Chapter 6
"Dear Khriss,
I have done as you asked and crossed the world sea, and I have arrived at the Valley. It is as you feared. Something has happened on Earth. The boundaries between this place and the physical realm have been closed from the outside by some force I cannot penetrate. The faerie cannot escape either. At least it explains the mass migration across the sea. Those who remain here are slowly dying. I can only deduce it is because of this barrier. I am going to attempt another way of reaching Earth. I will contact you again when I know more.
Your friend."
Author Unknown.
Diagon Alley was supremely weird. To think, an entire shopping district of magic in the middle of London. It was incredible. And the bizarreness of it all! The shops sold things like owls, ingredients for potion making and flying broomsticks! Broomsticks! He was going mad. There was no other explanation.
Combine that with the revelations about the reason there were no faeries around anymore, and the fact that he was still recovering from almost having his bond severed, and it was a miracle he was still functioning at all.
Hagrid led the way towards a large, crooked white marble building at the end of the street.
"Spoiler alert, but I don't have any money to pay for things," Harry said. Ron had Harry's letter in his hand, Harry refused to touch the thing despite Dumbledore's assurances it was safe.
"Of course, you' ave money Harry. It's all there in Gringotts," the giant – who was actually a giant, which Harry found only marginally less impressive than Ent-Draft – exclaimed, gesturing towards the wonky marble building.
"Yeah," Ron agreed, "Dad said your parents were loaded or something." Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that. Mak was sitting on his head, braiding a tiny lock out of a few black strands. She did that when she was nervous or trying to distract herself. Harry hadn't pushed her. She'd open up when she was ready. Ron's rat chirped on his shoulder, and Ron pulled a piece of cheese from his pocket and fed it to the creature. Harry shivered. He hated rats. They got in everywhere. He and the rest of the Bunker residents spent hours baiting the little fuckers so they wouldn't chew the cables or get into their meagre food supplies. Not to mention, the droppings attracted bacteria and disease.
Hagrid led them inside the bank, and Harry knew he'd now seen it all. To his credit, he didn't gasp or cry out in alarm. The inside of the bank – keeping with the marble theme – was gilded in gold everywhere the eye could see. Even the bank tellers. But that wasn't the freaky part. Manning the tellers, were dozens of small humanoid creatures with pointed ears, muddy skin, big beady eyes and very sharp looking teeth and claws. Goblins. They had to be Goblins. This was so cool. When did he get to see Rivendell?
The second he stepped inside, every single one of them turned towards him, and all sound abruptly cut off. The few witches and wizards, seeing their tellers distractions, turned, following their gazes, and had nearly the same reaction when they realised who he was. God, that reaction was already old. He missed being homeless.
"Masellas de Tastheria," one of the Goblins whispered. Harry frowned. Mak had said the same thing when confronting Dumbledore. What did it mean?
"Hurhmm. Right then," Hagrid grumbled, obviously anxious, before heading towards the teller at the very far end at the room, which was by far the largest and most important looking.
Hagrid cleared his throat nervously, Ron looked about ready to faint, Harry didn't blame him. This close, he could see that the important looking goblin, indeed all the Goblins, were not looking at him. They were looking at the top of his head, where Mak still sat, oblivious to the attention.
"Mr Harry Potter wishes to make a withdrawal," Hagrid said. He reached into his pocket and removed a tiny golden key, placing it on the desk. The goblin took the key, stared at Mak for a few more seconds, before turning towards a smaller Goblin standing behind him and barking in a different, much harsher language. The small goblin scurried off.
"Very well. Verification on his part will be required," the goblin said, "this way." He stepped down from his teller and beckoned Harry towards a side door. Hagrid and Ron moved to follow, but the goblin glared harshly at them, and they went no further. Harry shrugged an apology and followed. They passed into a side corridor, tall enough for humans thankfully, and Harry took the opportunity to swat at his head.
"Hey! Pay attention, little miss princess!" He snapped, "the bank managers are treating you like a god. Maybe, instead of giving them the cold shoulder, you should be a tad more benevolent?" Mak fell off his head, unfurling her wings and fluttering up beside his head.
The room Harry was led to was a large round office, with a tall roof shrouded in mist. It was lit by five torches in brackets around the walls, and the desk and chairs in the centre of the room seemed to be made from solid gold. Behind the counter was another chair, but this one was high backed and encrusted with jewels. Sitting on the bejewelled throne was a Goblin wearing what looked like a mixture of a business suit and battle armour. An axe was propped against the chair. He didn't stare at Mak in the same awe as the others, more a sense of intrigue.
"Yeah, okay. I see it now. Sorry," Mak said softly, looking a tad guilty. Harry took a seat.
The fancy-looking goblin looked at a piece of paper on his desk for a few moments, before finally turning his eye back to Mak.
"I had thought the Pact of Truth was still in place," he said eventually, in a gruff English.
"I don't know anything about that," Mak answered. "I don't remember much of why I left the Valley, or how I got here." The goblin frowned.
"A pity," he said softly, "I would very much have liked to know how our brethren fair in the Lost Homeland." Harry's eyebrows shot skyward. They came from the same place as Mak? Was that why they spoke that language? An ancient faerie language. This just kept getting more awesome. Harry was trying very hard not to geek out. Just for a moment, he could pretend that he was on a grand adventure, not being forced to do as he was told by an old white guy with more power than was reasonable.
"E sur paiher, Kobalusprilla," Mak said, bowing her head. Harry really needed to learn this thing. The goblin mimicked Mak's gesture, before finally turning his attention to Harry.
What followed was utterly boring and incredibly embarrassing. After providing some blood for a test to the goblin, whose name was Griphook, he had to sit for about half an hour signing papers while he waited. Apparently, a lot of paperwork had backed up while he had been incommunicado. As a result, letters numbering in the tens of thousands from well-wishers in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat had been left in limbo. Various gifts and packages were apparently included, some of them being highly expensive. He had also received 1152 guardianship requests from wizarding families willing to take him, ranging from close friends of his mother and father to known servants of Voldemort; close to one hundred betrothal requests (Mak had fallen off his head laughing at that point); invitations from every Magical School in the world (that might be something to think about); and documents from around fifty people who, with their families wiped out during the war, had named him as the beneficiaries of their Wills.
The only saving grace was he didn't have to actually write much – which would have taken even longer – just his signature. He was proud to say it was actually legible by the end of it. Eventually, his blood test came back, seemingly proving he was who he said he was. When, after a rollercoaster ride through what he was about 99% sure were the Mines of Moria, they arrived at an underground vault. Harry had already figured out what must be inside, but it still freaked him out all the same. Ron and Hagrid had been right. He was loaded.
Many of the people Harry had known hated the rich, famous and influential, and he certainly understood why. They were easy to hate. They had everything and wasted entire fortunes on things he'd never buy in a billion years when they could be spending it on helping the poor and destitute. It was also a convenient outlet for one's anger. But Harry… Harry hadn't particularly hated them. He certainly didn't love the rich, but he didn't despise them either. If his life had taught him anything, it was that every person had a role to play. Uncle Vernon, the bitter, hateful man that he was, had been a businessman who high up in the leadership chain of a franchise of hardware stores across the city. His job had been to sell drills and other products to handyman and people attempting DIY projects. Someone had to do it. If it weren't Uncle Vernon, then society would just push another person in to take his place. Harry's job was to protect the Bunker and its inhabitants from danger – though he'd ended up bringing them more trouble in the end. That was his purpose. Protection. Ever since he'd met Mak, that was what he had driven himself towards.
To his mind, someone had to be at the top of the food chain. If all the worlds rich people suddenly just 'gave up' their riches to the poor, how much of that would reach the people who really needed it? And if they did give up all their money, who would run the government? Who would pay for new train stations or bridges? Who would pay the pensions of the elderly or the infirm? The opposite was also true. Harry had had a discussion about it with Nylah, Bran and Emily once. He'd asked the hypothetical question of, "if each of them was given ten million dollars, what would they do with it."
The answers Bran and Emily had given him had been stock standard. Buy a house, get a job, give some money to charity, help out in the Bunker with what they could without being caught. Emily had wanted to go to school. Nylah had been far more hesitant. She'd seen what he was getting at. She'd talked about finishing her degree, fighting a court battle against the people who'd seized her parents' assets, and getting a place in London. Then, Harry had asked, "What do you do with the other eight million?" As expected, none of them had answers for that. The rich were rich for a reason. They had massive incomes because they had enormous expenses, not the other way around. Oh, he was under no delusions that some (probably most) rich people were assholes, but so were a lot of poor people. There was also the whole, nice rich people don't stay rich for long argument.
No, Harry didn't have anything against the rich and famous. What he did have something against was when people in power abused those beneath them just because they could. That he wouldn't tolerate, and fortunately, he had always been rather stubborn. Combine that with his innate bad-assary, and he was generally the one doing the pushing over when someone tried to take advantage of him. Usually.
But now, he was rich, powerful and famous. Three things he'd never thought he'd be. He was the one on the end of the question. What would he do with ten million dollars? Well, the answer, much to his horror, was a disturbing one. He had to be selfish.
He was trapped in a foreign environment, with – as far as he knew – no foreseeable exit strategy available to him. His abductee had already attempted to take Mak away from him once and would most likely try again. To make things worse, he had a highly dangerous objective to complete while he was in his captivity, and his friends and family could potentially be in danger themselves – exposed as they now were to the Wizarding populous. Not particularly good odds.
As such, Harry had no options but to grab a shovel and start digging his way out of the hole he found himself in before someone else started to fill it in from the top. So, he shoved down his pride, and as he made his way back up the rollercoaster, he made a list of the things he needed to do.
The first thing he needed to do was get word to the Bunker somehow. Let them know he was alright at least. Maybe… maybe these Goblins could point him in the direction of a wizard who could provide magical protections against a second magical attack on the Bunker? Like Galadriel did with Lorien or Elrond with Rivendell? That was surely a thing, right?
"Griphook?" Harry asked hesitantly as the goblin led him towards the surface, "Is there such a thing as like, magical shields, or protections for buildings?"
"Yes," the goblin said, "Gringotts employs teams of highly skilled Cursebreakers and Wardbinders for the purpose of protecting residences and businesses. Would you like to avail yourself of these services?" Harry was still trying to get used to the fact that Goblins apparently spoke excellent English. Also, they were bankers. Shouldn't dwarves be the bankers? Were there any dwarves? He really needed to get himself a history textbook.
"Um, depends. Do you only ward magical residences?"
"Any and all dwellings can be warded."
"Well, if I gave you an address, and the correct amount of money, of course, could you protect a home from unwanted wizarding or non-magical incursion. When I was captured, wizards just teleported into the place I was living an attacked. Can that be shielded from?"
"Certainly. We can protect against all means of Apparation, magic detection and unlawful entry." Harry let out a sigh of relief.
"So if I paid one of your teams to go in and ward an underground facility the size of a football field, you could do it?"
"Indeed. If the facility is underground, the price will be lower. However, if disguise in the mortal world is required, an extra fee will be incurred to cover the cost of maintaining the Statute of Secrecy. We will, naturally, have to hide our true forms."
"Of course. Excellent. Can I speak to one of those teams then please?"
Griphook led Harry away from the path back to the main hall, and instead to another, smaller but similarly designed space. When he stepped inside, all the goblins once again fell silent, but Harry was finally getting used to all the stares that seemed to accompany him wherever he went these days.
He outlined what he wanted to the Goblin agent and gave him the Bunker's address and instructions on how to get inside. Then he asked if the Goblins could carry a message, secretly, to the people inside. They'd said yes, for a fee, so Harry had sat down on the side of the room with a quill (a fucking quill! How awesome was that!) and spent the next fifteen minutes trying to write out a quick letter explaining that he was not dead or a runaway. Explaining that they'd all probably had their minds wiped was not easy in the slightest, but they'd been around him long enough to expect impossibilities. Then he had the goblins change a bunch of galleons into two thousand pounds, and gave the letter to the goblin in charge. He cringed at how much money the project would cost, but as Griphook had explained to him, his money reserves were practically endless. His trust vault – the account he could access while still under the age of seventeen – would consistently replenish itself every month from the main Potter Family Vault. Apparently, Harry's grandfather had made a fortune from selling magic hair cream. That was something he would not be telling anyone from the Bunker, lest they start throwing things at him.
With that done, he bade the goblins farewell, Mak said something else in the strange language, and Griphook led him back to the main hall.
"You and I need to have a talk, Mak," Harry said as they reached giant doors marking the exit.
"I know. But I don't think you're going to like what I have to tell you," she said softly, having resumed her seat on his head. The braid she'd made earlier had fallen apart.
"I didn't think I would, but it still needs to be said."
He sighed, "I know."
Harry steeled himself and walked out the doors. Hagrid and Ron were waiting for him.
"Wow mate, You were gone a while," Ron said. Harry thought he detected a hint of jealousy in the boy's baring. He wasn't surprised.
"Don't worry, it was nothing fun. I spent the whole time signing my name over and over again. Apparently being missing fourteen years creates a lot of paperwork." Ron seemed slightly confused, but Hagrid barked a laugh.
"I'll bet it does!"
"Well then," Harry said, adopting an excited air, though he didn't feel it in the least. "First thing's first. Since I'm rich now, I'm going to buy a pair of shoes that fit. You could almost say I'm on the edge of my feet with anticipation!" Hagrid and Ron both stared at him.
"Get it? Shoes? Edge of my feet? No? Never mind." He slapped Ron on the back before leading the way to the first shop that looked like it sold regular people clothes.
The next few hours were an experience unlike any other. It was the first time Harry had ever bought anything for himself in a shop. Actually, it was the first time he'd ever bought anything in a shop at all. He had to actually physically stop himself from going to the cheaper and second-hand places. That bloody selfishness. Rule #2: The easiest way to counter someone's influence over you is to build influence over them. Make yourself important. If he wanted to escape evil Gandalf's grip, he had to capitalise on his fame. He had to make himself so crucial that Dumbledore wouldn't be able to make decisions for him. His parents had died, turning him into some quazi-wizard superhero. He'd be damned if he didn't put it to good use.
So, he bought clothes. Clothes that would let him look the part. He bought new shirts, and new pants, new jackets and several pairs of shoes. He bought wizard robes – though he couldn't bring himself to buy the ones that were obscene colours, sticking to green and blue at Mak's suggestion. He had Ron and Hagrid explain to him all the potions equipment he needed for first through fourth year (he had the money, may as well use it) and Ron tried to convince him to buy the new Firebolt racing broomstick. Harry had begged off, saying that he'd never used one before, so purchasing the best broomstick on the market was not the best idea. Ron had reluctantly agreed with that statement. He'd offered to buy the broomstick for Ron instead, but Ron had refused, calling it 'charity' which Harry was forced to admit it was. Done with that, Hagrid led them to the Leaky Cauldron pub for lunch.
Ron… well, there was a lot to be said about Ginny's brother. He and Ginny clearly weren't friends, and he seemed to be a very opinionated person. Harry regretted asking Ron to explain the differences between the Hogwarts houses to him almost immediately. He also asked for suggestions regarding his electives. Ron said he'd picked Divination and Care of Magical Creatures (because they were the two classes with the least amount of homework). Hagrid spent a good half an hour praising his own course, and Harry had to admit between the man's enthusiasm and the fact that learning about magical beasts was quite enjoyable, that the giant did sway him into choosing it. Ron had little to say about Arithmancy and Ancient Runes – "One's about numbers, the other's about glyphs and translating and stuff." Hagrid knew more, but not a lot. Arithmancy sounded suspiciously like Arithmetic but with magic, and Nylah had taught him a bit of that, so he thought he should know enough to get by. Runes seemed like another language, and he'd picked up French easily enough without having the proper materials to learn how to write fluently in it. His German was pretty rusty though. So, he'd decided to take Runes, Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures. Divination sounded like a load of nonsense, and he already knew more about non-magical people than a muggle studies class could teach him.
The fanfare started at lunch. The barkeeper had recognised him, blurting out his name in the middle of the shop. As he was beginning to expect, everyone suddenly went very quiet. Then came the procession. Every wizard and witch in the room came over to Harry at some point during his meal to shake his hand or thank him for his incredible service. He accepted everyone with gratitude and a cheerful smile, regardless of how much it drove him up the wall. Harry made sure to introduce most of the visitors to Ron and Hagrid. He thought Hagrid saw through it, but Ron certainly didn't. The red head looked like he was having the best day of his life.
The next stop was Ollivanders Wand Shop. Boy was that an experience.
Harry stepped into the wand shop alone – Hagrid and Ron had gone on ahead to Flourish and Blots bookshop to see if all the textbooks had been bought or not.
An elderly man with curl white hair sat at the counter fiddling with a series of metal tools and a few pieces of wood. He looked up as the doorbell rang, announcing Harry's entrance.
"Ah. Mr Potter. I had been wondering when you would arrive." Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so?"
"Indeed," the man said. His voice held an odd sense of mystery too it that Harry couldn't help being enraptured by. "You can imagine how disappointed I was when you never appeared after your eleventh birthday – most young wizards rarely wait long. I was so stunned in fact that I checked with the other wand merchants in the other Wizarding Nations. But they hadn't seen you either. So, I was forced to conclude that Professor Dumbledore's story about you being on a secret mission was, in fact, a lie."
Harry nodded with respect. "That's because it was a lie. Unless of course by 'secret missions' he meant robbing rich people, saving kids from paedophiles or running from cops while trying to feed myself. Oh, and there was that one time I took down a group of guys selling dirty drugs in Barking. That was fun." Ollivander smiled.
"I'm sure that's what he meant."
Harry winked at the man, "Oh, I'm sure your right." Harry stepped up to the desk, eyeing the wand parts. Ollivander quickly slid the mat with the pieces under his desk, and Harry chuckled to himself.
"Very well. Let's see about getting you a wand then." Harry proved to be the best (or worst, depending on your point of view) customer Ollivander had ever had. Wand after wand he tried, each one shocking his hand to some degree. Some were far worse than others. None so much as produced a spark. Ollivander seemed to get more and more excited with every failure. Mak stood on the table, staring at each wand the old wizard pulled out with disdain. After fifteen minutes of trying, Harry's hand was starting to ache something terrible.
"Try this one, Mr Potter," Ollivander said, hesitating for the first time as he held out a new one, this time brown with a black handle. Mak had given up and was now lying on her back, staring at the ceiling.
The second Harry's fingers touched the hilt; the wand exploded. Harry and Ollivander both ducked as splinters of wood shot in all directions, and smoke curled from his fingers. He shook his hand to clear the acrid smell while Ollivander hesitantly looked up from behind the desk. Mak was still lying there.
"Curious. I thought for sure that would be the one." He shook himself, "No matter. We shall continue." Harry groaned as Ollivander vanished into the depths of his shop once more. Dozens more wands were tried, and though none of them had a worse reaction than the holly wand, there still seemed to be nothing that would fit him. Even Ollivander was starting to grow worried after they passed the hour mark. Harry was also nearing his wit's end.
"Fucking hell. Mak, help the poor man!" He exclaimed, yelling at the faerie. Mak sat up, stared at the man as he rummaged near the back, and grumbled.
"Fine." Then she zipped off into the shop, nosing about near the back, where the oldest wands resided. Eventually, she decided on one and began pulling the box free. As Mak was, for the most part, insubstantial, the process took a very long time. But Ollivander eventually caught sight of the box trying to wriggle its own way off his shelf and took it carefully out. It was made from a gold-coloured wood and appeared smooth to the touch. It was one single piece of wood, with no protrusions or dedicated hilt. Without a word, he handed it to Harry. He took it, Mak watching with an anxious air. It was the first one that didn't sting his hand. He felt… an odd connection to it. In fact, in the silence, he thought he could hear the soft ringing of bells – faerie voices.
"This one," Harry said, nodding to Ollivander and Mak. Mak beamed, but Ollivander just looked very intrigued.
"Fascinating. Very fascinating indeed," Ollivander said reverently, "This wand is over six hundred years old. Applewood, a rare wood indeed, and very hard to place. Powerful, but only useful in the hands of one with high ideals and dreams. Often associated with immortality and old magic. Ten inches, but quite brittle. And…" he paused for a moment, scanning Harry, "a core of faerie blood. A scarce substance indeed these days. According to the notes of my ancestors, faerie blood wands only ever bonded to those with whom the blood believes worthy of them. Those with the potential to become Imagineers." Ollivander was staring at him very pointedly now. Harry smiled and handed over his nine galleons – seven for the wand, two for the holster to attach it to his wrist. He took the wand, thanked him, and exited, Mak back on his shoulder.
"Faerie blood?" He said to her as they made their way down the street.
"Its… I think it was something we did for you, back in the old days, so you could use both arts. That's why the other wands didn't work, they could sense the opposing powers. Still gives me the shivers." Harry stopped short. Reporters, dozens of them, were prowling the street, and hundreds of bystanders who hadn't been there when he entered Ollivanders were now crowding around, searching for something. Searching for him. Damn it! The people in the pub had reported his whereabouts! Being famous, totally sucked. Pulling the hood of his new wizard robes up to hide his face, Harry slipped into Flourish and Blots. Ron and Hagrid had a trolley full of books with them. They'd managed to find most of the first- and second-year books, but the third-year ones had mostly been sold out. They'd at least found the ones he needed the electives. He greeted them and warned of the crowd outside. Ron looked excited by the prospect of more people to take his picture, and Scabbers the rat – who had at some point relocated to Ron's jacket pocket – chirped excitedly in agreement. Hagrid looked much more concerned.
"We can't use Professor Dumbledore's portkey from in here. We have to go to the Apparation and Portkey point, which is outside. I'll see about clearing us a path. You pay for these Harry, Ron." Hagrid moved off, nervously fingering his pink umbrella, while Harry made his way to the front desk. He grabbed a history book and a book on Wizarding Government and Politics on the way. The man at the counter recognised him and insisted on offering a discount, so Harry convinced Ron to buy himself any books he wanted. He grabbed one about famous chess games. With his books stowed away in his newly purchased shrinking trunk (that was something he felt no guilt whatsoever at buying), they made their way out into the street. The reporters were waiting for them. This time Harry didn't let Ron talk to anyone. He pulled the redhead boy along towards' Hagrid's bulky form, and they made their way through the surging and screaming crowd. Flash of photo after photo was taken, people tried to thrust microphones at him, and he batted them away. Eventually, they reached Hagrid and they touched a string of rope he was holding. Together they vanished in a flash of rainbow light.
2 years ago,
Ginny closed her new Diary and placed it by the side of her bed. The voice of the Diary, Tom, was a lovely conversationalist. He listened to her problems, her insecurities, and he never judged. He even shared some helpful hints for her classes. She was happy to say she was the first person in her class to get the Lumos charm right. Tom had been incredibly proud of her. She kept meaning to send a letter to her mother and father, thanking them for the gift of the Diary, but it kept slipping her mind.
She yawned, leaned back against the pillow, and drifted to sleep.
Her eyes fluttered open to an ashen sky, and she shivered. She was here again. Every few nights since she arrived at Hogwarts, she'd dreamt herself to this horrible place. Black skies filled with red lightning; a tiny, sickly, red sun; and a thick grey mud that covered the ground as far as the eye could see. There was no colour, no plants, no animals. Just sludge and the occasional patch of black ice drifting through it. She hated it. It was like the very place seemed to weigh her down. It was a nightmare, but it felt far too real to just be like any other dream. But the thing that scared her most was that she never remembered the dreams when she woke up. But when she was here, she remembered her other visits with perfect clarity.
Ginny pulled herself upright, and the sludge fell away from her dream clothes like water. Then, she began to walk. There was nothing else to do in this place. Nothing to do but walk. Each step was an effort. She had to pull her feet from the wet earth, then place them back down into it again. To heavy a step, and she'd sink through the mud, and her foot would fall into the icy cold liquid that seemed to exist beneath the slime. She didn't know what it was, nor did she care to find out.
Her goal, as it had been every night, was the second sun. She wasn't sure what it was (though it probably wasn't a sun), but there was a blip of pulsing rainbow light in the distance, hovering above the ground. With every pulse, it seemed to change colours. The closer she got to it, the worse the mud became, and the darker the skies turned.
She kept walking.
Soon, her legs began to ache, and she sat herself down on a large colourless boulder jutting up out of the mud. There was nothing to show she'd travelled any distance at all. Everything looked exactly the same. There was just her, the sea of clay, and the rainbow light.
"It is too early." Ginny jolted, spinning around. A voice? A male voice. One she certainly hadn't heard before. She hadn't heard any voices since she'd begun waking up here.
"I do not like waiting, spirit." Another, harsher voice replied. There! Standing in the emptiness almost at the edge of her vision were two figures. One had moulted red and black skin, the other was white, wearing Hogwarts robes.
"You have no choice, child of Gaea. You have no power here. We do not respond to your will. You should count yourself grateful our master has entertained you at all." That was the odd-looking one. He had red eyes. Despite the seeming distance, Ginny could see and hear both perfectly well.
"Will I ever get to meet your supposed master?" the student asked, a tone of dissatisfaction entering his voice.
The other thing laughed… was it even human?
"You are far beneath his attention. And as far as he is concerned, you are a failed experiment. He allows your continued existence only because what was given cannot be taken back. Leave this place, Tom Riddle. There is nothing more you can do here." Ginny gasped, and two sets of eyes locked onto her.
Ginny shot upright, breathing ragged, body trembling in fright. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. Must have been a bad dream.
