i am lord voldemort • Tom Riddle

XX:

Ophelia was beginning to get genuinely annoyed. "What do you care why I did what I did? My motives are hardly the point here."

Really, she'd have imagined the professor's would be overjoyed at the (mis)information that no beast's were still roaming the halls and preying on students. Never mind that it was an utter lie.

"I, for one, would like to know how you managed to injure yourself so gravely that not even our wonderfully talented nurse could remedy it." Dumbledore's tone was thoughtful, but his expression remained calculating.

"Casual spell misfire," Ophelia replied simply.

It was a weak argument, admittedly, except Albus Dumbledore wasn't the wizard she needed to convince. So long as Armando Dippet desperately wanted this little nightmare over with and nicely covered up, he'd be willing to believe anything that wasn't the truth, which suited Ophelia just fine.

"And the spell?" Dumbledore pressed.

"Just a little something I was working on. Obviously, it didn't work out." She sighed theatrically. "Back to the old drawing board."

"It wasn't an approved spell?" Dippet sounded disapproving and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"You caught me. That's why I didn't want to say in the first place." Dumbledore seemed liable to keep prodding at the bundle of growing lies until they unraveled, so she quickly added, "Look, there was nothing else in the bathroom. Right, Tom?"

Jus as she finished the sentence, Tom, who'd only just strode breathlessly into the room, locked his eyes with hers. Although she was certain he had absolutely no context as to what he was agreeing to and likely hadn't heard more than the last two words, he tore his gaze away and turned to the Headmaster.

"Right. It is just as she says."

It was almost troubling how well he could deceive his way through any encounter. He was truly a master at his craft. She wondered if he realized that it was his words that were his most powerful weapon, not his wand.

Ophelia forced her expression to remain unperturbed as she took him in.

"You heard them, Albus. This was all just a big misunderstanding," Dippet said, clasping his hands together and finding his way to his feet. "No need to cause  a fuss. No need whatsoever. Let's leave her to regain her strength." She tried not to be too offended. It wasn't like she was some porcelain doll. The phoenix tears really did work wonders.  "I actually have a few ideas I wanted to run through with you for the end of term feast..."

His voice trailed off as he turned the corner out of the hospital wing, leading a begrudging Dumbledore, who unceasingly watched Ophelia with his sharp blue eyes until he was out of view. She couldn't help but fidget uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

After they were gone, the air felt less heavy, and Ophelia, satisfied in her temporary victory, allowed herself a moment to reassemble. Impossibly rapid frames of her morning— the basilisk lunging, jaws snapping, bones breaking— played in the darkness of her eyelids. She locked them all away in the far corners of her mind, where they didn't seem quite so daunting, and forced herself to think forward.

"How?" Tom asked, the single word sounding more like a demand than a question. She hadn't even heard him walk to her bedside.

"You'll have to be more specific," she said, rubbing circles on her temple. What she saw when she at least looked at him made worry lines crease in between her brows. He'd probably never been in more disrepair, but that part seemed almost inconsequential compared to his expression. "Are you ill?"

"Do I look ill?" he asked queerly, and Ophelia couldn't begin to decipher his expression.

She shrugged, discomfited. "You look like you belong here more than I do."