𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐱 » 𝐭.𝐦.𝐫

68.

Chapter Sixty Eight

March 1st, 1947

"Unfortunately, now that the investigation in Hogwarts is over, I'm unable to go there as I please. Dumbledore will grow... suspicious," Leonard said as he folded his hands together on this lap. "And I need access to the restricted section of Hogwarts. It may be of use if we can find out by what means Miss. Grahamm was sent here."

"Do you think that could help her?" Fabula asked, wringing her hands together.

Leonard smiled a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I can only hope, but there are no guarantees."

"What-" Evan cleared his throat. "What will you be telling the public?"

"That Ministry of Magic sincerely apologizes for the misconceptions created due to the catastrophic error in judgement of Hogwarts' faculty," a triumphant smile took over the Minister's lips for a moment. He wanted to have this moment over Albus, to show him that he wasn't the only one with nasty tricks up his sleeve.

Alphard's eyebrows raised before he sighed with a nod of his head. Leonard noticed.

"And that any harm done to any of the students shall be compensated, that is with the efforts of both the Ministry and Hogwarts." The trio gave him closed-mouthed yet thankful smiles. "You must get some rest within the next two days as I prepare. It's been stressful enough for you and I don't assume it'll get easier."

"And Crudith?" Evan asked, sitting on the edge of his seat as he asked the almost-forgotten question.

"He's being taken to trial, he had agreed to plead guilty so as long as he and his family got a plea deal."

"A plea deal?"

"What for?"

"That's ridiculous!"

All three of them had spoken up at those words. If it weren't for Crudith, this wouldn't have happened. Cerys would've been safe, Tom wouldn't be running around God knows where, they wouldn't be in hiding... how couldn't he be punished for the harm he caused?

Leonard smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, that's politics."

✧

March 3rd, 1947

A thin white blanket of frost lay across the streets of County Clare, it glimmered underneath the ever-so-present sun that peaked through the clouds. Far from the town, the Cliffs of Moher were being accompanied.

Like a child, the sun shyly gazed down at Tom Riddle. He walked carelessly across the frost-covered field, unlike his usual strides. The collar of his wrinkled shirt fluttered lightly against his face as he neared the edge of the cliff.

The vivid memories of his childhood play through his head. He looked across the edge, spotting the cavity that stretched back into the cliff. The shrieks of Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop still rang in his ears.

He had lured the two in very carefully; even as a child his intellect was beyond those of his age. They had looked at him with frowns, rolling their eyes as he trudged along the path of the cliff, away from the group of orphans that waddled with the supervisors.

When they were just out of site, he'd apparated them into the cave. Their squeals of shock had delighted him, after all, he had a particular distaste for the two of them. They were, as he liked to think of them, pigs in human's clothing.