The Broken Victory

Chapter 27: Veritas Lux Mea

"Come on, everybody!" The day before the Christmas holiday was always chaotic. The green leather couch that resided in the center of the room had been pushed at an awkward angle by many strewn suitcases. The remains of gift-wrappings scattered the floor; no Slytherin waited for Christmas to open up the presents they had purchased for each other. The fire blazed merrily, dancing off the excited and worn faces of students who had survived the semester intact. The only one not content and giddy was Sammy.

She stood before the fire, the flames only enhancing her frustrated flush. Quill in hand, she was trying to gain the attention of a hundred bustling students at once. A large banner was set behind her, half-filled with notes and drawings. It was a well-wishing gift to the resistance Aurors of England. Every house was completing one, and they were to be sent out over the break. Having put it off for several weeks due to exams, both Sammy and I were now rushing to have it completed. There were slogans such as, "Fight for Right!" or, "Down with the Dark Arts!" The level of interest the students had for this project mirrored the level of heartfelt creativity in their messages. If one of them had spent more than five minutes on theirs, I'd be shocked. I couldn't blame them, though. Mine had taken ten minutes only because Sammy hounded me to change it. Originally, my quote had been, "Justice: A Decision in Your Personal Favor." I had never intended to leave it, but it had been amusing to see her shriek.

Noticing the little effect she was having, Sammy muttered, "Sonorous!" A moment later, she screamed at the top of her lungs, "Shut it!" Her normal bellowing magnified by the spell caused all eardrums to vibrate. Everyone stopped, wincing and checking any glass for signs of shattering. But they did stop.

Pleased, Sammy pocketed her wand and said, "Good, little residents. Now, if you have already signed the banner, you may go. If not, get your bloody hides up here."

"Ever the lady," I said, moving aside as the students quickly moved to follow her command.

"I didn't see you doing anything," she pointed out, raising her eyebrow at me.

"Ah yes. Well. I suppose I do not share your genuine enthusiasm for important activities such as this."

"No, you're too busy snogging with that Weasel." Her tone was biting.

Her remark came as a surprise to me, I hate to admit. "I beg your pardon?"

Her eyes slid over mine, glassy in the fire's reflection. "Snogging... or whatever it is you do with it."

"Annie?" I couldn't keep the amusement out of my expression. "You think I'd touch Annie?"

She shrugged, a bit off her game. I could see by the tilt of her head that she was retreating in her attack. "Well, it has been said. You're with her in the library practically every school night. And I doubt you could hold many intelligent conversations with her." She must have caught my odd expression, for she was immediately on the defensive. "Don't get angry. What were we to think?"

"No, no, I'm not mad. Indeed, what were you to think?" I replied. I let the smile I had been struggling to contain break out. "Who thought this?"

Sammy flushed, apparently recognizing she had gravely missed the mark. "Well... everyone. No, that's not true. Simon didn't. But everyone else wondered. I mean, you took Myrtle to the dance! Damien thought you were doing it for a lark. And with the Gryffin-ape, who knew? I mean, seeing the family she comes from, it wouldn't be surprising if she were a poor floozy. And haven't you noticed how she blushes with her friends when you are near...and how all the Gryffindors look at you like they either want to kill you or welcome you as one of their own?"

No, I hadn't. Oh, Annie I knew had some silly crush. That much had been easy to pick up on and utilize. She had been most useful in the library this term. She was able to get all the books I desired, without the watchful eye of Dumbledore following me. She had done everything I had asked, with eyes wide and bright at anything I said. Yes, she was fairly obvious. But was the rest of the school that thick, to be taken by such a shallow bit of gossip as this? Apparently so. Nothing is swifter than rumor, not even truth.

A petty side of me wondered if Dumbledore had heard this and if he believed it. Before I could contemplate this new idea, Simon drew me from my musings. "Tom wouldn't touch anybody. He's a eunuch, didn't you know? He wouldn't touch a thing."

"If I don't, at least it's by choice in my case," I replied coolly to him.

He gave a frigid glare right back. "Yes, and why is that? Who chooses that? Sick if you ask me. You should go into therapy, but you can't afford it. Well, maybe I can help. Talk to me. Come on, Tom, what did Daddy do to you at night?" His words hung, as if too dense to evaporate with air.

"You are very, very thick, Simon. Pathetic and thick," I said with quiet edge.

"Oh, really? What, are you going to put the perfect curse on me? The perfect hex? Sod off, Tom. You know, I've realized something." His eyes narrowed, their focus locked on mine. "You are a nobody. You're not perfect."

I slid my tongue over my teeth, savoring this inside. "Not perfect, you say?"

"Far from it." He had the ballooned air of the bombast.

"Indeed. And is anyone perfect?"

"No. No one is perfect, not even you. Good of you to realize that." His snide tone was lost on none, least of all my boiling rage.

"Interesting. And yet I am a nobody?"

"That I would agree with. Very much."

"Fine. So nobody is perfect. And I, as you say, am a nobody. Therefore, I am perfect. Flawless philosophical reasoning. How sweet of you. Please excuse me." With that, I brushed by him, trying to quell the painful shredding of my heart. Inside, I began to replace it with the picture of his face just now, humiliated. My heart mended as the picture illustrated itself, adding details such as him begging at my feet for the life with which he was now so careless.

~*~

"You know, people are saying that we are... together." Annie's nervous voice rang shrill on Christmas morning. We were gathered in the Great Hall for breakfast, watching the snow pile outside of the windows and dropping from the magicked ceiling. The room smelled of sage and pine as I entered and was immediately bombarded by the little Weasley. I tried to focus on the sage and pine.

"Yes."

"I mean, how silly is that?" Her eyes kept darting as she pranced in place. "Right?"

I had no use for her right now. As politely yet quickly as possibly, I replied, "Right." I moved around her, heading for the Slytherin table. She, predictably enough, followed.

"I mean, to assume something like that, where it has no basis in reality..." She kept glancing at me, fishing. I had seen that spark in girls' eyes before. Randy moaned often about it with Sammy. Except in this case, I knew exactly what she desired.

Instinctively I recoiled inside, barriers being raised. Following that initial revulsion, other unpleasant images sprang to mind. Those were far worse than the mild disgust at the thought of Annie in that way. No, it was Simon's mocking words that then rose, worming through the crevices in my mind's barriers. Thrusting that thought away as well as best I could, I tried to change the subject.

"Speaking of assuming things, I will assume that your family bought that beautiful brooch for you for Christmas."

Annie looked down at the horrid red and gold monstrosity that took up half her flat chest. She flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, no... no. Actually it's... well, yes, it is a Christmas gift, but they didn't buy it." Her gaze was slight and halting as she finished. "My mum made it for me."

It shows. "No! I never would have thought that."

She blushed, but I could see she was delighted. She would believe any compliment, so strongly did she want to. "No, it's nothing."

"Not for your family. That's right; your mother always makes things for you. Talented woman." I wonder if she used her hands or feet? It's hard to tell. Is she colorblind?

Annie warmed to the new topic, much to my relief. "It's a Weasley family tradition. All Weasleys make gifts for each other, usually the mums. Most of them knit gifts, but my mum makes jewelry. She makes things for Bill as well."

"I'm sure he loves that."

She shook her head in emphatic annoyance. "No, he doesn't! The ungrateful git. He always complains about them behind her back and never wears them. He doesn't deserve the things she makes."

"I can think of few who do," I replied.

She harrumphed a final time, her annoyance completely washing away the previous conversation. Or at least widening the gap to where, even with her social skills, she could tell it would be in poor judgment to backtrack. So we sat in peaceful silence until she finally broke it. "So what did you get?"

"You mean for Christmas?" I asked, stalling.

She rolled her eyes in a perfect imitation of Sammy. I began to wonder if it weren't a Sammy trait, but a universal womanly sign of exasperation. "No, from the House Elves. Yes, for Christmas!"

"Nothing, really," I said evasively. Seeing her interest not wane, I tried another tract. "So tell me more about your family. What is their Christmas--"

"Did you not get anything?" Her eyes widened even as she blurted this out loudly. At my silence, she clamped a hand over her gaping lips. Her surprising moment of innocent yet outraged insight socked me harder than I would have thought. Left speechless, I fought to maintain my solid composure.

She filled in the silence hurriedly. "Oh, Tom, I didn't mean for it to come out like that! I'm just shocked that anyone... you see, Christmas is always such a big fuss in my family. I could only imagine how horrible it would be, to not get... but there I go again, and oh, I'm sorry, Tom. I really have to learn how to keep my mouth shut, and--"

"It's fine, really," I assured her, clenching my jaw. "I'm not a festive, gift-giving soul."

"No, you're right. It's not the important part of the season. But it reminds me of my family when I look at some gifts."

"Well, that is of little issue with me," I replied, before I had fully thought my remark through.

"What do you mean?" she asked, pouncing on my remark. She always approached any mention I made of myself, especially my past, with rabid hunger. I was normally wary of treading around such topics. "Is it true that you grew up in an orphanage?"

"Where did you hear that?" An alarm rang inside my mind. I certainly had never mentioned anything about the orphanage to her, or anyone, in years.

Her face paled at my sudden darkening. "S-Simon. He told me..."

Simon. "You talk to Simon?" I asked neutrally.

"Not really...just a few times. He's helped me with work sometimes. I hate to always bother you, and he offered." Her small lip protruded below her jaw.

"How considerate of him." I wanted nothing more than to thank him with a curse.

"He's nice. Don't you think?" Annie seemed desperate to grasp onto some common ground again with me. Her fingernails kneaded the tabletop before her, turning her pale hands a bright pink.

"Oh, he's something." I sank within myself, leaving a stone shell of a smile on the outside for her to see. But it was a bitter smile. I felt betrayed by her. After all, it was I who had spent so much time invested in her. I had answered her inane issues with patience, trying to mold something out of her for sheer self-interest and amusement. But there had been a touch of pride at times, a glimpse of potential she seemed to thrive on alongside me. I had served her interests as well. And now for her to turn and accept company with Simon...to approve of him! Well, that only went to show how naively simple she was. I longed to tell her what Simon really thought of her. A silly, little girl whose foul breeding shone through her vapidity.

"Is he a friend of yours?" Perspiration shone in a light sheen on her forehead, and I thought her fingertips might start to bleed.

"You might say that." I then paused, deciding how to proceed. "You know, I realize how unfair I have been to you."

Her eyes grew wide, showing the veins intermingling around her irises. "No, never!"

"Oh, yes. Here it is, our third year of knowing each other, and I never told you about myself." I forced my gaze down, trying to look contrite.

"No, Tom." She reached across the table, before flushing and drawing her hand back. Awkwardly she hurried on. "It's all right.. .a lot of people don't like talking about themselves."

"Yes, but I've kept you in the dark for so long you had to go around me to find anything out."

"No, it wasn't like that!" At her raised voice, gazes were drawn to us from all around. She smiled apologetically at them before lowering her voice. Still, the urgency remained as she finished, "I didn't go to Simon to get...anything...on you."

"Of course not. You would never try to find something out that I didn't desire to make public. A friend wouldn't go behind a friend's back like that." At her deep flush, I knew I had hit her deeply. I nudged a bit further, for I had other agendas. "At least, I thought we were friends."

"We are!" She didn't seem to care about the annoyed gazes she got now. "Oh, Tom, I swear, I didn't mean to go behind your back or anything like that. You were just what Simon and I had in common. I knew you were in his class, and he knew you tutored me, so you just came up."

"I'm sure neither of you meant anything by it."

"No, we didn't. But I -" Her eyes cast downward, taking a moment before bravely forcing them back to meet mine. "I was curious about you. So maybe, I did want to know about you a little bit...but it wasn't intentional, really! And I swear I won't talk about you with him anymore."

"I would appreciate that." I reached across, patting her hand. "But friendship goes both ways. I should tell you some things. I would hate to think you would think I didn't trust you."

Her eyes lit up, sparking in the morning glow. "You trust me?"

"But of course."

"Wow...you don't know how that makes me feel. I trust you, too. So very much. More than Bill, at times." That last part she spoke quietly, even though Bill was on the other side of the Great Hall.

"I can't tell you how much that means to me. Now, why don't you tell me exactly what Simon said about me? So I can...fill in the story." That wasn't my best finish, but Annie bought it easily enough. I listened with a keen rapture at what Simon was saying about me.

"Okay. Well, he said that you didn't come from a wizarding background. That you grew up in an orphanage."

"This is true. Not much to add there."

"And he...he said your parents weren't very nice." From her awkward expression, I could tell those weren't his exact words.

"I see. Why did he feel that?" While I couldn't deny it, I was still enflamed.

"I don't know. He said that was why you stayed at school so much, because you didn't like your family or the orphanage." Under the pressure of my gaze, she finally blurted out, "He said your father was ashamed of you, and that's why he never claimed you. Why he still doesn't claim you as a son of his."

I forced a smile. "Ah, there he is possibly mistaken. My father...gave me up to the orphanage after my mother died. I've never seen him, so he might not even still be alive. And if I don't know anything about him, I doubt Simon does. He is filling your head with a lot of possibilities, Annie." I didn't know what purpose Simon had for building me up as a poor, little, abandoned orphan again, but I was stopping it right here.

Annie's brow furrowed, perplexity blatant in her eyes. "But...I thought..."

"Thought what?"

She shook her head quickly. "Nothing. I - I must be mistaken."

My smile hardened as I fought the temptation to force it out of her with my wand. "Tell me, please. I would hate for you to have any misconceptions about me."

"Okay...well, Simon said that your father was alive." She looked at me very carefully, finishing slowly, "He seemed pretty sure about it."

"I see." My mind was reeling, and tension built in my stomach. How could Simon possibly know that?

"I don't know. He - he sounded pretty sad about it. And angry at your father. He's a good friend. Anyway, he suggested I not mention it to you, because it would probably upset you. I could understand that." Her expression changed to one of guilt. "It never occurred to me that you didn't know."

"I'm sure it didn't occur to him, either." Damn him. Damn him. He knew I would talk to Annie. He knew she would break down and tell me...he probably waited weeks for this to happen. To set this little catalyst off on me. And of course he would make it Annie, my own puppet that I had used to anger him so often in the past. I had to give him a grudging note of respect on that touch.

He knew something; that much was certain. Simon wouldn't throw something like this around without being able to fully back it up to completion. But what that completion was, I hadn't the faintest idea. Humiliating me was certainly only part of it. I had no intention of waiting for the end of break to find out the rest.

~*~

I sat in the common room a few weeks later. I had not lit the fire, for the rage inside of me was blazing warmly enough. I had felt my fury rise since the Christmas morning with Annie, grasping my thoughts during any moment of idleness and swooping into my dreams like dark imps. I had been so distracted I had nearly ruined two potions for Zwipp and over-watered a plant for Dumbledore. I had managed to fix the potions before Zwipp noticed, but not the plant. Dumbledore now watched me with hawkish concern and wished to speak with me privately this week about "several things," as he had put it. I had the feeling it didn't have to do with his plants. I didn't know what really rattled me so. Surely Simon was part of it, but the return of my past was the main focus.

I had checked all my belongings, and nothing was out of place. It perturbed me more that I didn't know how Simon had got whatever information he knew than the fact that he knew it. I had no intention of letting Simon hang over me any longer, not with classes starting again. And so I sat, watching as the students slowly trickled back in. I didn't have any clear plans yet...dealing with Simon was something I had years of practice in. Yet the fact that he had possibly bested me for once was not something my ego would leave unnoticed. Even if he had, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it. I would not let him lord over me back here, where he could watch how I danced to his dangling tune. Whether he desired a showdown or not, I wasn't wasting another night.

Damien came first. As Head Boy, I suppose he wished to be sure things were in order. He greeted me civilly enough, and I didn't detect that he was aware of anything. While there was no immediate malice between us at the moment, I was sure he would show some glimpse of satisfaction if he knew anything. While most of the petty rivalries we had now were dormant, especially the biggest one which had lain dead now for five years, there was residual resentment. Dash's approval meant nothing now, and as that left, so did any personal hatred. Yet the past and our different ideologies had built an impossible impasse for any bridge. The bitter aftermath was neither biting nor personal, but it was present. Time would tell what kind of relationship, if any, the future held for us.

Unlike with Simon, where the festering wounds between us were infected down to our very blood at the moment. I hadn't realized how focused his attack on me must have been for some time now. It was beyond personal, for now the loathing was almost instinctual. Part of it I could commiserate with...even these few weeks where he had a semblance of a hold over me was more than I could tolerate. But for him, my hold was real and long seated. He wanted to make me feel as he did so often, as the pathetic follower, the helpless reactor one step behind. He wanted me to fear him. It was touching, I mused scathingly. But far from true. Yes, he had my full attention. No, not as the equal rival, the worthy opponent. Try as he might, I knew him too well. A hindering catch, maybe, but a fitting adversary, decidedly not. It was not my survival fangs that dripped with anticipation. It was the prideful desire to thrust him back down where he belonged. I felt anger at myself for letting him get this far, as opposed to awe at him for simply amazing feats. I longed to reward him for his success. He wouldn't succeed again.

Sammy came with Mary, both of them wearing new robes with an oriental stitching down the sides. They tossed a cheerful hello at me, and it appeared for once they were getting along. Randy came a bit later, and from his indifferent glare, it was hard to tell whether Simon had told him anything or not. If Simon was going to tell anyone, I would have guessed he would pick Damien. Sammy was too sporadic in her loyalties, and Randy's temper was too unpredictable. Stoking Damien's anger back at me would be no small victory for him. Damien was set to work at the Ministry next year, and the Malfoy name, combined with his abilities, would make him a most valuable ally.

But Damien would have been smug, had that glint in his eyes...no, he knew nothing. Maybe Simon wasn't ready to be overpowered, as Damien would surely try to do. He had the resources, and Simon had no leverage on him. But Randy...I would have to keep an eye on Randy.

Then, at last, light footfalls brought Simon under my gaze. His gaze was cool as it settled on me. It was reserved, for it was still Simon. But it held a confidence that shone from a deeper level than I had ever seen on him before. "Hello, Cicero," he greeted me.

"Simon. May I speak with you for a moment?" I half-expected him to be surprised that I leaped right to it.

If he was, he didn't show it. He just said with insufferable tranquility, "Of course. May I put my bags away first?" He gave me a pleasant smile. "It won't take but a minute. If you want, we could talk as I do it."

"I'll wait." I wanted us to be alone. Not batting an eye, he left then at a stroll. He was bating me; I knew it. It still grated, but I forced my mind to think clearly. I unclenched my fists and took in deep breaths. The minutes ticked by, with the booming sound of the large, oak clock. I waited with faux patience for him to return.

When he finally showed up, he wore a simple shirt and trousers. No sweater was seen on him, though it was all but a signature of his to wear one. But that would impair his movement. Practical Simon. Prepared for anything. I gave him a pleasant smile back. "Let's take a walk, shall we?" Like I would risk harming him on school grounds. He was delusional in his own grandeur.

"You're the prefect," he said, with a glib undertone I did not miss. I steered him down the dungeon halls in silence. Shadows played on the stone walls, with a fierce gaiety that is the stuff of children's nightmares. We passed the twisted, narrow halls until we came upon the place where Hagrid had kept Aragog. It was as dark, dusty, and dank as last year. And also as forgotten, lost beneath the bustling school, but for a giant and now us. Even those who knew about it from last year dared not enter the supposed Chamber, though the beast was now supposedly slain.

I saw Simon's gaze roam the room in curiosity and caution. "This is the room with Hagrid, isn't it?"

"Yes." I wasn't in the mood for conversation.

He turned to me then, willfully stepping into the light of a torch. "I hope I prove to be more interesting than Hagrid."

"More annoying, definitely." A flicker of anger ran across his face, but he quickly composed himself.

"And how did your talk with Annie go?" he asked casually.

"It was most telling. Care to elaborate?" I forced an equally nonchalant stance. The more information I could draw out of him, the better. I had no greater joy at the moment than beating him at whatever game he threw out.

"Now, Tom, where would the fun be in that?" he asked coyly.

"I should think it would give you the utmost enjoyment, if you really had any terrible news for me," I threw back.

"Ah, always the ego with you. What makes you think I am solely out to be the barer of sad tales for you?"

"Because that is all you have, Simon. And I'm through with you. You can decide how difficult you want to make this for yourself." I had to pull myself back to keep that threat from manifesting itself.

He laughed. "Difficult? Oh, Tom. Really. Just to slake my curiosity, what did you have in mind? Killing me?" There was joy in his eyes, along with fear. I saw it with a pathetic recognition. He wouldn't go down a hero, even in his own delusion. And he certainly wouldn't bait me into being my own fall. No, best let him survive. Survive, not fearing what revenge I would bestow on him. Rather, let him wallow in the knowledge that he was not even worthy of my revenge.

Swallowing back every instinct, I let my reason flow. "Of course not, Simon. Don't be melodramatic. You hardly rate a killing."

"What then? Hex me?" His smile hardened.

"And have the professors test my wand and see I did it? Hardly. Talk about ego," I said reasonably. He was practical enough to believe that. Why would I risk everything over him? The reality of that fact, though, must have been infuriating to him. I smiled as if I were bemused by his antics, as opposed to feeling a real threat or obstacle from him.

Simon held his emotion back with a prideful façade. "Well, then, if you aren't threatening me, why ever should I be inclined to reveal anything to you?"

"For the only reason possible. To see my reaction. I promise you, if you don't tell me, I will never give you the satisfaction of begging. You can wait till Hell freezes over - if there is a Hell - before I speak of this again. And you know that I'll learn whatever it is you know eventually."

"Hardly," he clenched out.

"If I don't, it can't be that important." I ran the words around him, letting him absorb them with frustration.

"Nice mind game, Riddle. But no go." I shrugged, forcing the tremors I felt inside not to manifest themselves. I stood still, and I suppose that showed enough interest on my part for him to try a different route. "However, I would hate to see this little tidbit go to waste. How about a little compromise?"

"What could you possibly want from a Mudblood like me?" I asked with snide frost in my voice.

I saw an old would start to bleed before me. "Simple. I want your filthy Mudblood mark off me." He rolled up his sleeve, protruding my mark. "After what I know about you, I can't be degraded with anything to do with you."

"You had no trouble degrading yourself before..."

"Shut it. Quid pro quo. Remove the mark, and I'll tell you about your pathetic past." His rage shone through his tight tone.

His disgust for me was thickly blatant. I had to swallow every inch of pride in me to appear to comply. I longed to call for the mark, to burn it right through him. But that almost seemed too easy, too quick right now. My reason told me I needed him, needed him to finally put my past to rest. Best to play along and keep all options open. I would let his pathetic existence get a nice boost for the time being. The higher he felt, the harder the fall down would be. "Easy enough." I raised my wand and covered up his mark.

He eyed me suspiciously, saying, "Now call for it."

I did so. Little did he know it was not the movement but the motive that called up the mark. He knew my spell by heart, and I recited it to his perfection. When it didn't appear, he breathed a sigh of relief, letting the sleeve droop down. And there my mark remained, burning within, waiting to be conjured out.

He gave a toss of his head, and a look of undiluted condescension crossed his face. I longed to bring him down, but there would be time enough for lesser matters later. I stepped back calmly, and with a raised eyebrow I looked down on him.

His only ground was my past, which he saw as a painful thorn in my side. I was left standing there, with an aching grasp for what he was about to say. But it was not a vacant hunger to reunite with my past. No, little did Simon know he was helping me finally sever that last tie to my weak Muggle past. What he perceived as weakness, I would turn into an unrelenting display of power. I would drive back the last vestiges of anger, sorrow, and shame at my past. Once I knew it all, I could lay it to rest. I would find some way to finally break free literally, as I had spiritually in the Chamber. How, I didn't yet know, but finally no one would have anything to lord over me again.

My father, who I had buried in thought in the Chamber, wouldn't leave me alone. In thought, in spirit...in his very existence, he kept finding ways back. It was without effort that he now reached to pull me down, fate moving in the guise of a vengeful youth. I had rallied against fate for many years, and yet her snare thrust the weight of human sensation upon me with unrelenting force. I couldn't deny it, and as far as I buried it, the feeling seemed to leap into the air to be seen, touched, and tasted. It burned my eyes as much as it left a pleasing taste on Simon's opening mouth.

He turned, not even giving his words a bit of respect as they were thrust down my throat for me to swallow. "Riddle me this, Lord Tom. What kind of father lives with his own child for eleven years, watching him grow up in torment, and bluntly gives his love to another that isn't even his?"