what hypocrisy judges those acts as moral laws by which to live? A champion of romanticized ego and inflated self-importance comes to mind. For, in truth, there are far more who lean towards the stepsisters than the lady of the ash transformed by fate. No fairy godmothers magicked happiness that I could see, even here. No inborn destiny determined an outward manifestation of clear good over evil.

Children could see this. Three year olds, even. How can't Dumbledore? "No matter what, the good will lead, and the true triumph," he says. How he is convinced that he is the manifestation of all goodness and light I have long put to rest as senility and self-indulgence. Grindelwald will fall because he is "evil," and therefore weaker. Yet most of the magic world has fallen to Grindelwald at this time. If the man has one fault, it's in not maximizing his power against England right now. For not even Dumbledore will be able to accept truth and goodness should Grindelwald's power rise here now. Fervent wishes fail before the deft hands of pure strength and undiluted desire combined.

But here I leave, with the inevitable possibly a bit more foreseeable. When the Heir rises again, the power of Slytherin will dominate once more. All the will and judgments of a society contrived of transparent morals may fall where they may. Barricades of courage and lightening bolts of valor may raise themselves on the foundations of a heart golden from rightness. But it will not be a battle of good and evil in the end, for it never was. It is power, that amoral, inborn essence of desire and strength, which leads the way. It is always the possession of power that makes of history what its bearer chooses.

Quill aside, I closed the diary for the last time that day. But not before watching my words sink in and disappear, preserving my memory within it forever.

~*~

"So you didn't abandon me this time."

I smiled at Sammy as she spoke. It was a few months later, and I had taken the train out to meet the students returning to Hogwarts. It was either riding on a train with hours to myself or helping Wynn and Vallandora set up the Great Hall again. Not much of a struggle, really.

"I would rather die than disappoint you," I said, to which she snorted.

"You'd rather not disappoint me than decorate the Great Hall," she replied wryly. "And I'd hardly call it disappointment. More like...annoyance."

"Fine. Have it your way. I'd rather annoy you more than anything else in the world."

At that she stuck her tongue out at me. She had an odd way of doing it. It was thin and pointy, and the tip of it always curled up as she wagged it. Her eyes then lit, and I could literally see her mind switching topics. "And I'm supposing you heard about the dueling tournament Hogwarts is having this semester!"

"I'm organizing it," I pointed out dryly.

"Don't get fresh with me. Randy is furious, by the way. It falls on the date of the big Quidditch game we'll be having against Gryffindor. That one practically always decides the team cup winner."

"Oh dear, I wonder how that mistake could have happened," I said in mock surprise.

Sammy laughed. "He swore you did it on purpose, and I told him he was being silly. I knew you did though."

"How sweetly touching. What do I owe for your act of kindness?" I asked.

Her smile darkened. The lighthearted mood evaporated between us. As she leaned in, I involuntarily tensed and leaned back. Her voice lowered, she whispered, "What did you find out this summer about...you know." Her eyebrows lifted. "The Chamber?"

I laughed, pushing my worry down. Sammy might have been fairly bright and inquisitive, but there was no way her attention could be held long enough to really find out what happened last year. Of course, the fact that she had been intrigued by it for over three months made me want to quench any further inquiry immediately. "Honestly, Sammy, I don't know anything about it."

My definitive voice wasn't enough. She further probed, "What about Hagrid? He couldn't have been the Heir...my father says it's impossible."

"Well, if your father says it's impossible--"

"Shut up. Hagrid was a Gryffindor. Hardly what the Heir would be. And he's oafish and stupid and gross and...just stupid." Her eyes narrowed. "Look, you know I don't care that Hagrid was expelled...more room and less odor for us. And if I was in your place...blaming Hagrid is a pretty small price for getting that medal."

Part of me wanted to laugh at how small and petty her ideas were. The other part was furious that she thought I would go to such distances for something as trifling as a medal. I turned my expression to show sufficient insult. "Oh yes. I broke my own ribs as well. And that concussion, well, that was nothing. A few rolls down the stairs, running into a few walls, and viola! All for a shiny medal, of course."

Her eyes rolled, but still she persisted. My anger increased as she replied, "I'm not saying Hagrid didn't have some stupid pet that bit you or whatever. All I'm saying is...is that we're friends. You could trust me."

"Friends?" I asked skeptically.

She had the decency to look a bit stung. "Well, I thought we were."

"Fine. Then as your friend, I think you should believe me," I shot back.

Her jaw clenched. "Fine." She turned away from me and crossed her arms.

Just then the compartment door opened hesitantly. The small, pale face of Annie peeked round and blanched when she saw Sammy. Sammy rolled her eyes. Getting up, she smirked as she passed. "He's all yours, honey. By the way, are you sure it's all right if you leave your disabled guilt trip alone? She might abandon other animals for more of your housemates to kill."

Annie's scared expression hardened. Since Myrtle's death and Hagrid's expulsion, she had taken over helping Sophie. "If animals are the targets, I'd be more worried about you. That is, if I liked you."

I smiled as Sammy huffed. Hissing, "Hearts of gold and brains of birds, the lot of you," she stalked out. Her scent of spice and roses faintly hung in the air long after her departure.

I nodded Annie in. A small smile crept up her face as she slunk into the seat across from me. In truth, I was a bit surprised to see her. She had avoided me the remainder of last year. Every time I had caught her eye, I had been met with confusion and apprehension.

I remained silent, waiting for her to begin. Finally, she took in a deep breath and looked directly at me. "Hi."

I nodded back civilly. "Hi."

She sounded as awkward as she looked. "Um...are you writing in the diary?"

"Oh, no. I don't seem to have a knack with words. Every time I had an idea and began to put it down, it seemed to fade away," I said. She didn't detect the bit of glibness I had infused. "Thank you for it, though."

"Yeah, I can understand that. My mind does that, too. Ideas I think are so clear, once I really look them over, seem suddenly so...muddy." Her eyes became as cloudy as her words. "I knew about Aragog."

I internally tensed at that. Suddenly spending time hanging flowers with Wynn didn't seem so terrible. "Oh?"

Her small hands twisted in her lap. "Uh-huh. I wasn't going to help him study, because I was so busy. But he broke down and told me, and..." Her eyes shut tightly, as if she were about to cry. "And I saw him. Aragog, I mean. He didn't seem so bad. And Hagrid, he would never..." Her voice trailed off.

I plastered a smile on my face. "Annie, I never thought for a minute that Hagrid did any of those terrible things on purpose."

She peeked out from behind her fists. "Really?"

"Of course not." He's too stupid to pull something like that off. "He's too good to pull something like that off. Ask Dumbledore. I said it wasn't Hagrid's intent to hurt anyone."

"Oh, Tom. I know you were a friend of Hagrid's. And I know we should be grateful he didn't get sent to Azkaban. But I can't help but think that I should be punished. I knew about Aragog, and I didn't do anything." She sniffled, looking at me.

She wanted me to tell her it wasn't her fault, to take her guilty blame away. She wanted me to play the protector, as always. "Annie, I didn't do anything about it until it was too late as well. Granted, I hadn't seen the monster like you." I saw her wince. "But all could share in the blame, if you go down that road. The teachers, for not noticing something. Wynn, for not killing it immediately. Society, for raising someone like Hagrid to think they could handle such a creature."

"But what is wrong with allowing all that blame? Isn't there some truth in it?" She was beginning to annoy me. It really wasn't my role to reason out right from wrong for her. But I must admit there was the tiniest bit of smug satisfaction that I held such an influence over her.

"Annie, it all comes down to the individual's actions. You were raised in the same society as Hagrid, presumably. You didn't harbor a monster. Innate right or wrong has nothing to do with it. It is actions and consequence. Had the monster saved a life, Hagrid would be wearing this medal and not me." That was a nice touch. I was thoroughly enjoying myself at this point.

Puzzlement scrunched up Annie's face. "But...it's like then there is no right or wrong."

"There isn't. At least, not in a universal, unchangeable, ultimate idea of rightness. It's all relative or socially dependent. What is considered right or wrong has changed throughout history," I pointed out.

Her eyes darkened. "I can't think of when killing was ever considered right."

"I see. Even Grindelwald?" She went silent at that.

"I...I just...I don't know." She seemed about to cry again.

I tried to make my voice patient. "Look, Annie, what did you want me to say? That you are guilty of something? I don't believe you are. If hindsight is the measure, we are all guilty of immense things. You didn't bring in the creature. You didn't know how dangerous it was. Hagrid did."

"It's just..." Her voice was lower than a whisper, and she was gnawing on her bottom lip. "It's just...if I had been in your position..."

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't have done the same thing!" she finally burst out. Tears flowed freely as she sobbed. "At first I thought you were just out to make a name for yourself. That you turned Hagrid in just to win points with the staff. But then I realized that I was only fooling myself. I was so mad at you because I was jealous and guilty. I was too blind to consider Hagrid, too scared to think a friend and Gryffindor would do something like that! I wouldn't have told on Hagrid because he was my friend and had trusted me. A girl died, and...and...and I still wouldn't have turned him in, if he said he hadn't done it." Her voice was hoarse by now, her face as red as her hair. "Some honor code. Some bravery, huh?"

"Such a little princess, virtuous and loyal, good and valiant." She sucked in her breath, looking warily to see if I was mocking her. "This world is too gray for you, my dear. Go into your Gryffindor tower and lock yourself away. Grow old in your isolation, yet proud in your virtues. Complex sorrows will never crease your face then, but the questioning emptiness will never leave your eyes. Seek your fairy tale reasoning there, for you won't find it in the real world."

I stood and left her then, her normally white face now a motley red and gray.

~*~

Sixth year started out brilliantly. All the teachers knew I had received a perfect score on the O.W.L.s exams, a first at Hogwarts in a long time. Everyone on the faculty praised me, and some suggested I might even finish early. That suggestion was quickly put to rest...I have no doubt by whom. But still, I was an assistant teacher practically in Charms and Potions. It was much nicer helping in the classrooms than working outside with Wynn. I had free range in the library as well, since most of the professors had given me passes to do extra credit work.

I was also something of a silent hero, laughably enough. Since no one "technically" knew about what happened last year, no one spoke about my award out loud. Still, most underclassmen except Gryffindors gave me deferential nods whenever I passed. The teachers glowed with pride. I could roam the halls at whatever hour I pleased. I could read whatever I chose, do what work I wanted. I bet that if I had entered a classroom late, turned in no work and put the Cruciatus Curse on someone, I'd have been praised.

Right up there with me was Damien. He was now Head Boy and Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, which hadn't lost the team cup in all his years at school. His father had recently paid to have all the dorms redone, so each class had its own room. He also gave a grant to be used in the protection of the school should any dark arts creep in. Whether out of Quidditch fever or deference to the power of the Malfoy name, anything he did was golden.

Which made it only better when the school made him move the treasured Quidditch game, so my dueling match could take place on the day I desired. The professors claimed it was because the art of dueling was becoming increasingly important as of late. However, that was a pale smokescreen for their preference of me. I never gloated out loud about it, but it was always nice to see Damien thrust down a peg or two. At the one brief Death Eaters meeting we had, his eyes had glared a smoky black at me. In hindsight, picking that date might not have been the best decision I ever made.

In truth, I was growing a bit fed up with the Death Eaters. They were too simple, far too shallow in their goals. The crème of Hogwarts were hardly more than crumbs to me. How useful would they be? And how could I tell?

"Riddle, you there?" The voice of Simon broke through my thoughts. It was the November day of the dueling tournament. I pulled my gaze onto him. He wore a brilliant green robe fastened at the neck with a silver serpent. Rubies shone from the eyes and mouthpart. His light hair was plastered on his face, damp from perspiration. A smug look shone on his face. "Just hexed the Weasel clean. You know, the one that got a point on you?"

I gritted my teeth. "Congrats. See you in the finals." We both still had two rounds to go.

His smile was secure and assured. "But of course."

There was little doubt that I would be facing Simon. Still, there were some other fairly good duelers. Sammy was creative, but she had trouble focusing. Damien was bloody great, but he and all the Slytherin Quidditch players had boycotted the tournament. That was a disappointment...I had been looking forward to beating Damien. Then, there was a fourth year Gryffindor who was quick, but she was too young to know all the spells. Three Ravenclaws were still in the running, all of them well versed. Luckily, they were placed against each other, so two would be eliminated before reaching either Simon or me. One of them was Sophie.

Many of the spells didn't work on her, since she was blind. Several of the participants had complained about the fairness of that fact. I was certain her disability was the only reason she was left. In truth, it didn't bother me. I actually found it sort of exciting. Unfortunately, Simon was the one to go against her. I had just finished my semifinal round, ousting the fourth year Gryffindor with a simple "Occulous Expelliarmus!" She hadn't known how to block for spells aimed at specific objects on her. Her glasses had flown off, and in her fluster I had blasted her backwards with a quick, "Flipendo!" Her cheeks angry, she had stalked off. I jumped off the dueling platform in the Great Hall, admittedly anxious to see Simon and Sophie.

It was quite a sight. He towered over her, his eyes trying to hold a steely gaze on the abyss of hers. Her gaze wavered...she seemed to be trying to find his eyes with the direction of his breath on her. He recognized this a moment after me, and I saw his eyes light up with devilish glee.

They saluted and turned crisply, pacing away from each other. On the mark, they stood waiting for Zwipp to give the starting call. I craned my neck and saw Simon muttering silently, his mouth barely moving. His wand quivered ever so slightly as the countdown began.

Sophie would spell first. Raising her wand, she flicked the end twice, shouting, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Her binding spell flew right by Simon, missing him by centimeters. He hadn't bothered wasting time with a blocking spell, instead shouting out himself, "Relashio!"

Sophie's wand flew from her hand. Directed by Simon, it came neatly into his. Sophie stood a moment, thunderstruck. I could see her thinking behind her vacant gaze for some incantation that didn't require a wand. Simon, however, gave her no breathing room. In order to show his true mastery, he spun her wand round and used it as he cried, "Stupefy!"

That was cruel indeed. The Stupefy spell left the subject more than stunned. They stood there appearing stupid, unable to move or react, looking like they couldn't comprehend what was going on around them. I had had it done to me in the past, and rest assured it was a humiliating experience. To have had it done by one's own wand...well...Sophie's unconscious blush attested to how that must have felt. Zwipp had to carry her off the platform and break the spell. His expression was slightly dark, though he could do nothing. While not the nicest of rounds, he had not caught Simon doing anything illegal.

Simon just casually tossed her wand to some spectator, turning all his focus on me. A triumphant grin slid over his face. "Next."

In the background was rustling, and a disgruntled Gryffindor muttered, "Of course two Slytherins would make the finals...dirty game."

I hopped up, smiling back at him. "How very brave of you to assume her spell would miss you. And the wand bit, very showy. Was that for my benefit?"

"Just wanted to let you know what kind of match we both deserve. You won't let something as pesky as rules and etiquette interfere, will you now?" His competitive edge drowned out any hollering from the crowd.

"Not as long as I don't get caught," I replied back easily. I didn't add that I could kill him...that might have been a bit difficult to explain. Not impossible, though. His tight smile mirroring mine as we saluted, spun, and counted off.

He got to attack first. I took a deep breath and positioned myself, ready to defend. His first spell ricocheted off my barrier...it had been a simple Flipendo charm. He was now anxiously preparing his defense. My eyes narrowed. He wasn't interested in taking me out quickly...he was testing to see what I would throw at him first and making sure he had a strong defense. How logical, how safe. How Simon.

It went on like this for quite awhile. It seemed like hours, though I am sure it wasn't nearly that long. We traded spars, varying tempo and rhythm, ranging from charms and hexes to defense positions and fierce attacks. We each got hit a few times; once mine went through his barrier. Yet none of it was enough to disarm the other.

Sweating, I wondered how much of a gamble it would be to take a hit. There wasn't enough time between defense and attack positions to complete a really powerful spell. If he tossed out a simple boil curse, I could bear it for long enough to knock him out. Of course, he could also flatten me off the platform instead. So far, there hadn't been enough of a pattern in his attacks to tell.

"Reducto!" Okay...good thing I had decided to shield. The force of his attack still made me stumble. I could imagine Zwipp wincing. Technically, we weren't supposed to try and blast each other apart, but it was good entertainment I supposed. Zwipp also must have seen the shield. How kind. The worst that would have happened was a blown hand or two. Nothing too extreme about that, surely.

I was furious with Simon, but I wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was that he tried to disarm me, literally. More likely, it was that he was proving to be such a good opponent. If we kept on like this, we would tie. Zwipp wouldn't stand for another Incendio spell, and Simon and I had invested far too much to give up now. We would trade minor hexes till we were forced to stand down. Neither one of us could have stood that.

The Incendio spell hardly seemed necessary. His face was red, his eyes smoking. It was an ugly sight, one that looked like smoldering ash. As if someone had burned in the coal eyes with a poker onto the steaming red flesh.

Burned.

Flesh.

That was it.

I raised my wand, its tip trembling with power under my strong grasp. I waved it once, speaking the words low, right from my heart.

"Morsmordre!"

Simon immediately bent over, clenching his left arm. I saw wild confusion in his eyes. His barrier had been strong; it should have withheld any spell we had learned.

But not spells I had created. Slowly his eyes cleared as the knowledge dawned on him. Everyone else was twisting with puzzlement, unsure what had happened. Simon just looked at me, hatred glowing over his defeat. He could barely stand, his barrier melting away. I increased the pain with a small flip of my hand.

And I finished with, "Stupefy!"

The awards ceremony followed, hollow and superficial compared to the satisfaction I felt. Another shiny ribbon was nice. Defeating Simon was priceless.

The one downside was the Slytherin backlash. After Simon's treatment of Sophie and my mysterious victory over Simon, mutterings of cheating and foul play were heard throughout the hall. I am sure Dumbledore would have loved to hear it, but he had been missing from the whole event. That surprised me, considering what a close eye he had been holding over me.

I was deep in contemplation of that when Annie came over. Her face appeared calm and determined, but her fists were clenched so hard her tiny knuckles were white. It was as if she were struggling to hold something inside. Her lips pressed, she managed to get out, "You did well."

I gave her a pleasant smile. "Thank you. How is the princess?"

She grimaced. "I deserved that." She looked down. "You must think I'm terribly ignorant and selfish."

Yes. Among other things. "I think you are young and idealistic. And impressionable."

Her large eyes rose to meet mine. "Oh, Tom. I just...want to figure things out. Nothing makes sense."

"Welcome to reality."

"No one seems to see this but you." Her frustration was evident.

"No, they see it," I said charitably. "Unless they are simpletons, which can't be discounted. More likely, people ignore the facts. They need the myth of inevitability, either that good is constant and evident, or that there is nothing good in the world and nothing they do can matter. That both myths exist proves their falsity." She gave a small laugh, but her expression was one of clear sadness. I fought not to roll my eyes as I offered, "Don't wallow in self-pity. It's beneath you."

She shook her head, saying softly, "It's not self-pity, Tom. I feel sorry for you. When no one understands me, like over this summer with Hagrid, I feel so lost and alone. And no one gets you, Tom. Sometimes I think I understand you better than anyone, that you make things so clear. But at other times..." I fought to maintain eye contact with her. She continued. "At other times, you are the hardest person to reach. You don't give concrete answers..."

"There aren't concrete answers."

"You can make me question every single thing about myself, Tom. And it terrifies me, and it excites me. You made me face the fairy tower and walk away. Do you even have anything in you to question?"

I remained silent.

Simon strolled up then, leaning over to answer coldly, "What's in him is power. There isn't a deeper foundation than that." But I knew he answered to the same call. We always would.

Annie turned back to me. "Then teach it to me."