Chapter 11: Finders, Keepers...
I stared down at the book in my hands, running my fingers over the leather cover as the clock tower struck 11; I had had to wait until after my dorm-mates had returned from dinner and fallen asleep before actually getting the chance to look over my stolen prize. I kept one of my bed curtains slightly open, listening carefully to Willow's snoring in case she or the others were to wake up. Frodo sat beside me on the pillow, staring unblinking at the decades-old diary as if it would suddenly try to move on its own and he could take up the chase. He growled at it.
"Shh!" I hushed, scratching behind his ear a bit, "We can't wake the others!" His nostrils flared slightly, and he lifted his chin, as if to say "Don't tell me what to do". I rolled my eyes, but quickly turned my attention back to the diary.
It wasn't a particularly… interesting looking diary. It was well-crafted, clearly, with a black-leather cover that had worn only slightly along the edges over time. The pages were thick - thicker than muggle paper, though still not as thick as a roll of parchment - and had yellowed severely with age. I flipped through the pages quickly, and scanned them as they passed; there was nothing written inside, not even splotch of ink anywhere within the book. Scanning the back, I ran my finger over the worn, golden name printed and fading on the back cover.
"Surely, you didn't think I was going to keep my filthy Muggle father's name?" Tom Riddle's voice rang in my mind, the quote an echo of the movie I had seen over a million times. I placed the book back down in my lap, It seemed so ordinary… harmless, even.
That's exactly what makes it so dangerous, I thought. I shook the thought from my head and stood up, moving around the bed to where I had set up Frodo's things. I reached the basket and, lifting some of the folds of the blanket within, tucked the diary away and patted the blanket back in place until I could no longer tell the diary was hidden there. Frodo puffed up, still growling at the book he could no longer see. I shushed him again, quickly climbing back under the covers and pulling the curtains shut behind me, finally blocking out all other sounds in the room.
"I know you don't trust it, bud," I whispered, pulling him up to cuddle him, "I don't trust it either. But we've got to keep it safe; if we fail, then the basilisk could kill every muggleborn in the school." He quieted but remained tense, his thin-pupiled eyes fixated on the book hidden within the basket. I chose to ignore it and simply curled up under my own blankets, falling asleep to the thought of what would come next, now that the diary was in my possession…
I was up early the next morning, showering and getting dressed by the time the sun was beginning to rise. I tied the laces on my boots quickly and stood, slapping a hat on my head and pulling on my house robe as I left the dorm, wand tucked into my pocket. I slid through the tunnel, checking myself over once I'd landed to see not even a speck of dirt on my skirt or shoes, and made my way quickly towards the entrance hall. My own roommates hadn't even woken up by the time I'd left, and very few people were eating breakfast in the Great Hall when I went and grabbed some sausages and fried tomatoes wrapped in a napkin to eat on the way, so I was surprised to arrive at the front door of the castle right as Hermione and Ron made their way out onto the fog-covered lawn. I sped up, catching the door before it closed and running out to them.
"Hey, guys!" I called, waving. Hermione smiled brightly back, while Ron just yawned.
"Good morning, Rosie," Hermione said.
"G'morning…" Ron mumbled, rubbing his eye, "what're you doing up so early?"
"Fred and George invited me to watch their practice today," I said, walking along with them towards the quidditch pitch, "I figured, with how… enthusiastic their captain is, I should get an early start."
"He's somethin', that's for sure," Ron grumbled. We continued with our talk as we reached the stands, taking a seat near the ground.
"...and he had Harry up at the crack of dawn for today's practice. It could be pouring down rain, with the whole team soaked through, and he'd still have them practice!"
"He wants to win the quidditch cup at least once before he graduates, Ron," I eased, watching as the team began to emerge from what I assumed was the locker room.
"He's a nutter's, what he is," Ron mumbled, taking a bite of his toast as Harry made his way out of the locker room; "Aren't you finished yet?" he called.
"Haven't even started," Harry responded bitterly, looking at the food in Ron and Hermione's hands, "Wood's been teaching us new moves." I opened the napkin of food I brought, grabbing two of the sausages and holding them out to him.
"Well, you should have some breakfast," I said, "It's not much, but it's better than nothing." Harry smiled lightly, taking the sausages with a nod and shoving them into his mouth before mounting his broom and kicking off into the air. Fred and George followed suit, waving down to me from the air. Suddenly, I heard a clicking behind our seat, and looked back to see Colin Creevey with his camera, snapping pictures and calling out to Harry. I shook my head -he just won't quit, will he? - and turned back the pitch.
"Uh oh," Hermione said. Ron and I looked over at her.
"What is it?" I asked. She pointed towards the end of the pitch, where there stood a group of people in green robes with identical sleek, black broomsticks in hand.
"That can't be good," I whispered, and the three of us got up and started moving towards them. The Gryffindor team had clearly seen them as well, and flew down in front of the group before we made it down from the stands. Wood shot towards the front, shouting at the meaty, troll-like boy - Flint, I heard him called - at the front.
"What's the Slytherin team doing here, anyway?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing good, I imagine," Ron answered. We hopped down from the stands and ran over towards the others. The closer we got, the more we could make out, and about halfway across the field I could make out a head of slick, white-blond hair in the mass of Slytherin team members. Oh great, forgot about this...
"Oh look, a field invasion," Flint said as we neared. We ran right up to Harry and the others, me moving to stand between Fred and George.
"What's happening? Why aren't you playing?" Ron asked, "And what's he doing here?" He glowered at Malfoy, who was wearing the same robes as the other Slytherins - quidditch robes.
"I'm the new Slytherin seeker," he answered, a smug grin on his face, "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought for our team." He moved the broom out in front, giving Ron a good look at it; it was shiny, black wood, with well-shaped black bristles at the end that looked as though they were stained green at the very bottom. Fred's hand tightened into a fist at my side, and I grabbed it, squeezing as I glared at the superior expression Malfoy had on his face.
"Good, aren't they?" he continued, "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them." The Slytherin team laughed hard at that. I felt George begin to tense on my other side, and placed a hand on his arm. He's usually the calm one, I thought, This really isn't going well… Hermione humphed, crossing her arms across her chest.
"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," she said, "They got in on pure talent." Malfoy flinched, and he glared back Hermione.
"No one asked your opinion," he sneered, "you filthy little mudblood." All hell broke loose. I let go of the twins, watching as they attempted to jump at Malfoy who was cowering behind Flint. The Gryffindor girls were furious, yelling in outrage at him.
Ron was the worst, however; he pulled out his wand, spellotape beginning to unravel around the broken part, and pointed it under Flint's arm at the blond ferret boy. He didn't say anything, just thrashed his wand in Malfoy's direction. A memory flashed through my mind, and I rushed forward, hand outstretched.
"Ron, don't!"
BANG! A sickly green light shot out of the wrong end of his wand, knocking him back several feet onto the grass. We all ran up to him, Harry and Hermione kneeling on either side of him.
"Ron! Ron, are you alright?!" Hermione cried. Ron pushed himself to sitting, and tried to speak but no words came out; instead, he belched loudly, and a large slug fell from his mouth into a puddle in his lap. I choked back down my breakfast at the sight, feeling ill myself as the creature squirmed around in the bile and slime pooled on Ron's lap.
The Slytherins were in hysterics, leaning on one another and slapping their knees as they laughed at the youngest Weasley boy. I felt my rage swelling, and I turned back to glare murderously at Malfoy as the others tried to help Ron as best they could without touching him.
"Let's get him to Hagrid's," Harry suggested behind me, "it's closest." They began shuffling behind me, and I knew he and Hermione were carrying Ron back to Hagrid's hut. I felt the others gather around near me, Fred and George again on each side. The Slytherins kept laughing, not seeming to notice that the cause of their laughter had left.
"Weasley's not any better with a broken wand than he is a whole one!" Malfoy guffawed, "He'd probably be better off not using one at all!"
"At least he's better with a wand than you are with a broom," I said, "It takes someone truly pathetic to warrant their dad bailing them out with a bribe." The laughter died down, and Malfoy moved a step forward, eyes cold but still smirking.
"And what would you know about that, yank?" he said, smug, "You American mutts don't-" I didn't let him finish; I rushed forward, wand in hand and pointed it at him. He shrieked and hid behind Flint again.
"I figured as much," I said, "You can dish it out, but you can't take it yourself, can you?" Flint moved further in front of Malfoy, his yellow, crooked teeth pulled into a sneer.
"Back off," he whispered, his breath rank in my face, "mudblood bitch." I heard the others start moving forward, but before they reached me, I kicked out and hit Flint square between the legs. He yowled in pain, holding himself as his knees buckled and he went down face-first in the grass. Malfoy screeched again and pulled two more of his teammates forward to shield him. I leaned down carefully, looking Flint dead in the eye with the most harsh, cold look I was capable of.
"Never call me that again." I whispered, then turned around and walked back to the castle.
A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry for the long wait, school's been hectic, and 2016 has sucked major ass. But here's a new chapter, just in time for the new year! I'm gonna try and start work on chapter 12 soon, but it probably won't be posted for a few months - I start back at school on the 10th, and I'm gonna be really swamped with school work for a while. BUT I PROMISE I'LL TRY! Anyway, I wish you guys a Happy New Year, and a hearty "FUCK YOU" to 2016!
-H. E. Vaughn
