The Broken Victory

Chapter 32: The Diverted Road to Damascus

My vision tunneled. As I approached him, need blackened my periphery until my sole focus was clear. Over and over, the same thoughts wove themselves into binding nets in my mind. Simon knew what Grindelwald had been doing to me. It was the only explanation for his cryptic jealousy this semester. He'd known, and in some sick way, he had felt envy even over that vile, tormenting attention which I'd been paid. His previous words now revealed him to me, as did the gaze in his eyes that night in Slytherin. Grindelwald had toyed with him, lured him in... and yet, still regarded me as a higher priority. Dumbledore counted even higher with him, perhaps. I frowned, ignoring the ugly twist that came with the knowledge that they'd thought of me as a tool. Instead, I struggled to redirect my focus, to unleash it somewhere useful for me.

Again, that focus came back to my fellow Slytherin. The corners of my mouth dipped lower. Simon was nothing but a puppet being jerked about, his strings the promise. Should Grindelwald cut them, Simon would try and strangle me with the loose ends. He was possibly that desperate.

I felt no pity for him--only a desire to crush. I twitched my wand instinctively, and out shot quivering sparks of blue and green. Months had gone by where my life hadn't been fully at my own command. Nights of horrors tried to force their way through my defenses; in a way, it had been a lifetime of that. And now, some pathetic, inferior, sniveling wretch who'd been right under my ownnose was revealed as a conspirator. He was exposed as having known of my suffering, rejoicing in it-and finding me an unworthy waste of Grindelwald's torturous effort at the same time. The acidic reasoning melted down for a moment the barricades in my mind, letting the past slip through.

Damp floors, cold halls... such trivial details hadn't changed. Only I had. Curling my fingers around the smooth yew, I knew my power could now better match my anger However, what exactly I was going to do, I hadn't yet decided.

That realization slowed me. I wouldn't be hasty. The instinct still leaped upon me at times, but I managed to refrain. Muffled voices countered my urges by seeping inside the cracks in my defenses, tugging my consciousness outward.

It wasn't Christmas, or New Year's. The day hadn't that poetic touch to it. There wasn't blood draining down the walls, a legion of dark minions skittering up the towers, devastation and decay and loss strewn about.

There were just two figures, the lone animation upon Hogwarts' vast grounds. Plants slunk underground, and the limbs of the trees seemed to shift-it was a subtle recession of life and activity. After a few seconds even that motion stilled. But it wasn't a moment of serene perfection, or of complacent settling. No, the air crackled with power that coursed invisible palpitations throughout the land. Energy itself held its breath, seeming to wait for the coming shift in the universe to knock it in a new direction.

Intrinsically, I felt it. The moment slid beneath my skin, the magnitude of power thickening to blockage my blood flow. My lungs struggled to push my own heart on, to subdue the universal connection that I found choking.

Once I restrained my senses, I realized my gaze had been drawn to Dumbledore alone. His shrouded robes were like his stance, like everything--still. Or rather, he seemed to draw every chaotic bit of energy inside himself, holding it motionless. Annoyed, I realized even my breath had been captured in anticipation, and I harshly blew it out. Flattening myself against the stones of Hogwarts halls, I didn't allow myself to be drawn in. Not yet. My emotions faded like breath from glass as I distanced myself from the situation and let it play out before me.

Simon - or what used to be Simon - was the opposite of his opponent. His energy fanned out, sparking and jumping from him as he trembled. Simon's center was all but gone; Grindelwald was clearly struggling to maintain a grasp on the dissolving remains of his host's being. It took only moments for me to decipher what was going on.

Dumbledore was drawing Grindelwald out. His brow was furrowed, an oddly personal glint of concern melting the steel from his blue eyes. A small sneer drew back my lips. Of course Dumbledore would maintain concern for Simon's well-being. After my Housemate had thrown his traitorous lot in with the man who tried to make a show of my death, Dumbledore felt it necessary to protect him. A bitter hatred rose at that unfairness; I was certain that Dumbledore would never offer such fatherly concern to me. I could only hope that I might one day throw that instinct of his back into his sanctimonious face. But now wasn't the time. I was busy wracking my mind for the best way to deal with the horror in front of me; any way. No way was beneath me. I wasn't willing to die as Dumbledore probably would from his ludicrous badge of heroism.

I cared not for the twisting pain on Simon's face - rather, I was drawn to ponder the magnitude of Dumbledore's offense. It was an awesome power I hungered for, though not by the conduit of Dumbledore's limiting emotions. Had it been me where he stood now, neither Simon nor Grindelwald would be alive long enough to threaten me again.

The shivering spirit of Grindelwald, the taint of near-death made tangible, snaked tendrils from Simon's body. It curled out, as if to ensnare whatever life it could. I recoiled, the half-living essence almost making me vomit as a natural defensive barrier slid over my countenance and thoughts, the inside mirroring the outside. This disruption caused Dumbledore to face me. He must have melded himself so fully with the frail fabrics of life that my slight magical vibration twanged alarms within his consciousness. His forceful gaze met mine. It didn't sputter out in his movement, nor did it crash upon my solid surface and dissipate. It locked and kept flowing, until I jerked back. I didn't need his protection...I refused it defiantly right then, unwilling to hang myself on the line he tossed out to me. It was the same line he was trying to toss to Simon.

Instead, I chose to reign myself in as Simon/Grindelwald stumbled forward. It was a disgusting hybrid that was less than whole. I truly didn't know what to call the thing before me. It wasn't a necromancer, nor was it possessed. A puppet, perhaps, but even that didn't fit the utter pathetic state of the being. No, none of those terms were right. It was...

A shadow. A thing warped and fading, following its rivals about. But not even spite could fan its life-flames enough to keep them alive. Both Grindelwald and Simon were leeching life from one another, and slowly dying from the cycle. I allowed myself a smile at the irony - two lives, both equating to only half of one. I could think of so many who fell into that category.

I was amazed at the mockery in his eyes, which were blackened and hooded with illness. What ego would survive this hideous state? Apparently, one as delusional as the one before me.

The shadow opened its mouth to release a hateful, rasping hiss. Glibly it spat, I don't need you." Extending a flippant hand, it flicked its wrist in a careless brush. The power was in direct contrast to its motion, hitting my shield with such force that even I staggered a bit. The words incited an ugly wrath within me, causing me to draw forth my wand. Nobody used me, let alone disregarded me. No one had in years - never again. I hadn't given in to Grindelwald as Simon had, not even before Dumbledore had interfered, and I would never need Dumbledore's assistance again - of that I would make sure. From what I had seen in my days as his student, he had only been slightly better than Grindelwald. . To him, I was a pathetic, poor, misguided Mudblood who had succeeded by his help, but never could be reached because of my flaws. Whatever hand he nobly might have offered me, I of course brushed aside.

With good reason. I didn't need it. I'd never needed it. Never. If I had seemed to reach out, it was only to use him in the end.

It was utter confidence in my knowledge that Dumbledore would play the hero, as well as pure emotional response, that enabled me to reply to the shadow, "that would depend. If I were willing to give you help, I'd say it was an offer you couldn't pass up at the moment." Derision clearly lurked beneath my tone.

The dark being paused slightly, its brow furrowing at that before it angrily lashed out, "Liar!" The voice came down a notch, holding some childish undertones as it continued, "you never keep your promises. Saying I was the only one who could assist you, and then picking Damien -" The pitch dropped, the face on the shadow taut as lines pulled across it in faint struggles, and it continued, "you little Mudblood. I came to the orphanage. I chose you...you think anyone has treated you better than I would have?"

Higher the tone came. "You chose a Gryffindor over me at times. A little girl -"

Lower, but halting, the levels shifting rapidly now. "You think no one uses you? Whatever else are you here to exist for? Locked in your past, doomed to live in its empty shell -"

Grindelwald had been inside me, drawing out now whatever he'd taken from the farthest recesses of my mind. I knew his ploy, and yet I felt compelled to respond to it. My thin fingers tightened against the yew, and I was all but deaf to the mumblings of Dumbledore at my side. "I never let anyone use me -"

The two voices of the shadow became one. "The eternal life of the Mudblooded murdere-"

Silencing it was self-survival. Angry blue sparks shot from my wand. I refrained from green out of pure psychological instinct - Dumbledore was still there, and I wasn't that out of control. Though the heat of my anger was close to the surface, outwardly my face became as cool and hard as a fortress tower. Oddly, as I locked eyes with the shadow I saw a different face - that of Simon. Anger, confusion and pain welled within the phantom features - he clearly wasn't in his right mind. I knew the effect Grindelwald could have on another, especially one with a weaker mind than mine. It mattered not, for he was still, like most, a thing to me. He'd made his choice. Right before Dumbledore, my priceless act of retribution against Blunt had almost been tarnished with his spewing cattiness. Whatever reasons he had, there was no excuse for them. I had no badge of honor to bear - and I relished that I was too smart for it.

The shadow struggled with me - apparently I had enough strength to prevent it from existing easily. I longed to possess the touch Dumbledore had; to learn how he bent the fabrics of existence to his whim. I couldn't use certain magics, I knew, because no one was to know of my private studies. Still, I held him at bay until a voice booming with the power of an erupting volcano rang out.

"Release my students!"

I was flung down so hard formless blobs danced before my eyes as I crashed upon the frozen ground. They spun, converging back into the reality before me, just in time to see wind rushing into Dumbledore's open mouth. It chilled as it passed through me, tingling and crawling up my skin on its path to the magnet of power he had become.

Frenzied anger and desperation rode on waves of reality, tangling inside Dumbledore. The essence of Grindelwald blindly thrust out, leaving its former host to fall by the wayside - as it had done me. The powerful force thrust Dumbledore back, making him stagger. The wild, mangled look he'd possessed the last time he'd encountered the Dark Lord flew across his countenance again, leaving me fascinated as well as disgusted. Feebly, I pushed myself back, instinctively curling my wand in my fist, but refusing to leave.

Epic battles needed neither armies nor gods nor tragic love, merely two human natures intertwined in a single body. It was not much taller than six feet in height, and jerked about in near-convulsions, each master fighting to constrain the other's life-line into subjugation. It was as if the battle of life itself unfolded before me, replete with the kind of meaning legendary orators could merely glance upon in their tales.

I let them fight, concerned solely with how I'd fare when the ashes rose.

Rise they did, in a sound too base to be triumphant. Dumbledore's cry resonated out across the grounds, vibrating resistance from some part of himself that was normally just hinted at. It was a part too often shrouded in his feeble ideals, using blatant hypocrisy and unmitigated ego to suffice. I wasn't blind to his tremendous flaws even now, with his need to protect his students, as if I were mere property along the lines of Simon.

No, not even now as the world around me felt flooded, growing heavy and thick. The sky darkened and began to weep as the mangled, weakened, twisted spirit of Grindelwald was expelled from Dumbledore. Clouds converged, folding in upon themselves in slow shudders as the Dark Lord was absorbed into nature. But it didn't end there. Pale, trembling fingers somehow still being held strong, Dumbledore raised his hands as the dark force rushed out, pushing it as nature pounded it, flattening Grindelwald into nothing. Defying both physics and natural laws, his very essence and energy was being crushed and removed from the fabric of the universe. Exhausted and raging thunder sounded, clearing reality of the taint Grindelwald had become.

It was a slow and cold process, a bitter and harsh end that drained Life from its very effort, and all was still and chilled and broken in the aftermath. Everything slumped in unsteadiness, rebuilding and regrouping in quiet uncertainty rather than joyous tidings. Bare trickles of air moved, nothing restarted, until he began to stagger.

Wings of wind rushed to support Dumbledore, holding him upright. It was an act of servitude that beneath his deluded nobility I'd no doubt he enjoyed.

I was upon the ground, forcing my way out of dizzy incoherency as everything resettled. I swallowed down any bile that rose from my initial shock over his feat. In my staggering first steps, I rose on my own, deconstructing what had occurred before me. Reason played out, thrumming the chords of my consciousness amid the headache banging in my temples. Dumbledore had still nearly failed because of his weak ideals, which were a mistake I'd never make. I valued my life - it was too hard-won for me to endanger it out of self-deluded 'heroism'. And I refused to give Grindelwald the credit of being a worthy opponent in the end, regardless of the hold he'd had upon me. I'd never fall to anyone.

The word opponent struck me then as it sprang up in my mind, then slunk away to the corner of my consciousness moments later. I hated to long for the power Dumbledore possessed, and soothed my ego with the knowledge that I'd soon wield the same power, and better than he ever could.

Staring at the Headmaster, I found it was hard to find much to be in awe of if I looked at him rightly. He was trembling, his eyes were glazed, and he looked to be on the verge of keeling over. Automatically, I went to him to hold him up with my firm grip, swallowing the disgust such contact brought me. He was mumbling again, nearly spitting, but I forced myself to listen to him.

"Murdered...he - he was saying...and there - there were Muggle deaths - Tom," his gaze felt like icicles piercing me. I let myself bleed inside until it froze, my gaze calm though my heart pounded. Dumbledore was clearly incoherent, and I remained still, neither helping nor hindering. I had one thing to find out.

What had Grindelwald unleashed about me in Dumbledore's mind?

He kept repeating the same words over and over, and I held still until the layer of panicked ice in my chest melted down, then bubbled up with a manic desire to cover. Making my voice gentle, I pretended to interpret that, "he said he killed them..."

Damn the man. He stubbornly twisted in my hold, denying, "He didn't say that...he didn't have the chance to say who...who did it...but he - how could he know -"

"He was lying." I was adamant, my voice a bit too strong for my liking. I knew Dumbledore was too lowly to understand the magnificence of my family's murder by my own hand.

Dumbledore twisted in weak confusion, mumbling, "maybe...maybe..."

My hand itched for my wand, but his gaze was somehow still too sharp at intervals for me to pull it out. It stayed locked at my side, and our conversation stalled for moments which stretched as wide as the ocean.

His cries had alarmed the castle. How long it took for them to actually come, I can't be sure. But eventually, I heard voices nearing, followed by Zwipp's appearance. His face was at first shocked, but then a firm façade crept over it, and he took Dumbledore from me. His look commanded that I speak.

I was ready. "Professor, the Deputy Headmaster and I figured out - separately - that Grindelwald was here. I should have left it to him, but after what the Dark one had done, I simply couldn't."

Zwipp's eyes were guarded, so I hurried on. "It was foolish of me. It's just that when I knew that Grindelwald had been invading people - that he had invaded me..." I allowed a strain to show. It pained me to show any weakness, but it was needed for a believable front. Eyeing the pitiful being of Dumbledore made it easier for me as I said, "I held him off, until Dumbledore could retract Grindelwald in full. I still don't think the Professor's well. Grindelwald said he killed some Muggles, and -"

Zwipp interrupted me then as he began to pull Dumbledore back to the castle. "Muggle deaths...by Grindelwald...well, perhaps it was done to entice you to him - I mean...never mind." His eyes showed pity, even a bit of pity for me, and I wished to yank his long hair off his head by the handfuls. It was clear that some knew from the Ministry that the Riddles were deceased. Of course, they hadn't shared it with me. Whether that was because they didn't wish to bother me, or because they didn't trust me, I wasn't sure. But I could take no chances, even with adults as dense as the ones that surrounded me.

I didn't speak their names, giving a shrug of innocence to any implication that I might have intimate knowledge of my family's deaths. Part of me wished to grind my victory into everyone's faces, but I kept it for myself alone. The only way to ensure my survival was to always maintain a distance from the others around me. That wasn't hard...I was already above them.

Dumbledore twisted in Zwipp's hands, his eyes cast to a fallen form which I'd easily forgotten in spinning my lies. A groan came then from the ground, as if in response to Dumbledore's gaze. Plants were slowly curling back to the surface, and through the weeds the frail body of Simon could be seen. My eyes narrowed, and I said, "I'll take care of him." I barely noted Zwipp's nod as he hurried Dumbledore off, sure I'd follow him to the infirmary.

The remains of Simon were sprawled in a heap before me, convulsing in slight, rhythmic jerks. Broken. The way the dusk was settling shadows across him, he almost appeared deformed.

He would have appeared deformed to me anyway.

His clothing was torn and threadbare, his shell unkempt. The utter desolation I saw tried to tug my mind back into my past, but I resolutely pushed forward. Standing over him, I blocked the sun as I leaned down. He moaned, his unclear dark eyes focusing on me for a moment. I swallowed my disgust and indifferently nudged his body with my foot, applying just enough pressure for him to instinctively roll away.

As I knelt down, speaking to his back, words in whispers rolled out. "Best angle I've seen you from yet."

No response. More petulant words of triumph and harshness sprang to my mind. I felt it a just reward for me to drain all the pleasure I could from this, enough to fill seventeen years' worth of if possible. But reason told me that wasn't possible.

"Help...me..."

The creation of language was a beautiful moment in the history of the world. It enabled one human to relate to another, to connect on an abstract plane. Thoughts concreted into expression, ideas took new forms in sharing minds...and salvation could apparently be requested.

Laughter rose in me, a disbelieving wheeze sounding high and cold, stifled only by the meaning behind the marriage of his two words.

Help.

Him.

The magnitude of it swelled my entire awareness into my unfaltering being -- my consciousness...my essence. "Help you?" The fact that anyone could utter those words, least of all him... if at all possible, more derision welled inside me.

"Simon Peter...what would your master say to this request? Quite the denial of him. For that alone, I ought to offer you something, shouldn't I? In fact, I find I want to. Here's a helpful guidance, Simon. A truth, rather. Nobody can save another. There's no such thing as being saved." Bile filled every inch of me at the hypocritical drivel he'd uttered, driving me to add, "I've seen that confirmed as a fact."

I rolled back on my heels, adopting a casual pose that belied the hardness in my eyes. I knew I should hurry on, but I couldn't resist driving home my point in a conversational tone. "Perhaps you mean simply, help you live? Now, why? Why would you want to keep on living, Simon?" In truth, I had to wonder over the reason for it.

I had crushed him. I was infinitely superior to him. Life ebbed from him, and the whole reason for it happening was my existence and his reaction to it over the years. That was all he existed for, to react to my actions, or to wail over what plague he thought I'd brought his life. So why indeed would something so pitiful as he was desire to carry on, sinking his heels deeper into the muck formed by his past existence for years to come?

I had a burning desire to know the longer I spoke. Gripping his shirtfront then, I curled my bony fingers into the cloth. Ignoring his pathetic breath of fright, I asked harshly, "Why, Simon?"

Bleary eyes met mine, so cold and empty with a mere flicker of consciousness. What basic functions of existence were left in him formed an answer. "Ask...yourself..."

Warmth spread inside me. Not burning, but certainly not comforting. I felt a dizzy rush, as if I'd been rocked off my center. I threw out the first words that came. "You're pathetic -"

"Can't breathe -"

"You compare me to you?"

"Tom -"

"Won't you ever learn?"

"I -"

"Any of you?"

"What are you -"

"I would never fall so low."

"My breath -"

"Is already lifeless."

"I can't -"

"Do it yourself? No, I know, Simon. You can't survive on your own. Not as you wish to. No, you can't at all anymore, can you? Neither can Grindelwald, can he? Neither can Dippet function well without me, or our sniveling classmates form a coherent thought without me. Neither can the Bl - Muggles survive without their precious religions and witless leaders. Though, they never seem to realize that, do they? None of you do. No one does but me. It's amazing how stubbornly some people will latch onto a delusion, twist reality to their whim when they have no real foundation to do so. May their heaven forefend an independent thought, lest it be godless...or worse, lest it show just how shallowly, self-mockingly low they are -"

"You're wrong -"

That snapped my consciousness down, dragging it back into awareness of my body. I was still hovering over him, fingers dug into the barely moving chest. My pale hands were indistinguishable against his white shirt and gray skin. Tearing them away, rubbing the stench of him off, I asked snidely, "Really? You wish to say you don't need my help now?"

His voice was weak but emphatic in its plea of, "no."

Annoyed, I persisted, "Oh? Then, you wish to tell me of someone besides myself to whom my theory applies? Do tell. Dumbledore?"The name sprang out instinctively, my eyes darted upward and scoured the view for unwanted visitors, but we were still alone in the field outside Hogwarts. My gaze found its way to the path along which Dumbledore had chased Grindelwald. Emphatically I refused the notion that Dumbledore matched up to me, and I racked my mind to find a time when the man had needed another. With his ways, he must have reached out pathetically for help some time. He must have...I just wasn't aware of its occurrence. He did not match up to me, he couldn't uphold my ideals. He couldn't have survived what I had, with his hypocritical caring and foolish notions of love -

"Not...Dumbledore..."

My gaze went back to the paling Simon at that. It was fascinating, in some ways, to see the small licks of flame evaporate from his eyes. It was an objective observation of mine, a simple musing. My mind was still centered upon my own puzzle. My inability to uncover that universal flaw in humanity in Dumbledore shook me, and I shoved it aside. I tried to dismiss it flippantly, sure of my reasoning and superiority, but cold fingers of doubt clung on some scaffold in my mind. I could never shake the doubt which Dumbledore instilled in me fully. That was infuriating, something I reproached myself for until it silenced in some distant corner of my consciousness.

Room existed now for me to focus on Simon's parting comments. Flinging words down upon him in pelts, I asked, "Not Dumbledore? You see some other part of my theory wrong?" I didn't care what he thought. Not at all. For sheer amusement I added, "What is it you find so wrong, then?"

I saw what his lips were forming before sound came. They opened upwardly first, ready to shrink into a smaller oval at the last syllable. His eyes betrayed what he was to say, latching onto the subject of the unfinished word. Me.

Instinctively my hand clamped over his mouth, tightening around his jaw. He groaned, writhing weakly, but I trapped that word inside of him. I wouldn't let such wrongness breathe.

A Muggle death. How appropriate.

Minutes later, seeing Zwipp return, I spoke with all the sincere grievance humans truly had for one another when they looked deeply enough within themselves. "I did my best, sir. But I couldn't keep him alive. He was too weak to keep breathing, no matter what I did."

I saw Zwipp kneel down, his eyes sorrowful, but calm and stoic. To console, he placed a damp hand upon my shoulder. I fought back a cringe at the touch as he said, "I know you did your best. When I saw him lying there, I didn't think there was much of a chance. For him or Albus. Thankfully, it looks like our Deputy Headmaster, at least, will make it."

My lips curled in the opposite direction they were inclined to. "Of course he will. I can't tell you how that makes me feel." Breaking his gaze, I stared back down at Simon. It was mostly an empty feeling that the sight brought me. Faint satisfaction, but not full satiation. I wished it were more pleasing; but then, Simon counted for so little with me it wasn't surprising his death meant nothing great.

Zwipp appropriately misinterpreted my look. "Not even you can control something like this."

I ducked my head to hide a smile, one filled with disdain over his simplicity. "People should learn that lesson, sir." But I wouldn't have to.

At long last, I had proven that.