A/N – SPOILERS RUN RAMPANT IN THIS FIC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. I don't quite know what laws I am breaking by putting this excerpt from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in here, but I hope it's none! All I have to say is that I don't own Harry Potter or anything that has to do with him. The excerpt is from the First American Edition of Chamber of Secrets, beginning on page 336 and ending on page 338. I in no way, shape, form, or stretch of the imagination wrote the italicized portion between the lines, it came from the great mind of J.K. Rowling, it's only use in here is to set up a foundation for my story and plot line. PLEASE DON'T SUE ME! Thanks a bunch! Reviews are always welcome.
Prologue
"Don't you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?" said Harry.
Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.
"How should I know how the stupid girl got hold of it?" he said.
"Because you gave it to her," said Harry. "In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn't you?"
He saw Mr. Malfoy's white hands clench and unclench.
"Prove it," he hissed.
"Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you…"
Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he were longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house elf.
"We're going, Dobby!"
He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry stood for a moment, thinking hard. Then it came to him –
"Professor Dumbledore," he said hurriedly. "Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?"
"Certainly, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly. "But hurry. The feast, remember…"
Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby squealing in pain from around the corner. Quickly, wondering if his plan could possibly work, Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor.
He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.
"Mr. Malfoy," he gasped, skidding to a halt, "I've got something for you – "
And he forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy's hand.
"What the –?"
Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry.
"You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter," he said softly. "They were meddlesome fools, too."
He turned to go.
"Come, Dobby. I said, come."
But Dobby didn't move. He was holding Harry's disgusting, slimy sock, and looking as though it were a priceless treasure.
"Master has given a sock," said the elf in wonderment. "Master gave it to Dobby."
"What's that?" spat Mr. Malfoy. "What did you say?"
"Got a sock," said Dobby in disbelief. "Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby – Dobby is free!"
Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf. Then he lunged at Harry.
"You've lost me my servant, boy!"
But Dobby shouted, "You shall not harm Harry Potter!"
There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward. He crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face livid, and pulled out his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger.
"You shall go now," he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. "You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now."
Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.
Lucius Malfoy hurried down the numerous stairs in the corridor and burst out the front door, almost talking out a line of Ravenclaw 1st years. A large, elegant, black carriage awaited his return at the bottom of the hill and Lucius stepped into so quickly that the footman did not even have time to open the door for him. The carriage started off with a rattle on the bumpy cobblestone road.
Lucius fumed silently inside the carriage. His thoughts stayed glued to the events of the past few minutes.
"How dare he?" Lucius muttered to himself. "He'll get his one day… when the Dark Lord rises again he will be the first to go."
He found some consolation in this thought and quickly realized he still held the tattered and slimy diary in his hands. With some hesitation he opened it and flipped nonchalantly through the ink stained pages. Some of the entries had seeped up to the surface and would have been readable had it not been for the large blotches of ink and blood.
He pulled a white cloth with an elaborate embroidered 'M' surrounded by vicious snakes from the folds of his cloak and attempted to wipe the slime and blood from the old leather cover and tattered beige pages. The attempt was futile. In a rage Lucius tossed the diary across the carriage onto the plush, black velvet seat and vaguely wondered what on earth he was going to do with it.
5 years later…
It was just before dawn on a quiet summer morning in the village of Little Hangleton. The small town was not what it used to be, over the years the population had dwindled away and the tourists had lost interest in the once fascinating village. The sun was slowing peeking over the horizon behind a large, grand mansion which was silhouetted in the pure morning rays. The Riddle House, as it was still referred to by the townspeople, had always been a point of fascination to any traveler who had not heard of the horrendous events that took place there over a half century earlier.
It was the small town's largest urban legend, for no one had ever really figured out the sequence of events that lead up to the demise of the Riddle family. Yet the house still stood as a reminder of the past. Some of its windows were boarded up, there were tiles missing from the roof, and the ivy had overgrown the weathered fence that surrounded the house. Despite all of this the house was still the grandest for miles around.
In a room on the second floor of the house sat a tall man with white, almost translucent, skin and piercing crimson eyes. He lounged in an antique, high back, leather chair facing the fire place where only a few flames still fought to burn. The remaining flames cast shadows over his supernatural face, making it appear to be porcelain instead of flesh, and his crimson eyes seemed to be suffocating the flames. The wallpaper that adorned the walls was now cracked and peeling, and the beautiful cherry wood floor was scratched beyond repair. Everything in the room seemed to be covered in an inch of dust and cobwebs hung ominously from the broken crystal chandelier. All of the windows were boarded up allowing only a few rays of sunshine to creep in. On the wall behind the antique chair hung an ornate gold mirror in which the glass was shattered.
Indeed the room was filled with many antiques and valuables but all were decomposing as though they had taken life briefly only to have it brutally snatched away by neglect. There was a small and timid knock on the door.
"Come in," ordered the man in a high pitched voice.
A small, balding man with watery, beady eyes opened the door halfway.
"My Lord," he spoke quietly, as though the sound of his voice would cause unspeakable wrath upon him. "She is here to see you, as you requested."
Voldemort folded his hands in his lap.
"Send her up, Wormtail."
Wormtail scurried out of the room in an extremely rat like manner.
A few moments later a tall woman in a dark cloak entered the room. She bowed respectively to Voldemort and only sat once he told her to do so. Silence hung for a few moments before he spoke again.
"I assume you know why you are here?"
Theshook her headand Voldemort continued.
"It has come to my attention that, while I am getting stronger, I might always be lacking in areas that once did not lack. I have realized that the peak of my power was most certainly in my younger years. I feel that if I could somehow fuse who I am now with a younger version of myself I might fully regain my powers and finally be able to accomplish my goal. The only problem I foresee is how would I accomplish this when the book the memory dwelled in is in ruins?"
Voldemort glanced at the woman as though awaiting an answer. When he received none, he continued.
"It is quite simple, I am annoyed with myself that I had not thought of it earlier, just repair the book. Lucius still has it in his possession, if he is wise he has not thrown it out. You are to retrieve the diary from him, have it repaired, and bring it back here to me. I assume that I will have it before this week is over… understood?"
The woman nodded and stood.
"It's good to be back, Master. I look forward to assisting you in any way I can." The woman said.
Something like a smile played upon Voldemort's face, "It's nice to have you back too, Bellatrix."
Bellatrix apparated into Lucius' study only moments later. He looked up from his desk. She lowered her hood to reveal her identity. Her ghost white face contrasted nicely to her raven black hair and midnight blue eyes. She had a rigid, pointed nose and a rough, square jaw line. Her beauty was that of a cold murderer without any remorse or hesitation.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" said Lucius.
"It's nice to see you too, Lucius. It's been such a long time in the making, I am here on business for our Master. I assume you still possess his old diary?" Bellatrix asked.
"Of course, but I fail to see what use it could have after what happened to it." Lucius leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.
"What, exactly, did happen to it?"
Lucius sighed.
"Well, let's just say that Basilisk fangs can do an impressive amount of damage when used to puncture things."
Bellatrix looked a bit puzzled.
"Regardless, I must leave here with that book." She said.
"Alright, follow me."
Lucius led Bellatrix down a long, twisting corridor and stopped in front of a large, carved oak door. He opened the door which made a horrific squeal on its hinges. Every candle in the room suddenly lit once they were inside and Bellatrix recognized the room immediately. She had been initiated into the Death Eaters in that very room, although now it looked much different. The walls were lined with books and oddities. The floor was covered with a thick layer of dust. Skulls and small gleaming contraptions littered the tables placed all over the room. Lucius led her to the back of the room to a wardrobe. He opened the wardrobe and began shuffling through the drawers.
It didn't appear to Bellatrix that anything in this wardrobe could be of importance to the Dark Lord. A few ancient Hogwarts school robes hung up and on the shelves were scattered awards and books. In the drawer where Lucius shuffled around were more books and dozens of rolls of parchment. He finally found what he was looking for and handed Bellatrix a small, black leather book.
Bellatrix ran her hand over the puncture wound in the cover of the book.
"A basilisk tooth did this?"
"Yes." Lucius replied.
"Thank you, Lucius, our Lord will be most pleased."
With that, Bellatrix disappeared with the same pop noise she had made when she arrived.
It was ten after eight when Bellatrix arrived in Knockturn Alley. She pulled her cloak tighter around her and made sure her face was hidden in the shadow of her hood. Not that anyone would recognize her, she had been incarcerated for so long that her face remained gaunt and her eyes even more lifeless than they had been. She passed a wanted poster with Sirius Black's picture on it and smirked in a most evil way to herself as the death of Sirius flashed through her mind.
The alley began to narrow and at the dead end was a round, wooden door. She rapped on the door lightly and a small wooden slot opened. A pair of old and crazy eyes peered out at her.
"State your business." The voice was old and demanding.
"Now, Sumpter, is that any way to treat an old friend?"
Bellatrix lowered her hood and revealed her face to the old man. The small slot closed and the door swung open.
Bellatrix stepped inside a dimly lit little shop. There were eight or so cauldrons set up along the walls and seven of them were in use.
"Well, it has been a long time, Bellatrix Lestrange." Sumpter wheezed out.
"Yes, it truly has. About fifteen years? No matter, I am not here to take a trip down memory lane. I need you to fix this."
She thrust the diary in his direction and Sumpter caught it in one hand.
Sumpter flipped through the pages of the battered book, running his hands over the dried ink and blood.
"Basilisk venom?" He asked.
"Yes. This diary used to house a memory, and the memory was very powerful it was able to communicate with people through this diary. What I need you to do is restore it to that state, if not an even better one." Bellatrix stated.
"The potion I need to concoct for this is extremely lengthy and resource consuming."
Bellatrix handed him a velvet pouch of Galleons.
"I want it done today."
Sumpter looked at her, in serious thought.
"For a little extra I can have it done tomorrow morning…"
Bellatrix tossed another bag of Galleons his way and headed for the door.
"Nice doing business with you again, Bellatrix." Sumpter called after her, gleefully stuffing the gold into his pockets before getting to work.
Bellatrix arrived back at the same shop the next morning promptly at nine 'o' clock. She didn't even knock this time, but instead opened the door and stepped inside. Sumpter appeared from a back room.
"It is almost done, give me two more minutes." Then he was gone again.
Bellatrix wandered around the room observing each cauldron. They were all shimmering and one of them was producing a thick blue vapor.
"Done." Sumpter had arrived and he held the small black diary out to Bellatrix.
She grabbed it eagerly and flipped through the pages. They were no longer tattered and stained. She examined the cover and could find no traces of the puncture wound anywhere.
"Do you have a quill?" she asked Sumpter.
He motioned to a table in the corner of the room.
Bellatrix dipped the quill in a sufficient amount of ink and scribbled, hello, on the page. It sunk into the paper and Bellatrix eagerly awaited a response. Nothing was happening. She eyed Sumpter, thoroughly annoyed, she glanced back down at the page and saw, to her astonishment, sprawling cursive writing oozing from the beige paper.
Hello. May I ask who is writing in my diary?
Bellatrix smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes and exited the shop without another word. She placed the restored diary into the folds of her cloak and put her hood up to conceal her face. She came to the intersection where Knockturn Alley met Diagon Alley and noticed that it was getting quite crowded. Early bird witches and wizards were bustling about ready to get their business over with. Bellatrix attempted to blend in with the small crowd and in doing so she was immediately bumped into by an older wizard.
"So sorry." He muttered, not even looking up from his copy of The Daily Prophet.
Bellatrix's lip twitched in annoyance but she continued walking. She walked all the way up to the forest near the Shrieking Shack and paused in front of a large tree that was the victim of a lightning strike. There were three branches lined up in a row on the left side of the tree. Bellatrix lightly grabbed a hold of the very top one and felt a tugging at her navel. Instantly she was in front of the Riddle House in Little Hangleton.
Holding her chin high she entered the Riddle House and went straight to the second floor where Voldemort was sitting. She paused in front of the door and was preparing to knock when the familiar high pitched voice called out.
"Come in."
Bellatrix opened the door quickly and stepped in front of the fireplace.
"I assume you have been successful?"
"Yes, Master. I have and your diary is now better than it was at the time of its demise."
Bellatrix reached deep into the folds of her cloak and searched for the diary, but it was not there. She began to lose her composure and Voldemort eyed her irately.
"You do not have it with you?" He asked icily.
Bellatrix lowered her head, "No, I must have dropped it…" fear began to creep into her voice.
"Pity. Find it, and soon, my patience wears thin."
"Yes! Yes, Master, I will." Bellatrix got up quickly and went to the door.
Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard a quiet voice speak.
"Crucio."
The spell hit her hard in the back and she fell to the ground writhing in agony and screaming.
Voldemort stood from his chair and stepped over her on his way out the door, "Don't disappoint me next time."
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