CHAPTER NINE

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"leave all your love and your longing behind
you can't carry it with you
if you want to survive"
the dog days are over - florence + the machine

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Some kind of disgrace expanded inside Y/n's heart as she was observing the sorrow and terror in Charlotte's broken irises, the following morning. A concealed prayer that was soliloquizing in the depths of her soul for salvation trying to heal the cracks that Theseus Lestrange had caused.

Next to her, Grace wore a faceless expression stirring her salad with her pork dully. It was something she could not identify. This morning, they exchanged some small greetings with each other and that was all. The atmosphere was severe and the aura that the three girls were emitting indisputably
was not their usual one.

A grey veil similar to smoke or more like a wraith of obscurity wrapped around them, absorbing any last drop of energy they had left in times like these, inside of them, drying their psyche to the point that they could not look at each other straight into the eye anymore.

It is believed that even a single tiny phenomenon, that is not following the normal universal path of absurdity, can cause crucial implications shortly. Y/n felt a resemblance to this tiny phenomenon—a tiny breath of a radial change that was seriously evolving herself into a bigger one.

The butterfly effect.

What if her arrival there made the situation even tougher and more complicated than ever for her friend? What if every sign of misery that roams this world started scheming acutely when Y/n lay her foot in this world? The previous night she had not much sleep and all thanks to the lurid thoughts that surrounded her pretty little mind, like Erinyes, twisting proudly to its chords.

She needed to visit Dumbledore immediately. She needed someone to affirm her that she was not responsible for all this havoc, but destiny instead. The guilt was crawling to her like a parasite nesting inside of her and the indifference she was feeling towards herself only grow unconsciously.

She could not allow that. She could not allow that wraith, the phantom, the Devil he was Tom Riddle control their consciousness like that. Y/n had a task, had a purpose— to save the world she so unconditionally adored. And if she could help in any way she would, to annihilate the evil that dark-haired boy was spreading so greedily.

Y/n tried to find Dumbledore at the professor's table, but the old wizard was nowhere to be found. He probably was in his office fixing essays and papers even at the dawn of the day. The girl stand up not even glancing at her friends and they both shared a worried expression. Y/n had concerned them to some degree and the mysticism she was wearing was not a usual sight for them.

Before disappearing into the faded luminosity of the corridor's shadows, Y/n observed the Slytherin table at the side where the Knights of Walpurgis were gathered. The six of them stood there flawlessly like semi-gods that decided to come down to earth to spread their divine knowledge.

She wished this was true.

The prophecy Dumbledore got her into it seemed to knock on her door with a menacing and persistent clonk. A wave of realization washed her heart as it sank when she found Tom Riddle's stern emerald eyes glazing at her with a cup of coffee in his hands and his brows squeezed together.

Y/n returned this gaze and Tom did not dare to pull away his irises from her. Time seemed to have stopped, and the movements of people synchronized with the slowness between their two gazes. In that space, there was only her and him. Two gazes that concealed many thoughts and if not nonexistent them few emotions.

Y/n no longer held the same opinion of Tom— she would never have believed that a person could be so macabre. The boy concealed his true self well beneath his bestial pride and the mantle of his academic career. Under different circumstances, Tom Riddle should have been ashamed of what he was, but for a person with overt antisocial behavior and a narcissistic character, that was not attainable.

The girl scoffed and ignored his imposing stare. If she had been a bit faster, she would have had a conversation with Dumbledore about what was happening until the start of the first period.

And indeed, when she arrived at the classroom where Professor Albus Dumbledore taught, she found him there, surrounded by thousands of parchments and students' assignments. The girl lightly knocked on the open door, and Dumbledore looked in her direction.

"Y/n, what a pleasing surprise. Come in," his kind voice echoed, and Y/n closed the door behind her. Whenever she entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, a feeling of dread surrounded her as she observed the decor of the space. There were not many colors, only dark shades, and minimal light. It was an ordinary room, but it hid tremendous magic in its atmosphere.

"You seem somewhat disturbed. Would you like some tea?" he asked, indicating a small table with tea cups on it. She shook her head negatively as she sat across from him, trying to find the right words to speak to her professor.

"My visit has to do with the fact that certain events have occurred, and I have some thoughts that, if I do not share them with someone, the feeling will consume me alive," she explained, avoiding Dumbledore's eyes as she looked everywhere else.

"Well, I am listening," the professor urged her.

The girl took a breath. "You know, I do not feel quite comfortable knowing that my name has become entangled in a prophecy with Lord Voldemort— Tom Riddle, anyway. Yesterday, I learned from my friend Charlotte Macmillan that she has been involved in an organization led by Tom Riddle," she explained. "And I wondered if I am responsible for all of this. Perhaps my appearance has altered the course of your reality. I am certain that no Charlotte Macmillan is mentioned in my world as a member of Voldemort's group."

He whispered the last part, this time looking directly at Dumbledore. The professor seemed to think for a moment, with the gears of his mind spinning rapidly. "I do not want to distress you, but such a thing may have indeed occurred. However, I am not entirely certain. You see, it is not a common phenomenon for someone to travel and change realities through sleep. There is limited knowledge on this subject. Nothing is ruled out, though," he explained.

"I expected you to tell me the opposite," Y/n murmured in despair.

"My dear, a hero, unfortunately, cannot rely solely on the power of good to achieve their purpose. I do not want to be among those who say that a hero must always be righteous and filled with gentleness because, in a world such as ours, where we exist to confront evil, we must become equal to or even worse than it. I have seen evil prevail with my own eyes, and I imagine you already know that. Believe me, I did not turn my back on it, but I aligned myself with it and sometimes even stood several steps ahead of it."

This Dumbledore may have been younger and less experienced than the one she was used to seeing in the movies, but the girl could not help but compare herself to Harry Potter. Did he feel just as confused every time he faced Dumbledore? It seemed that the professor had always been intelligent and knew how to handle situations.

"You referring to Grindelwald?" the question slipped out unconsciously from her mouth, and when she realized it, she mentally scolded herself for the thoughtless and indiscreet question. Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment, but Dumbledore did not seem bothered. Perhaps he had also accepted the fact that he and Grindelwald would forever be a paradoxical pair, two people destined to meet and fall in love, but not at the right time.

"I am ashamed that someone other than myself knows everything I have done,"

She preempted him. "In my world, you are accused of many things, although I believe you have never done anything wrong. There were moments when things could have turned out differently, but circumstances did not allow it. You have done so much good for the wizarding world. And based on what you have said, a hero cannot always remain sane."

For a moment, Dumbledore stared at her with a look that could be translated as a simple thank you, something he needed to hear from someone, something he had never said to himself, as most of the time he filled himself with guilt and indecent comments. Some nights, sleep eluded him, and he would not rest until sunrise— some days like this one. His past followed him closely, causing him to live in the fog of yesterday instead of the dawn of today.

"I wish your words could calm the entire mountain of my sins, but if I do not do it first, then even God Himself probably will not be able to," he paused. "Anyway, enough about me. What are your plans with Riddle?"

Y/n shook her head as if trying to organize her thoughts. "I thought about joining his group, as a student in need of guidance in a broader range of dark arts. I will try to approach him, although I first need to think about what I will do with my friends."

Dumbledore nodded his head. "I am sure you will think of something."

A question emerged from her mind. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Why can not we just eliminate Tom Riddle? I mean, he poses a threat to your world. Would it not be more natural to... kill him?" The words escaped her mouth with more bitterness than she had expected, and she felt a strange sensation nestling within her.

"Tom is a boy who never learned the term 'love' in his life; no one ever taught him. The only thing he has learned since his early years is that death has taken everything from him. He has grown up in misery and believes that only misery can bring him happiness. Your goal is to prevent both him himself and Lord Voldemort from causing harm to our society."

"He will cause so much harm to families. Is it worth saving him while so many others will suffer?"

A smile escaped the professor's lips as he brought the cup of tea in front of him, savoring its aroma. "You counter my answer with a Platonic philosophy. Indeed, you are right. What is the purpose of a monster's life in the face of an entire generation of wizards? The answer differs from person to person, and I will tell you that people can change if given the opportunity. The dystopia he will cause has not yet begun, and there is still a way to prevent it."

"A supporter of Kant, no?"

"Well, surely we cannot arbitrarily take someone's life. We are neither a supreme power nor even God Himself. He is responsible for those matters. Yes, I do support some basic principles of this ethical philosophy."

The girl smiled, but suddenly the door behind them opened, and the last person they wanted to appear at that moment walked in. Y/n did not need to turn around to see who had entered the room; a chill ran through her skin, cooling her cells. Just hearing that creak of the sole on the wooden floor, like the slithering of a snake, she knew who was on the other side of the room.

"It seems you have not gone unnoticed," he muttered, "Riddle, my boy, come in,"

"Nice disguise, Professor," Y/n commented softly.

"Always,"

Tom Riddle walked proudly towards the desk where the professor and the girl from Hufflepuff were sitting, trying to hide every trace of disgust in his gaze towards the most detested for him professor. "Good morning, Professor, Greengrass. I apologize if I interrupted a serious conversation; I just noticed that you were absent from the table and wondered if something had happened to you."

He was a cunning hypocrite, a liar, and a fraud, wearing a disguise so well-placed in his rotten personality that you would feel uncomfortable exposing him so abruptly. It would make you wonder: Am I mistaken? Have I misunderstood this boy? But it could not be possible for such a person to hide such darkness within him!

And yet he did, and the living example was right before her eyes, flesh, and bones. The girl finally turned to look at him, and even though she saw him so close to her, she could feel his nerves tense beneath his skin, and his eyes looking everywhere but at hers.

"Of course not, Miss Greengrass had a question regarding her report," Dumbledore said indifferently as he fidgeted with his hands. "And as we discussed, Miss Greengrass, you must be more careful with what you write."

"I will do my best, Professor. I will not disappoint you," to Tom, these words sounded merely like words, but behind them, they concealed something more than just words. Dumbledore shook his head and signaled to his students that they could leave. They obeyed, and Tom Riddle walked out first, with Y/n following behind.

Perhaps this was the opportunity she had been seeking. Maybe now she could talk to him about what she wanted.

"Riddle, can I talk to you for a moment?" her voice came out trembling, and Tom stopped in his tracks, turning his head with raised eyebrows.

"What is it, Greengrass?"

What would she tell him now? How would she explain to him that she knew about everything he had done without finding a certain and definite death? And most importantly, how would she protect Charlotte from his impending wrath? She shook her head to dismiss her thoughts.

As she looked at him more carefully now, she felt her legs trembling and a cold sweat running down her spine. She felt vulnerable and weak in front of his proud stature and those emerald eyes that looked at her as if she were a piece of art. She almost forgot that the same boy had threatened her with the price of her life—she had forgotten that the boy in front of her was a mass of tangled chaos with the most twisted thoughts a person could have.

But he was also a boy who needed help, even if it was delayed. A boy who was not to blame for everything that had happened to him in this life where he had come without anyone truly caring about him. He lived a life where a burden was greater than his soul and body, something no person could bear with a clear mind. He faced a daily life that no child deserved.

His voice brought her back to reality striking her abdomen like a blaze. "I am waiting for you to tell me, do not play with my time," he approached her and shook her by the shoulder.

Y/n snapped back to everyday life. "Nothing, it does not matter, forget it," she muttered, and Tom glared at her.

The boy looked deep into her eyes, and she felt a wave of terror engulfing her. "Come on darling, speak out your thoughts. Unless you plan on forcing me to take out every fucking thought you have in your skull. I do not like being made to wait," his hand touched her chin, lifting her round face for better eye contact with her frightened pupils. Y/n wanted to pull away, but she sat there, staring at him as she tried to calm herself.

"Take your hands off me," she said just loud enough for him to hear.

A wicked smile appeared on his face, which was simultaneously so attractive that it made her legs tremble even more. "What will you do, Y/n, if I do not remove my hand from your disgusting face?"

Only he could make such a disrespectful word sound so beautiful, like sweet honey dripping from a hive, like the spring breeze that caresses your face like a cloud of rejuvenating emotions hidden within your body— a total rekindling.

"Are we going to speak with our eyes now? I am afraid that I am not good at that. Use your mouth," he commanded, and Y/n swallowed dryly.

"I just wanted someone to teach me some dark spells so I could have them, you know, just in case I need to protect myself," her excuse sounded so lame and ridiculous in her ears that she doubted if she had truly convinced him.

"And out of all the people, you chose me?"

She nodded affirmatively. "I was planning to ask Dumbledore for it, but I did not get the chance because you came in. And then I thought of you, who are already one of the best students here. If I asked any other professor, they would think I am mad, and I was sure you would not assume something like that," in the end, it was easy to fabricate an entire story based on lies and flattery.

Tom seemed to ponder it for a moment. "What exact spells do you want me to teach you?"

The answer came from her mouth with certainty that Tom was certain he had never seen before in her. "The darkest ones you know. The ones that even the greatest wizards are afraid to perform."

Tom Riddle's eyelashes fluttered with anticipation. "Meet me tonight in the library. The theory first, and then the practice, my dear apprentice."

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