Crimson || Tom Riddle

𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗

Arabella walked briskly, head held high, as she made her way to through the corridors of Hogwarts to the headmaster's office. Tom had been in the courtyard, but nowhere near where the commotion Arabella had started, and so, when he saw her being instructed to leave, he followed.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he caught up with her, his voice low and sharp.

"Reckless," he muttered, slipping into step beside her. "You've barely covered your tracks, Chambers. What were you thinking?"

Her gaze remained fixed forward, but a faint smirk played on her lips. "Don't worry, Tom. I have it under control."

A faint scoff escaped him, and he wanted to argue, but knew it would be futile. He would let this fall on her. Let her be reckless if she wanted, see if he cared.

If she were to succeed, all the better for his amusement; if she failed, well—he'd enjoy the spectacle.

He walked with her through the twists of Hogwarts' halls until they arrived at the Headmaster's office, its door looming before them. She straightened her robes, casting him one final look as if daring him to doubt her before she knocked and stepped inside.

Headmaster Dippet was seated behind his cluttered desk, his usual benign expression etched with concern as he regarded her red-rimmed eyes, his features softening as though he saw a vulnerable girl before him. His brow furrowed, and he gestured to the chair opposite him.

"Arabella," he began gently. "The professor has informed me of an unfortunate incident involving Olive Hornby." He paused, choosing his words with care. "It seems... Olive started choking and—bleeding?"

Arabella's face crumpled in practiced sorrow, her hands clasped together as if she could barely find the words. "Headmaster," she began softly, letting her voice tremble, "I don't understand. Olive... she's been so horrid since poor Myrtle's death. She cornered me, saying things I can't even repeat."

She paused, as though overcome with emotion, casting a quick, careful glance at Dippet's teacup on the desk. Beneath the soft aroma, her senses detected a trace of something bitter and sharp: vervain.

Her expression faltered slightly, but she masked it, pressing on.

"I tried to walk away," she continued, her tone pleading, "but she kept going, mocking Myrtle, saying she deserved everything that happened to her." She brushed at her red-rimmed eyes, stealing a quick, hesitant look at Tom for support.

Tom stepped forward. "I was there, Headmaster. Olive's behaviour has been erratic since Myrtle's death." He gave a small, dismissive shrug, as though this was all trivial to him. "Arabella was only standing up for Myrtle."

Dippet's frown deepened in thought. "A dreadful situation for both of you." He sighed, his expression one of reluctant sympathy. "But... Olive is injured. Choking, collapsing... bleeding? How did that happen?"

"Yes," Arabella said, her voice soft, her wide eyes searching his face as if desperately seeking his understanding. "it all happened so fast. Olive was yelling at me, and then, suddenly, she just... she collapsed. I was too far away to do anything, I swear." She let her gaze drop as if ashamed of her helplessness. "It was so... strange. I didn't understand it myself."

Tom nodded, taking his cue. "I was there, too, Headmaster. One moment, Olive was standing, and the next, she was on the floor, gasping. It was so sudden that none of us even knew what was happening." He looked at Arabella, his brow creased with concern. "Arabella couldn't have inflicted anything like that on her. She was at least several feet away when Olive collapsed."

Dippet's face softened, sympathy seeping into his gaze as he studied her tear-rimmed eyes. "It does sound... unusual, to say the least. And you're certain, both of you, that there was no indication of how this could have happened?"

Tom shook his head. "Not in the slightest, Headmaster. Olive's been... upset, especially about Myrtle's death. We'd heard she had been spreading... unpleasant rumours. But Arabella and I were only defending Myrtle, she deserves that at least after the years of bullying she had suffered from Olive."

Dippet sighed, running a hand over his brow. "You've both been through enough as it is." He glanced to his teacup, as if reaching for the comfort of his warm drink, then gave Arabella a look of sympathy. "I can hardly imagine what you've been dealing with, especially after discovering Myrtle's killer." His face brightened a little, as if wanting to reassure her. "You're a model student, Arabella. What happened to Olive... it must have been entirely out of your control."

Arabella dared a small smile. "Thank you, Headmaster. You do not know how much that mans to me." Her gaze drifted to the teacup once more. "I trust you're well, Headmaster? How's the tea?"

Dippet glanced down as if just remembering it, his expression lightening. "Oh, yes. Quite good, in fact. Professor Dumbledore brought me this blend himself. He swears by it." He chuckled, lifting the cup to his lips.

Arabella's smile was as polite as it was tight.

Just then, the office door opened, and Dumbledore entered, his expression dark and watchful. His gaze swept the room, lingering on Arabella with unmistakable suspicion.

"Headmaster," Albus greeted, but his gaze remained locked on Arabella. "I came to discuss this situation with Olive. I fear the circumstances may be more... complicated than they appear."

Dippet turned to him with a weary expression. "Albus, I've spoken to Arabella, and it's clear she's done nothing wrong. Olive's behaviour was hostile, and Arabella and Tom were only trying to help her see reason. Arabella was only an innocent bystander, and Tom confirmed that Olive's injuries were... sudden and inexplicable. A strange, unfortunate incident, nothing more."

Dumbledore's jaw tightened, his tone controlled but edged with steel. "Olive's wound was not the result of an accident, Headmaster. It bore the marks of a spell. Something intentional." His gaze was hard as it landed on Arabella. "A spell of considerable power."

Dippet glanced at her, then back at Dumbledore, shaking his head. "Albus, Arabella's abilities are well-documented, and I have no reason to doubt her innocence. Both Tom and she have spoken plainly, and their account is consistent. It was sudden, and they were both too far to do any damage."

"Consistent... and rehearsed, perhaps?" Dumbledore's voice was low, but his eyes sparked with frustration as he searched Arabella's expression for any trace of guilt or deception. But her face remained one of earnest, almost wounded, innocence.

"Professor Dumbledore," Arabella said, her voice trembling, "I would never harm anyone. Not Olive, not anyone." Her eyes shone with feigned hurt, glancing between him and the Headmaster. "And I thought you trusted me."

Dippet's expression grew protective. "Albus, I think we've taken enough of Arabella's time. She's endured enough trouble without these accusations."

Dumbledore hesitated, his brows knitted, and for a moment, it seemed he might press further. But the sheer strength of Dippet's faith in Arabella left him with little ground.

The satisfaction simmering beneath Arabella's calm facade was masked by a look of innocent gratitude.

Dumbledore's eyes lingered on her, something cold and calculating sparking in his gaze. She knew what he was thinking. She could smell it — despite his efforts to strip away her power to compel with the vervain, she had still bent Dippet to her will.

And that terrified him.