i am lord voldemort • Tom Riddle

XVII:

"You should eat. You've barely eaten anything for days." Ephiriam held up a spoon full of bland porridge, a food still unappetising at the best of times. "Say, ahh."

Ophelia brushed his hand away from her face with no small degree of disgust. "I'm not a child, and I'm not hungry."

He granted her a skeptical smile. "Could have fooled me, kiddo. Why the long face? You should be celebrating, like the rest of us."

Against her better judgement, she ducked her head low and asked, "You don't actually believe that's the end of it, right? You can't seriously think everything— the attacks on the animals, the petrification, the murder— were all accidents?"

He lowered the threatening spoon. "Of course not, it's obvious the school is covering something up, but who cares? They wouldn't have us all back if it weren't safe again. Although... I wouldn't mind them closing it again, just until O.W.L season has passed, you know."

"Your optimism is dazzling." She pushed her empty plate away and rested her eyes in her palms, letting the muted reds and blues of her eyelids soothe her aching conscience.

"Oh, no. None of that. We are both going to sit here until you eat, young lady." Ephiriam crossed his arms in wait.

"You are too young to be my mother," Ophelia sighed grudgingly lifting her gaze to look at him, but they snagged on something else at the other end of the hall.

"Please, your mother could only dream of being as dazzling as myself— your words, not mine..."

He might have kept taking, but Ophelia didn't hear it. She didn't wait and eat, as Ephiriam so strongly recommended. No, she was across the room before the incessant waterfall of words even finished falling from his mouth.

"Rubeus," she breathed, not sure if she said it or merely thought the word, until he looked up.

Hagrid followed after the brittle, battered gameskeeper like a dutiful little duckling, except "little" was not a use one would often use to describe the boy, who already towered over just about every person she'd ever met. She supposed he was lucky for the gamekeeper's conveniently timed retirement, though it was difficult to imagine any part of the present circumstance was "lucky". He at least had a few weeks to get a hang of what his future duties would be.

Upon spotting her, Hagrid's face immediately broke into a wide grin. Ophelia marvelled at how that was even possible. He was framed for murder. His wand had been snapped. What was there possibly left to smile about?

He waved a massive paw and she took it as an invitation. Not one to take risks, however, she asked the gamekeeper if she could borrow his charge, if only for a few minutes, first.

As soon as they were standing on the stone steps outside, away from prying eyes, she wrapped her arms around his much larger frame. "I'm sorry, Rubeus. I'm so sorry."

She kept repeating the words until they lost all meaning. Her whole body trembled with the force of his shaking, the tears he was trying and failing to contain.

"It wasn' Aragog," he mumbled into her hair. "He swore it wasn' him. He swore. He wouldn't hurt a fly."

Privately, Ophelia thought that wasn't the best analogy for a spider. Instead, she said, "I know."

"But- but the professors- they all said," a sob shot through him and rocked them both, "well, what else could it be? What'f he lied? What'f it's really me fault?"

She pulled back and waited until he was looking at her, his warm, beetle black eyes wet with tears. "Look at me. You know more about," horrible, "magical creatures than just about anybody. Could Aragog have killed someone without leaving a mark, even if he had snuck out of your cupboard? Could he petrify someone in a hall without anyone seeing him?"