Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

The Sky Like Blood

Maximilian Dolohov sat in the sunroom at Tuft Manor. Across a little breakfast table set with tea, Wilhelmina Tuft sat with her ankles crossed in a ladylike manner.

"So tell me, Maximilian Dolohov... Were these attacks orchestrated by Tom Riddle?"

"Ah ah ah," Dolohov chided. "You won't get a confession out of me."

"Then why are you here?"

"I think you and I can be mutually beneficial."

Tuft laughed. "That's what Riddle said, too... and now look at the state of things. It seems the only one who benefited from our alliance was him."

Dolohov grinned. "That's because what you wanted was something he never agreed to give."

Wilhelmina's eyes grew cold. Murderous. It took several moments before she spoke. "Still... these younger ones have no respect for the way things are done in our political system. Favors are rewarded. But Riddle has done nothing in return for my kindness but chip away at my reputation. Him and his... witch."

Dolohov lifted his chin slightly, peering at her. "So you know about Hermione."

Tuft scoffed. "Of course I do. I make it my business to know everything about my political allies... and even more, my enemies."

Dolohov's eyebrows shot up. "You see Tom as an enemy now?"

Wilhelmina took a sip of tea. "I don't see how he could be anything but. He's made it painfully obvious."

Dolohov's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I don't think Riddle is the one you should be angry at."

Her eyebrows rose sharply. "No?"

Dolohov shook his head. "It's Hermione Dumbledore. She's the cause of all this. I guarantee that if we could take care of her... we could get this whole thing back on track."

Wilhelmina allowed her eyes to wander Dolohov's form in appraisal. Then her gaze returned to his, and her eyes were suspicious. "I don't know if I trust any of you... what is it that you're called? Death Eaters?"

Dolohov smirked wryly.

She continued to examine him. "I know your families well... but you younger set don't keep to tradition, clearly. You have your own agenda. How would I know that Tom hasn't sent you here to test me?"

He sipped his firewhiskey. "I don't suppose you could know for certain. We are all just walking Riddle's tightrope, it seems."

Her eyes flared with indignation. "I am doing no such thing! I will see Riddle in Azkaban if it's the last thing I do." She collected herself, and sat back in her chair calmly. "However, if you and I can come to an understanding... I could see to it that you and your other friends are spared. I would hate to see good pure blood rotting away in Azkaban. Then where would wizarding society be? Magic is might, after all."

Dolohov's lips curved into a sinister smile. "It's good to know you see things my way."

Wilhelmina dragged her perfectly manicured nail along the rim of her teacup. "So why should I hear what you have to say? Why would I trust you?"

His eyes met hers. "I'm sure you're aware of Walburga Black and her hatred for Hermione Dumbledore."

Tuft nodded slowly.

"Walburga and I are close."

Tuft's eyes narrowed. "How close?"

Dolohov leaned forward, his coffee-colored eyes boring into hers. "Close," he whispered.

She cocked a brow, then cleared her throat. "What are you suggesting we do, Mr. Dolohov?"

"Something about Hermione isn't as it seems. I don't know what. We've combed ministry records, interrogated her mother's acquaintances... No one seems to have anything beyond a passing recollection of a romantic relationship between Dumbledore and this Eleanor Dagworth-Granger. Legilimency brings up only very specific memories... all the same. No variation. It reeks of memory tampering."