Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Enemies & Elections

Gaspard sighed.

He stood in Dumbledore's office, gazing out over the quidditch pitch through diamond-paned windows.

His eyes wandered farther out, to the Black Lake, whose rippling, murky waters mirrored the turbulent state of his emotions.

His blue eyes looked away, and he turned to face Dumbledore.

"I'll admit... he's bested me." His jaw tensed. "Hausler has completely disappeared. Dolohov is nowhere to be found... and there's not a single bit of evidence that points any of it to him. I'll be perfectly honest..." He sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration. "I'm at my wits end. Between running my department and these temporary ministerial duties, and the slew of active investigations that continue to crop up... I'm losing my mind, Albus." He shook his head. "What the devil is Hermione thinking?"

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, running his hand down his beard thoughtfully. "You're sure it was him?"

Dufresne nodded.

"You say that Hermione was at the prison?"

"My aurors saw her. She didn't deny it, Albus."

Dumbledore heaved a deep breath. "Be that as it may... he does appear to be making an effort... but then again, he's always been a sneaky sort. Never did trust him."

Dufresne was quiet for a moment. "Did you read the article?"

"I assume you mean the one in which he revealed himself as Lord Voldemort."

"The very one."

Dumbledore's chest rumbled as he sipped his brandy. After a moment, he muttered, "I did read it."

Gaspard exhaled sharply. "Given the events of the past few months, and Britain's fear of this dark wizard gang... I would've anticipated more outrage by his admission. But once again, the population as a whole surprises me. With Riddle now being tied to the Dumbledore name, particularly to Hermione, and with his recent appointment as DADA professor, it's as if the whole country has blinders on. He seemingly can do no wrong. I can't wrap my head around it. Where's the outrage?" He shook his head, his brow furrowed in vexation. His movements were short and jerky as he poured himself a glass of firewhiskey. He tossed the glass back, downing it in one gulp. As he poured another glass, he turned his eyes on Dumbledore. "Why did you give him the position?"

Their eyes met, a crashing of brilliant blue seas.

Dumbledore took a sip of brandy, then replied, "He had asked me for my permission to propose to Hermione. When he brought up the position, I knew it would be the easiest way to keep an eye on him. Otherwise, I would have no way of ensuring Hermione's safety, no way of determining if he is truly good for her. I have very little trust for him, and even less of late, with these recent developments. There are things I know about him that disturb me continuously. This way, I can keep an eye on him." He sighed. "I had hoped you two might take up together. A foolish hope, perhaps, but it would've been in her best interest."

Dumbledore's eyes cut to Dufresne.

The latter stood gazing out at the quidditch pitch once more, his crystalline eyes taking on a ghostly pallor under the refracting light. His cheek muscles flexed.

"There might have been a moment," he replied quietly, his rich timbre sounding a bit strained. "But it was very fleeting." He finished off the last bit of firewhiskey in his glass, then sat it on the stone windowsill. "Riddle has her under a spell. There was nothing I could do."

"How demoralizing."

Silence ensued, accompanied by the music of magical instruments spinning on their pedestals.