Happy Lunar New Year (to those who celebrate it)! So, in the midst of all the visiting, I managed to squeeze out time to write. It's a good way to de-stress (yes, visiting is stressful).
A note about Aleron's punishment in the previous chapters, haha. I like Aleron most out of all my OCs too, but needs must when the devil drives and all that. After all, Harry must maintain his grasp of power at Durmstrang even when he is not physically there. A follower, even one as loyal as Aleron, with too much initiative must be put in his place. At least that's probably what's Harry thinks;)
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Hogwarts Year Five – Association
When Harry had explained his idea to his friends and followers, they had been decorously supportive as only Pure-blood youths could be.
"That's a good idea, my prince," Emlen commented. "Now that we're sworn to His service, we should be prepared to take up our wands at any moment. It would be best if we brush up on our skills during the school year. There's a danger that our skills might grow rusty otherwise, especially as we're not allowed to practice the Dark Arts openly at Hogwarts."
Harry heard murmurs of agreement from the others in the train compartment. Even though many of the Durmstrang students were trying to keep up with their Dark Arts study via correspondence with Professor Rosier, there was only so much they could do without casting the spells. And it was even worse for the Hogwarts students, who could only perform the practical aspect of their Dark Arts studies during the holidays. After a few rounds of discussion, it was agreed that they would have weekly meetings in the Room of Requirement. Despite some being already Marked, it was agreed that the wristbands were still to be used – it was more innocuous and less likely to scream "I serve the Dark Lord" in the presence of the leader of the Order of the Phoenix.
Harry was currently still learning how to control the Dark Mark by dint of experimentation, not that he would tell his followers that. Although Harry knew that Draco at least, suspected, from the dry look he gave Harry when the matter had being brought up. Changing the subject quickly, Harry queried blandly, "Draco, Pansy. Isn't it time for the prefects to patrol the corridors?"
Hogwarts. The first few days after the school term began anew passed quickly. Harry spent the time observing Dumbledore's ring whenever he could do so unobtrusively, namely, during meals in the Great Hall. He would activate his magic sight and take note of the magical signature of the ring itself, isolating as best as he could the surrounding magical signature of one Albus Dumbledore, which in itself was quite overwhelming.
Now that Harry knew what the ring was, he had no trouble identifying the shiver that tingled in his spine whenever he used his magical sight on the ring. It was the result of…like calling to like. There was no doubt about it, not that there had ever been one in the first place. The ring was a Horcrux.
The problem was how to get the ring away from Dumbledore, without him suspecting anything. Albus Dumbledore was not the average wizard – it was practically impossible for Harry to hoodwink Dumbledore into taking off the ring. Harry and the rest of the Dark supporters might call Dumbledore 'the old fool', but in truth, the old man was no fool. The leader of the Light was experienced, powerful and intelligent. Any conventional magic or trick Harry might employ would not succeed. As for taking the ring by force…Harry had never for a moment considered that. Many of his detractors might call Harry arrogant, but not even Harry was arrogant enough to think that he could defeat the leader of the Light in a straight-out duel.
In the end, Harry decided to bid his time, at least for the time being. It would not do, after all to make his move prematurely – once Dumbledore got even an inkling of what Harry was trying to attempt, the Dark would lose the only advantage that they had. Currently, Dumbledore did not know that the Dark Lord was already aware that the ring had passed into Dumbledore's possession. The Dark Lord had told Harry that Dumbledore had always felt that Voldemort was overconfident; Dumbledore would believe that the Dark Lord would not have checked on his Horcruxes, and hence not realized that Dumbledore was already attempting to destroy them. Indeed, prior to Harry alerting the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord's actions was just as Dumbledore had predicted.
But now, the Dark had the advantage – and Harry would ensure that they continued to keep it.
Korbin Blishwick was rather enjoying himself. Ever since Harrison had given carte blanche to his friends and followers to effectively declare war against Ronald Weasley, Korbin and the rest of the Durmstrang and Slytherin fifth-year boys had been discussing how they could get their own back against the blood-traitor who had dared to cast aspersions on Daphne Greengrass' honour. It was an open secret among them that Daphne Greengrass would become their Dark Prince's lady sooner or later. To have a filthy blood-traitor like Weasley make a slur like that against their lady was an insult of grievous proportions. Harrison had entrusted his revenge to them; they would not fail him.
Theodore, Blaise, Francis and him had put their heads together to come up with the last prank – the last prank of this week, with many more to come. Draco had been understandably preoccupied with the Bagman mission that Harrison had entrusted to him. Emlen too had had a role to play in that mission, so Korbin had not troubled him. Alexei had been disinterested – most days, Korbin wasn't certain if his mind was even present on this mortal plane. And it was mutually agreed that Crabbe and Goyle would not have contributed much to the discussion. Daphne herself had not been consulted – the boys wanted the results of the prank to be a surprise for her. Much as knights in medieval times would present the spoils of their victory to their queen.
Right now, Korbin was secretly sneaking into Weasley's dormitory room. Since Gryffindors had to share five to a room, Weasley shared the same room with four other Gryffindor fifth-year boys. Korbin easily disabled the rudimentary alarm set up at the entrance of the room, undoubtedly set up by one of the more security-minded of the fifth-year boys. Unlike the girls' dormitory rooms which had extensive warding, the boys' dormitory was basically unprotected from a fellow Gryffindor – which was why Korbin had volunteered to be the one carrying out the actual prank itself. If caught, it would be much easier for Korbin to cry innocence, as compared to say, a Slytherin student being caught in the Gryffindor dormitories.
Once Korbin entered the room, he cast sleeping spells on all the boys in the dormitories, all the while scorning their naiveté and trusting nature. None of the students in Harrison's inner circle would ever do something so foolish as to fall asleep without heavy wards and alarms guarding their sleep. The Hogwarts Gryffindors apparently led a very peaceful life. Imagine if he had been sent here to study instead! Korbin shuddered to imagine how boring his own life could have been. If there was one thing Korbin could not abide, it was boredom. He lived life on the edge and could not imagine a life so serene that one could doze off at night easily with but a rudimentary alarm set at the door. Still, it was to Korbin's advantage now.
Staring down at his victim-to-be, Korbin laughed silently at the latter's bright orange Chudley Canons pyjamas – if he needed any further clue that Weasley was a blood-traitor, this was it. As if any Pure-blood wizard of age to be schooled would be caught dead wearing that!
Pointing his wand at Weasley's freckled face, Korbin whispered the spell that Theo had invented for this very occasion. "Furnunculus mendaxus." With a satisfied grin, he watched as Weasley's face erupted into fiery red boils, which clustered together to form the word "LIAR" on his face. That would teach him not to impugn Daphne's character.
Then, Korbin layered a timed illusion charm over Weasley's face. That would serve to prevent Weasley's boils from being noticed till breakfast the next morning. And unless Weasley decided to skip breakfast…Korbin smirked in anticipation of the show he would undoubtedly enjoy tomorrow.
On the last weekday of the first week of the new term, Harry headed down to the Great Hall with Draco and Theo in tow, with the Withers twins trailing silently behind him. Theo had reported to Harry that the rest of the Ravenclaws were all but leaping at the chance to socialize with the Slytherins. Harry had sent Theo, who was temperamentally similar to the Ravenclaws, to cement the bonds of 'friendship' with them, and they had taken to Theo like fish to water. Apparently convinced that Harry respected and liked them due to Harry taking Padma to the Yule Ball, they were now eager to be part of Harry's court. "They're not stupid, Harrison. They know, or at least suspect, that our sympathies are with the Dark, and they are eager to learn. Yet, they also wish to get closer to you by eating at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall every morning," Theo had explained with a pained look.
Harry had all but burst out laughing at that. True, the Ravenclaw fifth-years were intelligent. But they were not Slytherins, and it showed in the little details. No Slytherin worth his salt would declare openly for a leader so early in the Game. However, while it might make Dumbledore suspicious, it would also make some matters easier for Harry. "If the Ravenclaw fifth-years sit with us, it'd be a show of support that would make the upper years more receptive to recruitment. Allow them to do so, say, once every week. On Friday mornings." Harry had decided.
Once in the Great Hall, Harry was pleased to see that the four Ravenclaws were already seated at the Slytherin table. Already briefed about what was going to happen, the Slytherins all calmly continued with breakfast. The rest of the student population, however, was not so circumspect. Loud chattering and open stares were aimed at the Ravenclaws who had dared to break tradition. And not merely the Ravenclaws either; the Durmstrang students from the other houses were also seated at the Slytherin table; Harry's little court took up almost one-fifth of the long table.
Smirking, Harry walked to his usual seat right in the middle of his court like a king would. Or well, like a prince would, in actual fact. There, let Dumbledore have something to think about…Since Harry had perhaps unwisely made his little comment at Yule, he had foreseen that Dumbledore would keep a close eye on him. Instead of hiding his influence over the student population, which would take more effort than was worth it, Harry planned to rub it right in Dumbledore's nose. It would serve as a distraction to Dumbledore, hopefully serving to camouflage Harry's more important task of retrieving the Horcrux.
Smiling at Padma, Harry endured her gossipy chattering while consuming his toast. Since he had brought her to the Yule Ball, he supposed she was now expecting him to give her the status of his girlfriend…which he would in a heartbeat, if he thought it'd get him the Indian Ambassador in his pockets. But the noticeable lack of the Indian Ambassador's presence at the Malfoy Ball had Harry hesitating…
Halfway through breakfast, there was an uproar at the Gryffindor table. Glancing over, Harry allowed his lips to widen in a broad smirk, even as the rest of the Slytherins laughed at the sight of one Ronald Weasley, whose face was covered in angry-looking red boils that spelled the word 'LIAR'.
It had been a marvelous idea to delegate the task of dealing with Ronald Weasley to his peers. Over the past few days, Ronald Weasley had suffered from various pranks, ranging from the humiliating to the physically painful. This particular one, Harry supposed, incorporated both elements. Harry shook his head mentally in amusement, enjoying the suffering of Ronald Weasley. He luxuriated in the fact that he had not had to plan or carry out any of the pranks that Weasley had fallen prey to. All Harry had had to do was to sit back, relax and watch the pranks unfold, just like the rest of the student populace. While Weasley was quite a well-known figure in school, being the brother of the Weasley twins and part of the gang of Gryffindors that included Martin Potter, Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger, that did not stop his fellow students from laughing at his misfortune.
Ahhh, Korbin. He does have a knack for maximizing the suffering of his victims…Harry mused, even as Ronald Weasley was rushed to the hospital wing by his concerned friends. Before Martin Potter left the Great Hall however, he met Harry's eyes with an intense glare. My, my…Does the little lion cub know that my followers are behind these attacks? No matter. Harry was not afraid of Martin Potter, and would deal with whatever the little brat could think of dishing out. Easily.
That evening, Harry received a short note from one Martin Potter, challenging him to a wands-only duel at midnight in the trophy room. Harry stared with incredulous disbelief at the note. He had been expecting retaliation in the form of pranks or even overt hostility, but this…this was unbelievable, even from a Gryffindor brat. Martin Potter, fourth-year Gryffindor from Hogwarts, was challenging him, Harrison Riddle, fifth-year Durmstrang Champion to a duel? And the brat was stupid enough to send him a signed note stating his intention? Harry's first thought was that it had to be a trick of some kind.
However, Harry was not even wary of any tricks that Martin Potter could come up with. Were it any other challenger, Harry would have dismissed it out of hand, perhaps even handed the challenger over to the professors, in true Slytherin manner. He, Harrison Maximus Riddle, had out-dueled full-grown wizards and witches in raids. No other student would interest him, except perhaps as a stepping stone for Harry to make a point. But this time, the challenger was Martin Potter, his erstwhile little brother. Harry could not deny an interest in finding out about the brat's abilities. Smirking arrogantly, he told Daphne, "Pass this message to Potter: I accept. Draco Malfoy will be my second." Daphne laughed lightly as she agreed, in stark contrast from her worried demeanor during the Yule Ball. She too did not consider Martin Potter a threat. Draco smiled and replied that it would be his honour to be Harry's second, adding with a laugh, "You don't have to be so suspicious, Harrison. It's just that; a duel invitation. Potter is that stupid."
When midnight rolled around, Harry and Draco arrived at the trophy room on high alert, despite their confidence that Martin Potter was unlikely to be pulling any tricks. Still, Harry kept one eye on the Marauder's Map as he entered the trophy room. The coast was clear: only two dots labeled Martin Potter and Ginevra Weasley were in the room.
When Harry and Draco entered the trophy room, they could hear the two Gryffindors arguing in harsh whispers. The female Weasley was saying "…stupid idea, Marty. They're probably not going to turn up, you know what Slytherins are like!"
"And what are Slytherins like, Miss Weasley? Pray tell; I am all ears," Harry drawled lazily as he sauntered into the room with Draco half a step behind. Both had their wands out, held loosely against their sides. Both Gryffindors whirled around to face Harry, wands drawn at the ready position. Not too bad in terms of alertness…Harry thought sardonically. Taking into account the fact that they're loud enough to raise the dead…
"Sneaky and dishonourable," Weasley spat out bravely, although Harry could see that her hand was trembling slightly as she spoke. "Saying this in a deserted trophy room in the middle of the night in front of two Slytherins? I must applaud you for your courage, Miss Weasley." Harry tossed back smoothly before proceeding to ignore her. She was but a silly little chit, not worthy of his interest. No, Harry was far more interested in her companion. He turned his gaze to the auburn-haired boy that shared his blood. "So. Martin Potter. Do satisfy my curiosity. What kind of idiotic thoughts had occupied your tiny little mind that caused you to challenge me to a duel?"
Martin Potter bristled visibly. He held his wand out confrontationally, hazel eyes flashing, and spat out, "I know it's you, Riddle. Slimy Slytherin! I know that you're the one behind the attacks on Ron these few days-"
"As interesting as it is listening to your flights of fancy, Potter, perhaps you would like to get straight to the point. Even if your accusations were true, I fail to see how that would concern you…" Harry interrupted softly, studying his younger brother with a detached curiosity that a Muggle scientist would show towards a guinea pig in an experiment.
"Ron's my friend!" Martin Potter all but shouted, meeting Harry's eyes. A mistake that Harry was quick to take advantage of. Flicking his wand subtly, Harry soundlessly cast a weak Legilimens, enabling him to skim the surface of Martin Potter's thoughts lightly. What he saw there made him suppress a scowl. In short, Martin Potter viewed Ronald Weasley as the older brother he never had. Harry felt a brief flash of jealous resentment at that realization. In another life, Harry had no doubt that he would have become as good a big brother as Ronald Weasley was to Martin Potter. Or even better, because Harry would have taken much better care of anyone that he considered his younger brother. But Harry was not a person who dwelt on might-have-beens. With regret, he discarded the groundless wishful thinking that he had not even been aware of until that very moment in which he laid it to rest – that he would be able to take Martin Potter under his wing one day, as his true and openly-acknowledged older brother. That decision made, suddenly, Harry found that he was no longer interested in interacting with Martin Potter.
Slipping out of Martin Potter's mind with practiced ease, Harry plastered on a smirk. "Well then, Potter, let us begin." The subsequent duel with Martin Potter merely served to underscore the rightness of Harry's decision. Martin Potter's dueling skill was dismal. Apparently, having a Dueling Professor as one's father did nothing to improve one's actual dueling skill. Poor concentration, horrible footwork, no creativity and a limited spell repertoire. Harry was severely disappointed. Martin Potter had tossed one Petrificus Totalus, a couple of Expelliarmuses, a few Reductos and several stunning spells at him; that was the extent of his dueling prowess. As Harry lazily waved his wand to counter the latest lackluster curse, he shook his head in disgust. The only strength Martin Potter showed was his agility at dodging, which Harry assumed the boy got from Quidditch and an above-average magical power level, of which he did not even manage to harness a fifth.
Perhaps it was the way the Dark Lord had raised Harry to scorn weaknesses, or the fact that Harry had been brought up amidst the cut-throat Pure-blood society but Harry's subconscious yearning to be closer to his biological brother withered into near nothingness after their first duel. His interest in Martin Potter waned once it hit home that Martin Potter was, at best, a slightly above-average wizard. Maybe if he had grown up alongside Martin Potter like siblings generally would, Harry would have loved Martin as fiercely as he did his current family. Harry would have tolerated Martin's lack of magical strength, or rather his lack of willpower to learn how to utilize the magical power he had been blessed with. Merlin knew Harry certainly put up with a lot of preening from Draco Malfoy! As it was…even Alain Fitzroy was more worthy of Harry's attention.
After a few more rounds of countering Martin Potter's lackluster spells, Harry grew bored with the duel. With practiced ease, Harry cast a Stunning Spell at the distracted Ginevra Weasley, who, as Martin Potter's second, had been hovering just off to one side. She fell to the floor with a dull thud, prompting an outcry from Martin Potter – which was soon cut shot when Harry took advantage of that moment to Stun the boy.
The sight of the two unconscious bodies on the floor caused Draco to snicker. "By Merlin, Harrison, four years of trading insults, yet I had no idea that Potter's dueling skills were so appalling! The only ones whose skills are worse are Vincent and Gregory…" Harry laughed lightly at that before saying scornfully, "We have all received some form of training since childhood, in preparation for the war. James Potter apparently feels that his son can do without it."
Draco understood Harrison's enmity towards his biological father. At the same time, he knew that it was not his place to interfere in that, so he merely thumped Harrison on the back lightly. "Let's take a look at Potter's much-praised Invisibility Cloak, shall we? I've always been curious about it, ever since I found out he had it in his first year..." After receiving Harrison's nod, Draco rummaged through Potter's pockets, eventually drawing out a silky cloak. Allowing it to run through his fingers, he marveled at the texture of the cloak, before offering it to his friend.
Harry took the proffered cloak silently, examining the Invisibility Cloak with a critical eye. After throwing the cloak over his shoulders, Harry was astonished by the perfect Invisibility that the cloak offered. This was not a cloak made from Demiguise hair or exceptionally strong Disillusionment Charms. There was something special about this cloak, this cloak that was his, by birthright. As the elder son, Harry was, would have been, Heir to House Potter. All the heirlooms should have been his. In the eyes of the law, it is an indisputable fact that the Heir will inherit all heirlooms… One day, this cloak shall be mine. Once James Potter is dead… Pulling the cloak off, Harry gripped the cloak tightly in his clenched fists, and resolved to make the cloak his with resentful determination.
Flipping the cloak back at Martin Potter's stunned form, Harry stalked out of the trophy room with a stony face, even as Draco, ever attuned to his friend's mood, followed silently.
That Saturday evening, the Dark Arts Association had their first meeting in the Room of Requirement. There were only a few places in Hogwarts Castle itself where powerful Dark magic could be performed without the wards alerting the Headmaster, and the Room of Requirement was the most accessible. Using the Marauder's Map, Harry got the Association's members to the Room with little fuss. As long as they returned to the Slytherin dormitories before curfew, Harry was not too worried about anyone noticing their absence – Karkaroff had been told to cover for them. Since Durmstrang had a long-standing tradition of secrecy, no one could prove that Harry and the others were not on the Durmstrang ship.
"Welcome, my friends, to the Room of Requirement," Harry smirked and threw his arms open mock-dramatically as he led them into the room. Having spent the week experimenting with what he could get the room to transform into, it was with satisfaction that Harry saw that even Draco and Theo were in awe of what Harry had done to the room. Gone was the long stone corridor that had led them to the Hog's Head on the night of the Yule Ball. In its place was a large chamber about half the size of the Great Hall, with black, unpolished stone as its floor and roughly-hewn granite blocks as its four walls. Lining one wall were shelves upon shelves of books on Dark Arts. In front of the opposite wall stood a row of training dummies that resembled humans of varying shapes, genders and sizes. Were it not for their obsidian marble eyes, they looked just like any living human being. The other two walls were lined with mirrors that were spell-proof.
"This is amazing, Harrison. However did you manage to find this place?" Eyes sparkling, Daphne was the first to voice everyone's unspoken thoughts. Harry chuckled and admitted, "Well, I can't take the credit for that. The Dark Lord was the one who found this place when he was a student here." As Harry had expected, the news that it was the Dark Lord's old haunt got his friends afire with passion. If they were eager to participate before that, they were now positively determined to give their best.
Harry soon had them casting spells at the training dummies, narrowing his eyes as he noted the strength and weaknesses of each and every one of his peers. It came as no surprise to Harry that the twins were the best fighters, given that they were both seventh-years, but Harry was pleased that Draco's skills were not too far behind. While lacking in his Darks Art spell repertoire, which was expected since he had not had the benefit of a proper Dark Arts education like the Durmstrang students, Draco's dueling skills were on a par with Emlen's. Theo, Blaise, Alexei and Korbin were not on the same level as them, while Francis, Daphne and Pansy were merely above-average at dueling. Harry did not even bother to assess the skill levels of Vincent and Gregory…
"Alright, my friends. Now, let us start with the basics. First of all, we should improve our accuracy…" Harry begun by teaching his friends some tricks to cast Dark curses accurately, explaining to them in detail the weak spots of the human anatomy. Some of them already knew this, Harry knew, but he wanted them to improve on their finesse. All of those present here, save perhaps for Vincent and Gregory, were magically strong. Yet, as with all underaged wizards and witches, they had a tendency to overpower or underpower their spells. This was especially true for Dark spells, which required strong emotions to cast. And strong emotions were generally not conducive to a person's aiming skills…at least, not without loads of practice.
"Aim for the heart or the throat, my friends," Harry commanded as he observed his friends' progress. "Localized spells will cause more damage when dealt to the weakest points of the human body." This was, Harry realized, something that most dueling instructors did not bothered teaching their students. In the dueling arena, it was after all, considered bad form to kill off an opponent. Most of his friends had dueling lessons, but, with the exception of Draco, no one had had Bellatrix Lestrange as their instructor, and it showed.
"I never thought that there'd be so much to dueling beyond what our private tutors taught us," Daphne remarked wonderingly, with her face flushed from exertion. Harry smirked at the golden-haired girl in understanding, aware that Daphne's talents did not lay in dueling. His goal however, was not to turn Daphne into a second Bellatrix Lestrange, but to ensure that his friend could defend herself. To ensure that his elite could at least hold their own against those experienced wizards from the Light side who had participated in the previous war. Harry had decided that after a few lessons, he would even teach his inner circle the various fighting formations – useful both in raids and otherwise. Currently, the Dark Lord's older Death Eaters displayed a level of cohesion and teamwork in battles that Harry was determined to push his own inner circle towards.
At the end of the session, everyone agreed that forming the Dark Arts Association was a stroke of brilliance that was extremely educational. Korbin even said jokingly, "I certainly learnt more in this one lesson than from a year's worth of lessons from my very expensive private tutor." Harry laughed at that, amused at the thought. "It'd be a good career choice to mention during the mandatory Careers Advice session. After all, I can just imagine Snape's face if I said, 'Dark Prince, future second-in-command of the Wizarding World.'" His friends broke out into amused chuckles, their version of uproarious laughter, at that.
"How does 'Professor Riddle, Founder of the Dark Arts Association' sound?" Draco suggested lightly. His expression turned serious as he regarded Harry with his head tilted slightly, "You make a pretty good teacher, Harrison. Ever thought of opening a Beginners' session to the others? I know that the Ravenclaws would be pretty enthusiastic. Anthony and Stephen have even approached me to enquire about whether I have any recommendations for Dark Arts tutors."
Harry raised an eyebrow in pleasant surprise. "It appears that Uncle Lucius has made more progress with their fathers than I had expected. If the Ravenclaws are receptive, that idea has merit, Draco. Daphne, what about the girls?" Flipping her golden hair over her shoulders, Daphne replied with a deceptively sweet smile, "Su will go along with the others. And Padma would be more than happy to spend time with you, will she not?"
Harry could only shake his head at that, amused at Daphne's jealousy that displayed itself in little flashes like this.
Somewhere in the depths of the library at Hogwarts, another wizard was cackling with glee mentally. Alain Fitzroy could hardly believe his companion's gullibility. Despite him being a Beauxbatons Champion, Hermione Granger had had no defenses up at all, even when he had approached her subtly for help with his Second Task. It seemed that one date at the Yule Ball was all it took for her to be bewitched. Of course, Alain had confidence in his dashing good looks, but usually girls were slightly more wary than that. This particular Hogwarts Gryffindor however, appeared to be so insecure in her feminine charms, beneath that bossy exterior, that she all but fell over herself to please the first person who paid romantic attention to her – him.
"Really appreciate your 'elp on zis, 'Ermione," Alain smiled at his female companion in a show of sincerity. "And I'm grateful zat you would give up your free time during your weekend to 'elp me."
"Oh." Granger blushed rather prettily at that. "It was nothing. I mean, Ron was off somewhere with Lavender and Martin had gone flying with Ginny, so…" Before Granger could make light of it, Alain swiftly cut in smoothly, "But I insist on making it up to you, sweet 'Ermoine. Please allow me 'ze 'onour of accompanying you on 'ze next 'Ogsmeade trip."
"Oh, but that is just before the Second Task! Don't you need time to prepare?" The little chit was worried about him! Oh, but this was too delightful for words. Putting on an earnest expression, Alain reached out to hold the girl's hand lightly. 'Ah, but I believe, dear 'Ermoine, zat with your 'elp, I'd be ready by zat time."
Soon after, when the girl had gotten back to her task of looking through books to aid Alain in deciphering the Egg, Alain's mind flashed to his recent startling discovery. He had long knew that the children of some of the Dark Lord's most ardent supporters attended school at Hogwarts, and he had kept a close eye on some of those children from the families that his father had whispered of to him. And Alain Fitzroy had discovered a mind-boggling secret through careful observation. A secret which was related to one of the other Champions. Not Cedric Diggory, no, for Alain had taken a mere week of observation before summarily dismissing the Hogwarts Champion's presence as not a threat. Diggory was easy enough to eliminate from Alain's list of people to watch out for – the Hufflepuff Champion was of that rare breed of humans that could be called naïve and honourable; such men were but as sheep to Alain.
No, the one who intrigued Alain was the Durmstrang Champion, one Harrison Maximus Riddle. The subtle deference and obvious respect that the clique of students consisting of mostly fifth-year Slytherins showed to the Durmstrang Champion was the first clue that Harrison Maximus Riddle was more than he appeared to be.
The second piece of the puzzle had fallen in place when Cerise Lavern, one of the seventh-year Durmstrang students who was currently sorted into Gryffindor, had accidentally let slip the fact that Harrison Riddle was rumoured to be a Parselmouth. Of course, rumours regarding Riddle was never in short supply, the latest one being that his mysterious father was actually a master dragonologist who currently dwelt among the Chinese dragons in China. Yet something about the malicious glee in Lavern's eyes and the slight trembling of her hands had Alain thinking that the news that she had dropped whilst gossiping amongst her fellow seven-years Gryffindors was the truth. And he supposed she did have the motivation – the image of a dripping wet Korbin Blishwick at the Yule Ball came to mind.
After that, Alain subtly probed some of the other Durmstrang students who did not appear to be as close to Riddle for the truth behind that particular rumour. It was an uphill effort, for the Durmstrang students were a cautious and wary lot, but the result was more than worth it. It appeared that Riddle being a Parselmouth was actually one of the rumours that had been flying around Durmstrang for years – Alain privately deduced that there must have been some truth to it.
Those two clues were enough for Alain Fitzroy to figure out that in actuality, Harrison Riddle was the Dark Prince that the Daily Prophet had been lambasting for half a year.
No other person would attract that many devoted followers, not even the child of Lord Voldemort's right-hand man, or a wizarding ally that the Dark Lord was trying to court, depending on which version of the rumours one believed. And Alain Fitzroy had great confidence in his own powers of inference.
As much as Alain's relatives looked down on him because of his half-blood status, he was still one of the potential heirs to an ancient French wizarding house, and as such, expected to soak up all knowledge necessary for the little games of intrigue that the French Pure-blood children played to better their social status in school. That had not ceased, even at Hogwarts, however, Alain's goal had changed. Before he was selected as the Beauxbatons Champion, Alain would have patiently played the Game, and perhaps attempted to fit in or at least make contacts in the British Pure-blood circle at Hogwarts. Now that he was the Beauxbatons Champion however, Alain saw a chance to truly make a lasting impression on his peers – by becoming the Triwizard Champion by any means necessary. And he would use the secret that he had uncovered to do so.
Oh yes, Alain Fitzroy had a plan. A plan that would all but guarantee him the title of Triwizard Champion. Then, he would show them, show those relatives and peers of his that he, Alain Fitzroy, was worthy of being chosen to be the heir of House Fitzroy.
Somewhere by the seaside, in a cavern with misty green light, Voldemort stared in fury and disbelief at the parchment that lay at the bottom of the very empty, Horcrux-devoid basin. Beside him, one of his house-elves lay writhing in agony from the potion that Voldemort had forced the house-elf to drink from the basin.
To the Dark Lord - I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. - R.A.B.
Regulus Black! That imbecile! So this was how he had met his death – Voldemort had confidence in his defenses. Even an accomplished wizard would find himself hard-pressed to survive the defenses that Voldemort had placed in the cave, and Regulus Black had been a mediocre wizard at best. During the height of the previous war, both Death Eaters and members of the Order of the Phoenix had dropped like flies one after the other. When an unimportant Death Eater died, Voldemort had not even bothered to find out how the Death Eater had met his or her untimely demise. And Regulus Arcturus Black had barely been important enough to Mark.
Voldemort had decided to check up on his various Horcruxes after Harry had given him news of the fact the Dumbledore had somehow managed to obtain his ring Horcrux. While the leader of the Order of the Phoenix was a bloody old coot, Voldemort had never underestimated the old wizard's intelligence. It could well be that the old man had already discovered the fact that Voldemort's means to immortality was Horcruxes. He had left the locket for last because he had thought that it had been the most well-protected. But it was now apparent that that was not the case. Black...Voldemort all but snarled mentally.
But that did not tell Voldemort how Black had managed to remove the locket. If Black had died in the cave, dragged down to the icy depths of the lake by the Inferi, as Voldemort had designed and intended for all intruders, then how had the locket disappeared?
Almost as if in answer to his question, the house-elf that had previously been lying on the ground disapparated with a loud crack. Voldemort froze in astonishment. Impossible! He had placed the strongest Anti-Apparition wards that he could cast on the cave. No one, not even Dumbledore, would be able to apparate in this cave; Voldemort was sure of it. Yet a house-elf had done so easily enough. Voldemort snarled in wordless rage. He did not believe for one second that this house-elf was powerful enough to break through his wards. No, it must be a characteristic of the magic unique to their race. And if that were the case...An image of a creature with an over-sized head, bulbous, snout-like nose, bloodshot eyes, and white hair growing out of his bat-like ears sprang to mind. The Black house-elf!
The wretched creature had been what Voldemort had used to drain the basin that very first time he had placed the Horcrux in the cave. He had left the house-elf for dead thereafter, but if house-elves had the ability to apparate in this cave, it meant that the Black house-elf had escaped, back to Regulus Black.
And if Regulus Black had gotten the house-elf to show him to the cave thereafter (And here he could not help but notice a loophole in the way that he had previously enchanted the boat to hold only one adult wizard), and the house-elf could apparate out of the cave…There was no doubt about it. The Black house-elf had left with the locket.
And with that sobering thought in mind, Voldemort left the cave to deal with his missing house-elf and determine the fate of his missing locket Horcrux.
So about Cerise Lavern, what happened in the background was something like that – Korbin pretended to date her, then engineered a lover's spat as a distraction at the Yule Ball, on Harry's orders. Cerise suspected Korbin's intentions once he dropped her like a hot potato after the Yule Ball. Cerise blames Harry for this, thinking that the entire situation was orchestrated by him. And so, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and all that...