Chapter 8: The Task for a Snake
The first week of school passed in a flash. Nathara enjoyed every class. Her favorite was potions. Snape was the best teacher. He had a way of making the Gryffindors shut up with little effort, and favored his Slytherins. He also recognized that Nathara always found a way to make the potions better, more effective. Experimenting was dangerous, but Snape did it too, so he didn't seem to mind.
There was also Transfiguration, a subject Nathara excelled at. She could perform spells way beyond the first year level, making the Mudblood a bit furious. McGonagall put aside that Nathara was the Daughter of Voldemort, which Nathara was grateful for.
There was Charms with tiny Flitwick, Astronomy with Sinistra, History of Magic with a ghost, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Nathara didn't exactly like the idea of being against Dark Arts, but the class turned out to be a joke, anyway. Still, Granger and Nathara competed, always. They were both exceptionally brilliant.
The week blew past, and it was lunch at the Great Hall. The ceiling was the clearest blue with very little clouds. And according to Malfoy, the perfect conditions for playing Quidditch.
"Of course, I'm the best Quidditch player there is," Malfoy boasted to the Slytherins. "My father thinks it's a crime that first years aren't allowed their own broomsticks, and I agree."
Malfoy loudly complained about this subject at the Slytherin table.
Nathara thought that he was being ridiculous. She could easily shatter his incorrect views of the world, effortlessly tear them apart, but she decided not to. It was a way of being "nice" to Draco. They were becoming friends, as far as that went with Nathara.
"I bet I'll be the best out of everyone at the flying lesson," Draco claimed.
Right, he was talking about the flying lesson today. Nathara could fly, but she wasn't much of a Quidditch player. And Quidditch was the next subject of Draco's.
"I think the best team is Bulgaria," he said.
Nathara's opinions were different.
"I think the best team is Ireland," she opposed.
"And shamefully, Drakey is wrong," another voice said. Pansy Parkinson's.
Before Draco could argue back, a loud explosion came from the Gryffindor table. A boy who was pointing his wand at a golden goblet evidently blew himself up. He was sitting with his face covered in black soot, and his eyebrows were missing. A very humorous subject for the Slytherins, who were now laughing along with a couple other houses.
"That idiot," Nathara muttered, not even trying to conceal the subtle laughter coming out of her mouth, for once.
"Hey look," Crabbe said, attention drawing away from the explosion, "The Daughter of You-Know-Who actually has emotions."
As soon as he said "Daughter of You-Know-Who," Nathara hexed him so his mouth turned into the yellow bill of a duck, a little spell she invented by accident.
Thankfully, Crabbe said this quietly enough that no one from the other years heard, but it was still loud enough to catch Pansy Parkinson's attention. Shit.
"Nathara, did he say that you're the daughter of You-Know…"
Nathara cut her off, "Yes, Pansy. It is supposed to be a secret."
Nathara was actually sounding quite calm and emotionless, but that did not match how she was actually feeling.
"But how come…."
"Pansy, you will not share that information with anyone. If you do, I will literally kill you," Nathara threatened quietly in Parkinson's ear.
Pansy froze for a moment then nodded to show she understood.
Nathara enjoyed that threat, but also feared what would happen if Parkinson let it slip. Pansy was always gossiping, and Nathara couldn't actually cast the killing curse yet. Sadly, she would just have to wait and see what happens.
It was the same sound that came this morning. A chorus of hoots and flapping wings. Owls swooped in from the light blue ceiling, trying to find the recipients of the various mail that they carried. One of the owls carried an unassuming brown box, about the size of Nathara's hand. The owl had grey feathers, and it crashed right in front of Nathara. Sterling.
"Stupid thing," Nathara said to it. The owl flew off, knocking over a few books that belonged to Blaise Zabini not far away. He didn't seem to care.
Nathara grabbed the little package that Sterling dropped. There was a note scribbled on it:
Do not open in public.
This was Mr. Borgin's handwriting. It would be wisest to follow his instructions. So, Nathara stored it in her book bag, planning to open it in the Slytherin dorms.
Another owl swooped by, feathers as white as snow, carrying the Daily Prophet.
Nathara mentally noted to get a subscription for that. It might be useful sooner or later.
She glanced at the silver watch around her wrist. It indicated that there was still another thirty minutes until the next class. Maybe she could make it to the dorms to open the package, with enough time to get to class. Thirty minutes… yes that should be long enough.
"I'll see you later," Nathara said to the Slytherins.
"Where are you off to?" Draco asked.
"Where I am off to is no business of yours. I'll see you later."
And Nathara traveled quickly to the dungeons, thankfully not running into anyone.
She arrived at the stone wall where the common room was hidden behind.
"Pureblood," Nathara recited the password.
And an archway formed. Nathara walked through it, and the archway shrunk behind her. She made her way across high ceiling-ed room, climbed down the staircase to get to the dorms, and opened the door to her room.
The room was tidier than they had left it, perhaps the work of some house elves. Nathara went to her desk to open the package that Mr. Borgin gave her.
She untied the thin twine around the box, and the lid popped off. Inside the box was a hand. A skeletal one, rather. The skeletal hand had bones that looked worn, almost rotten. The way the hand was positioned looked like it was meant to hold something. But, Nathara wasn't exactly sure what.
There was a piece of parchment in the box as well. It said:
This is a Hand of Glory. I'm sure you know what it does. This one has been broken for a while, no one wants to buy it. I'm sure you could find a use for it.
-Mr. Borgin
A Hand of Glory brought light only to the beholder, was what Nathara knew of it. It was designed for plunderers and thieves. Nathara was more than a plunderer or a thief. She was greater than that. More powerful. Mr. Borgin knew that. Nathara wondered what use she would have for this. There was many possibilities. She would use it when one comes up.
Nathara started to exit the dorm, but as she passed the trunk at the foot of her bed, something exploded out of it. It was her silver little snake. The snake circled Nathara, then settled on her right wrist, where it surprisingly fitted comfortably. Nathara didn't see this as a problem, so she proceeded to get to class.
The sky remained the cheery blue it was earlier. The air outside was fresh and crisp and refreshing, a much different setting than the dungeons or other Hogwarts rooms. The grass below was soft and green. It was a nice day outside.
There were about twenty broomsticks against the grass, all of them looked worn and old. Something the Slytherins did not exactly appreciate. In contrast, there was a bright, peppy witch standing in front of them.
"Good afternoon, class," she greeted.
"Good afternoon, Madam Hooch."
"Welcome to your first flying lesson. Now, what are you waiting for? Step up to the left side of your broomstick, stick your right hand over it, and say up," she instructed.
"Up!" the class shouted.
There were two brooms that immediately flew into a person's hands, Draco's and Potter's.
"Up!" the class shouted again.
More brooms flew up, including Nathara's
"Up!"
It took a few more rounds of shouting, but eventually, everyone had a broom in hand.
"Now once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it, and grip it tight, Don't want anyone sliding off the end. Kick off from the ground, hard. On my whistle."
A cry for help almost instantly came from Neville Longbottom. He was steadily rising higher into the air, with no control over what he was doing.
Am I seriously surrounded by idiots?
Longbottom's broom was wildly flying around and crashing into walls, Neville practically begging for someone to help. It might have been a serious matter to the Gryffindors, but the Slytherins did not see it like this. Not at all. In fact, they were having a fit of laughter. Sure, the Gryffindors were glaring, but it had taken no effect on the Slytherins at all.
Finally, Longbottom crashed to the ground with a thud. A small glass orb, a Remembrall, fell out of his robes. Madam Hooch rushed over.
"Everyone is to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing," Madam Hooch ordered over Longbottom's whimpering. "If I see a single broom in the air, the one riding it will be out of Hogwarts before they can say Quidditch."
"Did you see his face?" Draco was now holding the Remembrall. "Maybe if the fat lubber had given this a squeeze, he would've remembered to fall on his fat ass."
Nathara highly agreed with that statement.
"Give it here, Malfoy," Harry Potter stood up to Draco.
Draco retaliated, "No. I think I'll have it for Longbottom to find." Draco took off with his broom. "How 'bout on the roof? What's the matter Potter? Bit beyond your reach?"
Potter eyed Draco, then took off after him, despite his friend's warning.
The two boys were high in the air. Draco taunted Potter a bit, then threw the Remembrall far away. But, Potter chased after it. He was actually good at flying, though Nathara hated to admit it.
Nathara saw that McGonagall was watching through a window.
Potter caught the ball right in front of McGonagall, and McGonagall disappeared from the window. Potter triumphantly started to sail down, disappointing the Slytherins.
"Reducto," Nathara cast.
And Potter fell down from the broomstick. He was uninjured, but it was just a way to ruin moment, maybe get a little dose of revenge. Nathara made sure that he caught her wink as he got back up. This earned a round of high fives from the Slytherins. It ended just before McGonagall came over.
"Harry Potter!" she called.
Potter trudged to McGonagall, and they went inside the school.
Curious to see what would happen, Nathara discreetly followed.
"Hey, Nathara," Draco said, now on the ground. "Where are you going?"
Nathara placed a finger over her lips, telling Draco that he shouldn't talk. He shortly figured out that they were spying on Potter. McGonagall took Potter to the DADA class. Nathara and Draco hid behind the wall near the classroom.
"But we can't hear them here," Draco whispered.
"I know," Nathara whispered back.
Making sure the hall was empty, Nathara placed the snake around her wrist into her palm.
"Go listen to Potter," she whispered to it in Parseltongue.
And the silver snake slithered in the air, and latched on to Potter's hood.
"You're a Parselmouth?" Draco questioned.
Nathara nodded. She was a Parselmouth. It was expected for the Heiress of Slytherin. Yes, she was the Heiress of Slytherin as well, but no one knew. Probably.
After a minute or so of waiting, the silver snake latched on to Nathara's wrist.
There were footsteps coming back in their direction, but only Potter's.
"Riddle," he hissed.
"Potter," she hissed back. They walked to wherever they needed to be next.
"So, what did they say?" Draco asked Nathara.
The two were in an empty classroom now. All the items in here looked like they had been forcibly thrown on the floor at some point. Dust was collecting everywhere, but it was a private room.
Nathara took her snake and put it in her palm again.
"Tell me."
The snake took a straighter pose, its eyes glowed.
"Mr. Potter, that could have gotten you seriously injured," McGonagall's voice said.
"Ooh, sounds like he's in trouble," Malfoy commented.
"Ooh, sounds like you need to shut up. There's more," Nathara snapped back, somehow still sounding super formal.
"Harry, this is Oliver Wood. Wood, I have found you a seeker!" McGonagall's voice said, excitedly.
And the snakes eyes died back down.
"Seeker?" Draco complained. "Potter's a seeker? First years never make the team!"
"Maybe you should be a seeker, Drakey," Nathara suggested.
"But first years never make the team," Draco whined.
"Well apparently, Harry Potter did," Nathara reasoned.
"We're not allowed our own brooms," Draco pointed out.
"I suppose I can tamper with that," Nathara said slyly.
"How?"
"I have my sources… Well, if you want to try out, they're next week."
And they went to the next class.
The rest of the classes passed by quickly, and soon, the girls were in the Slytherin dorms. It was midnight, but Nathara was still up. The envelope's red ink now read Open in secret. It was finally time to see what this letter was.
Nathara decided to read it in the common room, the snores of Millicent Bulstrode were highly annoying. Nathara slipped her wand into her nightgown pocket, and headed up to the common room.
It was completely empty, perfect. Nathara sat down on one of the sofas near the unlit fireplace, and opened the envelope:
Dear Nathara,
I believe this is the first time we have communicated in approximately ten years. However, I will get straight to what is needed to say:
I am only a fragment of the powerful wizard I once was. I am currently using Quirinus Quirrel, a loyal follower of mine, to inhabit. But, we could rise to power, Nathara. We could have the fate of the Wizarding World at our very fingertips. We could accomplish so much together.
But, this can only happen if you join me.
If so, there is a way for me to return. The Sorcerer's Stone. This Stone produces the Elixir of Life. Quirrel is trying to obtain it for me. I would like you to accompany him on October 31st on the third floor corridor to complete this task. Think of it as a test to prove your worthiness. Keep this letter and your task secret.
-Tom Marvolo Riddle
Nathara stared at the letter. She read it over again. Was she going to do this? Was she going to take his side? But wait, there weren't any sides, she said that herself. It wasn't like Nathara was automatically evil if she helped him. Yes. She was going to do this. She wanted to. She wanted this. It meant a great deal of power, one of Nathara's desires.
A set of footsteps came from the boys dormitory.
"Lumos," Nathara cast. A soft light glowed from the tip of her wand.
"Lumos," another voice said. Their wand lit up, revealing their face. It was the face of Draco Malfoy.
"What are you doing down here?" he questioned.
"What are you doing down here?" Nathara asked back.
"I asked first."
"Couldn't sleep," Nathara said convincingly. It was true though, Nathara most likely wouldn't be able to sleep right now.
"Me as well."
He sat down next to Nathara, a bit too close for her taste, but it felt fine.
Draco stared at the unlit fireplace, "Lacarnum Inflamari."
The fire glowed, bringing a burst of warmth.
"Not so bad, Draco," Nathara complimented.
"Finally give up on the Drakey thing?" he asked hopefully.
They both smirked. The two stared into the fire.
Nathara thought about the letter again. She was going to be great. She would prove to everyone what she could accomplish. Yes, this was going to happen. The Dark Lord will rise again.
Draco and Nathara were still gazing into the fire. It was making Nathara tired. She rested her head on a nearby pillow, actually feeling exhausted for once. Usually, she never needed sleep.
Draco placed his hand on Nathara's shoulder, for some reason. She usually wouldn't let people touch her, either, but this felt…good. Actually... a bit awkward. Nathara wasn't sure how to describe it.
After what felt like an hour, Nathara wished Draco goodnight, and headed back up to the dormitory. Good.
A/N: Hello! I have concluded that this story will be updated weekly. This chapter was longer, lots to get in. Other chapters will probably be like that too. Please tell me what you think, it really helps me make the story better. Thanks for all the follows/favorites/reviews. You're amazing! Hope you enjoyed! Oh, and also, does anyone know how to not burn pancakes? I would really appreciate if someone told me how. Bye!
-Kat
