Considering Mysteries
Tom and I never once considered a honeymoon, for in truth, neither of us desired one. Such a respite would constitute only idle lounging, which we could not afford to have at a time in which we were attempting to shape our new lifestyle. Romanticisms were overruled by sense, and this was something we did not believe we would ever regret. I thought that, if the concept suddenly struck our fancy in the distant or near future, we would act upon our whims and depart to some place we had not yet decided upon. I did not entertain the idea that perhaps it was only I who thought such things, and that my fancy might be struck too late.
And so I fell into the new rhythm of a married woman, maintaining our tiny living quarters in a manner that could only be instinctive, for I had never been taught the ways in which one keeps a home. That was not to say, of course, that my role was simply that of a goodly and silent wife, as I had heard muggle women become entrapped in. Nor was I not good to Tom, for that would have been mockery of his affections, and I cared for him even more deeply than I had during our engagement. No, I kept the corners of our home free of cobwebs and prepared meals for the two of us when he did not return early enough to do so himself; yet, I was free to do whatever it was that I pleased, and so I was not always found doing nothing, simply waiting for my husband's arrival each night. And even if I had, Tom would not have allowed such behavior. I was loyal, he reminded me, but did not lack a brain.
Over the course of the first month, I wandered the streets of both Knockturn and Diagon Alley. I enjoyed the latter for its brightness and familiarity; though it was never brimming with people as it was at the end of each August, the shops were always the same. And at times, I preferred the quiet. However, Knockturn Alley was then my home, and so I felt obligated to become as familiar with it as its cheerful counterpart.
On occasion, I made my way into Borgin and Burke's to see Tom, though only sometimes was he there. More often than not, it was Mr. Burke who was milling about the dank store or sitting behind the front desk, waiting for customers who I never once saw.
Only on one day did I inquire of Tom's whereabouts. The sky was unusually void of cloud, and the air was as hot as it had been the day of our graduation from Hogwarts. I had outfitted myself in an emerald green robe which I had bought the day before. I did not habitually make such purchases, for I was content with the apparel I still owned from previous years, yet my eye had been caught by the intensity of such a Slytherin green. I had meant to have it fitted into a robe for Tom, for surely only he could have been worthy to sport such a hue. However, my mind had been swayed when I had imagined the way in which the corner of his lips would bend, a smirk of satisfaction to see the most important color of his House and ancestry displayed upon my form. As I walked to Borgin and Burke's, my sleeves rolled to my elbows because of the heat, I hoped to surprise him by my choice of garb—and more importantly, to please him.
Yet, as I stepped through the shop doors, a cool darkness swallowing me as I did so, the only presence I could detect was not that of Tom. To my dismay, it was the small, old form of the shopkeeper, who had heard my arrival and was eyeing me carefully through a narrowing gaze.
"Mr. Riddle isn't here," he said harshly the moment the door had closed itself behind me. He knew well enough the only reason I was there, and grew irritated each time I stopped by.
Mr. Burke peered closely at me and his eyes flashed with suspicion. "Your robes must have cost a pretty galleon or two," he said with a sneer. "Does Mr. Riddle know how you are spending his money? Surely he would never give such a fine thing as a gift to someone of the likes—"
"I do not rely solely upon my husband's income," I interrupted curtly. Our exchanges were always conducted in this manner when Tom was not present; neither of us had ever trusted the other, though at first I had not replied to his remarks, simply left, dejected. By then, I had learned to ignore him. Although, what I had then just told him was true: the robe I had purchased with what little remained of my parents' small fortune.
"Well, you have your answer, then," he coughed in response to the question I had never asked. "So be off with you. Mr. Riddle is away at the moment."
"He is always away," I said, surprising myself. "Where is it that you send him?"
The man's wrinkled mouth turned in an angry sneer. "You've no business asking, relation of Mr. Riddle or not!" He placed his hands against the surface of his desk and rose to his feet. "Keep your nose clean, you wretched girl, or I will tolerate you no longer!"
Though I was taken aback by this unexpected outburst, I was even more so when he raised his hand, and I felt myself being propelled toward the door.
"I beg your pardon!" I cried, parrying the spell quickly and with ease.
"Then you may show yourself to the door," he muttered. Clearly, he had not expected any defense on my part, for he was sorely mistaken. Still, I did precisely what he desired and stumbled out onto the shadowed street, a feeling of befuddlement arising within me. Before, I had never asked of the nature of Tom's work, accepting it as an occupation Tom had greatly desired. Yet at that moment, I began to feel foolish at the fact that I had not wondered until then. Why must his location be a matter so secretive? This thought aroused a sense of worry, though I believed that Tom knew exactly what it was that he was doing. At the time, I could not fathom how exact he was.
But with this thought came many others, and so as soon as I had reassured myself, my mind began to drift to different places. Like a river, it lazily flowed into the forgotten corners of my head; it upturned old concerns and ideas which I had long-since ceased to remember, and those which I had as of yet not considered. This sudden action was something which I could not explain, but instead could blame upon the nature of the weather. And so it was inexplicable that I suddenly recalled the words that Madam Marchbanks had spoken at the end of my Transfiguration examination.
Consider this…
I froze, this sentence echoing within my mind, and in an instant, I felt a small weight being pressed into my palm. Startled, I lifted my hand and discovered a narrow golden ribbon, glittering as it rested in a thin patch of sunlight.
"Consider this," I murmured, taking the object between my thumb and forefinger. However, I had only a second's time to examine it, for I felt my feet being swept out from beneath me and I spun into the air. There was a belated tug at my navel—for by then, my surroundings were already a blur, and I was traveling at in incomprehensible speed. For what seemed like hours, I was enveloped by but a streak of blue, yet then other hues began to flash by until I felt myself descend and the air became more comfortable.
My head spun as my feet were planted upon the floor—firmly, I could not yet discern. My vision was hindered and my thoughts nigh entirely incoherent, my only coherent thought wrapping itself around me as an anchor for my being. For several moments, I could comprehend only the fact that the ribbon had been a Portkey of sorts, though the likes of which I had never before experienced.
And then at last, the nausea and dizziness abated, and my senses were restored to their normal states. I could not recall bending and seating myself in any place, but I discovered myself to be sitting upon a polished floor, my legs splayed out before me. My cheeks flushed and I quickly stood, for I also discovered myself to be in the company of several witches and wizards, all of whom but one seeming not to notice my arrival. This one, an aged woman, was unexpectedly not a stranger.
"There you are," said Professor Marchbanks, her voice crisp but not unkind, just as I recalled it being. "I'm afraid I was beginning to worry that you would never sufficiently consider."
"I do not wish to appear rude," I began, staring at her in spite of myself, "yet I do not know what it is that I have considered."
The wrinkles upon her face stretched as she smiled; this action seemed nigh strange as it was displayed across her features. "Well, that is to be expected, Danielle Parmellie—or rather, Riddle."
I let forth an involuntary gasp.
"I welcome you to the Department of Mysteries, Mrs. Riddle, where the answers to the unknown come to our attention. Follow me, if you would."
That day, it seemed as though I would constantly be traversing through shadows, for Madam Marchbanks led me to a portion of wall that was bathed in them. This would not have been so peculiar if the entirety of the room in which we currently stood was not so highly illuminated. I glanced about, my eyes and mind drinking in my surroundings; I discovered that we were in a corridor, not a true room as I had first assumed, though it seemed that we had once been in one, for around the corner behind us, I could glimpse a fountain in the distance and someone hurrying along past it.
"As you may have deduced, this department of the Ministry of Magic is highly secretive, and so you must exercise care to him you reveal your visit to us. And," she added, "perhaps your career."
"My career?" I repeated, and she nodded, then asked to see my wand. I held it aloft as she instructed, and then tapped it twice against the shadowed wall.
"I do tire of hidden doorways," the elder woman sighed as the wall slowly opened to reveal an entryway to another corridor. As we passed through it and it melded once more into its former identity, I found myself agreeing with her statement. Too many doors had I found in the past that most others could not.
I fell into step behind her as she strode along the narrow passageway, the sound the heels of her boots made as they clicked upon the floor echoing around us. Every few paces, a torch roared to life within its bracket upon the wall, though instead of a rosy glow, it cast out a faint green light reminiscent of the illumination in the Slytherin common room at Hogwarts. At first, the walls on either side of us seemed empty—save for the sources of light—yet when I peered at them closely, I could distinguish doorways, faint as though I was gazing at them through a thick screen, or perhaps from behind a curtain.
It was through one of these doorways that she sharply turned, though I faltered slightly before doing the same. Later, I likened the experience to entering Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, though on the other side was not a gleaming scarlet steam engine, but an enormous chamber, dark yet just light enough so that one could find one's way. At its center was a fountain, and the water which bubbled from within it was green before it spilled over the sides of the basin and turned blue. From below it exuded a thin, nearly transparent fog. In the dim light, I could distinguish the intricate designs upon the polished floor, many containing familiar runes.
"This is the Atrium," Professor Marchbanks explained quietly, "modeled after the one which lies in the main building. The design and layout change each year, as a precaution."
Against what, precisely, I did not ask. Somehow, I knew that, at that particular moment, my questions would not be appropriate.
Abruptly—so sudden that I nigh did not see her begin to move—she turned to me with her eyes as sharp and perceptive as a bird of prey's.
"I have brought you here because you expressed great talent at the end of your seventh year of schooling, the likes of which I believe to be invaluable to our department. If it is your wish, you shall become an apprenticed Unspeakable, and should you excel as I expect you will do, your occupation shall become full-fledged."
Her words stunned me, and I chided myself for being so surprised with such ease—for it seemed that I was incessantly encountering what was to me the unexpected. I expected nothing when I should have expected anything and everything—or at least learned that not everything would be as it seems. And then I became suspicious, for who was I to receive such good fortune? Even then, I did not believe whole-heartedly in my abilities, in spite of what Tom and my professors had told me in the past. Yet this could be no trick, this offer, and I knew my suspicions were foolish.
"It is my wish," I said at length, and her expression softened.
"Very well," she smiled. "You shall begin at once."
And thus commenced my career as an Unspeakable, a developer of spells, keeper of time, and solver of mysteries unknown even to the magical world.