EXILE | TOM RIDDLE

19. Absolutely Nothing

Her name was Myrtle Warren. She was fourteen years old, the same age I was when I wound up here. A Ravenclaw, like me. Clever, according to a friend of hers, who speaks at the memorial service they hold. Clever, and kind, and sensitive, with a thirst for knowledge and a heart of pure gold.

A heart that would no longer beat, because of me.

I do not see Tom until after the memorial service, where he is standing in the hallway, mid conversation with Professor Dumbledore. His face is etched with concern, as though Dumbledore has said something to cause a considerable amount of worry. "—they wouldn't actually close Hogwarts, would they, Professor?"

"A girl has died, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore responds with the shake of his head, though riddled beneath his eyes is a look of distain. I wonder if Tom notices it, as I do, when I approach the two, hands placed in front of my lap.

"But if the person behind the attacks was caught? Then what?"

"I..." Dumbledore begins, but when his eyes fix on me, his sentence stops. "Well, hello there, Miss Bailey."

"Hello, Professor," I give him a curt nod, trying to push the pit in my stomach away. All I can see, however, is poor Myrtle Warren, haunting my mind. I doubt a day will go by in the future where I do not think of her, think of the girl who I could have saved, but did not. Had I been faster, had I been more demanding...

"Rebekah, is everything okay?" Tom tilts his head to the side.

"Yes, yes...I just..." I gulp, blinking back the tears that are beading in my eyes. "I just overheard you say Hogwarts is closing?"

"We do not know for certain," Dumbledore lets out an exhale. "Mr. Riddle, you were saying you thought you might know who is responsible?"

Heart seizing in my chest, I whip around to stare at Tom, wide eyed. He would not, no, he would not pin it on me, not when he said he loved me. Would he?

Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments, the edge of his lip twitching upwards ever so slightly, before he turns his attention back to Dumbledore. "It's just a hunch, Professor. I...I will think on it. I do not wish to get anyone in trouble that is innocent, of course."

"Of course," Dumbledore nods, though his attention is not on Tom, but me. "Miss Bailey, I have been meaning to speak with you. Would you care to join me in my office for a brief moment?"

My breath catches in my throat, my knees going weak. "Er...yes, yes, of course, Professor."

I am no good at Transfiguration — perhaps it is about that. Perhaps I am overthinking, and have nothing to be worried about. But even so, I cannot ignore the way my heart pounds so hard that it aches as Dumbledore leads me down the halls of Hogwarts, and into his classroom.

"Please, have a seat," he motions towards the empty seat across from his desk, before taking his own seat. "Do you know why you are here, Miss Bailey?"

I shake my head as I sit down, refusing to meet his gaze. "No, Professor. I am sorry. Did I...did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, you have nothing to worry about," the smile he gives me should be reassuring, but it is not. In fact, it makes me want to throw up all over his freshly cleaned tile floor. "I wished to simply ask you, if you have something you wish to tell me."

"What do you mean?" I frown, finally gathering the courage to look up at him. The moment his icy blue eyes meet mine, a chill runs through my spine, as though his look alone can freeze.

"Nothing, nothing," he tuts, shaking his head. "I see you hanging around with some interesting characters, Miss Bailey. Tell me about them."

"You wish for me to tell you about my friends?"