The Headmaster and the Student

"Minerva, you wouldn't mind if I borrowed your student for a moment, would you?" Professor Dumbledore asked Professor McGonagall pleasantly.

"I have no idea why she bothered to show up, if she wasn't going to be taking the exam," said Professor McGonagall, glaring at Oleandra, who was only there to people-watch. "You'd be doing me a favour, Professor Dumbledore."

Oleandra resisted the urge to pull a face at Professor McGonagall.

"I'll go," Oleandra sighed. She was probably in trouble for using Legilimency on her fellow students, but who was Dumbledore to judge?

"Follow me, Miss Greengrass," said Professor Dumbledore.

For a man his age, he was quite sprightly. He was also a very tall man; what was a brisk walking pace for him was a jog for a girl of Oleandra's height. She wasn't nearly as short as Daphne, but she wasn't tall by any means, either!

Nevertheless, she was used to physical exercise. But by the time they had made it up seven flights of stairs without pause, even she was breathing hard.

"Lemon Pledge," Dumbledore told the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to his office.

Oleandra almost did a double-take when she heard him say those two words. From what Harry had told her, the password to Professor Dumbledore's office was usually the name of a sweet of some kind.

"Students aren't supposed to know the password to my office," he explained, upon catching sight of Oleandra's bewildered expression. "I was thinking of a new one after Harry guessed the last, and Charity suggested this one; though I am fairly certain that she is unaware that Lemon Pledge is actually a Muggle cleaning product."

"Right…" Oleandra said, at loss for words.

Charity Burbage taught Muggle Studies, but she wasn't especially good at her job. At any rate, it was a good thing that Tide Pods wouldn't come out for another eighteen years; clueless Wizards were still safe from accidentally eating this forbidden snack for a while.

Professor Dumbledore led Oleandra into his office, whereupon he invited her to sit opposite from him at his desk. She tried her best not to look at Fawkes, who was busy preening his beautiful red feathers on his perch nearby. Dumbledore steepled his fingers and sat forward in his chair, staring straight into Oleandra's eyes.

"Am I in trouble, sir?" Oleandra asked in a neutral tone.

"Do you think you should be?" Dumbledore said calmly.

Oleandra immediately regretted her decision to open her mouth, but she still met his gaze straight on. It had been a mistake to take the initiative and hint at wrongdoing on her part, but something told her that Dumbledore hadn't asked her to come to his office to berate her.

"You haven't brought me to your office to play Twenty Questions, have you, sir?" Oleandra said instead of answering the question. "Was there something specific you wanted to know?"

"Indeed, there is," said Professor Dumbledore. "Does the name Tom Riddle mean anything to you?"

Now there was a name Oleandra hadn't heard or read in a while. She had briefly possessed his diary, and she was fairly grateful for its help; without it, she would never have known that her soul had been cursed, and she would probably have never met Viviane. But she preferred not to take too many chances; first, she'd figure out what Professor Dumbledore wanted with a boy from fifty plus years ago.

"I remember cleaning a Special Award for Services to the School inscribed with this name," Oleandra said. "It's hard to forget how Ron vomited slugs into it for a good minute or so."

"Is that so?" said Dumbledore, a slight smile briefly appearing on his face. "So, you wouldn't happen to know of a certain diary having belonged to this boy?"

Oleandra's pulse quickened.

"Why do you want to know, sir?" Oleandra said, dodging the question.

The atmosphere immediately turned heavy. For an instant, Oleandra felt as if an immense weight were pressing against her chest, making it so she could barely draw breath. But just as soon as the sensation had appeared, it disappeared. Oleandra involuntarily gasped for air, her chest heaving rapidly.

"Please answer the question honestly, Miss Greengrass," said Professor Dumbledore, focusing his piercing eyes on her.

Oleandra eyed him warily, ready to fight or flee for her life.

"Compose yourself, Oleandra Greengrass," Viviane sternly warned her. "This is a fight you cannot win."

"Yes," Oleandra admitted.

"Do you know where it is now?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

"I don't," Oleandra replied.

Professor Dumbledore sighed, as if he had expected such an answer.

"How did you come to learn of it?" he then asked. "Did it ever come into your possession?"

"I found it in the girl's bathroom on the second floor," Oleandra said. "Someone had thrown it at… through Moaning Myrtle… Oh."

That was precisely where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was hidden; did Tom Riddle have anything to do with the events of her second year at Hogwarts?

"Did the diary ask you questions?" Professor Dumbledore asked gravely. "Did it ask you to do things for it?"

"Nothing sinister," Oleandra said. "It first started writing to me after I practised drawing runes on its pages. It complimented me, answered my questions, and it asked me to take it to the Gryffindor common room, which I did. That's about the extent of my interactions with it."

"I see," Dumbledore said quietly. For an instant, he appeared to have aged a thousand years, disappointment filling his expression. Oleandra could tell he'd been hoping to hear something, but her answer hadn't been the one he'd wanted it to be.

After a few moments of silence, Oleandra dared to ask the question burning on her tongue.

"Sir, was Tom Riddle somebody important?" she ventured.

"I'd say so," said Professor Dumbledore said wearily. "After all, Lord Voldemort singlehandedly shaped the last thirty years of our world."

Stunned, Oleandra's thoughts began spinning furiously inside her head.

"One last thing before you go," Professor Dumbledore said. "Could you point out for me the person you saw at the World Cup?"

He took out a stack of pictures from his drawer and spread them onto his desk, before pushing them forward for her to see. Oleandra scanned the pictures for the invisible man; most of them were of scary-looking men, but there was one of a frightened young adult.

"This one," she said, tapping on the picture of the young man with straw-coloured hair.

"That will be all, Miss Greengrass," said Dumbledore faintly. "You may go. And…"

"Sir?"

"And good luck with the third task."