A/N: Well, I've got nothing to say other than school is insane. Like, seriously insane. But seeing as I've caught a sudden stomach flu, I've had time to work on the next chapter. So I'll just start. Oh, and thanks for all of the reviews. I love checking my email to find twelve thousand reviews, tee hee.
And as always, many thanks to my wonderful beta, Christina!
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter. In fact, if JK happened upon this fan fic and read it, she'd probably have me committed.
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Chapter Nine: To Roderick Riddle
Dear Mom,
I hope this letter finds you well. I know you're worrying about me right now, but you really shouldn't. Nobody has bothered me, and I'm perfectly safe. It's only about ten o'clock, but I already like it here at Hogwarts. My dorm is a little dark, but I still like it.
The sorting was really interesting. The hat wanted to put me in Gryffindor, but it said I was too much like Father. It put me into Slytherin, so I doubt I'll have to worry about Professor Snape. But I'll still be careful. And I've got a friend in Slytherin already, Megan Greengrass. She's nice, Mom, I think you'd like her. Sharp, you know? If not annoyingly perky
Anyway, I've also met one of my professors; we shared a compartment on the train. His name is Professor Draco Malfoy, and he teaches Charms. I know you told me to stay away from Headmaster Malfoy, but Professor Malfoy seems very nice. We talked about Muggle literature on the train ride over, it was a lot of fun and quite a relief to find I'm not the only person to have read The Phantom Tollbooth! He said he once knew a boy named Roderick, but his mother disappeared years ago. He seemed really upset. But what was even more interesting was what he said about blood and its role in England. I'm sure you already know about this whole business about purebloods and Muggleborns, so I won't go into detail, but he told me that if anyone gave me a hard time about being impure, that I should go straight to him. See, I'm protected.
Write back soon, and tell me about what's going on at the shop! And make sure you tell Brad I'm in his house! He'll be pleased, I'm sure.
Love,
Roderick
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We had Potions first the next morning. Megan and I sat in the front row next to a cauldron filled with an off-white potion that I recognized immediately. It was a simple calming draught, one my mother used like it was going out of style. I laid out a fresh sheet of parchment, and my quill and inkpot across the desk, only half-listening to Megan talk about some Quidditch team. I had no patience for sports, preferring to read. Instead of paying attention to her chatter, I skimmed the chapter on today's lesson in my textbook, reading up on the Calming Draught. I was still reading when Professor Slughorn entered the classroom, munching on crystallized pineapple. Megan nudged my leg with her foot and I looked up to find him tending to the potion in front of us, sending me curious glances as I closed the book. It didn't bother me, and he cleared his throat to gain the class's attention.
"Hello everyone, my name is Professor Slughorn, Potions Master." He paused to smirk, as if expecting applause. We stared blankly at him, and he continued, unbothered. "I'd like to welcome you to First Year Potions. This year I hope to cover most basic potions, including the few scattered throughout the room. Can anyone tell me what this one is?" He gestured to the one resting in front of me, and I held my hand up, completely relaxed. School had always been my territory, and there was no reason to believe that Hogwarts would be any different. Professor Slughorn smiled in recognition, nodding to me. "Yes?"
"The Calming Draught, sir." He looked disappointed when I didn't offer further information, even though I knew much more. I didn't want the reputation of Know-It-All.
"Mr.… Matthews, is it?" I nodded, watching him closely. He seemed pleased once again. "Well, Mr. Matthews, would you tell us the purpose of the Calming Draught?"
I was being judged, it was easy to see. Not disturbed at all, I flicked back my hair and kept eye contact, smirking as he waited for me to answer. This was kind of fun. "Of course, sir. The Calming Draught is a basic potion commonly used in hospitals. Obviously, it calms people down, smoothing nerves. It grows popular around finals, and acts as a stimulant in portions of the brain, as well as helping lower blood pressure and ease breathing." And obviously, I had pleased him; he was smiling and looked like he was scheming. Out of cheek, I added to test his boundaries, "Is that correct, Professor?"
"Yes it is." But still he didn't look away. "I think I taught your parents, Mr. Matthews." Struggling not to show my sudden discomfort and surprise, I wondered which of my parents he had recognized. It wasn't like I had inherited any of my father's facial features, judging by the pictures I'd seen of him during childhood, and I had only gotten my mother's eyes. Did I just behave like them?
"That's impossible, sir, both my parents went to the Golden Academy in San Francisco," I responded smoothly, reciting our alias. He blinked, not expecting a blatant, however well rehearsed, lie.
"I'm not familiar with the surname Matthews, what were your parents' full names?" I really wanted to roll my eyes at his outright approach. Fine, I'd play.
"Jane and Michael Matthews, sir. My father died in the Great War and my mother renounced the wizarding world out of anger." Keep it simple, keep it vague. 'Stay mysterious and private to a degree,' echoed in my head, as my face remained blank. 'Don't give anything away and don't let anyone wheedle information out of you.'
"But why did you select Hogwarts above the school your parents attended?" he asked, hoping to trick me.
My voice remained steady as I responded crisply, "My mother had her reasons." He seemed to realize that I wasn't going to expound further, and resumed his lesson, his tone cool, while I seethed about his nosiness. Talk about a lack of subtleness. It seemed everyone knew something I didn't. Even though I already knew every answer, I didn't put my hand up again.
After class I bid Megan a hurried goodbye and rushed to the Charms classroom to get there early, wishing to talk to Professor Malfoy. He was going over lesson plans at his desk in the front of the classroom, his long blond hair pulled back into a loose ponytail with a black leather cord. I knocked on the doorframe politely, and he looked up, startled to see me.
"Good morning, Professor," I said quietly. "I was wondering if I could talk to you, if it's not too much trouble." He nodded, waving me in with a small smile.
"Any time, Roderick, and congratulations on getting into Slytherin. My own house, actually." I sat down at a bench across from his desk and set my school bag down by my feet, grateful that there was someone in the school who would welcome me, without seeking something in return. "How was your first class?"
"Annoying," I said, my voice brittle. "Professor Slughorn insists that he taught my parents."
He nodded wisely, dipping his quill into the inkwell beside his elbow. Without looking up, he asked, "Did he then?" I really wanted to tell him, to answer him, to beg him to tell me what they hadn't. 'Plus, do not break cover. You could be recognized, but stick to your story anyway.' I couldn't ignore my mother's worried face, only thirty years old but already beyond her years. I feebly answered,
"No, Professor. They went to school in America." He said nothing, only 'hmmed' under his breath. "He wouldn't drop it, though, and asked who they were." I sighed, looking down at the desk. "He seemed disappointed."
"The thing about Professor Slughorn," he said as he crossed a few bullet points off his list. "Is that he likes having influence. He has a club within the older years full of talented students." Professor Malfoy glanced up at me, before looking back down. "He sets them up for jobs, so that they are in a sort of debt to him, and he lives off the fame that they produce." I scowled, now vaguely remembering my mother mentioning this to me briefly.
"And he wanted to know my background in case he wanted to recruit me later on?" He hesitated, before nodding. "He didn't believe me anyway."
"You'll soon see that at Hogwarts, particularly in Slytherin, no one's used to honesty." He looked up at me, his gray eyes regretful. I wasn't sure why, but the gray was so blank, so void, that I wondered if they had ever held any spark, any life. "Just guard your secrets carefully, Roderick. But know when it's time to tell the truth."
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Professor Snape swept into the classroom at exactly two o'clock, his robes billowing dramatically as he spun around to face the class at the head of the room. Megan flinched as his eyes landed on our table in the front. They paused on me, before continuing down the row.
"Before I introduce you to the Dark Arts, I wish to issue a warning," he said, his deep voice fascinating the girl next to me, as he paused for added dramatic effect. "In this class I do not care about last names, blood lines, or wealth. You shall be judged only on talent and your hunger to learn. As first years, you shall not be doing any dangerous tasks, but if anyone gets hurt, the student who caused it will be punished." He let his words sink in as I wondered just what we would be studying in this class. Then, so fast that I didn't expect it, he fired, "Matthews, what is the incantation of the Patronus Charm?" Without missing a beat, I said clearly,
"Expecto Patronum, sir." He blinked as I wondered why everyone kept calling on me. Megan leaned closer to me in her seat, completely terrified.
"Name the three Unforgivable Curses."
Not flinching away from his strong stare, I said, "Avada Kedavra, Cruciatus, and Imperius."
"Who invented Wolfsbane Variation Three?"
Smirking slightly now, I responded, "You did, sir." Everyone was watching me now, and I loved showing off for once. Being good at something was always such a wonderful ego boost.
"How long did the Final Battle of the Great War last?"
"Two days, nine hours, fifty-four minutes, and three seconds, depending on when you consider it ended."
"What happened to the Golden Gryffindor Trio?" I froze. He knew as well! Snape lifted a lazy eyebrow, before mockingly asking, "You don't know, Mr. Matthews? But you were doing so incredibly well!"
The already almost nonexistent color in my face drained slowly away until I was sure my skin matched my uniform shirt, and I gulped, my throat suddenly dry, before saying in a weak voice, "Harry Potter was murdered in the Final Battle, Ron W-Weasley was captured, tortured, and killed, and Her-Hermione Granger was never f-found." The locket tingled beneath my vest as he looked down at me. I didn't notice Megan gripping my wrist tightly under the desk.
"Twenty points to Slytherin," he said in a dangerously soft voice, as the locket worked its magic, returning the flow of my self-confidence. "Now open your textbooks to the introduction."
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I couldn't sleep. The cold of the dungeons was so unlike my warm red and gold bedroom at home, and I really wished I were back there with Mom, reading the newspaper in front of the fireplace. Austin Flint, Edgar Tiblake, and Randle Montague were all sleeping, their muffled snores filling the first year boys dorm, but it was impossible for me to move and lay down on the silver bed sheets. I missed the locket, but I couldn't sleep with it on, for fear someone would see it, and instead it was in the black wooden box it had come in on my bedside table.
It was during times like these that I wished my father were still alive. One locket wasn't enough, and I wished I had someone to snicker with me when Mom was obsessive about cleaning, or to calm me down when I occasionally lost my temper. But most of all would be right now, to be able to owl him and ask him for advice.
I wasn't going to fall asleep, that much was obvious, so I slid off my bed and found my shoes, before double-checking my roommates were asleep and opening the jewelry box. The locket twinkled innocently at me, as if asking me 'What do you think you are doing?' I looped a finger under the chain, and slowly raised it from its velvet confines. It set back into the hollow of my throat, and I felt the protective warmth spread over me. Feeling devious, I tiptoed to the foot of my bed and quietly unclipped the three clamps holding the lid of my trunk shut. This was my second most prized possession, and its existence was actually not a mystery. Harry Potter's old invisibility cloak felt cool under my fingers, holding the promise of adventure.
My mother said she had rescued it during the final battle, and that for years she had disappeared under it with him and Ron. She had warned me to use it only during an emergency, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. I pulled it over my head and hugged it close to me, not bothering to consider its lingering smoky scent. The freedom that it granted me was extreme, but there was only one place I wanted to go.
I needed red and gold again. Silver and green was all fine and dandy, but I needed something familiar, something to latch onto. Maybe I could even find my mother's old school stuff she said she had left behind by accident. It was the closest I could get to home, so I would find it. What was the worst that could possibly happen?
The Slytherin common room was empty, and I stole through it to the hallway, not making a sound. She had always said that I was naturally stealthy, and the cloak was more of a precaution than anything else. And I was in a school I didn't know, so getting lost in it would be the end for me. However, my feet seemed to know the way, and I could follow the basic directions I remembered Dennis giving me, using some of the secret passageways he had recommended. I didn't run into anyone. But I was to be disappointed.
The portrait they had told me to look for of a fat woman in a pink gown was gone. The whole portrait hole was boarded up, long planks of wood without a single crack in between, and altogether not very inconspicuous. I scowled, wondering if I could take the boards down without anyone knowing. But it wasn't worth it; I wasn't supposed to attract any extra attention. With a final glare at the wall, I trudged away, heading in the direction of the library. But as I passed a slightly ajar door, I heard a loud voice, frustrated and icy. It was Professor Malfoy's voice, easily recognizable.
"-Gone for nine years, and now they're back? I don't know what she was thinking, it's so obvious it's him!" I stopped and flattened myself against the wall, intrigued by his subject. Not that it took much to draw my interest. "I don't think he even knows what the problem is. You should have seen him earlier! What on earth did she tell him?"
"I assume living in secrecy with her little group of survivors got too difficult," assured a velvety voice, just as easy to place. Professor Snape. "She knows what she's doing, she doesn't make rash decisions. Remember that she was Head Girl in her time." Professor Malfoy scoffed, and I peeked around the door. It was some type of lounge, most likely the staff lounge, and the two professors were sitting in the middle, on opposite sides, with a fire whiskey bottle at Professor Malfoy's elbow. Professor Snape was watching it disapprovingly. "This isn't your problem anymore, Draco."
"But it is!" he fired back, his untied blond hair framing his frustrated face. "I can't just watch him from afar, knowing that I heard his first word! He was like a son to me, Severus, I feel responsible." Professor Snape looked quickly at the door, though he saw right through me.
"Don't let the Dark Lord hear you say that, he's very protective of that boy. Don't you recall how violent he was for months after they left? Didn't you get Crucioed three times in one day once?"
Professor Malfoy nodded, his upper lip curling. "Protective my arse, he hardly knew him. I'm almost glad that she didn't raise him in England, but I can only imagine the lies that she must have told to Creevey and whoever else was with her. Did the Dark Lord mention Blaise was there too?" Professor Snape nodded as I listened more closely, edging into the room. Were they talking about my Dennis and Blaise? What boy were they talking about? And what did Voldemort have anything to do with it? "Good grief, we have to teach our master's child!"
The older man gagged and magicked a shot glass out of midair, before pouring himself a huge portion of Malfoy's whiskey, filling it to the brim. "Forget staying sober, this is going to be a rough year," he growled, before knocking it back. The other man smirked as he had a sip from his own mug.
"He's got to be bloody powerful; magic at two. I was there, I saw it!" Professor Snape rolled his eyes as Professor Malfoy moaned and put his head on his arms, which were crossed on the table.
"I know, I know, with the snitch and the ash, Merlin you sound like he is your son!" The blond glared at him over his elbows as I remembered something my mother had once told me when I had asked her when I began to control my magic a few years ago. She had smiled happily and recounted, 'Oh it was the most adorable thing. I was having dinner with a friend and you were playing under the table with this little toy snitch. You couldn't catch it but we were watching you, when all of a sudden there was this small bang, like a tiny explosion! So we looked under the table to see you smirking with ash all over your face, as little bits of gold rained down from what was left of the snitch.' I had always assumed that the friend she was speaking of was Luna or Terry, but this was really too close to be a coincidence. Merlin, could they be talking about me? Was I Voldemort's son? It was fairly obvious that I wasn't a Weasley, but could I- but they were still talking.
"We'll have to watch him closely, make sure he doesn't lose his temper. Could you imagine the destruction he could cause?" They both sat silently, sipping their drinks with pensive expressions. I stood while furiously denying that I was their subject. There was no way, Mom would have told me! She wouldn't have done… that was a weird, pasty snake-man! I'd seen pictures of him and… ew. But having Professor Malfoy in the equation made some sense. I was certain he had been there somehow, I could remember it.
Just as I was about to turn and go back to my dorm to figure this all out, Professor Snape asked, "I wonder if he knows he's a Parseltongue?"
The blond just shrugged before answering, "Hermione was always afraid of snakes, so I doubt he's gotten a chance to face one. But it's not like he would open the Chamber anyway, at least not on purpose. He doesn't care about blood purity." My blood ran cold. Hermione? No. A mere coincidence. Professor Snape's eyebrows tilted as Professor Malfoy looked guilty. "Don't start on it, Severus, I don't need the lecture again."
"Just be careful what you tell him. Let's both watch our actions." He poured himself another shot and held it up in a toast. "To Roderick Riddle, may he not kill us all."
Professor Malfoy clinked his mug against it as he nodded with a snicker. Riddle? Oh my-
"Don't you mean Roderick Matthews?" My jaw clenched as they laughed, and I backed away slowly. There was no way. I could be- could be- the offspring of a- of a tyrant! As I ran back to my shared bedroom I remembered flashes of my earliest memories, red eyes, dark hair, and rows and rows of bookshelves.
The locket hummed against my chest as I crumpled into bed, not even taking it off.
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A/N: Likes? Dislikes? I love the idea of Draco being totally responsible for Roderick and chattering Snape's ear off about the old days. And the next chapter is short so I'll do my best to update quickly, though keep in mind that I'm writing two other fics (stupid stupid me) and I'm mad busy with school so no guarantees.
Teaser?
"Did you miss her?" He froze, and I bit my lip. Static crackled in the air.
"Who?" he responded anxiously.
Without missing a beat, I fired, "Did you love her?"
Yeah, Roderick does some digging and really pisses off dear old Snape. Then we switch POVs to Hermione, who gets a blast from the past, as well as dances a bit and makes a tad bit of a fool of herself. Yeah, it's better not to ask about that one…
Final Word Count: 3684
