The Broken Victory

Chapter 31: The Hideous Portrait Unfolds

Weeks. Weeks went by since that night, and neither Simon nor I spoke of what happened. Nor did Dumbledore say another word to me about anything related to Grindelwald or his hospital visit. The only indication that something was occurring was that once he came into class appearing gray, but cheerfully told us he had simply stayed too late at the Baron's Deathday party the previous night. Of all the professors, Dumbledore alone remained seemingly calm in class. Dippet, on the other hand, had taken to nervously pacing in his office, mumbling to himself as I worked on filing whatever papers he wished me to. My duties about the castle to help pay for my tuition didn't alter, and I still tutored or assisted Odius on the grounds or the professors in their labs. My work with Dippet, however, seemed more akin to baby-sitting. The man was clearly strained beyond his capabilities, a chord that was knotted and twisted more and more, shrinking with the stress. His office and myself seemed to be his only oasis, pitifully enough. He would either pace while having me perform menial tasks, or just ask me to tell him good things going on in my life. He'd sit and nod slowly, smiling with pride over every A I told him of. What he probably found a heartwarming fatherly interest I found distracting and annoying. He had nothing to do with my success, and the twist inside of anyone taking credit for me was anything but pleasant. All he ever did was give me demeaning tasks in order to pay my keep, even though I was the best thing that ever came through his school doors. All he mentored in me was a profound distaste for his weak delusions. He needed me, though, and as much as that disgusted me inside, outwardly it finally proved a wonderful tool for exploitation.

He was sitting behind his desk, mumbling, "Red or white? Red or white?" The words kept droning as he stared at a candy cane before him. "I always thought Christmas colors were red and green...but my wife prefers gold, actually. Not that I can afford that."

"Fascinating, sir," I replied, handing him his drink. The waft of hard liquor floated up as I moved it onto his desk, and I fought back a grimace.

He leaned back, swirling the drink, watching it spin in golden folds as if he'd fallen into its pool of mesmerizing waves. The pitiful thing was, he wasn't even drunk then. He finally tipped the glass back, downing a bit, letting his mouth pucker as he asked, "Have you ever tried whiskey before, Tom?"

"No, sir." I preferred to enjoy the misery of life in full consciousness. Besides, since I could barely handle certain foods still without feeling nauseous, the idea of purposely placing myself in a position to loose bodily and mental control didn't appeal.

He eyed me, clearly appraising. "How old are you now, son?"

"About seventeen." I didn't know for certainty. My only gauge for that matter was that I must have been eleven when entering Hogwarts. I still had no actual birthday, but little interest in acquiring one, anyway.

A smile tightened his unshaven face as he repeated, "Seventeen...Merlin." He shook his head, his eyes still dull. "Do you know how many students I've seen walk in and out of those Hogwarts doors, Tom?"

I could have figured out a rough average in my head in seconds, but I knew he was being rhetorical so I merely replied, "Many, I know, sir."

"Too many," was his quite reply. "Far too many...names that I can't forget. That our times won't let me." His hand rested on the morning paper, where there was a list of recent victims of Grindelwald. The article ran over two columns. He was now in Britain, solely attacking the wizarding world with a fierceness that belied any rationale. He seemed almost panicked in pictures, but over what didn't seem that clear. By all accounts, he was indomitable.

"I'm sure you're doing everything you can, sir," I said in full honesty. As near as I could tell he wasn't capable of much, so keeping the school as it was now was probably all he could manage. Even doing that seemed to be ripping him apart.

A laugh was his response, one that carried no humor at all within its sound. "No, Tom. I'm not doing anything. Albus..." his jaw tightened a bit, but he forced himself on, "Albus is doing much more."

A laugh with humor rose in me, but I stifled it. Something in Dippet's tone made me pause, then say slowly, "I find that hard to believe, sir." It was a gentle nudge, a dangling bit of bait I knew he'd leap to be hooked upon.

Indeed, he started for it, wiggling on my line as he was snagged. "You think I'm doing as much as Albus...good Merlin. If you knew...if you only knew..." he sounded bleakly awed. As if he had no hope for whatever it was he thought Dumbledore to be doing, and yet, felt unspeakable pride in it.

"Knew what, sir?" He didn't respond, so I prodded a bit louder, "sir, surely he is offering nothing more than you can -"

"Have you any idea what Albus did before he came to teach here, Tom?" Dippet interrupted me, forcing my mouth shut. I had inklings, but I chose to play utter ignorance and let him paint the details for me as he continued to talk into his drink. "No, I don't suppose you do. Well, he did many things...Auror work among them."

Fitting. I wasn't surprised at all. Forcing a pleasant note I said, "Noble work. Of course he did." And then as it came it me I added slowly, "And has he returned to it, then?" I answered my own question in my next words. "Of course he has." Really, this wasn't news at all. Disgruntled, I was ready to beg off further work when Dippet began to speak.

"The man has greatness in his blood...and he doesn't realize it." Dippet's voice was low, hauntingly so, swirling with his drink. "Or maybe he does...perhaps that's what lets him..." His words sickened me, giving me a fever as it boiled my blood. I wanted to grab him, shake him, or at least place him under the Imperius curse and order him to get one single coherent thought out. But I was forced to bite my tongue as Dippet apparently snapped out of his rambling, eyeing me again as if I existed. "I trust Albus's opinion beyond reproach, Tom. But I...I cannot help but think that he...even he must make mistakes. And he has said as much..."

Me. I couldn't shake the chilling thought that Dippet was speaking of things Dumbledore had said about me. My heart crawled up into my throat, expanding enough to lodge itself there in my thin neck. Hoarsely I said, "Everyone makes mistakes..." My mind spun dizzily, turning over the possibilities of what Dumbledore had said. An utterly unseen jab rose to my lips in the sweet words of, "After all...he's only human. We can't blame him for mistakes."

Nobody had ever accused me of being that. And I had risen far above it already, at least in my mind.

Examining me carefully, I saw him willfully draw a happy shade across his gaze. Blowing a breath out through pursed lips, he murmured, "Good lad you are, Tom." That response was not what I truly desired. I was literally aching to ask him what had been said. Labeling my suspicion as just paranoia didn't feel right. I knew Dumbledore didn't trust me. He never had. But this was my first inkling that he had truly given up, saying something to Dippet with enough weight that it struck the Headmaster. Worries over what he had somehow sensed from Grindelwald, or what he knew of my past summer, refused to abate. They rammed mercilessly from my constricted chest into my mind, filling it full so Dippet's little words barely reached my inner eardrum. Something about telling him how being Head Boy was coming along. Automatically I gave him roughly one percent of my attention, more than he required. The rest was on worries over myself.

Semester finals came, providing me with little actual challenge in and of itself. It was far more stressful fitting in all the requests for tutorial assistance. Image forbade me refusing anyone, and ego insisted on making every one of them pass. Never had Hogwarts had as exemplary a tutor as I was making myself. I also continued running the Dueling Club, mandatory now for fourth years as well. Yule Ball plans I partook in, as well as continuing to assist the professors in any capacity they desired. Basically, I rendered myself utterly indispensable, which was always my goal.

Break found me of course doing anything but. It was with a condescending satisfaction that I imagined all of my peers lazing about, falling behind me as they gathered like cattle in their homes. The thought brought a slight twist inside of me, a bitter one. The only place I ever considered home was the Chamber, and that was off limits...for now. Its moist stones with an echo all unto themselves as I walked over them remained merely a memory, as did the feeling of power that vibrated through the walls, all belonging to me. Fortunately, my memory was beyond efficient, and I locked every sensory bit of the Chamber inside, sure I would visit it again sometime.

Even if I lost that space, what I had truly begun in there continued. I studied every art, regarding nothing as black or dark. Of course some brought pain, even to myself if I had to test it that way, but with it grew a sense of delicious control. Under the very sanctimonious noses of Dumbledore, Dippet, and everyone I built up my own protection, making myself impenetrable in everyway I could. Of course there were side effects, one that even mangled my hand. I had to hide for two days until I figured out how to right it. Half a day passed before I could even become accustomed to its gruesome appearance, but worse was that it was of no use. But I recessed into my mind as I always did, finding the body a shell and tool that I could morph and shape. I had no sense of Grindelwald during any of this, and whether from my upped studies or not I brimmed with pride.

Randy, Simon, Annie and Bill also didn't go home, and at least Simon tried to give the appearance of studying. However, his focus seemed lacking when I paid him attention. He merely spat insults if I met his gaze, to which I'd shrug and move on. I spent my time pouring over texts in the library if I wasn't gagging internally over assisting Flitwick with decorating the castle. The merry little creature was even more enthusiastic than Vallandora over the castle's displays. He did, however, know a great deal about elemental magic, and I picked his mind as I placed his ornaments. It was very close to Transfigurations, and intrigued me with its basic yet powerful properties. As with Transfigurations, it felt like a part of me; not something I could merely master, but as something that made me up. Which, in a way, it did with everyone, I supposed. Yet it was tinged with an ancient magical force that I could wield easier than most. I wondered if it was a hereditary gift or ability of the Slytherin line...but of course, I would never be able to find out. My past was lost to me, a broken chain I couldn't salvage in full, but I intended to fill in as many gaps as possible with every thought, action, and breath I took. I desired not only to rebuild but also expand upon my legacy, carving a prestige greater than even the image now. But of course, for the present, the role of student was all I could properly fill. I fully intended to do so, mastering every bit of magic for now, saving it for later. Flitwick, though annoying, was surprisingly useful in that area.

It was on one such occasion that I stood beside the tree, going over NEWTS preparation with the little professor when Dumbledore entered the Great Hall. His face was tight and gray, and his sharp eyes furtively landing on me immediately. It was hard not to center of attention on such a sight, but the little thing at his side beckoned my focus as well. It was a hooded figure, clad in thick reddish brown robes. I felt them behind me, vibrations sent through the stone and up my feet, and as I turned my gaze wasn't sure where to focus.

Both Dumbledore and the hooded figure paused. I couldn't even see whether it had scales or just skin, for the cloth shrouded every inch, the only thing giving it form a black leather belt tied in a knot about its waist. It was shorter than Dumbledore, but stood with his magnitude. My I shifted my focus from one to the other, coming forward as Dumbledore bade me. I almost glanced uncertainly at Flitwick, but forced my face front and walked steadily. I met his eye level, but had to look down at the figure. For all appearances it stared straight ahead, refusing to look down. I almost felt a smile come off of it, its image playing out in my mind as a sudden hand pushed back the hood.

I found myself staring, uncomprehendingly until the figure all but croaked, "Dearie...it's been long." My eyes widened as the figure's identity became apparent. Mara Fluris...the amphibious woman I had cured years before. Her skin was still tinged a bit red, and the perfectionist in me wanted to work on her again to prove my ability. I had, after all, grown tremendously stronger in the last six years, in more ways than one. The memory rushed back as I stared dumbly at her until she laughed. Then my face slid behind its mask, and I turned to Dumbledore.

My voice sounding remarkably calm even as surprised as I was, I inquired, "What is this about?" Then, always an afterthought I added, "Sir." To Mara, I then smiled and added pleasantly, "Not that it isn't delightful to see you again."

His aggravating smile was my only response at the moment. He motioned for us to follow him, crooking a finger behind him. He took me into his office, along with Mara. Politely I stood until she had seated, receiving a cackled response of, "Oh, you breed them posh and polite here!"

"Yes, well, we try. Mr. Riddle is quite the charmer," Dumbledore replied, settling himself behind his desk, peering at me with friendly if curious eyes. "You'd be hard pressed to find one more polite than him, normally."

"Is that so?" Mara said, seeming to miss, or perhaps ignore, the odd tension I sensed between the Deputy Headmaster and myself. She randomly picked up objects on Dumbledore's desk, examining them and rubbing little pink nails over their exterior as she spoke. "I remember the little chicken being that way. Although quite persistent at the same time." Her eyes brightened and she looked up at me and asked excitedly, "Have you got a daisy yet, then?"

I stared uncomprehendingly at her, causing her to cackle again and say, "Oh, my...am I that outdated? I meant have you got yourself a girl?"

I couldn't recall that ever being referred to as having a daisy, but I bit back that thought and a flush of self-conscious embarrassment and anger. "Not at the moment." I had better things to do than work myself into a fit over someone else, I thought in scathing self-defense. Dumbledore's expression was far too maddening, so I immediately changed the topic, asking him, "Is there something you needed with me, Sir?"

Shaking his head, Dumbledore offered Mara a small bowl of candy, probably to cause her to release some toy on his desk she was fondling. Her face brightened and she gladly took a handful, stuffing it into the deep folds of her pockets before taking more to eat right then. I was faintly repulsed, but Dumbledore merely seemed amused as he said, "Ms. Fluris has some interesting news that I thought she should share with you as well. Please, do go on, Ms. Fluris."

Mara shook her head emphatically. "Oh, do call me Mara, Headmaster."

"He's the Deputy Headmaster at the moment, Ma'am," I corrected helpfully.

Dumbledore gave me his smile as he said, "Quite right, Tom." He held my gaze for a moment before shifting it back to Mara. "But please, I then insist you call me Albus."

"Oh, you flirt," Mara said, sucking on her candy. Her face did sour a bit then, over more than the lemon drop. Eyeing me, she reached out to grasp my hand. I fought not to flinch, letting her pull me to a seat beside her as she began. "You remember my saying that I was a...procurer of goods, when we last met?"

She was a treasure hunter, she'd said. But I politely nodded, and she continued. "Well, I found quite the interesting piece on my last expedition. Mind you, it would have given me a pretty penny," she shot a glance at Dumbledore, but seeing no reaction from him she merely sighed and said, "But I suppose all the gold couldn't weigh out my conscience." Another pause, the air thickening before her lips as the words, "It was Grindelwald," seemed to solidify everything to stone.

My chest clenched, the air indeed hard to take in. My expression must have conveyed the roiling confusion and caution that twisted me inside, for Dumbledore then took over. Leaning forward, pressing his hands together in a triangle, he said, "Tom, Grindelwald is deceased. Or at least, his body is. For quite some time, now."

"But that's not possible," logic blurted out for me. "He's been seen...there've been pictures of him taken recently..."

Dumbledore denied all of my denials. "No, Tom. Looks are deceptive, in this case. That was not Grindelwald in the photographs. I suspected as much, when I saw them in the papers at the end of last term." His voice held a firm confidence.

A wave of humiliation came over me. Of course, I'd not had the resources that Dumbledore had, or the numerous physical encounters with Grindelwald that he had which gave him an advantage in deducing this conclusion. But still, the mere fact still drove knives of emotion into my chest. I refused feelings of awe for derision, and anger for fear. I was in control enough to mold my inner thoughts and feelings to my liking, and let them simmer beneath an impenetrable surface. But one question did keep bubbling up...

HOW?

I gave it voice, inflicting it without any trace of admiration or jealousy. "And how did you arrive at that conclusion, Sir?"

He was only too eager to tell in Dumbledore fashion, where he only gave half answers. "Oh, many things lead to another. I've not the power he has in Divination. However, those few years ago when he kidnapped me, he left an impenetrable mark. Pure darkness can do that."

Yes. Right. Of course. It was a struggle to keep the sarcastic slip of my mouth from forming as I responded, "Of course, Sir. Like true love." Theoretically, I'd read about such things.

"Exactly, Tom. Only, it is not a protective force, as love is, where even when it seems to destroy it builds." Dumbledore acted almost pleased, as if I truly had believed his drivel on darkness. His eyes held the faintest glint of how he used to look at me, but it was blanketed with seeming bleakness. He smiled still, but it was sad. "I'm pleased you take my lessons to memory. They will serve you well."

"As all your lessons do, sir," I responded automatically, his words barely grazing into my consciousness as I focused on what he next would say about Grindelwald.

The glint receding slightly, Dumbledore continued, "It came to me that I felt nothing from those pictures. They looked like him, but they didn't feel right...the outward shell is hardly as telling as what is emoted. And it seemed as if I felt him more in...other places."

"Myself," I said, my jaw tightening. If he'd sensed that thing in me before, and hadn't said anything, he'd just let me suffer on purpose.

Tension creased his forehead. "I wasn't sure at all. Nothing like this had been heard of. In fact, it didn't really cross my mind as an option until recently. As you said, Grindelwald seemed to be alive. Polyjuice would only work if they had hairs of his, and to maintain it for that long...it wouldn't be possible."

"Then how do you explain the photographs?" I asked, my voice sounding slightly strained. I forced my hands not to play with my wand or cuff, or dig white-knuckled into the chair armrests.

"Ah...that is the brilliant part that almost escaped me," Dumbledore said softly. He stood up, turning to his window where light still splayed in. Unlike the dungeons or Zwipp's office, Dumbledore's was glowing with light and fresh air. Of course. Staring outward, he spoke to that freshness and light. "He transplanted himself." An odd smile curled his lips, and I felt that sense in my own self. As hideously as it had been used, the prospect of such unheard of knowledge and power couldn't help but be appreciated on some level. At least, by myself, and apparently Dumbledore. The curved mouth stayed in that position as the explanation unfolded. "He literally becomes another person, taking control of them, and then they melt away into only his being. But it's a gradual process. You see, he doesn't start out that way. First he shifted his consciousness into another...living with them, in a sense. At that stage, it can hardly be detected."

The hairs shot straight out on my neck, trying to pull free.

He continued, not seeming to notice. "Then, he takes over layer by layer. But not merely controlling the person, no, he can't simply do that. He has to morph with them."

"Become them," I whispered, sounding hoarse from the strained clenching of my throat. "Or rather, they become something..."

"They become one," he finished quietly. "But only for a short time, until he destroys all essence of the other, burning their fuel purely for his life. Once the transformation into only his being is made, that body starts to decay, and he must find a new one. None have been strong enough to sustain him, to give him enough lifetime to find a better alternative." He was now standing beside me, peering down. My heart beat rapidly beneath my sweater as I stared up at him. I pulled my mask over my face, holding it there firmly as he sat on the edge of his desk, carefully watching me. "You see, Mr. Riddle...Tom...what he had planned."

"He wanted to merge with me." He had merged with me, in part. Sickness and bile was my only response to any measure of losing control, and this certainly resided in that realm. I only hoped my face wasn't as green as the illness I felt might have made it seem. I tried to focus on Dumbledore, on hearing what he said next, hoping something useful might come out of him.

"Yes...he wanted to. He wasn't very successful." The odd note in Dumbledore's voice caught me. It was a sorrowful pride in his eyes. It didn't make sense and rather bothered me since I couldn't quite categorize it. He simply droned on. "He tried years ago, though not in quite this desperate manner. But then, he wasn't in need of a body. Desperation often leads to reckless brilliance, though that brilliance is undercut by its uncontrolled execution."

How he fit morality lessons into everything was a truly annoying habit of his. He sounded like the half-pence fortuneteller Snicks spoke of at carnivals he'd visited. I gritted my teeth, desiring only the bare facts and a plan of attack. "And how, precisely, was he made...unsuccessful?" I'd given him an exquisite opportunity to boast. Needless to say, of course he took it under the guise of explanation.

"I cannot explain fully what transpired, Mr. Riddle. But you do deserve to know a bit," he acquiesced. How thoughtful of him.

Sitting back down, he said, "Part of it, Mr. Riddle, is simply the fact that you are not easy to control. You should be very pleased with that. It was from your struggle that he became more apparent to me, as he continued to spill his essence in and you kept it divided. Congratulations, you have quite the stubborn mind."

Why he bothered with placating humor as if I were a child was beyond me. I smiled thinly, not replying, hoping he'd just get on with it. I wanted answers, not comfort or amusement.

He finally returned to the point. "But it was only when you came to me in my classroom that it began to be clear. It didn't all fit until I was called to the Ministry today, to hear of Mara's discovery. He uses up others' bodies...he needed someone strong to last him awhile. He's been pushing so frantically of late, dividing his essence to conquer as much as he can, and the strain was overwhelming. You, of course, were not only a matter of ego with him since he failed before, but you were strong." He gave a faint pause, and then his tone dropped monumentally. "And, you were close to me, geographically speaking," a slight pause ensued there. He finished in a manner as if he were admitting something guiltily, "and possibly he thought he might sway you, if I'm not mistaken. Or entice you."

"I'm flattered," I said dryly.

His mouth twitched at that, but a full smile didn't form. "I wasn't going to tell you, I didn't think it safe just yet. But Headmaster Dippet insisted I share that much." There was more, I could tell. His eyes traced my face, seeming to pierce every crevice, but all he said was, "Anyway, he wishes to see you in his office immediately. Go straight there." He then went silent.

I blinked in disbelief. He was dismissing me? Now? That was barely sufficient detail. I began to open my mouth when Mara cheerfully cut in.

"Close that, Dearie, or you'll catch flies." I wanted to burn her with a death glare, but instead I gritted my teeth and stood. She rose as well, clasping my thin arms in her hands. She smiled up at me, croaking, "I really had no reason to stay for this."

You're telling me, I thought dryly, itching to cast her hands off.

She was still prattling, "But...I begged Albus, when he brought me here from the Ministry to talk to Dippet. I just wanted to see you again, after all these years. You saved my life, in a sense. Magic fold can't forget something like that. I had to make sure you were all right."

I'd done it for money, and ego. I'd give the money back to her if she'd leave me alone. Her sentiment was sweet in a rather pathetic way, I supposed, but my mind had greater things to focus on. I simply smiled back, saying, "I only wish I could do more for you." Since apparently, you're well off.

Giving a last chuckle, she left the room. I held the door for her, and then was ready to exit as well when I stopped. I paused, feeling his eyes on my back. It was like turning into a spear, but I had to. Shifting, I met his gaze and asked, "Two more things..."

He looked both amused and cautious, setting aside the wand he'd just picked up. Folding his hands in front of himself, he said, "And they are?"

"How did Grindelwald's body die?"

A cryptic smile was my answer, much more unsettling than I'm sure the truth was. My imagination far outweighed his capabilities, surely. He responded with, "Well, I cannot be sure. If it was from what I suspect, it was a pleasant surprise, for I didn't think it had worked. Let me just say that when he kidnapped and left a bit of himself in me, I later left something in him. And that Transfigurations truly is the most powerful art when used properly, I find."

I would get no clear answers out of him. Forcing back any sneer I simply said, "Of course, sir. And I needn't ask the other." I left then quickly, eager to return to the comparative darkness of the Great Hall. The light from his room hurt my eyes -

That thought nagged at me. It wasn't that I detested the brightness. It was more something niggling at the back of my mind, creeping forward with every step I took towards the Great Hall. I found Flitwick gone. While this meant I had to wait another day to fully pick apart his mind, I was rather relieved. My constant headache was pounding, and reading in Slytherin was all I desired. I began to walk there, to...

Slytherin...

Light...

Hurt...

I spun around and ran back to his room, ready to burst in with what had revealed itself in my mind. The memory of the tendrils inside of me, where I finally forced them out, spilled forth. Dumbledore had been the source of that exposure. Whatever he had done to me had uncovered the Dark Lord's energy, forcing Grindelwald to face Dumbledore's awareness of him...but it had faded before caught.

Faded, or hid somewhere else.

That night was when Dumbledore had been sure Grindelwald had been in me, even if he hadn't known yet then how. My mind tried to place how he'd done it, but in my utter, violent state of infuriation, no answer came to me. He had sensed or been part of those powerful tendrils that left me shaking. He had sent the energy through the door, casting light on my dilated eyes, waking me as he forced to consciousness Grindelwald's attempted hold on me, exposing it until it fled from not wanting to face us.

As well as waking Simon.

Grindelwald's essence could be divided...

My mouth dropped open, but not to say the password. The final cover was torn, revealing the hideous portrait of truth.

'You two deserve each other...'

I backed away slowly, my mind reeling, spinning lopsidedly as everything crooked suddenly straightened. Grindelwald had also approached Simon. Only, he was not above agreeing to him. The dangled fruit of revenge and power he couldn't reach on his own, but Grindelwald coiled around it and brought the branch down to him to taste. The putrid Muggle reference was fitting for the despicable creature.

Dumbledore knew...or did he? The way he'd been staring at me, it was as if he were still testing me in some way. I thought back over the past weeks, how his trained eye had followed me, and how he'd distanced after that lightening night. He'd backed away, as if to try and see a clearer picture, gazing at some angle he couldn't get at when closer.

Perhaps he had still sensed Grindelwald, even after the Dark Lord had left me...only, he couldn't tell where it was coming from. He still couldn't tell it was Simon. Technically, he couldn't tell it was in me...he could only expose the essence after he had placed that protection spell. If he'd still sensed Grindelwald fleetingly, it was still always in the presence of Simon and I, for we had class together. It would stand to reason that he would assume Grindelwald was still attacking me...or trying to lure me. There would be no reason for desperation to reach to other students, by all rationale. He hadn't known until today how desperately Grindelwald needed a body.

Or perhaps his prejudice was still blinding him, a biting part of my psyche muttered. He could say all he wanted how he was merely first making sure I was safe since I was the next biggest target after him, but I refused to believe it. Dumbledore wanted me to have been the evil he could catch. That plan ruined, he was now shoving me aside to be baby-sat by Dippet while he went off and did whatever he was up to now. That shining noble honor blazed too brightly for me. If what I suspected were true, he was a hypocrite. If he truly did place everyone else before him, than he was a fool. In truth, I believed he fell somewhere in the middle...yes...quite right. A hypocritical fool he was indeed.

The word twist brought little humor as I stared, the carved statues seeming to glare right back at me, urging me to do something. I cared little if Grindelwald, Simon, and Dumbledore all slew each other. In fact, that would be reason enough for me to start celebrating the Christmas season. But the murderous rage of being their puppet, the humiliated, unsatisfied desire for revenge burned. I wanted nothing glowing for them to live on, not even the memory of a glorified death.

I had no intention of placing myself in danger, only ensuring my survival. A storm settled in my eyes, but it was calm. The delicately indomitable extension of my being, my wand, slid out into my cool, long fingers. I had no interest in playing anyone's role, least of all one so black and white as hero and villain. Those pawns merely shifted on the board in my mind, settling into a perfect placement. Once established I spun around, sure of where my step would lead me.