i am lord voldemort • Tom Riddle

XVI:

13 June, 1942
I just killed a girl.

The rumour is they might close Hogwarts— permanently. Parents already pull their children out as I write this, even though the body was found mere hours ago. There was nothing I could do, really, but better the girl dead than aware of the Chamber. My ancestors have kept it secret for centuries and I will not be the one to share it with the world. Something still must be done to keep Hogwarts open, however. I have an idea, but I fear Ophelia will never forgive me for it.

I wonder if she intends to run to her precious Dumbledore.

I wonder, if she did, whether I have it in me to stop her.

Except from T. M. Riddle's diary, 13 June 1942

III

The castle was nearly as empty as it was during the summer holidays. Those still there scarcely left their dormitories out of fear, even many of the professors were reluctant to monitor the halls when the Headmaster commanded them. Technically, Ophelia was confined to the common room as well, but who was there to catch her?

She couldn't muster the energy to be afraid. At least she knew what manner of creature lurked beneath the school.

Maybe, she thought ruefully, her brief kiss with Tom had clouded her judgement. Could it really have only been a few hours ago? It felt like years had passed. She hadn't been sure of what to think of it before the murder and she certainly didn't know what to think of it now.

She considered the possibility that she'd been a fool to believe anything Tom Riddle ever said. She'd imagined herself, quite arrogantly, impervious to any manipulation after years of living with the most manipulative person that side of the Atlantic, yet there was still a chance she was wrong. She hoped she wasn't. She wanted to believe the whole situation was a mistake, an accident, but still her consciousness needled at her until if felt like her heart and mind alike were riddled with holes.

"A quiet night, isn't it?" Dumbledore observed, silently coming up beside her and following her gaze to the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. From her vantage point, she could just make out the tips of his boots beneath his periwinkle robes. "You'll give someone a fright, laying as you are."

His words, though on the surface light, were tinged enough solemnity to tug uncomfortably on her heart.

Ophelia sat up, watching him watch the sweeping ocean of stars.  "In my defense, I didn't much think I'd get caught." Though it didn't match up with the gravity of the situation, she added halfheartedly, "My bad."

Dumbledore looked at her then, in the consuming, analyzing way that only he could, the way that felt like he was stripping someone bare and seeing past all their deceptive layers. "What troubles you, my dear girl?"

"Other than what troubles us all?" she asked evasively, immediately wishing she'd said anything else when she noticed the shadowed look cross his expression. She curled her arms around her legs, feeling like a guilty child next to Dumbledore. "I'm just so tired of death. I'm so tired of it all. It seems like I can't escape it."

"For it to get easier would be for one to lose their compassion and their humanity," he replied sagely.

I don't care about my humanity if that means I don't have to feel this way again, she wanted to say, but she didn't, because even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie. She did care.

"That sounds exactly like something you would say, sir," she settled on instead.

Dumbledore lifted a single white brow and she got the impression he knew she'd substituted "something" for "some nonsense" in her head. "I might hope so. I did just say it, after all."