The Voldemort Diaries—Chapter 14 (Close Call)
October 1, 1940
Even as an eleven-year-old boy barely a month into his formal schooling, Cosmo Yaxley looked mean. His hatchet-like face, while probably the result of genetics more than anything else, carried a more sinister mien than one his age should have. His beady eyes, ever moving, ever searching, tended to make others ill at ease…but not Tom. Other children never frightened him.
When Riddle first laid eyes on the kid, he felt certain Yaxley would be sorted into Slytherin. Dolohov, a friend of Yaxley before coming to school, assured Tom that Cosmo was pureblood, that his family valued all the same things their group espoused. Naturally, everyone anticipated an addition to the Slytherin table. When the Sorting Hat shouted, "Hufflepuff!", their little clique had nearly shit a collective brick.
It had all worked out for the best in the end. As a result of having a 'friend' in Hufflepuff House, Tom had gained access to a part of the castle that until now had eluded him. Befriending the giant Hagrid, on the other hand, seemed unproductive at best. Because of the Gryffindor propaganda continually assaulting the new students, Hagrid tended to stick with his own and shun the Slytherins like all the rest of them.
Proud to be included in Tom's group, in spite of his unfortunate Sorting, Cosmo led the troop to a door at the right side of the main staircase in the Entrance Hall and down a flight of stairs to dungeon level. He announced a password to permit access through a still-life painting near the kitchens, opening up into the Hufflepuff common room.
Yellow and black alternating wall hangings gave the impression of having been swallowed by a giant bumblebee. Comfortable armchairs lined the round room, and little underground tunnels led to the dormitories, all of which had perfectly round doors resembling barrel tops.
"This living like a mole would drive me nuts," said Claudius to no one in particular. "I'm glad I'm not a 'Puff."
"Better than being a poof," Yaxley retorted. When Lestrange whirled on him, he stood his ground.
"He's got you there," Dolohov chimed in, clapping his mate on the back and joining Yaxley against Lestrange.
Claudius eyed them both before backing off. Divide and conquer. He'd kick Dolohov's arse later as a warning to his cheeky brat of a friend. Then, some time in the future, he'd arrange to punish Yaxley. Call him a poof, would they?
They hadn't stayed long in Hufflepuff House, only long enough for Tom to become acquainted with the layout. One never could tell when it may come in handy, and he liked to be prepared. As it was getting on to supper time, the gang bounded up the stairs on the way to the Great Hall.
In the Entrance Hall, where dozens of students clamored down the staircases, there was a sudden shift. Now, one of the first details pupils learned at Hogwarts was to watch their footing in this Hall, for staircases shifted at random and without warning. Unfortunately, every so often a child in the middle of a step was caught off guard, either due to preoccupation or simple inattention. Usually they had time and presence of mind to jump forward or backward to safety. Usually.
A second year girl, busy scribbling a note to herself in one of her books, stepped forward, her eyes fixed on her task. An instant later she screamed and tumbled into the empty space where only seconds ago a firm staircase had stood. As if in slow motion, she pitched forward, her books and quill flying in all directions about her, her black hair obscuring her face, her arms vainly outstretched and grasping at the air.
Tom didn't remember taking out his wand; he didn't hear the students shrieking or see them gawping at the girl plunging to her death. He focused solely on his spell, which he had no time to utter, nor even to think the words. The idea, the effect he wished to create was all that entered his mind, and none too soon. The girl hit the floor—or what had been the floor until a moment earlier. Now it was a thick, spongy mattress on which the student landed and bounced a time or two before realizing she was alive. She sat up, pushed her hair back off her face, and looked around.
"Are you alright?" Tom offered his hand to Minerva.
She smiled and blinked, confused and pleased at once. "I think so. Did you do this?" She patted the mattress beneath her.
He nodded as she took his hand and started to rise, only to fall back with a sharp yelp. Several other Gryffindors, apparently distressed that one of their own had not only fallen almost to her death, but had broken ranks to fraternize with the enemy, rushed in to surround the pair.
"Back off, Slytherin," a seventh year prefect boy ordered, shoving Tom aside.
"Did he hurt you?" inquired a girl.
Minerva, her hand still outstretched for Tom, who'd faded away, shook her head. "He saved me! You saw it—you all saw it!"
"You cried out when he touched you," said the seventh year, stubbornly persistent in his accusation.
"I think I twisted my ankle when I fell off the landing up there," Minerva said. Her eyes raked through the gathering crowd, but there was no Tom. Her books and belongings, however, were stacked neatly beside a support post.
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July 16, 2000
Oct. 1, 1940
Minerva could have died today. She held my hand and smiled when I cleverly prevented her from squashing on the floor. It felt like we finally might talk, when her Gryffindork cronies showed up. How I despise them! Instead of recognition for selfless acts of altruism, the brutes deliver spite and allegations. If they could have gotten away with it, they'd have claimed I made the staircase move! They even managed to convince the professors that nothing extraordinary had happened. After all, who at this school will take the word of a group of Slytherins over that of Gryffindors, the saviours of mankind?
I know who each and every one of them is, and one day they'll get theirs. I'll get them all if it takes me the rest of my life! (Of course, if I succeed in making a horcrux later, I'll never die. See how they like that!)
Minerva sent me an owled message from the infirmary. It said, "Thank you, Tom. You're my hero." I'm certain they'll coerce her into avoiding me again, so I don't really understand why it means anything to me. Yet it does.
It bothered Tom, the whole diary entry. Not that he minded seeing Minerva again, reliving that experience. No, it was the damned Gryffindorks! He had, as he'd promised himself, taken revenge on every last one who'd ever stood in the way of him and Minerva. He had not, however, murdered any of them. Hell, he hadn't even tortured them! How childish he'd been in his vengeance as a boy—pranks to give them boils on their eyes, spells to cause them to step into 'holes' and break an ankle, and so on. Honestly, he could have done so much better! If he were free, he could wreak proper retribution on them, and enjoy every last millisecond of it.
He shut the book with his diary inside, then meandered up to the bars of the cell. He stood there glowering at the pair of sentries. Rodolphus and Regulus were his guards this time around. Lestrange had been a faithful disciple in his time; Black, in contrast, had turned on his master shortly after pledging his allegiance, had even had the audacity to steal his locket and leave an insolent message in its place. Oh, sure, he'd died—but he was alive now, and it was high time he paid for his betrayal!
Sauntering back to his table, he glanced over his collection of books. Choosing a fairly small one, he strode back, cleared his throat, and began to read aloud from it. "Why, sir, I trust that I may have leave to speak, and speak I will; I am no child, no babe."
"Shut up, Snape," Dolph said. He reclined back as far as possible in a chair facing the cage, looking bored, as usual.
Unperturbed, Severus continued, "Your betters have endured me say my mind, and if you cannot, best you stop your ears. My tongue will tell the anger of my heart—"
"I said shut the f—k up!" bellowed Dolph, sitting up straight. He didn't look bored now.
"And you'll make me how?" inquired Severus, raising an eyebrow curiously. "You can't hex me through the elf-magic barrier." His lips curled in a mocking smile. "Or else my heart, concealing it, will break, and rather than it shall, I will be free, even to the uttermost, as I please, in words."
"Severus, just stop, okay?" Regulus stepped between the two, although there existed no danger of an actual confrontation. "Nobody wants to hear it, and you're only pissing him off."
"Merlin forbid we should piss off Lestrange," grumbled Snape/Tom.
"Goodman," Dolph corrected him with a hateful gleam in his eye.
In answer, Tom chucked the book between the bars, ostensibly in an attempt to hit Dolph. It fell short and smacked on the floor. Pursing his lips, he growled, "Give me back my book."
"Why should I?" Dolph snarled back. Then again, maybe he should. He picked it up, took a step forward, and hurled it at the bars. It slapped against them with a dull clang, bounced off, and landed on the stones near his feet. "Oops. Missed. Want me to try again?"
"Dolph, quit." Regulus snatched up the tome. "You're both acting like kids." It felt strange to be the one scolding someone else for behaving the way he was so often accused of being. But at least he was only nineteen, not in his thirties or forties…or seventies, if he counted Voldemort! Yes, everyone was on edge from weeks of guarding Snape, but it couldn't be helped. Deal with it already!
If only to avoid more bickering or juvenile throwing matches, he carried the book up to the bars and held it at arm's length. "Here. If you start to read aloud again, I'll just put up a silencing charm."
Tom/Snape slouched forward, hand extended to receive the book. Instead of taking it, he lurched toward the bars, thrusting his arm through and grabbing Regulus by the wrist. In one smooth, vicious pull he yanked the boy hard up against the bars, his free arm encircling Reg's neck, throttling him until his eyes bulged.
"One move from you, Lestrange, and I'll kill him," Tom hissed at the other man, whose hand had gone for his wand. "Turn around, face away from me."
"This isn't going to help you any," said Dolph, gulping. If he obeyed, he wouldn't be able to aid Regulus…and if he disobeyed, Regulus would die by Snape's hand. The Potions master—if not Voldemort himself—knew enough about human anatomy to kill the kid very handily and quickly. He hesitated, then reluctantly spun to face the opposite wall, as the sound of Black choking made him clench his fists in fury.
Releasing Reg's arm while holding him tightly about the throat, Tom hurriedly patted the boy's pockets in search of his wand. He plucked it from a breast pocket, then let go of Regulus and retreated to the back of his cell. The lad slumped to his hands and knees, gasping for air.
"Dolph…stop…him," he managed to utter.
Dolph looked over his shoulder, saw the kid had been freed, and rushed over to pull him away from the cage. He drew his wand and fired it at Snape at the same time Tom fired back at him. Both spells hit the magical barrier erected by Sisidy and ricocheted around the room, making everyone duck and cover.
Because anti-apparition wards prevented Tom from leaving, he did the next best thing: he aimed at the back wall of his cell and blasted the bars to smithereens. A second spell exploded a hole in the wall, though not completely through the thick stone. Dolph ran from the room on his way outside; from the position of the hole, he could guess with relative certainty where Voldemort would be exiting the castle, and he hoped to be able to stun him before he cleared the ward and apparated away.
"Kreacher!" Regulus croaked. Ignoring the raw, blistering pain in his throat, he screamed, "KREACHER!"
The elf popped in, smiling grotesquely at his beloved master. "Yes, good Master Regulus?" His smile faded and his ears drooped at the scene before him.
"Stop him!" Regulus ordered, pointing at Snape.
Kreacher didn't need to know why good Master Regulus was playing in a dirty, dim, ramshackle old building. He didn't need to know why Snape was to be stopped from blowing holes in the walls, which couldn't possibly make the place more unappealing than it already was. All he needed to know was that his wonderful Regulus looked hurt and had commanded his help.
He stretched a scrawny arm out from his body in Snape's direction. Like an invisible ocean wave, the magic crashed into the cell. The stone table with all its books flipped on end and slammed into the bars on the far side. Severus was lifted off his feet a good meter into the air and flung against the bars so ferociously the impact rendered him unconscious. He dropped like a rag doll to the floor.
"Take my wand from him," said Regulus.
Kreacher apparated into the cell, grabbed the wand from Snape's fingers, and lifted a foot to kick the wizard for harming Regulus.
"No, Kreacher. Fix the bars and table and stuff, then come out and I'll explain." Regulus sat up, massaging his throat.
This was not good. In fact, everything about this reeked of bad. Awful even…or dreadful. No one else was supposed to know what was going on here at the castle, but now it couldn't be avoided. He'd have to fill Kreacher in, at least a little, and order him not to tell anyone else. Lucius was going to be so cross over this whole affair, and no doubt he'd blame Regulus for all of it. And the blame would be well-deserved; he should have known not to get close enough for Snape to grab him. But who'd have thought he'd try another escape attempt so soon? And why hadn't Dumbledore come up with a solution by now? For being so smart, he wasn't showing it, was he?
By the time Dolph came back inside to find out why Snape hadn't emerged, Regulus had described to Kreacher in barest details about Severus turning into Tom Riddle. Now he'd have to explain to Dolph what Kreacher was doing here…
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The sudden rapping of an owl outside Lucius' study window caused him to start. He'd been so engrossed in revising a bill of sale on a piece of property that was bound to make him a tidy profit that he'd forgotten to even heed the time. From the pocket watch on his fob, it was after five o'clock, he'd need to finish up soon.
He flicked his wand at the window and the owl flew in, perched on his desk, and waited motionless. He detached the note from its leg, fully expecting it to be from a business associate, and leaned back in his armchair to read it.
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
I don't think you know me, but I know you. I read about you in the Daily Prophet sometimes. My name is Sonia Hawbecker, but everybody calls me Sunny. My sister will be going to Hogwarts this year, but I'm only eight. When I was two years old your father saved my life.
Lucius paused with a sucked-in breath and sat bolt upright in his chair. Abraxas had died just over seven years ago, and before he'd passed on he'd helped to heal a little golden haired girl. That name did sound familiar! His father and Dr. Cullin had advised him not to initiate contact with the family, so he'd heeded that request. Well, now he wasn't the one initiating contact, was he? His hands quaked ever so slightly, and for the life of him he didn't know why.
If it was my daddy I'd miss him a lot, so I think you must, too. Only a really good person gives away their life force like that. Mum says the conviare spell he used killed him and I shouldn't bother you, but I wanted to tell you a secret. I think he gave me some of his magic, too. I can do stuff other kids my age can't. I thought you'd like to know.
Sincerely,
Sunny Hawbecker
With a sad, wistful smile playing on his lips, Lucius read the letter over again. He folded it carefully and tucked it into the breast pocket of his robes behind the miniature replica of his lovely wife that Narcissa had given him so many years ago. Every so often he still liked to set it on a tabletop and watch it dance, listen to it talk.
He sat in contemplative silence for a time before pulling a slip of fresh parchment from the stack to his left, then reached forward for a quill and black ink. He hesitated as the quill entered the neck of the bottle; withdrawing it, he capped the ink and took a bottle of green from his drawer.
Dear Sonia,
He struck a line through it. With his wand he vanished the ink completely and began again.
Dear Sunny,
How delightful to hear from you! Your letter stirred old memories that are best never forgotten. I watched my father perform the spell that saved you. I want you to understand he did it willingly, it was a great honour to him to be given such an opportunity. The conviare did not kill him, dragon pox did. Please do not blame yourself.
Lucius stopped, remembering the sight of Abraxas dying of leprosy and too ashamed for the world to know. He'd made his son promise never to tell a soul, not even Narcissa or Draco, and Lucius had kept that promise out of respect for his father. As far as the world was concerned, Abraxas Malfoy had died from dragon pox.
You said you can do special magic. My father was quite gifted in the Healing Arts, among other things. Do you mind telling me what kind of magic you believe he has bestowed on you?
I wish you all the best and look forward to hearing from you again.
Here Lucius paused once more, not sure how to sign the letter. He didn't actually know the girl, so 'Your friend' might sound kind of….strange. 'Sincerely', while appropriate, sounded so formal for a little girl. 'Best wishes'—well, he'd just wished her that in the line above, no need to be redundant. At last he took a breath and jotted down his name with a flourish.
Lucius Malfoy
"Lucius, are you in there?" Narcissa opened the door of his study, Khala perched in her arm. The tiny girl cooed and babbled at her father. "Draco will be leaving soon, love."
"I'm finished here." Lucius walked round the desk to kiss his wife and pluck Khala from her. "My beautiful queen and my beautiful princess come to greet me. I am a very lucky man." He planted a flurry of smooches on the baby's face, sending her into hysterical fits of laughter.
"Charlie Weasley is coming to escort Draco to the training grounds."
Lucius stiffened at the name. He'd met the young man a few times over the years, and held no animosity toward him; he couldn't say the same held true for Charlie. All the Weasleys would undoubtedly hate the name of Malfoy for generations to come, thanks to the unfortunate Ginny Weasley episode. If he'd known the girl would be in danger, he never would have given her that blasted diary! He'd known only that it would open the Chamber of Secrets—the dark lord hadn't seen fit to tell him how this was accomplished, or what opening the Chamber would entail. He'd gone strictly on stories passed down through the ages, tales that promised to drive the mudbloods away…again, no details on how this would occur.
"I'm still not entirely sure I trust Weasley to take care of Draco," Lucius said. He shuffled Khala over into his other arm and beckoned Narcissa to lead the way.
Narcissa stood her ground. "What? Now you offer misgivings?"
"I don't believe he'd harm Draco, my dear. But I fear he may not do all he can to help him fit in, either," Lucius answered. His grey eyes lifted to the figure in the doorway. "Our son isn't a labourer, this won't be an easy transition."
"I'll be fine, Father," Draco said. He stood calmly outside the study holding Ladon's hand while the latter struggled to enter the room. "Thank you for not trying to stop me."
Narcissa walked to her sons and looked the elder in the eye. So like Lucius in his darling face, and in his determination, if not in many other ways. "If Astoria couldn't stop you, I don't think we stand much chance."
Draco tried to smile, only the pain of breaking up with the girl he loved, despite her ultimatum, was still too fresh. "We should go wait for Charlie. Come on, Brax."
He hoisted the boy into his arms. Of all his family, every one of whom he loved dearly, he'd miss Ladon the most. He could talk to Mother like a friend, and he'd miss that very much; Father…well, he loved Father, but he wouldn't miss the business training; Khala was a sweet, precious sister who made his heart warm. But Ladon was different. In a scant year and a half, they'd already been through so much in the little boy's short life. Draco had been an only child when Brax came along; Draco had battled jealousy and even hostility toward the tyke. Yet through it all, Brax had persisted in loving his big brother, in teaching his brother how to love beyond his limited scope. Not to mention how the mere baby had helped save their mother when she was near death, or the demon in the amulet. Draco shuddered; he didn't like to remember that. Nonetheless, when all was said and done, Ladon was generally a cheerful, inquisitive tot that, for lack of a better description, made Draco feel…important.
Draco gave the child an affectionate squeeze and whispered, "I'll miss you, kid. Take care of Mama and Khala."
Ladon patted Draco on the head as if he were the child. "Day-co go Sharly?"
"Yes, I'm going with Charlie." It would be a waste of time to try explaining again where or why, as he'd found out from experience over the past weeks. The boy couldn't comprehend a place so far away, and the only dragon he knew was a stuffed toy he'd taken to dragging with him around the house.
"Do you have everything you need, son?" asked Lucius.
"Yes, Father. Mother helped me pack." He turned his head toward the witch, and this time he did smile. "I'll come to visit as soon as I can. And I'll write often."
"If you don't, I'll be coming over there to find out why not." Narcissa smiled pleasantly, though Lucius and Draco both recognized the steely undercurrent of truth in her words: if Draco didn't hold to his word, he'd best be prepared to find his mother storming his camp!
"If you need anything at all, I'll be there," Lucius promised quietly.
Draco nodded. If there was one thing he could depend on, it was his parents' overprotective love. And it felt nice right about now.