Seven Ways to Escape the Afterlife
By Jollie Killjoy
A/N (to satisfy my ramble cravings): well, here we are, the third chapter! Or the second, since the first was technically the prologue... err, scratch that. Anyways, I'm proud to say that although this took a bit of time, I didn't procrastinate, which is a big accomplishment for the likes of me (it's dreadful, really, I put off the silliest things sometimes). Much gratitude to the reviewers! You guys are awesome, seriously, without any reinforcement (positive or otherwise), I probably wouldn't have gotten past the first installment. Special thanks to Lameth Mornefea for pointing out that by sixteen, Tom created the diary that Ginny was possessed by, meaning that by now he'd know how to create a Horcrux. This sort of makes my story more of a what-if fic than a canon one, but I'm still going to try to make things as canon as possible. Dunno what it is about me, but unless I'm writing humor, I like things to be fairly accurate, which is kinda strange seeing as I really don't care if what I'm reading isn't unless they made Dumbledore a Brittney Spears addict or something. Ha...! you know, I can totally base a one-shot on that...
To make the understatement of the century, Godric's Hollow was not a very busy place. The village was actually rather homey; surrounded by a forest of oaks, it was full of large grassy areas, sparsely dotted by little cottages and log cabins. Having a fairly small population, it included only the most necessary of public facilities; if you needed anything else, you would have to drive into one of the larger cities. To say that they were near the small town would be the overstatement of the century.
Although Godric's Hollow was known to the general public as a muggle community, there were, in fact, quite a few wizards and witches living in it. It was even rumored that the village was originally a wizarding community, founded by the legendary Godric Gryffindor. But the magical folk that tended to settle there weren't quite as powerful or prominent as Godric himself; usually, they were simply young couples -- living as muggles, of course -- that wished to raise a family in a calm, safe environment.
It is perhaps ironic that a store for ancient (and often suspicious) artifacts, owned by an elitist member of the pureblood Black family, happened to be located in its outskirts.
Even more ironically, as the sun set and draped the town in a serene pinkish tint, two people in search of one of the most infamous and wicked spells known to wizard apparated in front of a wooden sign, leading to the area in which the store resided.
"Goddamnit! Bloody thorns! Why I oughta..." The silence of the woods was disrupted by Melinda's long string of rather colorful curses.
"Not used to apparition?" Tom asked her, raising an eyebrow.
"None of your business, Riddle."
Tom bit his tongue, willing himself not to show his fury. He was getting tired of the rude girl's assumption that they were 'partners', equals even. But as much as he wished to teach her that this was not the case, his desire to claim what he had long awaited overwhelmed that. He would simply have to bear her atrocious behavior until she was not needed, he concluded, reminding himself yet again that this seemed to be his only option. As much as he loathed the lack thereof.
Thus Tom courteously helped up the disgruntled girl, who was lying on a particularly prickly bush in front of him. It took quite a bit of effort, seeing as her limbs were tangled in an unpleasant manner, but once she got on her feet and brushed a few thorns off her clothes, she was trotting off briskly as if she arrived at the forest in the most delicate and ladylike of manners.
"Hm..." she suddenly paused, slowly taking her surroundings in. "It's supposed to be shortly after the enter sign..." Her eyes darted from the lofty trees to the bark and vegetation strewn across the ground. Deciding that there was nothing of interest there, she took a turn to the right and continued to search, her lips pursed in concentration.
"Nothing yet?"
Melinda shook her head, trudging further into the forest. Tom followed suit.
As the pair plodded along, frequently stopping to inspect one of the trees, the sky turned from a calm pink to a deep purple, a reddish tint remaining around the horizon. The number of woodland creatures scurrying across the ground became smaller and smaller, and Tom suddenly had to burry his thin form further into his trench coat to shield himself from the growing chill. Considering all, though, the forest at sunset was a rather attractive sight; if it was a normal evening, he might've not minded this, perhaps enjoyed it even. But a piece of very important merchandise was awaiting him, and it was making him rather restless.
Unexpectedly, after much looking about, Melinda paused, inspecting the growth around her. "Aha!" she exclaimed, pulling out her wand. "Mobilifilix!"(1)
On command, a thick, tousled fern moved approximately a yard away from a predominantly tall tree. As Melinda predicted, the fern was covering a hole in the oak that the two were looking for: slightly jagged at the sides with scorched-black edges, as if struck by lightening. Though unlike the cavernous gap Tom was expecting, it seemed more like a small puncture than anything; the anticipation left his face, his features turning faintly sour.
Melinda herself looked utterly puzzled.
"And this, I presume, is going to lead us into the Kismet Labyrinth?" Tom queried, the corner of his mouth lightly tugging at a suspicious frown.
Melinda's brow furrowed. "I suppose getting in couldn't have been that easy, it wouldn't really be characteristic of a Black..." she mumbled, half to herself, and inspected the hole further. "The use of a Reductor Curse probably wouldn't do any good on this," she continued uneasily. "If it had worked for people before us, we'd see where they blasted the tree open. I... I really don't know how anyone could get in this without smashing it up a bit, though..."
When he realized just how limited the extent of Melinda's knowledge as to how to get into the Labyrinth was, Tom's patience started going down the drain. "And your point is? We've been wandering around for about a century," he said in a near-snarl, eyes narrowing.
"Would you rather look for the entrance yourself?" Melinda shot back, and started circling the thick trunk.
Tom scowled and watched her until she became fully hidden from view, fidgeting with the galleons in his pocket. Minutes that seemed like hours to the impatient young man passed, and he started wondering whether this 'Black' girl was to be trusted. Foolish, absolutely foolish to have faith Malfoy's lack of instinct! The confidence that ferret-faced little good-for-nothing had in her, it's unbelievable... I probably would've been far better off with a member of the family that wasn't erased from the bloody tree...
An abrupt gasp interrupted Tom's thoughts.
Hopefully, he hurried over, excited at the prospect that this search was finally going somewhere. But what he found was something that, unfortunately, made the situation even more difficult: Melinda had found another hole, one spacious enough to barely fit an adult in... The problem was, it happened to be around the very top of the tree.
"Near the hole... Hah, I think I know what Father meant when he said the Labyrinth was near the hole..." Melinda almost whispered, her muddy black eyes widening.
Tom caught on instantaneously. "Are you suggesting that, to get inside the Labyrinth, we're going to have to writhe through a possibly lethal tree trunk?" he asked, his dislike of the idea becoming quite apparent. "As delightful as it sounds, I think I'd rather not rot to death in some overgrown oak."
"I doubt there are any spells in it, aside from some kind of tree-hollowing one," Melinda retorted, understanding the underlying implication of Tom's words. "I suppose the old nutcase decided that the location of the hole would be enough to ward most unwanted people away, let alone the rumors going on about this place."
"Yes, yes, the location of the hole," Tom spat back, his patience being pushed over the edge more than ever. The precious information he had wanted since he was a mere schoolboy was only a few steps away, and it was driving him positively mad. "I suppose you have an idea as to how to get to this particular, location?" He emphasized the last word, just barely concealing his fury.
"I told you I was going to be prepared, didn't I?" Melinda grumbled, choosing to ignore the rage of the man in front of her. She then pulled out a long rope from one of the numerous pockets in her coat, along with a small vial filled with a gooey, puce colored substance. Opening the cork previously closing the small flask, Melinda slathered the solution on the end of the rope, a disgusted look on her face as she took in its sour smell.
"This is your plan?" Tom gave the girl a skeptical look. "A rope and a container of stick potion?"
"Home brewed," Melinda replied with a grin, throwing the rope over a particularly sturdy branch and wrapping herself around it. "Would you prefer to get up there by climbing up the trunk?" she asked, and with a little difficulty brought on by her large coat, she started shimmying up the rope, a determined look in her eyes. Finally, after a bit of struggling, she hoisted herself up to the branch and held onto the trunk of the great oak. Lets see if that pretentious bastard will go on with his little plan at this point, she thought to herself with a sly smirk.
So the wench wants to play games, he thought with a rivaling shrewdness as he studied Melinda's sneer.Sure enough, the tall, lean young man started wriggling up the rope at high speed, his expression suddenly turning unreadable. Melinda's, however, clearly read surprise; with the show he put on thus far, she had not expected him to comply. Well, that was certainly an abrupt change of moods... he must really want that silly book, she supposed, shifting her position a little to give Tom some room on the branch.
He peered inside the hole, estimating its depth. "Ladies last, in this case," he said, and jumped in without so much as another word.
"I have to give it to that creaky bat," Melinda muttered contemptuously, feeling around the crammed, grimy space with her small hands. "She's definitely got a knack warding people off."
Tom grumbled something in response, but it was -- possibly due to the fact that his face was squashed into a dried mud wall several feet bellow the earth -- unintelligible.
"Got it!" Melinda exclaimed as her digits brushed a rusted metal handle. Gripping it, she started pulling furiously, attempting to open the apparent trap door beneath her. This grubby place must have not seen visitors for years, she reasoned, a musty smell encompassing her nostrils as she continued her struggle against the rotting piece of wood.
"Mmmmfff!"
"I'm getting at it, I'm getting at it..." Melinda murmured in response to the muffled gibberish, searching for a weak spot in the dirt around the door. If I could just find one little spot where the dried mud crumbles a bit... Wait, I think I have it...
"Ud oo ind oovimff!"
"What? I'm trying to concentrate, you know, so you'd better make sense if you want to tell me something," Melinda snapped, still focused on releasing the trap door lodged into the earth.
Tom decided to throw civility out the window and elbow the girl in the ribs.
"Oi! What was that for!"
"For nearly strangling me in this godforsaken cave," Tom retorted, suppressing the urge to add to the statement his thoughts about the young lady being an incompetent twat. "Now please, kindly crawl aside so I can get us out of this blasted mess," he continued, the prospect of actually being able to breathe calming him a bit as he groped for the door, then bent over it and pulled with all his strength.
Without warning, the trap door previously wedged stubbornly in the earth was wrenched open (earning a grumble from Melinda regarding the fact that she did all the work); a dim light filtered into the tiny burrow -- from which the two exited with great enthusiasm. Upon landing on the dirty wooden floor of what appeared to be the Labyrinth, they peered around: it was crammed and musty-smelling, lightly illuminated by candles floating in the stuffy air. The walls and ceiling, like the floor, were made of wood; it was almost like being trapped in a giant wooden crate, Tom reflected. Brown eyes wandering from shelf to shelf in fascination, he ran his hand on one of the dustier mantelpieces. For whatever reason, he was a bit... tentative, perhaps, about it. For a moment, it felt as though he was disrupting the mystique of the Labyrinth, but he dismissed the thought quickly, deeming it rather silly and unnecessary. Deciding to further examined the shelf, he bent down a bit and eyed the lower levels. It was piled with what appeared to be a rather eerie collection of strange artifacts: a Foe-Glass, probably the former possession of some auror turned paranoid; a jar of dried snakeskin, stacked together with other assorted potion ingredients; a clump of shrunken heads, tied collectively at the hair by a piece of string, much like the ones back at Borgin's; an unidentifiable brown, moist looking lump. Tom could've stayed there for hours on end, simply gazing at the mysterious remnants, wondering where they came from and what uses they could have... he willed himself to get up, though, and follow Melinda -- the girl was seemingly unaffected by the Labyrinth's strange spell -- who was already hastily hurrying along the disorganized aisles.
"Her desk, her desk..." the girl mumbled to herself, fumbling with a lock of thick, black hair. "It's probably either at the end of the store, or perhaps the very center, where one would have easier access to things... yes..." She quickly changed directions. Tom followed, tearing his gaze from a distinctly old issue of the Daily Prophet: it had an article about the Chudley Cannons, 'undefeatable masters of Quidditch', winning the England cup.
Abruptly, Tom heard a dull thumping coming from somewhere behind him, followed by a throaty rasp. With a sharp intake of air and dust, he spun around in near-paranoia, but his eyes were met with nothing but the muddle of the shelves.
"Hurry up! I think I'm on to something," Melinda called over her shoulder, rapidly taking another turn. Tom scowled, his breath returning, and darted after her, suspiciously scanning the Labyrinth once more; careful as he was, the man knew better than to rule out the option of being followed by a spy. Though he appeared arrogant at times, he was very aware of the fact that there were quite a few people who would love to catch him up to something shady.
"Aha!" Melinda exclaimed, following a trail of markings on the floor. She briefly wondered if they actually meant something, or if they were just scratches from one of the shelves being moved around... but she decided that any clue was a good clue at that point, having no desire to continue the search longer than necessary. Tom followed once more, still somewhat apprehensive about the noise he had heard. He decided to focus on the book to subdue his unease -- it was, after all, the reason he was there in the first place. Lets see... encased in abnormally thick leather, and if I'm not mistaken, bound by two locks. That old man that's always lurking around Knockturn Alley said it had a picture of Pandora's Box(2) on the cover, very fitting for a book in which --
"Filthy little maggots!"
The two jumped from the sudden shrill voice, and the dull thumps Tom had heard started turning into large bangs.
"The nerve of people these days... just barging in whenever you please, eh? Is that it? Why, if Phineas was still alive..." the voice trailed off disdainfully.
It was then that Tom realized where the noise had been coming from. The old widow must have been following us around after hearing us enter, he thought to himself, slightly disturbed with the amount of time it took him to notice.
"Didn't think she could still walk..." Melinda's dark eyes widened, watching the shriveled figure limp nearer until she was mere inches away from her.
"You! A disgrace, you are," the old woman rasped, her large, pale eyes glaring accusingly at Melinda. "How dare you set foot in the Labyrinth of Edith Cressida Beatrix Black, the widow of the most honorable Phineas Nigellus! Smutty little traitor, sullying the name of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!"
"Ah, but she has only been of much aid, allowing me to gaze with my unworthy eyes upon your fine shop," Tom explained smoothly, suddenly stepping forward. "Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs. Beatrix Black: I am the heir of Salazar Slytherin, here to collect a certain artifact of his. If, you'll be gracious enough to allow me," he added, taking a low bow.
Melinda didn't even bother to hide her bewilderment at his swift change of demeanor. This couldn't be the same haughty, conceited man who she had led into the Labyrinth... could it?
"The heir of Salazar Slytherin?" the elderly woman repeated the gentleman's words suspiciously, quirking a thin, white eyebrow at him. "Prove yourself."
"My father's name is Morfin Gaunt, son of Marvolo Gaunt, and my mother is of the Malfoy family," he clarified, mouth widening into a toothy smile.
"Come with me," the old hag spat, her voice scratchy, and started limping forward, loud beats following her steps; a wooden leg peeked from under her long plum robes. "We'll see if what you speak is the truth, boy."
Melinda meandered after them, suddenly realizing that she had seen this kind of behavior coming from Tom before: lying through his teeth, flattering excessively... of course, that was partly what made most of his Professors adore him so; it was a method he fondly used to climb to the top, along with inflicting fear on those who were unfortunate enough to be at the bottom. Well then, he'll surely get along with the aged crone, she thought, shuddering in disgust. Her desire to immediately leave started growing stronger, but she willed herself to stay, if only for the money she would collect from Tom afterwards.
Promptly, the old widow stopped and slowly bent down, her bones creaking, and retrieved a crate from a particularly clean shelf near what appeared to be her desk, setting it on the ground.
"A wizard who claimed to be coming from Malaysia gave me this King Cobra for free, a bit less than a day ago, in fact. He was very eager to get rid of it," the witch croaked maliciously. "It only understands an elite dialect of Parseltongue. When it dies, I plan to keep its venom and sell it; I suppose it'll stay alive longer if it eats you, but that should be no concern to you, if you really are the son of Morfin Gaunt and the grandson of Marvolo. They would've taught you the dialect by now," she added, her pale blue eyes glinting unpleasantly.
Melinda's breath hitched; she knew for a fact that Tom had grown up in an orphanage. Was he really going to...?
1 - This is a modification of the Mobilicorpus, which is a spell that moves bodies (corpus is body in Latin). Assuming that filix means fern in Latin (which I'm pretty sure it does), the spell Melinda uses here moves... well, ferns.
2 - Pandora's Box comes from Greek mythology, it is definitely not my own invention. It's basically a box filled with rage, hunger, disease, anguish, crime... you know, all that yummy stuff. Look it up on Google if you'd like.