Ab aeterno

That was a hell of a week. The twentieth of June was the day Tom finally let himself fall on the bed and close his eyes. It was quiet in the bedroom as most of the students had already left for the holidays that started much earlier than usual this year. Theo stayed at school willingly but it didn’t really matter. Tom didn’t have time for anyone or anything after Rubeus Hagrid had been caught red-handed.  He had told the whole story almost a hundred times at first to headmaster Dippet, then to professor Slughorn, and again, and again… he gave the abridged story to others, always stating that professor Dippet had made him swear he wouldn’t tell anything. Professor Dippet was deeply ashamed that something like that had happened at Hogwarts. The only person he was worried about was the person who never had to ask him a single question privately, and that was professor Dumbledore. Not that Dumbledore had a lot of free time on his hands either. He went above and beyond to prove that was a mistake, that Hagrid was not the person they were looking for, and Tom was almost certain somebody had to listen to the voice of reason. How could that possibly be Hagrid? He was a giant oaf, barely able to cast the simplest spell, and that person was supposed to open the Chamber of Secrets? Oh, come on! Tom started massaging his temples trying to get rid of the first symptoms of the headache gently knocking from the inside of his skull. That was all the lack of sleep. The nocturnal walks around the school in the company of his hissing friend made headaches a common issue but that wasn’t a price too high for the things he had accomplished. The mudbloods had to be taught a lesson. The noble work of Salazar Slytherin had to be finished… And yet it didn’t feel like success. He turned in bed trying to relax and felt that all the muscles in his body were crying with tension. Tom let out a long sigh. He remembered Dumbledore’s eyes watching him when he had told professor Dippet what had happened that night. He knew at once Dumbledore didn’t believe… not him but his story. The trickiest part was not to lie but to tell half-truth. He did see a monster with his own eyes – all those hairy legs! He did know that Hagrid was hiding something that shouldn’t have ever been at school. He did tell Hagrid all those words leaving him dumbfounded… oh, how Tom hated stupid people! That expression on Hagrid’s face when he had finally realized the meaning behind Tom’s words… that was almost painful. But he had to say these words in case he would be questioned later. In case, his memories would be needed to prove his words. Strangely enough, it took only his words against Hagrid’s. But those eyes, those piercing blue eyes… Tom moaned quietly and covered his face with his palms. That ugly Myrtle spoiled everything, really. It didn’t matter that she was dead now, one mudblood less didn’t feel like a victory. He didn’t plan to kill her, it all happened too fast, and there was no time to think it over rationally. Myrtle was about to shriek, and he had to act fast… because nobody was supposed to know where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was. Nobody was supposed to know who lived in it. He told Basilisk to hide and to sleep till he was back, till he called, and felt a pang of sorrow touching its flat nose for the last time for… who knew how long? Basilisk felt his melancholy and touched his palm with its tongue, either trying to offer its support or simply smelling him this way. Tom thought about his great ancestor. Basilisk couldn’t offer him much information about Slytherin simply because his consciousness was too different from the one of a human. But he had been there, in the Chamber of Secrets, he had petted Basilisk just the way Tom had, and he would have been proud of Tom, for sure. And now the noble idea of his great ancestor had to be put off because some mudblood just had to be crying in the women’s toilet! That was unfair. That felt like losing precious time… he had been working so hard! He had given it everything, and now, because of one freaking mudblood… Tom abruptly sat on his bed, his eyes tired and restless. “I won’t let that happen,” he said softly. “I deserve a second chance… to make it right.” He just had to think of a way… “You’re getting the trophy, you know. A Special Award for Services to the School.” Theo smiled over his cup of tea. He found that hilarious. “I overheard Slughorn talking.” “I don’t care.” “Are you okay, Tom?” Theo’s voice was suddenly far away, and Tom had an odd feeling he was being lifted and sucked into the ceiling of the Great Hall now bright and blue like the sky itself. “Tom? Tom!” Tom opened his eyes and realized he wasn’t in the Great Hall anymore. He was in the Hospital Wing. There were bouquets of flowers on his nightstand and near his bed, and their fragrance made him think of funerals. Tom blinked several times and sat on the bed. He was the only person in the Hospital Wing, or, at least, he thought so until soft voice said his name: “How do you feel, Tom?” That was the voice he knew too well, and Tom looked to his left… Albus Dumbledore was sitting on a chair nearby. He was watching me sleep, thought Tom, and everything inside him froze in terror. How long was Dumbledore here? How long was Tom here? What was going on? And, the most dreadful of all the thoughts he could have possibly had at this moment, was: did I say anything in my sleep I wasn’t supposed to? “I… don’t know, professor,” Tom tried to win a moment or two to think and rubbed his face with his palms. “I feel tired. Why am I here?” “You fainted in the Great Hall. About two days ago.” “Oh.” that was all Tom managed to say. Two days… he spent two days in bed.  “Professor Dippet was very worried… we all were.” “I am sorry.” “They say it was an extreme degree of exhaustion, both physical and intellectual.” “I suppose… that was a difficult period for me, sir.” “The Warrens came yesterday… they left you flowers.” “That was… awfully kind of them. How are they… coping?” “They are devastated.” Dumbledore sighed and got up from his chair. “I am happy you feel better, Tom. If there’s anything you’d like to tell me… anything at all…” “Yes, sir,” he said suddenly. Dumbledore’s eyes, oh, so blue, pierced him. “Did I… say anything? While I was out?” “Nothing I would know of.” It all made sense. The reason Dumbledore was really there. He was expecting Tom to spill his secrets while he was at most vulnerable state. The ritual he had to perform on the diary left him almost ruined… and, still, he didn’t give anything away. “I will tell professor Slughorn you feel better.” “Thank you, sir.” For a moment Dumbledore looked as if he wanted to add something. But the moment passed and he left. Tom went back to sleep. He was smiling.