RIDDLEBOOK
WARNING:
Contains some mature content. Reader's discretion is advised.
TOM
Alone, cold and lamenting, I sat, with the book upon my lap. It was thick and bound in snakeskin, fastened with a clasp of what I suspect to be real gold. It was sealed with magic. My future, and possibly my life were dependent on the contents of this book. I needed to open it. Candlelight flared briefly to my left – the signal.
I carefully slid the book into my bag. The light flared once again. I furrowed my brows in annoyance. Verrine, the impatient imbecile – I'll make sure to reprimand him thoroughly. The idiot doesn't deserve to serve me.
I stood slowly and made for the door.
"Tom."
I turned.
"What are you doing here, Tom?" Dumbledore's specs caught the needle-like beam of moonlight that stole though a gap in the library's window. His gnarled hands lay still upon the shoulders of the whimpering Verrine and the statue-still Rosier.
"To retrieve a book for an Arithmancy assignment, sir." I lied silkily. "Here is the note from Professor Purson – I forgot to come during the day, and I need the book tonight. I'm sorry, sir. Won't happen again."
Dumbledore said nothing. He lifted his hand off Rosier and extended it towards me. I gave him my bag. Verrine caught my eye. I glared coldly back. He failed me. He shall pay.
Dumbledore opened the bag. His hand reached in. I looked at Rosier. His lips were pursed in anxiety. I locked my eyes to his and opened a channel through Legimency. The face of Angus Filch scowled at me. I blinked. The face was gone. I smirked ever so slightly and shook my head at Rosier. No need to worry, there'll be no detention for us tonight.
Dumbledore withdrew his hand. In it he clutched a thin papyrus-made volume. Rosier let out a breath of relief. Dumbledore glanced at the dark letters of the title. There was a short pause. "Very well, Tom. If this would be the first and last time, my eyes shall wink to the deeds of you hands."
I bowed my head lightly, "Thank you, sir." I glanced at Rosier; he met my eye. We turned and left together, leaving Verrine scuffling behind.
Outside the library Mulciber and Nott stood waiting. They stepped out from the shadows as we approached. Nott motioned down the corridor, "No one came this way – oh…" He caught sight of Verrine behind us. Mulciber snorted, "What did he do this time, my Lord?"
Rosier answered him for me. "He let the signal on too long, flashed it twice too. Ol' Dumbly came running in." Mulciber snickered. We walked on.
At the end of the corridor, a sinewy figure stepped in front of us. Beside me, Rosier jumped. Phenex grinned back at us. "I smell the lecherous scent of success!" He exclaimed in his telltale singsong voice. Nott nodded at him, then turned to me. "Dolohov should be around the corner, with Asael."
Rosier perked up. "Asael? I thought he was still in detention."
Nott shook his head. "No, he got out a little more than an hour ago. Filch used the stipples on him," He smirked and continued. "Says we need a new scapegoat, 'cause he doesn't want to do it anymore."
I scowled. "He'll do what I tell him," I paused and glanced back at Verrine, who stiffened, "…but, as for now, Verrine can take his place."
Mulciber and Rosier glanced back at him and sneered. I kept my head straight and kept walking. Idiots, all of them, dishonest and untrustworthy fools.
000
Mrs. Cole never liked me, her attendants even less so. As I search through my memories now I can remember a certain Ms. Newt, with her thick-framed glasses and ill-fitting suits. She was the worst of the lot, a bit on the sadistic side. She used to slap me with the back of her hand every time I pass her by. I couldn't have been more than a toddler at the time.
The orphanage was scantily funded. With a little over forty children in residence, it always ran short of something. For most of my early years, that something was powdered milk. I was no longer a babe, and so I didn't rely on it, I shudder to think I had ever relied on anything.
The attendants would give the cups of lukewarm milk to their favorite child. I was no one's favorite. I rarely got a cup. The feeling of inferiority made me withdrawn. I would sit by myself, on the courtyard's ledges, glaring darkly at the other children.
Mrs. Cole pitied me. She always spoke of it, but never acted on it. Not that I needed her pity. In my lonesome childhood I was taught the hard way to rely on myself. When Billy Jones threw a rock at my head, no one came to help. I got a bandage from the medicine cabinet by myself. When Clara Langston blamed me for the stolen cookies, no one came to my defense. I talked myself out. When Ms. Newt whipped my backside raw for drawing a picture of her with a knife in her head, no one stopped her. They watched and laughed.
I couldn't have been more than five at the time.
000
Transfiguration was a bore. When everyone else struggled to scribble down notes, I doodled. Head down, quill scratching, parchment darkening, I fooled them all. On my lap sat the snake-skinned volume. I scrutinized it.
Restricted section or not, if it was from the school library then it is considered appropriate for the students to read. The magicked seal must be a trick. There must be another way to open it. It's logic.
The golden clasp stretched from the back of the volume to the front. A small bulb held it down – a red herring, it must be. A thought struck me. With the experienced shift and tip of my legs, I flipped the book onto its front. Ah, there, the square clasp's frame. I bent my head lower and examined the place where the clasp was attached to the back cover.
It wasn't glued.
It wasn't sewn.
It's the clasp's opening.
I glanced up, making sure no one was looking, I feigned dropping my quill and bent down beneath the desk. With nimble fingers I grappled the back of the clasp from where it was attached to the back cover and pulled. With a click that sounded to me like the deafening roar of raging thunder, the clasp opened. I peeked over the desktop. No one else heard. Good.
I picked up my quill and sat back down in my seat. I was just in time for the end-of-class shuffle. I dropped the opened volume into my book bag in glee and headed out the door. Professor Slughorn stood waiting there. The betraying grin on his face sent my stomach lurching long before he slapped the violet and lavender invitation into my hand.
"No excuses, my boy!" He patted my shoulder excitedly. "I come to personally deliver this to you, so don't let me down! You are not only expected, you are obligated to attend. And remember," Slughorn dropped his voice into a murmur, "my little parties are nothing without my Golden Boy." He patted me one last time and with a swirl of aromatic perfume, he was down the hall.
I turned over the invitation in my hand. A Roman Masquerade: costumes mandatory. Where do I find masquerade costumes in the middle of a school week?
I looked up in time to spot Rosier hurrying towards me. He clutched an invitation in his hand. "Are you going, my Lord?" He asked hasty whisper. I gave a curt nod of my head. He sighed in response. We passed through the crowded hall with ease. Like Moses parted the Red Sea, Rosier and I parted the numb-minded students, ogling as we passed. I looked to my left and a cluster of fifth years girls erupted into a giggling fit. Foolish things. Who do they think they are that I would ever take attention to them? I smiled anyways. The Headmaster was watching.
Rosier straightened his tie and smoothed out his robes beside me. My lips curled. His vanity irked me. What is appearance when it's fake? Rosier may be a well-created male specimen on the outside, but his jealous nature and fraudulent tendencies makes him ugly.
Beauty doth shine dim when stood next to the blackened mind.
000
The feeling of inadequacy worsened as I grew older. I learnt to appear distant and aloof to avoid unwanted attention. The orphanage's hired attendants were all feeble and cowardly. They were scapegoats of their society, low class and filthy. I was a child. I was younger and weaker. I was, we were, the only souls vulnerable to them.
Ms. MacKay was another one. She was obese, blonde and unsightly. She came to help in the orphanage four times a week. She volunteered to supervise our baths and beds. She set the curfew and she checked up on us in regularly during the night.
I loathed her. Nevertheless, she liked me – in a way no one else knew of or understood.
She first took notice of Kevin Stroker.
She moved his bed to the back corner of the boys' room. She would always check up on him last. She stood closest to him when we take our baths. And she always helped him towel dry. It was by the twisted hands of fate that I slept in the bunk next to his. I was the only one who was aware of the goings-on.
Ms. MacKay took interest in me next.
I was skinny and tall for my age. I had black hair and intelligent dark eyes. She recognized the splendor in those eyes, but she missed the foreshadowed prowess.
She didn't waste time on the trivial formalities like she did with Stroker. She came into the boys' room, saw everyone to bed, and to my surprise, checked up upon Stroker before she checked up on me. I had a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach as I guessed what was coming next. I had unknowingly admitted defeat. I was going to imitate Stroker and play dead. I laid stock-still and readied myself to let what should come come.
But I wasn't at all prepared when it did come. I stiffened when she approached. I sweated when she sat down at the foot of my bed. I closed my eyes and willed myself not to cry as she lifted my covers. I was still as she moved her hands up my legs. I was still when she felt me. I was still when she removed my trousers. I was still when she kissed me. But I wept when she fondled me. I was still weeping after she pulled up my trousers and replaced my covers.
I felt disgusting. From that day forth I hated my body. I refused to let it represent me.
The next day, Ms. MacKay took me away from the courtyard during playtime, and led me to the bathroom. She told me I was dirty and that I needed to take a bath. She removed my shoes and trousers and kissed me. My knees gave away and I fell onto the tiled floor. Ms. MacKay's head bobbled in and out of my line of vision.
When my head crashed onto the floor, I felt as if I had just been snapped out of a trance. A paroxysm overtook me. Blinded by the sudden surge of anger, I lashed out. I was told that Ms. MacKay lost her sight for the next three weeks and livid hives broke out in all over her body. Ms. Newt left me alone after that.
I knew, deep in my heart, that it was I who unleashed this horror on Ms. MacKay. I knew I was special. Yet the discovery of this power made me angry with myself. I hated me for not defending myself on that first night. I despised defeat – it was an ignoble act, and I refused to give into it again.
000
From forth the pentacle erupts the summoned entity, enveloping the incensed air with its demonic presence. Its scent of power frequently devastates the conjuror, making him break his protection bonds, and thus bringing him to his defeat.
The snakeskin bound volume lay open on the bed, beside the opened package of a royal purple rimmed toga and a glittering butterfly mask – compliments of Professor Slughorn. I lay on my stomach, reading.
The title-less book contained the exact methods of Gothic demon conjurations. It was awesomely fascinating. I would be even more engrossed in the reading if Asael hadn't been pacing in and out of my periscopical vision.
"What?" I snapped, looking up. Asael's grin trembled. "I'm sorry, my Lord, but I was wondering…when am I allowed to leave? I have a charms essay due."
I mutter a short, two-syllable word. In the next minute Asael was withering and squealing on the ground. He reminded me of the squirrels in the orphanage's play yard.
Dolohov, who was sitting on his bed beside mine, looked at me, eyes wide. I sneered at him. "Wandless magic – you should learn some."
Dolohov opened his mouth, decided for the better, and closed it. He barely managed a weak grin.
The spell's effects subsided and Asael sat up, whimpering. I sent him a whipping glare. He flinched. "Fetch Verrine and Phenex." I told him.
Asael nodded palely and turned on his heels. He was out the door in the blink of an eye, not that I saw or cared. I was indulged in the book again.
Many demons graced our realm by their ascension. Amongst the recorded, there were Chobaliel, Hosampsich, Antares, Grendel, Baraqel, and their King, Mephostophiles.
Mephostophiles…their King. The name intrigued me.
Footsteps snapped me out of my thoughts. Verrine and Phenex now stood before me with Asael slouching behind them. I ignored them, toying with an idea. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dolohov motion at Verrine to be quiet – an impatient idiot, that Verrine was. I looked up at him, still thinking.
Finally I quietly said, "There is a Hogsmeade weekend coming up next month. I will be taking a detour to elsewhere. You two," I glared at Verrine and Phenex, "are to help Mulciber come up with a cover. Old Dumbledore's keeping his eyes sharp these days, so be subtle, and don't mess this up."
I heard Phenex gulp and Dolohov sigh of relief. Asael collapsed onto the bed behind him, glad to have nothing to do with this expedition. But I had other plans in mind. Asael's relief irked me. Now I was tempted to include him. I thought fast. "On second thought…instead of Verrine, make it Asael. That way if you idiots do mess up, there's someone to take the blame."
I allowed myself a satisfied grin as Asael shot up from the bed in surprise and fright.
000
With four pockets full of heavy gold coins I walked along the crooked lanes of Diagon Alley. My first and foremost priority was my wand. The only wand maker I could find was Ollivanders. The shop's dust and disorder repulsed me, but I entered anyways.
Mr. Ollivander asked my name. I answered him carefully and cautiously. It would do me no good saying too much. He peered into my eyes and nodded. His eyes glazed over as he returned to the shelves, picking out my wand. I told him that I wanted the most powerful wand he had, and I wanted it to be sturdy and long lasting.
Mr. Ollivander remained silent to my demands. After ten full minutes of shuffling, he placed a thin, long box on the counter.
I didn't waste any money on foods and drinks that afternoon. My excitement and curiosity fueled me. I carefully observed the witches and wizards who passed me by in the streets. They were of all different sizes and shapes. Some strutted with an air of conceitedness, others hung their head and their eyes bore holes into the cobblestone ground.
Intriguingly, the Alley's atmosphere straightened my back and held up my head. I felt an impossible wave of confidence and belonging. I knew, right then and there, that I was no only become one of them, I was going to become the greatest of them all.
By the time I boarded the Hogwarts Express, I could perform half the spells in my Charms textbook.
A/N:
I haven't quite finished it yet. It's standing at fourteen pages right now even though it is a short story. I had to split it into five parts. The last part is coming soon.
Review please.