i am lord voldemort • Tom Riddle

VI

Ophelia wanted to break something.

Of all people, she would have thought that Dumbledore would understand! And who was he to talk about moving on anyway? Ophelia had moved on! Well, at least she had moved on enough. If she hadn't, she reasoned, she would never have been able to run away from her uncle in the first place. What did it matter if she'd completely moved on anyway? It wasn't like she ever considered going back to him. Not seriously, at least...

Back in her common room, the letter appeared to stare daggers at her from the end of her four poster, daring her to open it. The parchment was thick expensive; it always was with her uncle. He had what he liked to call "discriminating taste," but it only made for a more expensive fire when she burned the letters in the end.

Still, she glared back at the letter, unsigned, as per usual. Thank Merlin for that, too, or Fawley would have seen and Ophelia would have to leave before she told anyone just who exactly Dumbledore was harboring within Hogwarts walls. .

On impulse, she stuffed the envelope into her thrice used, thrice beaten up Ancient Runes textbook- no one would be snooping through that any time soon- and tossed both into the scattered confines of her trunk, locking it tight. Out of sight, out of mind.

III

One thing the teachers always leave out when detailing the consequences of ditching class was how genuinely therapeutic it was to be free as a bird while everyone else was suffering through lessons. There's really no other feeling quite like it. Sure, Ophelia had doubtlessly earned a one way ticket straight to detention, but it seemed worth it at the time. She skipped supper, as well, not wanting to feel the pressure of everyone's eyes on her due to that spectacle she'd put on at breakfast, and, just to be thorough, breakfast again the next morning.

She'd really blown it. It would be amazing if a single person in the school didn't know her name and face now. Years of trying to remain in obscurity, all ruined because of one girl and, Ophelia was forced to admit, her own temper. The problem could have been avoided if she'd been paying attention, but she hadn't been expecting another letter so soon. Usually, her uncle only sent one letter every few months. Had something happened? Was he injured?

Just the thought made her chest tighten. Dumbledore has been more right than he realized. She still cared about Uncle, despite all he'd done. How much easier it would be if she could flip off those emotions, like a switch. She didn't want him hurt, or especially dead, even if it enabled him to hurt others. The thought that something happened was almost enough to convince her to dig up the letter and rip it open. She didn't, though. If she opened it and found out he was in trouble, no force in heaven or Earth could have kept her at Hogwarts, and that was a chance she couldn't afford to take.

A sound not unlike the crunch of gravel alerted her to someone behind her, but she didn't make any moves to acknowledge them until they spoke.

"I agree, that was quite a show you put on yesterday, missy, but you're being a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"How'd you know I was here?"

Ephiriam, her fellow Prefect, clucked his tongue in disapproval. "The professors are having a field day looking for you, you know."

"I'm going to go to class, so tell them they can punish me at their leisure in a half a hour."

"Tell them yourself." He nudged her side to indicate she should make room and plopped down beside her. "I had brought you food, but it looks like you don't need it."

He nodded to the spread before her of buttered toast, glistening berries, soft cheese, and various flaky pastries.

"Someone told me how to raid the kitchens over holiday," she explained at his non-question."The house elves were a little... overenthusiastic."