Wanted

Be careful how you take hope away from another human being.

Sometimes, life brings more pain than we can bear alone,

When hope is gone, and I have no strength to stand on my own.

When nothing helps, there's nothing that I can do,

You surround me, and show me I belong to you.

I belong to you, I belong to you

You're the one who will never let me down,

Won't let me down,

I belong to you.

- I Belong to You; Superchic[k]

Wanted:

Breakthrough

Malfoy was convinced that resourceful scouring of the library would be enough to find out who Ginny's mysterious tormentor, Tom, was. As it turned out, luck was the only factor that mattered, much to his dismay.

He searched through every school record for a 'Tom Someone', and produced fifty-six people who fit that vague description from 1920 to 1990 alone. Clearly, his work was cut out for him, Draco thought wryly.

Undaunted, he began to take note of all the interesting ones. There were few Prefects and Head Boys on his list, most were receivers of school medals and honors and surprising number of Quidditch players. He wrote for several hours after Ginny had left, in the same, deserted corner where she had sat earlier, and soon the table accumulated piles of old and dusty school records, indexes open. Occasionally, he'd rub his gray, watery eyes, walking around the table to stretch his legs and breathe some fresher air. He continued his search until the early evening, with a list of people he would inquire about to Madam Pince or Professor McGonagall or some other ancient creature who had been around as long as they had.

He grabbed parchment after parchment to add Toms onto his already growing list, scribbling names and facts. His hand reached for Ginny's parchment that he had kept and placed it in front of him, his quill dipped with rich and solid black ink and poised to write 'Thomas Smitthy' at the top.

His posture was bent as he leaned close to the parchment to write in hurried strokes as the smell of what he imagined to be Ginny's wafted up to him. The parchment smelt very faintly of a floral scent and a fresh breeze, and Malfoy found himself wanting to smell more of it. The scent left him hungry, desiring more of the sweet and soothing fragrance. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating what to do, whether to write on it or keep it blank, and why the hell should he treasure HER cheap piece of parchment anyway? Plenty of girls perfumed their parchment for lack of anything better to do, so why should one girl make a difference to him? Unconsciously, his hand reached down and brought the paper up to his nose, and he inhaled deeply, her scent driving him crazy and mad that it was so faint, and fading fast. He shook his head; this was really very silly of himself, and he wasn't accomplishing anything sniffing parchment paper. He placed it down and was about to write, when, against logic, he grabbed another parchment of his and wrote the entry on that one.

Thomas Smitthy, Beater on the Hufflepuff team of 1965, had a history of violence during games and was suspended from the game in a record amount of time, five minutes into the first game of the season, Slytherin versus Hufflepuff. Slytherin went on to win that game, 160-40, final score, while 50 points were deducted from Hufflepuff for Smitthy's personal foul.

He pushed her paper away and began to find another Tom that he should be suspicious of, and filled that one up with facts of past students. When his watch finally chimed six thirty, Malfoy leaned back in his chair, taking a well-deserved break.

'Wouldn't it be a lot easier to just ask her about who Tom is?' he wondered. He laughed aloud, a soft bark of a chuckle. 'God, why am I such an idiot? She'd never tell me, already thinks I'm up to somethin' anyway. And anythin' more will look like I'm stalking her, which is disgusting and wrong on all levels. Besides, it'd only give people all the more reason to harass her.' He frowned, looking down at his seven-paper list, making a face; he could feel his right hand throb.

'Guess this will have to be accomplished the difficult way.'

He gathered up his papers into a stack, tucking Ginny's paper into the mix, and stacked the thick record books that he had used onto the other side of the table. He had jotted down most of the noteworthy names that he had wanted, and felt himself rather accomplished. Shoving the books back onto the shelf that they belonged on, he walked out into the aisle and right into Harry Potter, flanked by Hermoine Granger and Ron Weasley. Malfoy stepped back with a glare as his parchments flew around them, falling out of order and landing on the floor.

"Smart, Potter. Maybe they should've taught you how to walk correctly before they shoved a broom onto you," he drawled out, crossing his arms, tucking his bag under one. He tried not to grimace as he thought of his parchments littered on the floor.

Harry's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, while Ron's face became red and splotchy. "Stay out of our way, Malfoy," he said with a tone of voice that could have almost been interpreted as threatening.

"Oh, I understand how it is now. I was in your way. I'm so sorry," he said sarcastically, stepping forward towards the shorter boy, "for being blind." He tapped Harry's lenses with a long pale finger, making a sharp rapping noise, smirking maliciously.

"Where are your little cronies, Malfoy?" Ron asked, noting the absent bodies on either side of Malfoy.

"Somewhere," he waved his hand off to the door. "You are aware that they can think for themselves. But don't be too intimidated by them, Weasley, there are loads of people jealous here because they can only wish for the muscle mass they possess." Ron's face both reddened and whitened at the same time and his brown eyes flashed. Harry turned and caught his friend right before any serious damage could be done.

"Assault of a fellow prefect, Weasley? Is that really the smartest move?" Malfoy asked.

"He's right, Ron, you don't want -" Hermoine started to say before being interrupted by Malfoy.

"Of course, I'm right. Don't let yourself think anything contrary to that statement, Weasley. Now, Mu - Granger," he said, receiving a sharp glare from the tall Weasley who stood beside her, "I'd appreciate it very much if you would detach yourself from my belongings, Now." He said, looking pointedly at the parchment in her hands.

She glanced up and Malfoy could clearly see the surprise on her face, unobscured by curly bangs.

"Who are all these people?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"People," he responded shortly. "My parchment. Please." He held out his hand and became very annoyed when she ignored it, continuing with searching eyes down the list. He tapped his toe quickly, irritated, although the sound was lost in the thick carpet of the library. He didn't like being nice, or patient, or ignored, and certainly didn't like being all three of them at the same time.

"Why are all their names 'Thomas'?" she asked. He glanced at her with clear aggravation, wishing that she'd mind her own business for once.

"Because I find explicit joy in looking up dead wizards from years past that attended Hogwarts and whose names were 'Tom'," he replied with heavy sarcasm.

"Tom?" Harry asked, bending down and picking up a piece of parchment at his feet.

"Yes, Potter, 'Tom'. My parchment." He snapped his fingers, but Harry was oblivious.

"Is this everybody? This can't be everybody that's been named Tom that's ever attend Hogwarts," Hermoine commented, looking at the parchments that were scattered around them.

"Observant, Granger, really brilliant deduction you've made," Malfoy said dryly.

" 'Tom Riddle' " Harry muttered softly, his eyes roving up and down the one of the sheets.

"Tom who?" Malfoy asked, his head whipping around and glaring at Harry, who had not even realized he'd said it, with such intensity that he took a step back. Draco racked his brain, trying to recall a 'Tom Riddle' in his search.

He had encountered a 'Riddle, Tom M.', Slytherin prefect who was perfect. A forsaken child who had become Hogwarts' pride and joy for the seven years he attended the school. Head in everything, brilliant mind, popular and charismatic, and was the proud owner of a blemish-free record and receiver of many awards in his time at Hogwarts.

Malfoy hated the boy simply based on his description in the record book, even though he had been a former Slytherin. He didn't sound like a very good candidate for Malfoy's list of suspicious persons, but, as his Father's words came back to him: "It's not the dishonest people in life you have to be careful around, since you can always count on them to be dishonest. It's the honest people that you have to watch out for, because you never know when they'll turn out to be dishonest."

Thinking it over, Malfoy decided that 'Riddle, Tom M.' sounded like a perfect suspect on his list.

Harry hesitated before he spoke again. "Tom Riddle."

"Riddle? Why the hell would I have him on my list?"

"You wouldn't know, Malfoy," Hermoine interejected, taking a step closer. He leaned back, a smirk on his face. "You wouldn't care."

"Try me," he dared them, falling back.

"Try the Heir of Slytherin," she said back, dramatically, her ponytail whipping around and resting on her shoulder.

"No," Malfoy breathed, rather than said. Blood was pounding in his ears from excitement, hesitation, and slight fear. He leaned on a bookshelf behind him to steady himself and closed his eyes.

"He was responsible for opening the Chamber both times."

Malfoy was silent, eyes shut. He wondered why Potter was telling him this in the first place. He cracked them open and saw that Potter was not talking to him, but to himself, and to remind his companions.

"The time first, by himself. The second, through Ginny," Hermoine said thoughtfully to herself before covering a hand over her mouth. "Oh Ron," she squeaked, her cheeks becoming a bright pink, "I'm sorry!"

Weasley shook his head. Malfoy had the feeling that he was soon to be forgotten from the conversation, having not spoken in a while. He didn't particualarily care.

Hermoine absentmindly bent down and picked up the fallen parchments, shaking her head and biting her lip.

"Poor girl, I would've died if that had all happened to me. As a first year too! Only eleven years old." She shook her head, bouncing the stack of parchments on a knee.

"She almost did die," Harry reminded her, taking a step closer. Together, they formed the three points of a triangle.

It fascinated Malfoy to know that Weaslette had almost died. He almost felt humbled.

Hermoine nodded. "In the Chamber of Secrets. I remember."

'So it does exist,' Draco mused. A picture of a dark cave, tunnels woven in and intersecting other tunnels, and an omnious drip of cold water on rock floor materialized in his head. A human boy standing over a crumpled Ginny, stroking her cheek as she paled in her sleep.

"She's never really recovered," Ron said somberly.

Something happened in Malfoy's chest that made it hard to breathe. Never recovered... Ron's words rang hauntingly in Malfoy's ears.

"You guys weren't there that summer. She'd wake the entire house up every night with her screaming, and it was the damn scariest thing to have to wake her up. She'd stare with these huge blank eyes and she'd be gasping and twitching..." Ron shuddered, the memory disturbing. "She never talked, and Harry, you know how talkitive she is." Harry nodded. "Barely said a word over the break; the house was so quiet."

"How come I don't remember this?" Hermoine asked, her brows furrowed. She scratched her cheek, trying to remember why.

"You went to France, and Harry was busy blowing up his aunt." Ron smirked at his friend and Malfoy stifled a laugh.

"And we went to Egypt. It did Ginny a bit of good, I suppose. Distracted her, if nothing else. She was a little better. I guess that she just needed some time, anyways, that's what mum says."

"I'd probably need more time than she did if You-Know-Who possessed me too," Harry remarked.

Draco stopped breathing for a second, his mind desperatly trying to make the transaction from Tom Riddle to Lord Voldemort. The only logical explanation was the most obvious: Tom M. Riddle, disgustingly perfect, rule-abiding, pride and joy of Hogwarts, Slytherin prefect, grew up to be possibly the most destructive modern revolutionary that ever walked the face of the wizarding world.

He decided that this piece of information was most interesting.

"She got all Outstandings on her O.W.L.s, didn't she, Ron? Isn't that what you said?" Hermoine asked, touching Ron's arm tenderly.

"Yeah. She's always studying." He shook his head. "Takes Magical Healing and extra Potion classes, and a Defense Against the Dark Arts course. Don't know how she finds the time for it all."

"It's not like she has much of a social life," Harry said non-offensivly.

"She's just got her priorities straight!" Hermoine said defensivly.

Ron gave her a sideline look. "Yeah ok." He pronounced them as one word.

Malfoy's mind, once slow, raced to process the new information and impications. This Tom that Ginny had mentioned wasn't just someone evil whom she was now forced to deal with in bad memories and scary dreams. This Tom was the epitome of evil, hatred, chaos, and death. And who was Ginny Weasley? Small at the time, innocent, willing to trust and confide, vulnerable, and scared. She was a perfect target for him, easy to manipulate, and easy to finish off. No one would have mourned over her; nobody would have missed her. She was a nobody.

It was said that only one person had ever faced Lord Voldemort and lived, and that person was naught five feet away from him. But, Malfoy considered with a lazy smile, that that statement was erred; there were two. One that faced him as a boy, and one that faced him as a man.

If Ginny had faced Riddle, who later grew up to be feared and revered as Lord Voldemort, then she had strength and courage that was unimaginable, and determination that made his persistence look like a puppy's whining. This young woman was nothing less than remarkable; was he the only one that realized that?

The conversation turned playful as Hermoine swatted Ron's arm, and he teased the studious Head Girl for her nerdy ways. Malfoy decided that there was no more information to be gained and walked out, avoiding the triangle of smiling friends, Hermoine still holding his pile of Tom parchments in her hands. He let her; he wouldn't be needing them.

He had only one other place to go: Professor Flitwick's private office, Head of Ravenclaw House.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"That is atrocious behavior, Mr. Malfoy, that you are describing. Are you sure these were girls under my house?" Professor Flitwick squeaked, his eyes bright and wide.

True to his word, Malfoy reported to Professor Flitwick the behavior of the four Ravenclaw girls that he had witnessed. Professor Flitwick had been, understandably, shocked when Malfoy had informed him, but was even more surprised when he saw the look on his student's face.

Draco's face was impeccably serious and aged beyond his years, contrary to the immature baby-face that was usually complimented by his trademark smirk. His eyes held a gleam of victory, but their usually haughtiness was absent. He spoke reserved and unbiased, in a tone that was far different from the sneering, snide voice he regularily used.

"I am positive," he declared, "This was an unprovoked, malicious attack on a fellow classmate and destruction of personal items belonging to that classmate." His voice was cold and distant. Hard and as cutting as ice.

"Do you remember the names of these young women?" Professor Flitwick asked him. Malfoy nodded, and told them to the small professor, who jotted them down on a pad of paper on his desk.

"I deducted sixty points from them as a group," Malfoy mentioned.

"A wise move," commended the professor as he wrote it down. Behind him, the meter of Ravenclaw points fell. "I will add to your sixty another forty, to make it an even 100 points." The blue liquid fell even further.

Malfoy whistled, and Professor Flitwick looked up. "There's no reason to be surprised. Condemnable behavior will not be tolerated in my house, Mr. Malfoy."

"Your call," he said, eyebrows raised. 'Your funeral', he added on in his head, a small smirk forming on his lips before he spoke again. "I trust that you'll find an acceptable punishment for these ladies in question. One thing, Professor, however, that I might ask of you?"

"Yes?" he asked as Malfoy stood in front of his desk.

"An apology to Ms. Weasley. One from each of them. Heartfelt, sincere, whatever. Written and then orally given to her," he said firmly, daring Professor Flitwick to refuse his request.

He, however, only smiled. "An admirable demand, Mr. Malfoy, and one that I believe I can see to be fulfilled."

Malfoy fought the urge to let a triumphant smile cross his face. Instead, he nodded his head and wished the Professor a good night. He grabbed his parchment and bag from the floor before exiting his office and closing the door behind him. For now, he could only wait.

And watch.