Harry Potter : Chapter 57: Snowflakes II

But I don't want to turn this into something cheap that everyone can access, or something inherited only by virtue of blood.

"You never asked." Minerva shrugged, mimicking uncaringness while I could hear a slight reproach in her voice, "It's not like our friendship is built around anything but the study of magic, is it?"

...

I grimaced at her words: it wasn't like I had ever planned to stick around her or Tom any longer than needed to boost my learning, and my first act in this life had been to ritually sacrifice my father, so I really didn't feel like discussing familiar ties at any point of my time with my two companions. Never mind Riddle's orphan status.

Still, what could I say? I am sorry I never actually cared for you beyond what you can provide for my studies? "It might have started like that..." I conceded, my dark eyes finding hers while I donned an apologetic smile and walked towards her.

"The topic of our families never came up, and I had my reasons to keep mine secret."

I caught myself before saying too much, but the gleam of interest had now been roused in Minerva's eyes, and I knew that I would have to either lie or trust her, at least with a version of the truth. Even so, I tried to distract her: "What are your brothers like?"

A sharp smile colored her features as she thought about her family.

"Malcolm and Robert... my mother and I had to teach them to not flaunt their magic, they're prone to cause mayhem." then her eyes narrowed and returned to me with the precision of a predator on the prowl.

"But do not think you've managed to distract me: you mentioned reasons..." she repeated while she crossed her arms, her lips thinning in displeasure at my attempted deflection, "And not something like 'keeping Tom from feeling excluded', are they?"

I was suddenly feeling uncomfortable, and another topic I had touched with the Diadem rose to my mind: it was one of the issues that had been raised in our very first meeting.

Many of my decisions when it came to what knowledge to share in the Rùnda were dictated by fear of what Tom could become, and I knew that whatever I shared with Minerva had the potential of making its way into Riddle's possession.

He, very much like me, wasn't one to leave any opportunity slip by, and this conversation went out of track faster than I could react to.

A version of the truth it is. "My home situation is closer to Tom's than yours." I forcefully kept myself from grimacing at the last memory I had of my father, "But I enjoy my privacy, and I can look after myself, so keeping it a secret..."

Minerva's expression went from stern to concerned in a fraction of a second, and she had already taken a step forward with her hands tightly holding my much bigger ones as she spoke: "You don't have to..."

"I enjoy your company." I smiled at her soulful reaction, even as I shook lightly my head to dismiss her worry, "What I tell, and don't tell, about my life outside the castle,"

"Not that you ever mention it, and the topic did raise in our conversations before, I'm sure of it." she cut me lightly, and we shared a small smile at the easing of the tension we hadn't realized was there.

"Quite." I nodded, "As Dumbledore..."

"Professor Dumbledore."

I rolled my eyes while I left her hands and took a step back, "As Alby made me notice recently, I am a thirteen years old wizard, and the world can hardly conceive of leaving me to my devices for all the time that I spend outside the castle."

Minerva huffed exasperatedly: "My brothers may be only children now, and you've always been unusually mature, but I can see why nobody would think it wise to leave a kid on his own."

"Ah," I pointed a finger in her direction, "but you know me, I need my space, something that I didn't feel like risking by informing any adult about my condition." and after a second, I added.

"Besides, if nobody knows I'm the only one to live where I do, the magic cast there is, of course, thought to be cast by the adult on the premises."

Her eyes widened while her lips twitched in a strange manner, as if warring between laughter and worry while her hands went to her hips and she leveled her green gaze at me like it was the point of a wand.

"You're telling me, that not only you're without supervision for the entirety of the Holidays, but that you also cast magic unsupervised in your home?"

I didn't bother hiding my grin while I sat once more in my large armchair: "Well, I spend most of my free time travelling, the magic I cast unsupervised is more or less anywhere, really..."

Before Minerva could use her deductive skills to link together my being unsupervised with my 'research' on how to heal Lycanthropy, I brandished my wand, and tried something that I had only theorized about.

I knew fire, I understood it in a way that left my comprehension of Potion Making far behind: it was more primal, it spoke with a depth that nothing else I had found until now could match. Some familiarity with fire was fundamental in any Charm, and it lent itself extraordinarily well to channeling directly will and meaning.

As I had mentioned to Minerva, I had met Fawkes: the immortal firebird. I might have been a bit loose-tongued because of the brew I had drunk to show off to Orion Black, but I remembered that I had also, following some instinct that I would now kick myself in the shins for, doubted. 

After all, the wand chooses the wizard, and the holly wand I held chose me, when its twin rested in the hands of Riddle himself.

I remembered my decision in Ollivander's: to change the world for the better, while not concerning myself on preconceived or imposed limits of any kind. Still, I hadn't killed Tom yet, and for all the danger he presented, for all the idle thoughts and half-hearted planning, I really didn't want to.

He was brilliant in a way that left me speechless, and while I was careful about not letting him ensnare me in any kind of plot, I knew that he understood.

He looked at my notes and discerned the meaning behind them, he talked with me about magic and I caught his implications, we spoke exactly once about the history of the magical world we lived in, and our hypotheses fed off each other until we had a cohesive picture of events supported by an inescapable logic.

For all of my dreams for the future, it was hard for me to not imagine Tom doing the same: there was just so much he could give, that killing him, without even considering the terrible possibility of failing to do so, which would, of course, do nothing but cause retaliation on his part that would devolve in an endless war between the two of us.

I didn't want to kill Riddle.

And I had, a bit woozy because of what I had drunk, asked Fawkes to find another to oppose him.

Since nothing in my new lease of life seemed easy, the phoenix had refused. Of fucking course.

Still, I closed my eyes and I ignored Minerva asking me what I was attempting, letting my mind drift while my body tried to recall the feel of flames, and my magic simmered as if a flame itself: just as had once happened at Ollivander's, a brief, soft tongue of golden flame sprouted from the tip of my wand, and I could hear an undefinable echo in the distance.

When I opened my eyes, there wasn't Fawkes appearing in a gout of flame, only Minerva staring at me with a somewhat distant look in her eyes: "What was that?"

"One of the things I couldn't do under adult supervision." I retorted cheekily just as the double doors of the Rùnda opened, letting Tom stride in with his usual, refined grace.

"Riddle!" I greeted him, emboldened by the faint memory of Phoenix's song that I had managed to summon. Even if I would have appreciated much more Fawkes actually answering to my call.

"Hagrid," he replied blandly only to turn towards Minerva and assume a much more civil tone, "Minerva, how do you fare?"

"Quite well, Tom, thank you." she smiled back while she walked towards the doors, pride swelling on her face like a second skin while she admired her own work. "We were talking about Professor Dumbledore's phoenix."

"I wouldn't say that Fawkes belongs to anyone." I commented, my attention returning to Riddle as he fished out a leather-bound journal and my hairs stood on end for a second. Only for me to relax when I noticed that it was some non-descript brown leather. 

That's not the Diary, ok. In order to cover my instinctive reaction, I kept talking, immediately pointing at one topic that, thanks to the Diadem, I chose to face: "Imagine that, I met the phoenix when I was in detention."

"Not such a horrible detention then," Riddle didn't even hesitate as he flipped through his journal, "I'm aware of your excessive fascination with creatures of any sort."

"Yes, well," I stepped forward until I was close enough to loom over Tom: "imagine my irritation when I had to dispatch some fools that attempted to ambush me to soothe their wounded pride, eager to confirm their place in the world by attempting to push me to the bottom."

Riddle raised his face so that our eyes met: neither of us resorted to Legilimency, it wasn't needed. His carefully blank face told me all I needed to know: he of course knew of the plans of those idiots, and he didn't care in the slightest.

"Do you know why avalanches are unpredictable, Tom?" I chose to use his given name to annoy him more than anything else, and before he could reply, I answered my own question.

"Because nobody can ever know which snowflake will be the one to tip the scales."

...

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