Chapter 25 : History Lessons and Treachery

Woo, 25 chapters, thanks for reading!

I move towards the second series of stairs. The stairs were a bit arduous, seeing that most hikers that got to this spot came by the sea route. This island had been the place where I had modelled a pretty tiring piece of magic, by which I had created traps. Traps, in the normal sense, seem very simple, but the work that had been behind them... It went behind the Silence before the War between 1975-77. Designing such spells had been a fun experience, very much indeed. It in fact put your mind out of all the violence outside. Which I had propagated, of course.

Most were triggered to act at my absence. Thus, none of them responded, much less reveal their presence.

Greyback and Macnair trailed behind us. We had gotten back Fenrir with some of Macnair's secret contacts. Greyback had news from the werewolf legions in hiding. Fourteen of them had hidden in an old cave in Scotland. Twelve joined our ranks, while the rest were eaten alive. More werewolves were promised, but Greyback had no reason for that. Such a signal would surely be intercepted and screed by any junior Augur in the Department of Mysteries. And Greyback saw that they were trying to be unnoticed. Naturally, none had responded since the two weeks that had elapsed since they had made contact with the werewolves of even the Irish wilds.

"Faster. It seems a storm shall approach soon."

"My lord, the full moon has just passed. My cohorts are weak after yesterday's experience. I don't see the haste..." "Stop whining. Follow."

He panted, but saw the futility of trying to speak back. They just follow, as I glide along. The entrance guarded the entry of any organism, human or not, living or dead. I could not enter if not for the sacrificial blood to be delivered at the rock.

It is fate indeed that I, Lord Voldemort, am stuck waiting for these morons and werewolves, who, in their rightful place should be grovelling beneath my feet.

"My lord, Greyback has collapsed." Macnair shouts amidst the thunder. Rain started falling. Why is it that rain interrupts dramatic sequences in this author's storyline?

"Follow, then. Conjure a knife."

He sludges through the mud, tired, but scared. He takes a look at Greyback, and then levitates him. We cross the second and third sets of rocks, as we reach the cave. Rain had begun hitting him like needles now. He shielded for a moment, and now conjures an Umbrella.

The floor is brownish at the specific site. Must've been the Black House elf's blood. "Blood. A few drops. Here." I say. He shudders, most probably due to the cold. He cuts Greyback's forearm, on the prone side.. Blood spills, as Greyback opens his eyes. He clutched his Dark mark, and screams. It sounded more like a howl.

"Too long a cut. He can bleed to death. Now we wouldn't want that, would we, Macnair?"

He cringes. "No, my lord."

Greyback landed down on the ground, facefirst. Macnair caught him, as he howled in pain again. The cave door opened.

I glide in, and looked inside. It did not show much changes inside, except the stalagmites were almost reaching the top. The eerie glow of the central basin was very dim. Greenish light emitted by the basin gave the beauty to the otherwise normal cave. Nothing important had happened here, and that was why I had chosen this spot. Unplottable on maps, and in no way connected to me. I knew this spot when Wool's orphanage decided to choose this very site to plan a trek to. I had done some accidental magic upon some other orphans, (one of them named Bishop, I vaguely remember,) when I approached this cave, and that was it. "Would using a Lumos be dangerous here, my lord?"

"No. I could use some light." "Lumos"

The water was perfectly still. No sign of anything moving. "The basin is in the centre. I would need one of you to remove the veils, when we get there?"

"We swim?" Asks Greyback, aghast at that prospect. "Ha, I would like to see you try. But no. Reach for the rope there." Macnair put out his hand, as the boat came to the grey rock. I glide along the surface, as they bicker on which one should go on. The boat was small, but I had actually put up Smothering enchantments, that this one had no space to be large. Only one person, i.e. me, and a sacrifice could get in it. That sounded quite sufficient.

The cave had had low magical reserves. Multiple charms may not char the surface, but some curses might cause the entire structure to crumble. The boat hovered an inch above the water, as Macnair climbed upon it. It slowly moved, and none of my Inferi interfered. "Have a Lantern, Greyback. Greyback?" The werewolf had gone out, and ran back in at my calling.

"Get a lantern. What is that?" He held a branch of smouldering wood. "Lightning, my lord. We can't go past the rocks three feet from the entrance." The wood caught fire, as I noted the motion within the water near the shore.

250 people, from a village without a graveyard, had become servants of mine here. Every single one had been killed by me. Muggles had no place to serve in my ranks except when they died. Not a drop of wizarding blood shall be spilt to make soulless zombies.

We pass the water, and we near the basin. The green seared our eyes, and Macnair climbed out. The small island was enough space for three people to stand comfortably. Macnair looked in. "Is that the famous Locket of Slytherin, my lord?"

"Yes. I cannot remove it without the veils being removed." Weird. It did not even recognise my arrival.

"What potion is it, my lord?"

"The Drink of Despair. Change the air around us to become denser. Add the salt that we brought." "Barium?" "Yes. It would require me to cast a hex that turns it crystal clear. But that would be specific to me. It wouldn't accept you turning it that way." He picks the vial and fumbles on it. He catches it before it fell.

"Salt first. One pinch."

The solution turned red, as he shifted the concentration of the suspension medium. As it cleared to whiteness, I swear at him. "Wrong, you moron. One spell, and you miss it, plunge your hand in. Do it."

He inserted it, and picked out the locket, howling. His screams were louder than a pack of Greyback's minions. The locket fell on he ground, and as his hand melted off, I order him to pick the locket. He takes it, and with a painkilling charm and a 'Ferule' later, he climbed back in the boat. Those Inferi hadn't come up yet.

He climbs off, caressing his hand, which was... absent from the wrist. "There has been a prize for your idiocy, Walden. And also, there shall be another for your sacrifice. Do not weep, for the lord shall give your hand back."

We cross the cave wall, where Greyback rolled back the rock to its place. The rain hadn't subsided. Macnair pulled out the locket and laid it on the rock floor.

I look up at them. "Where is my locket?"

After some time, with Macnair knocked out with a couple of Cruciatus curses from Greyback (on my orders), Greyback prised open the hearts of the locket. A piece of paper fell out into the water. Greyback plucked it out, as most of the ink dissolved. He laid it on the rock, and cast a drying charm.

To the Dark Lord,

I know I shall be dead long before you

read this but I want you to -

was I who discovered y-

I have stolen the re-

intend to destroy it as soon as-

I face death in the hopes that when

you meet your match, you shall be mortal once more.

RAB

The message did not mean much, but it told him one thing. Regulus Black had stolen his Horcrux.

"Eight hundred and forty goblins died in the war of the Sigmoid knife. This battle is marked in wizarding history as the battle of the groaning ground, as it coincided with the massive burials of forty three wizards within frozen soils. Gardener Tyr shows us his experiences in war, that point us to the graves in southern Wales. His diary was one of the proofs to the services of the centaurish rebellions of fourteen hundred four."

"With reference to the eighty fourth goblin rebellions, and the sixty others that followed, it is quite impressive that goblin numbers had remained on the increase for several years that followed, with censuses being taken by the joint ministry representatives from both goblin sides, and wizarding, with strict guidelines being followed on the revealing of figures to historians and historians only."

As Binns turned, there was a number of serial yawns, that continued on even after he turned back towards them. He was unlike most professors, and allowed conversations unless it disturbed him. Amidst his droning, Hermione had taken a page of notes. The class had started thirty minutes ago, but the agonising absence of a clock in the room made Harry and Ron sick.

"Would a Pastille help?" Asked Harry.

"Why?" "A pastille. Now?"

"What is a pastille?"

"The puke inducing sweets. George gave me ten for use specifically in Binns' classes.

"What? I am their brother, and they give you their inventions! What am I, adopted?"

"You can't be adopted, you know that. There isn't a transfiguration that gives you freckles for a lifetime."

"Shush, you two. He is teaching."

Binns, oblivious to all that commotion in his class, continued his droning.

"Multiple sources have confirmed that the first Grishnak was the inventor of the mithril groin protectors, but there still exist sources that have claimed that the stolen instructions from dwarves had been plagiarised in the war of Prast. The war of Prast, fought in the plains of Ares, which is the Greek, and original name of the Roman god Mars, and ended with the dwarves gaining the upper hand, but with goblins exhibiting their salvaging capabilities once again. The dwarven court had condemned Grishnak to three years of sentence in the silver mines of Portugal. Grishnak has confirmed the discovery of the plans in the dwarven prisons, but allegedly declined having stolen multiple blueprints."

"I try listening, but Hermione, did the dwarves put Grishnak in prison for stealing their plans, or did Grishnak steal the plans when he was in prison? Or did...-Ron, what are you laughing at?" "Groin Protectors." They all looked at Ron's face and burst out laughing, as Lavender looked up at them from her Divination essay. History was the best class to complete all homework, except that the droning of Binns might put you to sleep midway through.

"Oh, Merlin's socks, I haven't done mine yet!" Grimaced a shocked Harry, as he picked his bag, and was surprised to see his Transfiguration textbook.

"I kept my Divination book and the first half of my essay in here. Where did it go?" "He looked at Ron. "Not me, mate. I don't touch your things." Neville turned to say something, but Hermione interrupted him.

"The Divination class is in the afternoon for you, Harry. I just arranged your bag because the next class is transfiguration. Anyways, listen to this class now."

"So then, where is my Divination stuff? I-"

"In the common room. We can go by lunch and get it."

Harry was banging his head on the desk in front, as Neville looked back. "Don't worry Harry. I brought your things. Alicia Spinnet saw the stuff and gave them to me, saying it was yours and that you had forgotten. Here."

"Thank you very much, Neville, you're a life saver."

"As the dwarven court was abolished following the battle of Agincourt in 1415, in which the goblins had lost French contacts, damaging their ascension by a mere four years. Unlike that, the dwarves, who suspended judgment on their barbaric customs, and instead insisted that the goblins share the stolen loot of their ancestors, which was marked as a victory in Greenwich and celebrated by goblins annually. History is a bit muddled over here, and much more events had been lost when Thiophorus, the Greek nomad and arsonist in 1688 destroyed the British stronghold of goblins. Due to a high concentration of sulphur in goblin metallurgical industries, fire became large scale damaging substance, and hence, even now, you would not find fire in usage at Gringotts and other goblin ventures, and no goblins reside in Greece and Sicily even now."

"Saturn glows in the darkness. Not a sign of injury, but of impending danger."

"Years ago, Mars had this symbol of proclamation. Of danger. Of war. We cannot see much if the elmwood is damp. Greythorn, remove another cluster from damage."

The rain had always been a major cause of concern, much because it impended their augury. Reading entrails was not their style, for it required the death of an innocent being. Their predictions usually involved burning tree barks and smoke reading, while the damp wood never burned to satisfaction. They had prepared a cave in the southwest extremes of the forest, nearer to he Acromantula hordes than to theirs. A single centaur could outrun Acromantula easily and wood was never a concern of those spiders. They coexisted peacefully, never willingly crossing territories.

Rowan had organised a expedition to collect most of the blessed wood, that required the presence of a female unicorn to brush against.

Another trio of young centaurs galloped towards them, without their bows.

"Sire, Saturn is closer to the Bull. And the glow is signifying-"

"That was exactly what Bane here was worrying us all about. Has the Bull approached Neptune in the last week? Has it?"

As neither responded, Rowan continued. "See? You never pay attention. I don't want these outbursts of nonsense from you young ones too. Bane can't be cured of the hit to his head. Come brothers. Let us consider the important matters and leave the incomplete prophesying to the novices." As the others galloped towards the outer extent of the forest, Widun waved at Bane. Before he spoke, Bane interrupted.

"Neptune was indeed closer to Taurus last week. They won't accept it even if they all see it in front of their eyes wearing togas." Bane shook his head, as the youth followed him.

"Multiplied enemies. While no friend objects. That is what Saturn would decree." Muttered Bane as he strutted, disgusted at his horde's ignorant nature.

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