The Broken Victory

Chapter 30: A Last Grasp

"How many times does this make, Tom? Fifty?" Drawt asked in a playfully soothing voice as she waved her wand over me. She paused particularly over my head, her finely lined brow crinkling as she continued, "I think I've had more odd afflictions from you than any other student I've ever had, and I've treated everyone back to Albus!"

I made a noncommittal groan, both over her expression and at the mention of Dumbledore. Grindelwald was gone right now, of course. He wouldn't risk being discovered by either Drawt's or Dumbledore's hands. But every moment he was away merely gave me time to anticipate his return. And this time, I couldn't even imagine how he'd react.

I had been so tense she'd insisted on giving me a potion to relax. My body betrayed my vocal protests under her examination, so in futility I clamped my mouth shut and took the syrupy violet goo, letting it slide down my throat. Then, she arranged chocolate on a table nearby. At my expression, she clucked her tongue and said in a reprimanding voice, "It alleviates the effects of dark magic, Mr. Riddle. I don't know what was used on you, but it certainly can't hurt. Now, don't be a child."

Her remark made me feel even more petulant, but I curved my mouth from a frown to a smile. "Of course you're right." I couldn't say with certainty what form of magic Grindelwald had been using on me, so her treatment made sense. It was only that my stomach turned at the thought of the sickeningly sugary substance. However, I forced some of it down and felt no different. The dull headache pounding behind my eyes, in my temples, and at the base of my skull was still present.

After that, she finished her examination and shook her head. "You seem perfectly fine. But I know you...you wouldn't lie."

The irony of her statement and the situation was simply too humorous. I bit back a smile as she continued to puzzle, biting her lower lip as she stared into my eyes. She always took such pride in her skills, claiming she could diagnose by just looking in a person's eyes. Yet she was clearly stumped now, and her look was one of open and honest frustration and concern.

"Of course, he is a strong Seer. Strong enough to invade and leave without the slightest residue, I do find surprising, though...that kind of deftness usually takes a link of quite some time to the victim."

Victim. The word burned hatred and humiliation throughout me. The emotion was strong enough to make me almost wish Grindelwald back now, as if my mere fury could incinerate him.

"I know this is far from comforting, Tom, but all we can do it wait. Of course, most likely it was an isolated attack...since you went right to Albus, Grindelwald will think twice about doing it again. But, in any case, for now, you're fine. And I won't stop searching, and neither will Albus." She brushed the hair off my forehead sympathetically, her eyes a little sad. "Can I get you anything?"

Yes. The last five minutes of my existence where I was forced to endure your aggravating pity. "No, thank you. I'll just be going..."

Her hand placed itself firmly against my chest, and her eyes held an annoying gleam of maternal concern that I found nothing but condescending. "You will do no such thing. Albus will come and speak with you, and then you are staying here the night. Dark magic is nothing to fool around with."

"Right. Of course." Again, a smile was rising in me, but it was curbed by the fact that I was stuck in the hospital wing for the night and from Dumbledore entering the room. The sight of him either induced unending humor of the condescending nature, or drained any cheer immediately from me.

He came near the bed, smiling down at me as he always did, even when I was standing, though I was his height by now. He reached over, picked up a piece of the chocolate set on the side on a narrow plate and popped it in his mouth thoughtfully. "Quite enjoyable."

"I'm not fond of it, myself," I said. It was always nice to find something we didn't have in common.

"No, I didn't think you were," he said, pulling up a chair to sit beside my bed. I watched him through narrowed eyes, forcing a neutral expression on my face. He continued speaking, saying, "I hope you don't mind speaking of today a bit, Mr. Riddle." His eyes traced the sunken lines of my face thoughtfully, as he murmured, "I do hate to push you when you are so clearly exhausted. But in matters with Grindelwald, you can understand the urgency. The entire school is at risk and is my primary concern."

Yes, in descending priority order of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, the inorganic matter grown in the laboratories, and then Slytherins. Over my mental commentary, I replied, "I'm very tired, sir. And I have a headache. But of course I'll do whatever I must." Whatever I must to ease the aggravation your presence causes, that is.

Dumbledore's smile actually grew, but his image was blurring around the edges of my vision so I couldn't decipher its intent. I was fighting the potion from Drawt, not the best circumstance when dealing with Dumbledore. Perhaps my eyes glazed, for he said, "You can close your eyes as you speak, if you think you can't keep them open. It doesn't matter now."

Whatever did that mean? I stared hard at him, but found nothing, so I bit back any puzzlement from showing and merely asked, "Shall I begin?"

Dumbledore sat back, even further blurring himself. But his voice was as calm as it always was as his words floated over to me. "Please."

I heaved a sigh, weaving my tale. "I've felt out of sorts for awhile now. At least a few days. Just muddled and drained. Not able to fully concentrate on anything, even work." There. My ego was somewhat satiated for the mark he had dealt me, though I still found it ludicrous and unfair. I pushed on. "As I was walking to your classroom, a terrible headache overtook me. Just as I was passing that portrait of Merlin, on the west end corridor." Sprinkling in details to paint a picture others could see worked wonders with making a lie believable. "As Ms. Weasley approached me, I...I heard him speak."

Dumbledore interrupted me there. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I am curious about something. How exactly did you hear him speak?"

His fuzzy form felt odd to address, but I had no choice, for I didn't comprehend what he desired of me. My features dropped into a frown. I hated when he made no sense. Anyone else would probably assume he was simply so utterly brilliant they couldn't follow the sheer genius of his questioning. I simply found it bumbling. He was supposed to be some fabulous protection? Hardly. Least of all to me. I was beyond exhausted, and frayed and detested his prolonging my tale of supposed victimization. "How did I hear him speak? Well, these things called words formed -"

"Tom." His voice stopped me. I glared at him, not sure where to focus until he leaned in close enough. His face was carved in compassion, but his voice held a stern note as he continued. "I can only imagine how trying the day has been. It must have been horrifying, and it's only natural to be on edge."

Fabulous. A human psychology lesson from the man who charmed the air in his office at times to snow, so he could catch snowflakes on his tongue when he was upset. Still, under his gaze I felt childish again. I swallowed further comments and forced a look of contrition as he kept speaking.

"But I must ask you to trust me. I know what I am asking about, even if it isn't clear to you."

Right. Because he was too brilliant for my simple Slytherin mind to comprehend. Oh, and far too trustworthy and good to be questioned. It wasn't as if having students being attacked reflected poorly on his golden image. I wanted to turn my back to him and shut out his sanctimony, but instead I gritted my teeth and replied, "My apologies, sir. But I don't quite know what you're asking for."

His eyes looked me over, and he smiled a bit. "What I mean is did you actually hear him speaking from the outside, or was it more a voice inside of you?"

That made a bit more sense, I was forced to admit. But I couldn't help it if he wasn't eloquent enough to get a clear thought like that across the first time he tried. Eyeing him back, I paused, trying to think. I had never read anything about one way being more telling than the other. Still, I felt ill at ease in responding, "The latter. Sir." He nodded, clearly pondering my answers. His blurry form weaved in and out, dancing brightness among the black spots. Minutes passed, until I couldn't take it any longer and blurted out in question, "What does it mean?"

He raised his eyes back to meet mine, looking surprised. I didn't think I had asked him a question in years. As humiliating a prospect as it was, it was worth it if I gained some clue as to what was going on. And it was well merited just to see him perplexed. He thought he understood me so readily; it was nice to wrench it as often as I could.

"I suppose you deserve an answer," was how he began. He shifted to sit on my bed, and I fought not to wince. I was in pain enough; I needn't have him so close. But we could each see the other easier this way, and his voice dropped to only be audible to me. "It wasn't Imperius, not exactly. He moved his consciousness into yours. I...never thought it possible. Some telepathy I have seen in the past, but it has always required both sides to be consenting. That was hardly the case here, I don't think." At that he paused, staring off a little into the distance over my head.

I stared at him in disbelief, then slight indignation. "No, I'm fairly certain I didn't want him to torture me with my own thoughts and make my eardrums bleed or keep me u - under his control." I had almost said "keep my up at nights," and internally I cursed myself. Grindelwald was only supposed to have been in me for a short time.

Dumbledore dropped his gaze again and blinked before shaking his head. "No, Tom, I don't believe you welcomed him. I didn't mean to seem as if I did." Again his faint smile, though he didn't dare touch me to comfort. "I think both of us are more than a little spent from the day."

Yes, it must have worn you out from laughter at seeing me collapse on the ground. I didn't really believe he would have laughed, but I did wonder if some part of him hadn't smirked, and I bristled at the thought. Well, it had been my only option. I'd have liked to see him struggle with Grindelwald for as long as I had. "What is to be done now?" I inquired, keeping my voice neutral. I'd had to bite back so much I felt as if I'd explode if he didn't leave soon.

I wouldn't have closed my eyes for all the exhaustion in the world if it meant I'd have missed his helpless expression. Even with my life at stake, his being lost as to how to help was satisfying. Still, he pulled himself together quickly and said in a calm voice, "Now, you rest. I shall place a protection spell upon you that should alert me if Grindelwald returns."

Part of me filled with panic at his suggestion. As coolly as I could, trying to muster simple curiosity, I asked, "Will you be able to do anything then? Perhaps control him, or...hear what he says then?"

The odd, confident look in Dumbledore's eyes filled me with anything but. I pressed my head back against the pillow as he leaned down, his eyes holding a spark that in the harsh hospital lighting made the blue almost twinkle. In a voice I had grown to know far too well, he replied, "I will do better." A moment passed where we stared transfixed at each other, and then he stood. Briskly gathering his robes around his self, he hesitated before adding, "You no doubt provide an interesting challenge, Mr. Riddle. I doubt Grindelwald knew quite what he was signing up for when he entered your mind, even with his previous attacks. Anyway, rest now."

"I'm not tired." The words came out with stubborn defiance. Woozily I forced myself to sit more upright, leaning on my elbows, finding him looking at me in clear amusement. "What spell will you do? What's better?"

The smile he gave me burned infuriation down to whatever soul I had as he replied, "The protection is already in place. As to what I shall do, well...for that, you must simply trust me, Mr. Riddle." And then, he had the audacity to add, "I understand you being a bit too unsettled to sleep...perhaps you could try counting highly marked papers flying over my head." His voice trailed off, smile widening.

Oh, he was too amusing. A neutral smile slid the edges of my lips upward, as I replied, "Very clever, sir."

"Yes, I thought so. Good night, Mr. Riddle," he said, his smile fading as he turned and exited the infirmary. The smile slid off my face as well, settling into a frown. The relaxing potion was starting to hit me heavily, but I refused to lie back. Instead, I grabbed the magical purge bucket from beneath the bed and vomited up as much of the disgusting potion and chocolate as I could. I stared as the bucket cleaned itself, before my eyes darkly rose to the door. Drawt was in her office. The rest of the infirmary was empty. Perfect.

Standing proved a bit more difficult than I had anticipated. Black spots danced before my eyes as I desperately leaned my hand against the cool stone wall for support. Shuddering sighs escaped me as I fought to breathe normally, shaking off the wave of warm dizziness. More of the potion had taken effect than I had anticipated. Dumbledore had, of course, droned on far too long.

Apprehension caught my throat, his smug words filling me with anything but warmth. They also steeled my will enough to shove off the wall and walk, stumbling at first, to the door. I slid out, snaking my way around the walls. At night, Hogwarts was lit solely by torchlight, and odd gray shadows of brightness spun and coiled about the stones as I passed, darkening into nothingness as I blocked the light with my step. A single thought was determined to ensnare my entire consciousness, and that was to reach Dumbledore's office and figure out precisely what he was planning. His words had scraped a hole inside of me, their smoothly calm surface torrentially rough against me. Often in his presence, I felt bare, as if every carefully crafted barrier I had constructed over the years through tenacious and painful will he barreled through. No, not barreled. More like pricked. Pricked little holes, tiny and aggravating, but not deadly unless done so in a very specific pattern that would shake my foundation and crumble it.

As much as I told myself Dumbledore could do nothing, that he had no measure to stand against me no matter what I did, I was still always on edge around him. My survival instincts which were honed to define my very self gave a mocking but bitter laugh. He had prevented me from fully realizing Salazar's vision with the Chamber, but he had merely prolonged the inevitable, as he was now. No matter what he knew of the wretched Muggle who defiled my mother to have me, or what he deduced about Grindelwald's connection with me, he could do nothing. I would make sure of that. A smile curled up my lips. Perhaps that would be the sweetest revenge of all for him. After years of mistrusting me, of nagging and questioning and interfering and fearing, he would know for sure he had been right...and not have a single bloody thing he could do about it.

I met the entrance to his office. Staring at it, my hardened eyes flickered with brief uncertainty. I couldn't simply enter. And my life wasn't easy enough for him or someone suspicious to make a contrived entrance or exit. My tired mind finally managed reason through the rollicking anger and unsettlement the day had instilled within me. It still chafed that there was nothing immediate I could do, but standing outside Dumbledore's office wasn't prudent or beneficial, I had to admit. Sighing, I spun around, flicking my wand in lazy circles as I made my way back to Slytherin. Any thought of returning to the hospital was immediately reviled in my mind.

By the time I reached the Slytherin entrance, I was so tired even my clothing seemed to ache with a bone-weariness. I did notice that I had one real injury, hardly large but rather annoying since every nerve in my body was raw. I had bruised my hip falling in Dumbledore's class, and every stretch of muscle near that area groaned as I walked into the Slytherin commons. I had no idea what time it was, and hearing voices as my eyes adjusted to the shadows meant nothing. There always seemed to be people awake in Slytherin at every hour. Since I rarely slept, I knew this for a fact. I slipped into the room, startling some conversation.

One voice immediately stood out to me, more for the words than the voice. In a whisper barely concealed, a girl said, "Bloody hell, you almost sound jealous, you daft bugger." She made no bother to lower her voice or stop her words as she and her companions whipped to stare up at me. Or perhaps she was incapable of stopping her tongue.

Through the dim flickers of the fire's embers, I walked into the sightline of Sammy reclining on Randy, with Simon staring about in disgust. He did look atrocious, I was still pleased to say. His hair never quite looked like he knew how to fix it, and his face was deathly pale. He was still thicker than me, though, even having lost a bit of weight, and his eyes glared with no fear at all. Derision had settled into simple hatred in his gaze when I saw it staring back. Part of me had to marvel...a mere two years ago, he would never have dreamed of being so impertinent. He had always been hungry, but never had he the sheer ravenous need to devour his practical timidity. There seemed little practicality now as he said stiffly, "I'm hardly jealous. Just because I'm not afraid to say it's absurd that the Dark Lord would enter that," he gestured at me with a dismissive wave, "would never to one with any rational reasoning conclude jealousy."

"Hmm...you're right. Must have been your tone, then," Sammy said with a humored gaze of indifference. Her eyes met mine, still cautious, but she said good-naturedly enough, "Riddle, you must do something about your appearance. Even with being under Imperius or whatnot by Grindelwald, that's still no excuse for wandering around representing Slytherin looking as you do."

"He wasn't under the Imperius Curse," Simon spat through gritted teeth.

Sammy shrugged. "Since it wasn't myself, it matters not to me." Simon turned bright red as she prattled on, "But is that true, Riddle?" A wicked smile came to her face then...I had never seen her torment another so well. Curiosity rose in me, making me observe her amusement rather than partake in it.

Tucking herself up on the leather couch, she added with blithe severity, "If you were lying, then you are too despicable for words. I mean, you would have no excuse then for looking like the unkempt corpse you now do." As she spoke, she lazily brushed her fingers through Randy's hair. Randy, for his part, kept his gaze firmly on her, neither glancing nor speaking to either Simon or me. It wasn't an all that unusual behavior for him, when around Sammy. I suspected he was often there merely to absorb the sounds droning from her mouth.

I merely shot her a mild frown at her repeated insults. Simon was a far more interesting sight to focus upon, especially in response to Sammy's remarks. He kept glaring at me, far too many flickers slashing across his gaze to decipher. Finally he spat, "You two deserve each other," and stomped off down the steps to the dorms.

For a long moment, silence crept around the commons as we all stared at his retreating form. My captivation was the first to break, shifting to watch Sammy. Simon's words sat oddly with me. It seemed he was speaking of Sammy and myself, but I hadn't a clue what he might have meant. But then, it was an unfortunate truth that people at times made absolutely no sense. Emotions and situations came that tossed their consciousnesses askew, and many had not the ability to handle the tides. Even as such problems no longer reached through my defenses, I was still aware of how debilitating those emotions and events could be to others. My eyes flitted back to the dorms, unable to place Simon in that category either. Again, that might apply to most, but it really didn't fit Simon. The possibility that his words made perfect sense to him was without question, but that they might also to me if I could place one last piece of the puzzle together wouldn't leave.

Sammy was still prattling, her voice irritating to me now as I tried to think. I ignored her, saying absently, "Excuse me," and followed Simon down the stairs. I found him shoving something into his drawer as I entered. He turned to glare at me and then slid into his bed without a word. All I heard was a muffled voice calling me a prat, which couldn't have slid easier off my back. The anger in his voice was clear, but underlined with something else. Sammy, in all of her flippant deductions, had hit upon it perfectly. Jealousy. It was there, leaking out of him. That notion in and of itself wasn't too surprising, for Simon had been jealous of me forever. Remembering that fact always spread a warm satisfaction beneath the cold skin on my chest. But it now nagged at me persistently, perhaps because his jealousy seemed nearer the surface than before.

All these thoughts came to me as I undressed and fell into bed, laying face down in the pillows. I always slept on my stomach, with my hand curled around my wand, which was tucked under the pillow. I breathed in the warm air, realizing that I might be able to sleep this night. Grindelwald had literally kept me awake for four days, barring those brief unconscious moments in class. For some reason, I couldn't resist calling out to Simon, "Good night; sleep well."

A moment passed, and then I heard him call out, "Don't get cursed and try to kill me, and I will."

"I don't plan on either, tonight." A smile curled up my lips, even though I knew I would hardly find utter peace. I never really slept well in my life. In fact, I utterly detested the whole process of it. My mind was always busy, twisting and turning thoughts or problems about. While others found the brief respite of sleep welcoming, I found it weak and aggravating. My mind refused to stop even then, jerking to consciousness every hour or so, wrestling with something or other. Relaxation was disgusting, seeming slovenly when there was so much that could be done. But then, it takes all kinds, and some must reside on the purely shallow, willfully and ignorantly base levels. Some people had to go into the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor houses, after all.

That was my last thought before utter unconsciousness blanketed itself over me.

How many hours went by, I wasn't sure. It might have been minutes, or seconds. There wasn't any way I could tell, since I wasn't even sure when I had lain down. But, sometime, a light too blinding to be the sun pierced through my eyelids. It wasn't white...it was too bright to determine color, but it didn't feel white or black. Just a surge of indeterminate power, a pulsing that slid tendrils so fine they wrapped down my nerves into my chest cavity, pouring out there with an icy cold grip that belied any notion of delicacy to snare my heart and squeeze it until I felt it drip. I jerked upright and gasped, my hand pressing my chest, gripping the shirt front so hard it tore. I was trembling, not only from fear, not merely from adrenaline, but from some...power. That was the only word I could use to describe the blast of energy, and though it didn't seem to belong to me, it filled me. My fingers instinctively dug into my chest as if to grip whatever was pulsing, to grab it and either devour it properly or dissect it into oblivion.

Breaths escaped in short pants, puffing before me and trailing off into the air. My eyes must have been dilated, for there was hardly any light creeping into the dorms from the commons, and still my eyes ached -

There was light from the commons. The door was open. This realization came to me in words, forming in my mind like dark little prints, stamping out the light. I swung my face round, staring about blankly to find everyone still slumbering, except Simon. He was sitting upright, face sweaty, hand also pressed against his chest, flatly though, not digging his nails in. Slowly his eyes turned to face me, and we remained locked like that for several breaths. His eyes looked clouded, but for all I knew, mine did as well. I searched him as much as I could, testing the silence, when he suddenly snapped, "I heard at your Muggle orphanage you had to see the vet, and even he didn't want to touch you."

His words jolted me, not for the memory, but for the sheer abruptness of them. Before I could say anything else, I saw him tighten his jaw, then quickly clamp his mouth shut and flop back down, leaving me staring down at him for the rest of the night.