Author's note:
Okay, this is a short one. It was turning into a longer chapter with too much going on, and it would have taken another week to be publishable (to my standards) if I kept to my usual 5000-6000 word length. So, you get this shorter one, and hopefully the next one will be out before the end of the month :)
Chapter 33: The Knights of Walpurgis
Theodore Rosier pushed open the door to the Come-and-Go Room, currently serving as their clubhouse/ official meeting place, and wandered in, glancing around at the other boys. It was the second night back at the castle after the Christmas holidays, and the first official meeting of Riddle's group, unofficially named The Knights of Walpurgis.
Dolohov and Avery were playing the wizard's form of pool billiards, which consisted of 12 enchanted balls per side, magically suspended an inch above a black felt table. Hitting the different coloured balls created different effects, like shooting sparks or random sounds. When the Room first presented them with the table, Avery had tried to curse some of the balls to attack the opposing player when hit, but he hadn't been completely successful. Now some of balls were just combustible if struck at a certain angle, which at least made the game more interesting.
Lestrange, Nott, and Mulciber were observing, offering criticism and advice in equal measure. There was an open crate of butterbeers - and a few bottles of the slightly more alchoholic Wizards' Brew - on the ground next to the few plush couches arranged in the centre of the room.
They looked up expectantly as the door opened, but quickly lost interest when they recognised the slim boy.
"Rosier," Avery whined while lining up his next shot on the pool table, "When is Riddle arriving?" with an expert tap of the pool cue, he sunk a ball which bounced twice in the pocket, emitting purple sparks in celebration, before disappearing.
"How would I know?" Rosier retorted, shrugging, "Have another butterbeer while we wait, I'm sure it won't be long." he reached into the crate and tossed a brown glass bottle at the other boy.
Avery caught it one-handed, eyes brightening, and took a swig, easily distracted from the subject.
"Well, you're the one always hanging around him," Dolohov commented, smirking. "Don't you have his schedule pencilled in somewhere?"
Mulciber and Nott tittered idiotically.
Rosier glared, "No, I don't."
"Shocking." sneered Dolohov.
Rosier gestured vaguely at the cheerfully-lit space they were occupying, "He wouldn't have wanted us to meet in the Room tonight if he wasn't coming."
"Eventually." snorted Avery. He was already rosy-cheeked from the alcohol. "Could be hours still, knowing Riddle…"
Rosier scowled. "You should watch your tone. If Riddle heard you talking like that-"
Dolohov suddenly pushed himself off the edge of the pool table and sauntered closer, "You know," he drawled arrogantly, "You've changed. I've noticed it for a while now, but you've become quite the cocky little shit, haven't you? No longer flinching at shadows and avoiding our eyes."
Rosier met his gaze steadily. He had changed, and the reason was simple. Without the constant anxiety of having to tip-toe around Riddle, he'd realised his own worth. And quite frankly, the other boys in the group could never inspire the same amount of fear and respect that Riddle did. Compared to their leader, their attempts at intimidation were laughable. He'd made the resolution over Christmas; he wouldn't stand for their bullying anymore.
"Back off, Dolohov," he said with quiet intensity, "We should discuss what Riddle asked us to do in the holidays, before he-"
Suddenly Dolohov gave a small nod directed over his shoulder, and Rosier found his arms painfully twisted behind his back, the rock-solid form of Lestrange holding him in place.
He tried to twist away, but Lestrange only gave him a little shake, like a dog with a toy. "Where do you think you're going?" he growled, amused.
Avery abandoned his next shot and put down his pool cue, grinning excitedly as he joined Dolohov.
Panting slightly, Rosier gave up struggling, and merely kept a cautious eye on the two boys in front of him, swaggering up and down. He still couldn't bring himself to feel genuinely scared yet – he was just annoyed.
"I think it's time to put you in your place," announced Dolohov.
"Go to hell." Rosier told him, glaring.
"Here, use this," sniggered Avery, and passed Dolohov his half-full butterbeer.
Dolohov grinned. "Let's see… Why don't we have you drink this – through your nose – until you stop feeling so high-and-mighty, hm? Hold him still, Lestrange-"
The larger boy rumbled in agreement.
Rosier resigned himself to the situation. This was going to be unpleasant, sure, but it wouldn't leave any lasting damage except to his ego… and he'd never had much of that to begin with.
They weren't even going to use magic, and he knew they'd stop before going too far. They were just bored, looking for a laugh, and he was an easy target.
It wasn't the first time. He knew that in a few days, he'd be welcomed back into the fold, and praised as being "a good sport", as if he'd volunteered for the whole ordeal. Mulciber and Nott, were usually more sympathetic, though he noticed they never lifted a finger to help him.
He braced himself as Dolohov roughly grabbed his chin and forcibly tilted his head back, grinning as he raised the bottle of butterbeer – Rosier held his breath –
"Well, well." A cool voice interrupted them. "Looks like you've started the fun without me."
Dolohov hurriedly turned around. "Riddle!" he said nervously, "It's, uh… good to see you! Did you have a good hol-"
"Care to explain what this is?" Riddle said coldly, gesturing at Rosier, still being held by Lestrange. He strolled into the room, and put down a small satchel next to the couch, before reclining comfortably in the seat, his eyes dark and unreadable as they flickered around the group.
"Rosier was thirsty," sneered Lestrange, not budging an inch.
Rosier wondered what he would do… if he would do anything at all. Their… arrangement hadn't included anything about other people bullying Rosier, unless it was about his sexual orientation. In that case, Riddle had promised to protect him. Perhaps that was what he was trying to find out – whether or not he was required to step in.
"Just a bit of fun," piped up Avery, fidgeting, "Like you said, Riddle…"
Dolohov seemed uncertain as to whether he should continue. After an awkward glance at Riddle's impassive face, he gave a small shrug and raised the bottle again, tilting it towards Rosier's face.
"Wait." Commanded Riddle softly, and Dolohov immediately froze.
"…Yes?"
Rosier's heart suddenly soared with hope.
Riddle tutted. "That's not how you do it, at all."
His heart dropped to somewhere south of Australia.
"What is your goal?" Riddle gestured vaguely at the scene before him. "You're providing a threat, but it's useless unless you specify the reason. Otherwise the victim won't change his behaviour."
Dolohov considered, licking his lips. He was unsure of how to judge Riddle's mood – whether he was really supportive, or just playing his own game. "Well…" he said slowly, "I want Rosier to stop thinking he's above us-"
"I don't- ghurrck!" Rosier started protesting, but was immediately cut off when Lestrange changed his grip a tight headlock, one meaty arm across his throat. His arms flailed, but Lestrange was immovable.
"Too vague," commented Riddle, ignoring Rosier's outburst, "Be more specific."
Dolohov considered. "Hm. I want him to acknowledge that…" he paused, thinking.
Avery sniggered, "That he's the dog of the Knights of Walpurgis?" he offered excitedly.
Dolohov grinned. "Perfect. Say it, Rosier." He commanded, then chuckled. "Lestrange, let him talk for a moment."
Rosier dragged in some much-needed air as the pressure on his throat eased. "I'm the dog of the Knights of Walpurgis." He said dutifully, his voice croaking.
Dolohov pouted. "Well, it's no fun if you don't fight back. But you still have that look in your eyes – like you're better than us. I don't think you've quite learnt your lesson yet. A dog should know his masters, don't you think? Avery, summon that bottle of Firewhiskey from our dorm. That should make more of an impact-"
Clap… clap... clap…
Dolohov looked around as Riddle applauded, slowly and deliberately, from his position on the couch, his legs crossed elegantly at the heels. "Very nice, Dolohov," he praised, but then his smirk fell away, changing his expression into something uglier, "But… I still have a few… criticisms."
The temperature in the room suddenly seemed to drop. He drew his wand so fluidly, there was no time for anyone to react.
"Everte statum."
Rosier's knees hit the ground as the pressure holding him up was suddenly ripped away. He panted, massaging his neck, and then shakily pushed himself to his feet.
Riddle rose from the couch, and sedately strolled past him, his dark eyes filled with malice, fixed on the group of groaning boys lying on the other side of the room. He flicked his wand again.
"Eponimise."
They suddenly found themselves hanging a foot off the ground in a row, with their backs pinned to the wall, stuck like flies on fly-paper.
Riddle folded his arms, satisfied, and watched them yell and struggle, unable to break the Sticking Charm.
"Silence." He ordered softly, and there was instantly no noise, other than Nott, who had begun to snivel.
Rosier felt himself shiver at the cool, commanding tone, even though for once he wasn't on the receiving end. He hadn't been for quite some time, after the whole almost-tortured-into-insanity thing.
"Now then," Riddle said smoothly. "Let's get some things straightened out. There is only one master of the Knights of Walpurgis, and it certainly isn't you, Dolohov."
"Riddle, I d-didn't mean-" Dolohov stammered around a dry tongue.
"Nor is it you, Avery, nor even you, Lestrange…" the taller boy glared for only a moment, before averting his eyes submissively.
"And as your master, I don't approve of you fighting amongst each other. Especially when there's more important work to be done. I even got you all a present for Christmas... But let's put this unpleasantness behind us, shall we?" He held out a hand expectantly, without looking. "Rosier." He prompted.
Rosier was used to catering to his whims, and quickly realised what he wanted. He fetched Riddle's satchel from the floor by the couch and brought it to him.
Riddle smirked at him sideways, for the first time making eye contact. "Good dog." He praised, his tone mocking.
Rosier flushed in irritation, but knew better than to argue. And without the undercurrent of intimidation, it seemed more teasing than insulting, somehow. It was easier to bear.
Riddle flicked his wand, and the other boys were dropped roughly to the floor, released by the spell. They hurriedly got to their feet as Riddle reached into the bag. He brought out a handful of shining silver pocket-watches, and tossed one to each boy.
Rosier caught his and examined it with interest. They were engraved with the Slytherin serpent on the back, but otherwise looked quite ordinary. He wondered where Riddle had gotten them - they looked expensive, and he knew Riddle wasn't very well off.
Riddle held up his own, slightly bigger and more ornate, so that they could see. "Here we have a perfectly ordinary pocket-watch – it tells the time, as intended. But, when the button on the top is held for longer than three seconds, it changes…" he demonstrated, and they all copied him obediently.
Rosier watched in fascination as the plain numbers on the face melted away, to be replaced by seven miniature portraits of themselves arranged around the circumference, with Riddle, looking darkly handsome, replacing the twelve at the very top. Each of the portraits were enchanted to move, blinking, shifting in place, looking around slowly.
"This is how we will communicate between meetings from now on," announced Riddle, "Messages I want you to see will appear written on the centre of the clock face. And I will keep track of your movements - if I wish to know where one of you is, the hands of the clock will point in the direction of your real location, like a compass. I can also tell if I'm being… an unsatisfactory leader." His smile dripped with poisonous sincerity as he suddenly narrowed his eyes at Avery, who paled.
"I am never late, Leonard Avery." He hissed, "I arrive precisely when I mean to."
Avery raised his hands defensively as he backed away, eyes wide and terrified. "I didn't – how did you-?" he suddenly broke off with a choked noise, his hands flying up to the collar of his robes, which was suddenly restricting his breathing, along with all his other clothes, tightening like iron bands. Within seconds he was writhing soundlessly on the ground, face turning from ashy white, to blotchy red, and then purple.
The others watched him in horrified silence, not making a move to help him, terrified they would be next.
"Take a look at your timepiece," Riddle said pleasantly, watching Avery writhe with an amused smirk. "This is a good demonstration of another feature."
Rosier looked down, as did the others, and saw to his shock that Avery's portrait had changed to reflect his choking, contorted face, and was flashing with a steady, vibrant red, reflecting his racing pulse.
"I can tell when one of you is in trouble," Riddle explained genially, and then his voice darkened in threat, "Or will be in trouble. Let this serve as a reminder that insubordination and in-fighting will not be tolerated." His portrait on the timepiece was smirking, his painted eyes turned to Avery's picture.
"Riddle," Rosier said with a hint of worry, as he noticed Avery's thrashing change to only the occasional twitch, "… I think he's had enough."
Riddle hummed lazily. "Perhaps." He allowed, and lifted the spell. Avery slumped to the ground, motionless. His eyes rolled back in his head.
Dolohov dropped to his knees beside him, frantically feeling for a pulse.
"Is he okay?" Mulciber asked in a small voice.
"… He's just passed out," Dolohov announced eventually, sounding relieved.
"Well, I'm sure I've left you all with a lot to think about." Riddle said smoothly. "Keep the timepiece on you at all times – make sure anyone who looks at it only sees the ordinary clock face. I'll be in touch soon." He turned to leave. "Rosier, with me," he commanded, "I need to discuss some plans with you."
Rosier gave a start at suddenly being addressed, looking up from Avery's still form after a moment with wide eyes. "Uh… sure..."
Riddle swept out of the room, Rosier following close behind, leaving a silence full of fear in his wake.
Riddle inhaled deeply, and exhaled with a faint smile on his face as he left the Come-and-Go Room. "It's good to be back." He murmured to himself.
"You don't think that was a little… extreme?" Rosier suggested cautiously, trotting to keep up with Riddle's longer-legged stride.
Riddle snorted. "Absolutely not. I have no time for fools – I have even less time for insubordinate fools."
"But how did you know he complained about your lateness?" Rosier asked curiously, "Did you somehow hear what he was saying?"
Riddle looked smug. "Mine is rather special. I had an interesting idea over the holidays – when one of you mentions my name, what you're saying appears in writing on my timepiece." He glanced at Rosier, and then looked away dismissively. "Your loyalty is… appreciated, by the way." He added, as an afterthought.
Rosier flushed to the tips of his ears. "Um… thanks," he muttered, "For stopping them…"
"This is the last time," Riddle warned, suddenly irritable, "You're only useful to me if you can stand on your own two feet. Remember that."
Rosier nodded. "Could you… teach me?" he asked hopefully, "Some spells I can use in self-defense?" he had done his own research, but somehow his academic brilliance had never really translated into practice.
Riddle raised an eyebrow. "The last time I gave you a duelling lesson you ended up in tears. When was that… third year?" He reminded him dryly.
Rosier scowled. "That's 'cause you were demonstrating the curses on me first!" he protested.
"Did I?" Riddle smirked. "Oh. That explains it."
Rosier grimaced – there was a time when he'd argued with Amalia about Riddle's lack of a sense of humour, but now that he wasn't terrified of everything that came out of his mouth, he had started to see it. His jokes were malicious and morbid, but no doubt he found them funny. And Amalia, apparently.
"Please?" he prompted anyway, hoping he wouldn't regret it.
Riddle rolled his eyes. "If I have time." He said noncommittally.
"Thanks." Muttered Rosier. "Where did you get the pocket-watches?" he asked next, emboldened by Riddle's uncharacteristic responsiveness.
"A rather expensive clock-maker in Diagon Alley," he replied with a smirk. "I… came into a rather large amount of money during the holidays." He explained, opening up a whole other avenue of inquiry.
"Where did-" he started.
"Enough." Riddle interrupted. "Let's discuss plans for next weekend. I need an alibi that I am staying in the castle all weekend– you'll be my witness."
Rosier frowned. "…Okay. But where will you actually be?"
Riddle smiled darkly.
"In the Forbidden Forest… with Amalia Gray."
Which just left Rosier with even more questions.
Author's note:
So the pocket-watches are a mix between the Weasley's enchanted clock and the enchanted coins used by the DA. I figured that if Riddle suddenly had access to a massive fortune, the first thing he'd do is figure out a method of having even more control over his followers.
And the non-HP wizard reference in this chapter was…? :D
Also… what is Riddle planning…?